The Final Cut

Chapter Five: Smoke and Mirrors

The harsh fluorescent lights of the interrogation room buzzed faintly overhead, casting stark shadows across Robert Holloway's haggard face. Detective Jack Hawthorne stood with his back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, studying the younger Holloway brother. Robert sat slumped in the metal chair, his once-crisp shirt now wrinkled and stained with sweat, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and too much worry.

Jack pushed himself off the wall and approached the table, his footsteps echoing in the silent room. He pulled out the chair opposite Robert and sat down, folding his hands on the table's surface. For a long moment, he said nothing, letting the weight of the situation settle over them both.

Finally, Jack spoke, his voice low and measured. "Your fingerprints were on the murder weapon, Robert," he said, his eyes never leaving Robert's face. "And your alibi doesn't check out. Want to tell me what really happened that night?"

Robert's shoulders sagged even further, if that was possible. He ran a trembling hand through his disheveled hair, leaving it standing up in unruly tufts. When he looked up at Jack, his eyes were filled with a mix of fear and resignation.

"I was there," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat and continued, louder this time. "But I didn't kill him. I swear to God, I didn't kill Victor."

Jack leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. "Go on," he prompted.

Robert took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I went to confront Victor about Sarah, about what he'd done to her. I... I had just found out, you see. She finally told me everything."

Jack nodded, remembering his conversation with Sarah Lancaster. The pain and bitterness in her voice when she spoke of Victor Holloway's betrayal had been palpable.

"We argued," Robert continued, his hands clenching and unclenching on the table. "God, we argued like we never had before. I was so angry, Detective. I've never been that angry in my life.""What happened next?" Jack asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Robert's eyes took on a faraway look, as if he was reliving the moment. "I picked up the letter opener from his desk. I was just so... so furious. For a moment, I thought..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"You thought about using it?" Jack supplied.

Robert nodded miserably. "But I didn't. I swear I didn't. I put it down and left. Victor was very much alive when I walked out of that office. Drunk and belligerent, but alive."

Jack leaned back in his chair, considering this new information. It fit with what they knew about the timeline, but it still didn't explain everything. "What time was this?" he asked.

Robert frowned, thinking. "Around 11:30, maybe midnight. I'm not sure exactly. It's all a bit of a blur, to be honest."

As Jack opened his mouth to ask another question, there was a sharp knock at the door. Both men startled slightly at the sudden noise. Jack stood up, shooting Robert a look that clearly said 'don't move', and went to the door.

Sergeant Ross stood in the hallway, his face grim. "Sorry to interrupt," he said in a low voice, "but we've got a situation. Veronica Lake's been found dead in her home."

Jack's eyes widened in surprise. Veronica Lake, the starlet who had been at the center of so many of Victor's films, dead? This case was becoming more complicated by the minute.

He turned back to Robert, who was watching them with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "Don't go anywhere," Jack said firmly. Then to Ross, "Let's go."

The drive to Veronica Lake's Hollywood Hills mansion was tense, with Jack's mind racing through the implications of this new development. Ross filled him in on the few details they had as they navigated the winding roads.