“You’ll heal, love your husband, love your daughter, raise your baby. Not a bad deal if you ask me.”
If anyone else had been asking me these questions, probing me in this way, I’d be on the attack. Alan is different. He has seen the whole of me and remained my true friend.
“I’m hanging on by a thread here, Alan. I appreciate what you’re saying, and I promise I’ll give it all some thought, but right now it’s going to take everything I have to finish this. Can you back me up?”
“’Til the cows come home. Let’s go fuck this fucker up.”
Hollister is a changed man, and not for the better. If his unraveling began during the interrogation at his home, it’s been completed here.
Bruises decorate the right side of his face. He’s missing four of his upper front teeth and four of the lower. His skin is gray and his eyes are filled with wildness and despair.
“Looking good, Hollister,” I tell him. It is cruel. I can’t help myself. I point at the bruises. “Gifts from a friend?”
Hate replaces the despair. “Fuck you, cow.”
“Got a lover?” I press. “Let me guess, he got rid of those teeth so his cock could slide in easier, right?” Alan’s hand against my arm, warning me.
I wanted to hurt Hollister, and his expression tells me I’ve hit home. “Fuck you!” he screams. Tears roll down his cheeks.
I grin. The cruelty is like a living thing inside me, something demonic and real. “So it’s true! You’re someone’s property.” My grin grows wider. “How’s your asshole, Douglas? Got AIDS yet?”
He launches himself at me, tries to jump across the table. The restraints yank him short, like a dog on a leash. I laugh at him as Alan watches, aghast. Douglas collapses into himself, the rage burning away as fast as it had arrived. It’s replaced by despair.
“Fucker won’t leave me alone,” he mutters, more to himself than to us. “He’s too big, a monster. If I fight him off, he makes it worse.”
My hatred evaporates, as his rage had. I feel tired, drained. “This is you paying for your sins, Douglas,” I tell him. “You killed your own son.”
To my surprise, he nods in agreement. “Yes. You’re right, I think. Heather got what was coming. But Dana? And my boy? No, no, that’s all on me. I got greedy.”
Alan steps into the breach between us, taking advantage of the cessation of hostilities. “Douglas. I want to ask you something. If you answer honestly, it won’t add anything to your sentence, but it might help make up for some of the things you’ve done.”
He takes Hollister’s silence as assent.
“Approximately five weeks ago, the man you call Dali shot me and took Agent Barrett and another agent hostage. The other agent was a computer expert, and he told Agent Barrett that he was convinced Dali had been tipped off by you.”
He tries to hide it even now, but I see the truth in his eyes. It’s a cunning light, a flash of self-satisfaction.
“Piece of shit,” I whisper. I struggle to breathe, and I understand, at this moment, here and now, why they make you surrender your weapons before entering an interrogation room. I have no doubt that, if I had my gun, Douglas would have been dead a millisecond after I saw that light in his eyes.
He grins now. The missing teeth make it hideous. I can see his tongue.
“Did he do that to you? Cut off your hair? What else did he do?”
I recognize his cruelty. Warning bells clang in my head; the similarities between us need to end. But I’m helpless. All I can see is Leo and the choice that I made.
I lean forward, keep my voice calm, and put as much promise in my eyes as I can muster.
“You’re going to die in here, Hollister. Fucked to death or shanked in the shower. You’re going to die. That’s a promise.”
The grin fades slowly. I see uncertainty, followed by fear. I nod.
“That’s right.”
He rips his eyes away from mine with effort. Focuses his gaze on Alan. “All I did was send him an email. I told him that I was pretty sure you were trying to set him up.” He glances at me. “I told him about her.”
“How’d you send the email?”
“Prison library. Not supposed to have access, but there are some smart people in here. They have ways.”
Alan digests this. I manage to hold my tongue. “That’s good, Douglas,” he says. “But the thing is, you told us you didn’t have a way to contact Dali, remember?”
Douglas remains silent.
“Is there something on the servers you worked on that we need to know about?”
There it is again. The cunning light. Alan sees it too. “Douglas?”
“I need protection. I’ll trade segregation for information.” He fumbles with his hands. He looks humble and frightened. “Please. I’ll tell you what you want. Just get me away from him.”
I want to jump up, tell him to fuck off. I want to laugh in his face and slap him. I hold myself back, waiting for Alan.
“Tell you what, Douglas,” Alan says, his voice mild. “I’m going to let my experts comb those servers first. If they don’t find anything, if I need your info, then I’ll be back and we’ll talk deals. If it turns out I don’t need you”—he shrugs—“then have fun getting passed around.” He leans forward. “Leo Carnes is a vegetable now because of you. Fuck off and die.”
He stands up and heads toward the door. I follow, dumb.
I stop before leaving, turn.
“Why?” I ask Hollister.
He glares at me, his eyes full of tears and hate.
“Because,” he says. “You ruined everything.” He stands, strains against his chains, and shouts at the ceiling. The cords on his neck stand out; veins throb at his temples. “You ruined everything!” he screams.
Guards rush in as we leave.
Back to hell. I shudder a little at my own satisfaction. But only a little.
Alan sits as we drive, silent, brooding.
“Sorry about that, back there,” I offer. “I’m still …” I sigh. “Maybe AD Jones is right and I’m not ready to come back. Anyway, I’m sorry.”
He waves me off. “I understand—and that’s the problem. Five years ago I might have reported you. Today? I was just as bad, and I still don’t care.” He sighs and falls silent.
The sky is blue again as we leave the prison behind, but invisible rain falls, trapping us, and only us, in a prison world of gray.
CHAPTER FORTY
“We found it,” James tells me.
It’s mid-afternoon. Alan and I barely spoke on the hour-plus drive back to the office. What was there to say? We’d condoned the rape of a man because of our rage. We felt vindicated and soiled, all at the same time.
“That was fast,” I say.
“It didn’t take long. It wasn’t that it was well hidden. It’s that no one would have found it unless they were looking for it. It seems innocuous enough, and under most circumstances, it would be, but it did the job it was meant to do.”
“Which was?”
“There were two programs. Both were installed with root access on the key servers at the ISP where Hollister worked. One was a search program. It would search email, chat rooms, instant-message logs when kept, and various other things, looking for combinations of keywords. Kill my wife, divorce, and hate, stuff like that. It was pretty sophisticated.”
“Sounds cumbersome,” I say. “Wouldn’t you come back with thousands of results?”
“Yes, but the sophistication of the program was that it grabbed a one-line snippet of each ‘conversation.’ It’s pretty easy to scan through and to then know what to discard and what to follow up on. Take a look.”