Chapter 19 - The Warrant
The rain had turned into a torrential late-autumn deluge by eight o'clock the following morning.
Robert Vance had worked through the entire night. By the time dawn broke over the slate-gray Boston skyline, an emergency magistrate had signed three distinct documents: a felony arrest warrant for Evelyn Holloway charging conspiracy to commit grand larceny and child endangerment; a search warrant for Box 414; and an immediate suspension order against Arthur Pendelton’s law license.
Jason and I sat in the back of an unmarked Massachusetts State Police cruiser parked across the street from the First National Vault on Commonwealth Avenue. Two uniformed detectives sat in the front, monitoring police radio frequencies.
"You don't have to be here for this, Clara," Jason said softly, wrapping his warm hand over mine. "We can let the police handle it."
"No," I replied, my voice steady and unwavering. "She spent thirty-two years making me feel like a stray animal begging for scraps at her table. I need to see her face when the door closes on her."
At 8:55 AM, a yellow taxicab pulled up to the granite steps of the bank.
Evelyn emerged. Even in her desperate decline, she wore her full-length mink coat, oversized dark sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed felt hat, clutching a crocodile-skin handbag. She looked frantically left and right, clutching her collar against the freezing rain, before darting up the steps.
Two minutes later, Arthur Pendelton arrived in his sleek black sedan, looking disheveled, his tie crooked, carrying a leather brief bag.
"Units one and two, move in," the lead detective spoke into his lapel mic.
We watched through the rain-streaked cruiser window as four plainclothes officers surged out of unmarked vehicles, sprinting up the granite steps behind them.
Inside the grand marble lobby, the arrest was swift, quiet, and devastating.
Through the towering glass windows, we saw the detectives surround Evelyn and Pendelton before they could reach the reinforced elevator bank. Arthur dropped his briefcase, raising his hands instantly as two officers flashed badges.
Evelyn, true to her nature, erupted. She swung her heavy handbag at an arresting officer, her screams carrying faintly through the double glass doors. But the officer caught her wrist with clinical efficiency, spun her around against a polished marble pillar, and snapped steel handcuffs around her wrists. Her designer hat tumbled to the floor, exposing her unkempt, dyed-blonde hair.
As they led her out down the steps, soaking in the pouring rain, her wild eyes scanned the street.
They locked directly onto our unmarked cruiser.
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Through the tinted glass, she saw me. Her face contorted into a mask of pure, demonic rage. She lunged toward the car, screaming obscenities, until two officers forced her into the back of a waiting police transport van.
The empire of Evelyn Holloway was officially in ruins.
