Page 92 of Ruthless Regret

Zain stops pacing, and turns toward Holson. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. But I remember thinking Ramsey was acting weird. He was on edge. More than usual.”

Zain’s voice is tight with anger. “And you just let him do it?”

“I didn’t know how far he was willing to go,” Holson says. “By the time I saw the full picture, Ramsey had buried anything that didn’t point to you.”

Zain’s body is rigid with rage, and I keep waiting for him to snap, but somehow he keeps himself under control.

McFadden takes over the questioning. “And you’ve kept quiet about this for all these years?”

“You have to understand that back then I was just a junior detective. I had no power, but Ramsey did. He made sure no one would question his decisions. All I know is that Ramsey made sure the investigation never followed up on the single report about Louisa being seen with someone else.”

“And you let me rot in prison for fourteen years because it was easier to go along with it.”

Holson doesn’t answer, his guilt obvious in his silence.

McFadden steps forward, his voice harder now. “What else do you know? You were friendly with the Conway family, weren’t you?”

“A long time ago. I hadn’t spoken to Louisa or her parents in years. I don’t know who Louisa was with that day, or if she was with anyone at all. It could have been a case of mistaken identity, but Ramsey made sure it didn’t matter anyway.”

“When I spoke to you the other day, you said Ramsey has been living off grid for a few years. Do you know where he is?”

Holson shakes his head. “We weren’t friends. He retired about ten years ago, and once he moved out of town, I never had any more contact with him.”

“He wasn’t that old. Why did he retire?”

“He said he’d had enough of the job, and wanted a change of pace.”

"A change of pace," Zain repeats, and it’s impossible to miss the biting sarcasm in his tone. "Or maybe he wanted to disappear before anyone could start asking questions."

"It's possible,” McFadden agrees, his voice grim. “Holson, I want you to write down everything you remember about that witness report and Ramsey's behavior during the investigation. Every detail, no matter how small."

"Of course. Whatever you want." He seems relieved that everything is out in the open.

I look over at Zain. His jaw is clenched tight, his eyes never leaving the detective who interrogated him all those years ago. It’s easy to see the struggle he’s having, the desire to push for more answers warring with the knowledge that we've hit a wall for now.

"Zain, there’s nothing more to be done here," McFadden says, turning to us. "Go home. I'll contact you if anything new comes up."

For a moment, I think Zain might argue, but then he gives a short nod. "Fine. But I want a copy of that statement as soon as it's done."

"I'll see what I can do.”

And Zain has to be content with that, because it’s clear from the sheriff’s face that pushing will be a waste of time. Without another word, he turns and stalks to the door. I hurry after him, my mind full of everything we've just learned.

We’re almost at Zain’s car when his cell bursts into life. He stops abruptly, and I almost crash into his back.

“Rook?” He unlocks the car door while he answers the call. “What have you got? … What?When?… Are you sure?"

My heart slams against my ribs. There’s a note to Zain’s voice, a tension in his stance, that tells me whatever he’s hearing, it’s not good news. When the call ends, he stands there for a second, staring across the parking lot.

“Zain?”

His head snaps around. “Get in the car.” He doesn’t wait to see if I do as he says, and ducks to climb in.

I debate asking him about the call. Curiosity is eating me alive, and our deal was that he wouldn’t keep anything back from me, so once I’m in the seat beside him, I do. “Who was it?”

He doesn’t answer straight away, fiddling with his car keys, his seatbelt, and then starts the engine.

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