The Silencer

by RC Boldt

  “There’s a tiny, curved scar at the base of the left index finger.”

  Following suit, I rise from my seat to move closer to the screen. I study the zoomed-in view of the still-shot image from the video, and what do you know… Damn if she isn’t right.

  “Now, here’s the deal.” Using her capped pen, she lightly traces over the prominent veins on the top of his hands. “These are all unique. No two people have the same vein patterns.” She stops her pen over a vein that runs between his middle and ring finger knuckles. “This one stands out because it appears to branch off here.”

  At the top of his hand, she points out that the same vein seems to have a branch extending toward the knuckle of his pinky finger. “Once I identify these distinctive traits, we can compare these to Mayor Paulson’s hands. If they match, then we know we have our guy.”

  “But he says he has an alibi.” Drawing my eyes from the screen to Kennedy… Christ. I’m struck again by how beautiful she is. “He was playing chess with his friend, Senator Bomer, who confirmed it.”

  She scoffs. “Of course, he has an alibi, Lattimer. And I’m going to assume, conveniently, no one else can corroborate it except for the two of them.”

  I rake a hand down the back of my neck and grip the tense muscles there because she’s right. I don’t know what the hell to think about this. I’d really like to know which son of a bitch leaked the news of this investigation to the press.

  Chad had called early this morning to tell me to be on the lookout for the vultures—a.k.a. the press—once he heard the news. It’s been all over TV and in newspapers.

  Thankfully, no one mentioned my name or Kennedy’s, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before that, too, is leaked.

  “No.” I exhale a long breath. “According to Bomer, no one else stuck around after the mayor’s party except for him.”

  “Hmm.” She turns her eyes back to the screen. I get the sense she’s mulling over something rather than studying the image again.

  “Hmm, what?” This woman’s mind intrigues me. Hell, everything about her intrigues me. But there’s one thing in particular that borders on bothersome, and I’d get my fucking man-card revoked for saying it out loud.

  She never smiles. Sure, I’ve seen a hint of a smirk here or there but never an authentic smile. And damn if it doesn’t make me want to be the one to pull one out of her.

  It also makes me wonder who the hell made her this way. A smart-as-hell, gorgeous woman who doesn’t smile.

  It just doesn’t make sense.

  “I’m not surprised.” Her answer snaps me from my train of thought. “Not only that, but it could indicate the possibility that the senator was the one who recorded the video.”

  I stay silent. Not because I don’t agree, but because this investigation gives me some fucked-up vibes. And that’s saying something since I’ve seen some horrific shit.

  I haven’t been able to dig up anything that would confirm the mayor was the one who posted either one of these videos online. Nothing links him to the username on the XXXporn.com site.

  On top of that, I still can’t figure out what kind of stake the Vice President has in this investigation. Is he just concerned about his friend being wrongly accused?

  I cross my arms against my chest and glance around the inside of the room. “This is a pretty impressive place. I’m a little embarrassed I’ve never been in the Library of Congress before.”

  A smirk toys at the edges of her lips. “I wouldn’t expect to find a man like you in a place such as this.”

  I tsk. “Are you assuming I’m not well read, and that’s why I’ve never stepped foot in here? I’ll have you know, I’m a fan of the classics. Jane Eyre, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, A Christmas Carol, War and Peace…”

  She lets out a weary sigh. “I don’t assume anything, Lattimer. Science leads the way in everything I do.” She draws her attention from the screen to look at me, and I’m reminded again just how pretty her eyes are.

  When she parts her lips to continue, I press on. “But some of my favorites are the stories with hardcore good-versus-evil themes, like The Lord of the Rings and The Count of Monte Cristo.” A realization strikes me. “How ’bout that. You’re Dr. Alexandre, and Alexandre Dumas was the author of The Count of Monte Cristo. You probably get harassed about that a lot, don’t you? Because your last name is the same as—”

  She interrupts abruptly. “Lattimer, when I said I wouldn’t expect to find a man like you in a place such as this, I wasn’t implying you aren’t well read.

  “I simply mean there are certain types of people who tend to frequent a place like this.” She gestures to herself. “People like me. Academics. Nerds, if you will.” Her eyes cast over me in a way that feels appreciative and completely out of character. “Not necessarily someone who looks like you.”

  As if realizing what she’s revealed, her lips mash together, and she abruptly faces the screen.

  Even in the dim lighting—she claims it allows for better detection of the video footage illuminated on the screen—I can tell her cheeks are tinged with pink.

  Kennedy moves over to her laptop to switch to the next video frame and studies it before tapping keys to zoom in.

  “I’ve gotta ask now.” I cock my head to the side. “Have you read The Count of Monte Cristo?”

  Her eyes flick from the laptop to mine. “Lattimer.” Her tone is sharp, with a touch of exasperation.

  “Kennedy.”

  “If you don’t let me work in peace and quiet, this young girl won’t get the justice she deserves.”

  All teasing humor evaporates because she’s right. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing I was the asshole who prevented a fucking pedophile from being tossed behind bars.

  My jaw set tight, determination flows through my veins. “Let’s do this.”

  LOCAL NEWS

  “Former FBI Director Javoris Gasden was rushed to the hospital Tuesday for what unconfirmed reports cite as an attempted poisoning.

  “Gasden had been in attendance at the Community Cares Gala, an event whose cause he’s staunchly advocated for many years. Raised in a low-income area in Wilmington, North Carolina, Gasden has long championed the need for additional funding for programs in these particular communities.

  “Mayor Paulson, who was in attendance, cited his express concern for Gasden and stated that security would be evaluating surveillance recordings, wishing him a full recovery.

  “When pressed for a statement regarding the recent allegations against him, the mayor declined to answer.”

  Chapter 30

  Kennedy

  Week Two

  Wednesday Morning

  Me: I won’t be in today. I’m dealing with a terrible migraine. I’ll see you tomorrow.

  Lattimer: Do you need anything? Meds? Food?

  I stare down at my phone’s screen as if it’s just sprouted wings. He’s asking me if I need anything? Who is this man?

  Ribbons of suspicion twist and curl inside me. No one does that sort of thing, least of all for me. He must be asking because he’s trying to find an in. To determine my weakness.

  Me: No, thank you.

  Lattimer: Let me know if that changes. After all, that’s what partners are for.

  I squint at his response. Goddammit, I wish I could figure out what angle he’s playing. But for now, it goes on the back burner because I have somewhere to be.

  The weather has turned bitterly cold. Yesterday had been cool and crisp, but today, it’s wreaking havoc with gusts of frigid winds in the ten-mile-per-hour range and snow flurries.

  Dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and a matching cable-knit sweater, I pull my hair back in a tight braid and tuck it beneath my dark gray knit beanie. I slip on a gray puffy winter coat and stuff my hands into gloves before leaving my apartment.

  Pushing through the door leading to the stairwell, I welcome the slightly stale smell intermixed with industrial cleaner.


  These stairs see little to no use from anyone else, and the mounted cameras on each floor are just for show and not in working order. Although this apartment building is on the pricier side, it’s like any place; they’ll cut corners wherever they can in order to save money.

  My brisk pace matches many others hurriedly going about their day. I turn the corner, prepared to make a quick stop before boarding the Metro.

  A short time later, I arrive at the Foggy Bottom station that’s conveniently located near the hospital’s main entrance.

  That’s when I spot him.

  Though bundled up, he seems impervious to the wind intermittently whipping past us. Silver hair in tightly coiled curls, he raises his fist to the sky while he clutches a worn Bible with his other.

  “They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly, they are ferocious wolves!” He repeats this in a booming voice while no one seems to pay him attention.

  When I venture closer to pass him in order to get to the hospital entrance, his head snaps around, eyes cutting to mine. My feet slow as if he’s using some sort of mystical force. This time, when he speaks, it’s directed solely at me.

  His brows descend fiercely as if he believes he’s bestowing upon me a message directly from God himself. “They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly, they are ferocious wolves.”

  Eyes boring into mine, it’s as if he’s silently willing me to heed his message. I dig into my pocket for some spare change and bills and drop them quickly in the bin on the ground beside him.

  My contribution pings when it lands, and I rush past, eager to put distance between us and alleviate the strange unease tiptoeing along the length of my spine.

  I brush through the hospital’s automatic doors and head to the stairwell with the floral arrangement in hand. Purposely, I shove aside the strange interaction with the man to the recesses of my brain and cradle the flowers as I make my way to the fifth floor.

  Nurses with clipboards rush past, not affording me the barest glance, and it allows me to breeze inside Javoris’ private room. It’s dark with the shades drawn with only a dim light casting the room in a soft glow. The room is as silent as a tomb.

  I carefully press the door shut behind me, the flat rubber soles of my boots soundless on the shiny floor. I make it to the foot of his bed, taking in the man I haven’t seen in years.

  With his eyes closed, his breathing is even, and the monitors beside him display normal readings. Though his hair remains close-cropped, the gray is more heavily sprinkled throughout the black.

  He’s still a handsome man and someone who ages gracefully. Still resembling that of a leaner, more handsome Samuel L. Jackson, his coloring is paler than usual, but I’m relieved to set my eyes on him and have the visible proof that he’s okay.

  “If you’ve come to finish the job, you’ve got less than four minutes before the nurse makes her rounds.” His voice sounds calm but hoarse, the latter likely due to having his stomach pumped.

  He doesn’t open his eyes, and his tone is deceptively calm. It makes me wonder how many other times he’s faced death.

  “I haven’t come to kill you.”

  His eyes flash open, and his penetrating stare lands on me. He takes in the flowers and my attire, and suspicion rolls off him in thick, stifling waves. “The flowers are nice, but I get the feeling you’re not here to cheer me up.”

  His right arm lies at his side beneath the blanket, which is pulled up to his elbow while his other, connected to his IV, lies unconcealed.

  Rounding Javoris’ hospital bed, I slide the flowers onto the small table beside his bed. Then I tip my head, gesturing to the available chair nearby. “Mind if I sit?”

  His eyes bore into me, as if he’s attempting to gain insight into my intentions. “Help yourself.”

  I grab the chair and move it closer to his bed. This permits me to have the door in my line of sight, and I lower myself into it, knowing the light near his bed will illuminate everything.

  Including my face.

  His brows knit together, and dark eyes sweep over my features, inspecting me thoroughly. Lips parting in surprise, his voice possesses a softer, gentler quality.

  “You’re back.”

  I nod, not the least bit surprised he recognizes me even with the changes I made.

  As if he’s privy to my thoughts, he murmurs, “It’s the eyes. I never forget a set of eyes. Especially yours.” His own survey me more closely, and a faint smile grazes his lips. “You look good, kid.”

  I lift my chin, gesturing to the monitors he’s hooked up to. “Wish I could say the same.”

  A mirthless chuckle spills from him. “It’s what happens when you get too close to the truth.” A ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth. “Good thing it takes more than corrupt D.C. politicians to keep me down.”

  He lowers his voice, eyeing me speculatively. A hint of worry bleeds into his features. “Never thought I’d see you back here again.”

  “It’s just temporary. Work brought me here.”

  My answer is vague, and by the flicker in his expression, it hasn’t gone undetected. But it’s safer this way—to keep him in the dark.

  This man took great risks to help me years ago. I can’t bear for him to know the real me and what I do outside my actual job.

  “I see.” He studies me for a beat, and concern laces his tone. “Just be careful. Sometimes, revisiting any part of the past does more damage than good.”

  Appearing to wrestle with hesitation, he finally adds, “Closure can be tricky. It’s not guaranteed.”

  “I know.” Though my tone is gentle, he must hear the steely undertone, recognizing I don’t want to broach the subject further.

  He means well, and I’m certain he’s become familiar with the struggles of those overcoming their past. Over the years, he’s worked hard to secure funding for young victims of sexual abuse and their rehabilitation.

  It came as no surprise when I looked into it and discovered he’s been continuously stonewalled by well-known, typically generous donors with deep pockets. Ones who make those frequent large donations elsewhere—where they know they’ll get something out of it.

  The elite of D.C. don’t want anything to do with someone who’s tried to bring awareness to just how dark and dirty their deeds are.

  He tips his head against the pillow, his gaze unwavering. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all this, it’s that a seemingly never-ending battle of good versus evil can be exhausting.” His voice drops lower. “The dark side to this city will corrupt you further if you’re not careful. And if anyone deserves more, it’s you.”

  I brace my shoulders, my spine stiffening. He doesn’t realize that this place corrupted me long ago. That it infected me, leeching its evil into my bones and blood.

  Now, bloodthirsty revenge is my life.

  Being back here affords me the opportunity to eliminate evil from my past. Even if I succeed, my job still won’t be done. Not until I guarantee no more bastards are exploiting and ruining the lives of children.

  I tip my head to the side. “I can’t divulge much of anything due to the nature of my work, but it has me interacting with an FBI agent.” Interest sparks in his gaze, and I continue. “Do you know of an Agent Landon Lattimer?”

  Javoris lets out a raspy chuckle. “Not sure how anyone can’t know of him. He’s a loose cannon, that one. But even with the countless reprimands he’s received, he’s a damn good agent.”

  Something indecipherable crosses his features, as if he’s determining whether to expound on his answer. Finally, he offers a curt nod. “He’s one of the good ones.”

  Huh. That’s a glowing recommendation coming from him. But it has me truly stumped now because it doesn’t explain Lattimer’s connection to the VP…

  Fucking tangled webs, that’s all this goddamn place is made of.

  I glance at the clock. “I need to go.” The next rounds are about to start, and I don’t want to be here when the nurse re
turns.

  Sure to avoid his IV, I place my gloved hand on the one he has resting atop the blanket. “Take care of yourself.”

  His smile is tired but laced with affection. “It’s kind of you to look out for a helpless old man.”

  I arch my eyebrows and rise from my seat. Returning the chair to its previous spot, I back away from his bed. “I’d hazard a guess that the so-called helpless old man wouldn’t be considered so helpless with what he has under those covers.”

  My hunch that he has a weapon there is confirmed when he flashes me a grin. “Never can be too careful.”

  I nod. “Get well soon, Javoris.”

  “I will.” He visibly hesitates. “I hope I don’t see you under circumstances like this again.”

  “Likewise.” I turn and head to the door. My gloved hand settles on the handle just as he calls out again.

  “I meant what I said. Don’t let this place corrupt you. You deserve more.”

  I don’t respond. I simply tug open the door and quietly pull it shut behind me.

  The truth is, he’s wrong. I don’t deserve more because I never did anything great or heroic. Nor do I have time to waste on fantasies of what my life could be.

  I ceased being a dreamer when they drained the color from my world and left me with the blandest shades of gray.

  They eviscerated the mind, body, and spirit of the girl who once thought her life had endless possibilities.

  Now, this life is all I have…and all I’ll ever have. Tarnished and rusted inside and out with nothing left to give, no one wants or will ever want someone like me.

  No one.

  Chapter 31

  Kennedy

  Week Three

  When my cell phone buzzes beside me on the table, it’s a number I recognize: Chad’s. I rush to answer, hoping he has an update for me.

  “I’ve got some good news and bad news.”

  I frown and ease back in my chair, glancing at Lattimer. “I’ll put you on speakerphone so Agent Lattimer can hear.” Once I press the button and set the phone down in front of me, Chad continues.