He walked to row 24 and crouched down beside Hollins' seat. "Mr. Hollins," he said quietly, "I'd like to ask you a few questions."
Hollins looked at him. His expression was exactly calibrated: just the right amount of concern, just the right amount of cooperative passenger energy. "Of course. Terrible situation. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"You changed your seat at the gate," Gerald said. "From 8A to 24B."
"More legroom in the back," Hollins said. "I have a knee issue."
"24B is a middle seat."
A fraction of a pause, so small that most people would have missed it. "Force of habit. I always sit on the left side."
"The equipment panel behind your seat," Gerald said, "did you open it during the flight?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You walked to the back of the aircraft approximately 45 minutes into the flight. You were gone for about 60 seconds."
"I went to the lavatory."
"The lavatory was occupied," Keely said from the adjacent seat. She'd been quietly checking. "I was near the rear galley. Both lavatories in the rear were in use for most of that window."
Hollins looked at her. Something shifted in his eyes—not quite dropping the mask, but re-evaluating the situation. Recalculating. "I don't think this conversation is appropriate," he said. "I'm a passenger."
"You're a passenger on an aircraft that's been deliberately sabotaged," Danielle said from behind him. Her voice was calm in a way that had gone past fear and come out the other side. "And you're the only person on this flight who doesn't seem bothered by that."
Hollins turned to look at her, and for just a moment, the calculation in his eyes was visible.