by Nikki Sex
“C’est bon. Leave the clothes,” he gestured to Roman’s suit, “elsewhere.”
At Roman’s surprised nod, André opened the car door, slid inside and shut the door behind him. He turned and waved. “Au revoir, mon ami.”
The detective raised a hand in farewell but said nothing. His attention was on the mysterious conversation he’d just had. He was also consciously aware of the presence of the phone André had given him. It was as though the burner were heated, scorching a hole in his pocket.
When he turned to walk back to the police station, he was surprised to find Detective Les Miller standing directly behind him, startling him with his proximity as well as his presence.
“What did that guy want?” Miller asked, gesturing with his head to indicate the direction André's car went.
“Jeez, Miller,” Roman gasped. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“I just came out to get something to drink. Who’s the fancy rich guy in the Spyder? What did he want?”
Roman frowned at his colleague, noticing his empty hands.
“What?” Miller said. “I haven’t bought anything yet. So who was that guy?”
Yeah right, Roman thought cynically. ‘Going out for a drink,’ my ass—and I play quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys. Well, now I know one guy I can't trust. But who does he answer to?
“Remember the subpoena Judge Hooper ordered a few weeks ago?” Roman replied calmly, masking his unease. “The one on Grant Wilkinson? That was Wilkinson’s therapist. He brought a copy of his client’s confidential files to the precinct. I was just walking him back to his car.”
“Why bother?”
“The guy is amazing,” Roman said, going with the truth. “He does couples counseling for a living. When I originally checked him out a few months ago, he gave me advice about my wife. His suggestions were right on target, they really helped my marriage. Besides, the guy’s a kick. He’s French as all get out, boy does it show.”
Miller’s mouth sets into a disgruntled frown. “I thought we collared Alex Wilkinson for the Chester Wilkinson murder.”
“We did. This information was from before that, back when we thought Wilkinson’s oldest son had committed the crime.”
The two men walked back to the police station together. Roman carefully remained nonchalant and chatty, but a chill of concern ran up his spine, giving him goosebumps.
Miller had followed him. Was he an informant reporting back to Edgar’s killer? Had he destroyed the evidence on Chester Wilkinson’s hard drive?
For one wild moment Roman seriously considered going home, opening his safe and destroying the evidence he’d hidden away.
This was a dangerous game. Roman was neck-deep in a web of murder, paid assassins, pedophilia and God only knew what else. He had to be careful. Everyone was suspect, from the highest up the food chain to the janitorial staff.
No one at his station could be trusted.
Chapter 43.
Renata: “What do the super-rich do for fun?
André: “Il est regrettable, no? For they do whatever they wish.”
~~~
Detective Roman Bronowski
As directed, Roman walked naked into his ensuite carrying the burner phone. He turned on the water and waited, feeling incredibly sheepish, like an undercover spy. He grimaced, glancing down at his naked body. An uncovered spy more like, he thought.
The phone rang at 8 p.m. exactly.
“Detective?”
“I’m here, André,” Roman said. “No clothes, shower on as instructed. What can I do for you?”
“Bon, bon, très bon, mon ami. I have spoken at length with Grant Wilkinson. I am aware of the graphic photos sent to many, the death of Edgar Gates, the missing evidence on the hard drive and the abuse.”
Roman had no reply to this surprising news.
“My friend, we are both well aware this is, as they say, 'the tip of the iceberg.' We are not so naive to accept these crimes will not continue. There is more, much more to be discovered.”
“I agree,” Roman said.
“Do you plan to pursue this case?”
“Of course! Two men have been killed, Edgar Gates and Chester Wilkinson. I couldn’t care less about Wilkinson, but Edgar was a good cop and he was just a kid. A heroic, courageous kid whose heart was in the right place. He was the one who sent Grant Wilkinson and the others those photos.”
“Oh yes?” he asked, his voice raised with interest.
“Absolutely. That was exactly the kind of thing he would’ve done. I interviewed his mom. At sixteen, she was raped on the way home from her part time job, poor girl. Edgar was the result. She reported it to the police but they never found her assailant.”
“Merde! Pauvre femme!”
“Shit is right. Until his murder, Edgar haunted the criminal database, searching for his father’s DNA. His mom believes her son joined the police force because of an inborn need to fight for justice. When I met him, I was going after Wilkinson hell-bent on a conviction. Edgar set me straight about what was really going on. He recognized a photo of Grant Wilkinson being abused by his asshole father and pointed it out to me.”
“Ah! Eh, bien, I begin to understand.”
“Makes sense, right? Edgar being Edgar would’ve done something about it. He loved his mom but she never found her rapist. He would’ve felt it was his duty to provide information to victims of a similar crime.”
A long, vociferous string of passionate French machine-gunned out of André’s mouth. Roman didn’t understand a word until André growled, “Mon Dieu! Monsieur Gates, he was a good man, a hero! Oui, oui! But of course, it is up to us to avenge him!”
Roman smiled, but it wasn’t a very nice smile. There was a touch of menace, tempered steel and hatred in that determined twist of his lips. “Avenge him,” he growled. “Yes, that’s the plan.”
Roman knew very well that he owed his life to Edgar Gates. If Edgar hadn’t delivered those pictures to the victims, Grant Wilkinson would never have shown them to Roman. If Roman hadn’t seen those photos, he wouldn’t have put two and two together.
If he had given the evidence to the sexual crimes unit, Roman would’ve been signing his own death warrant.
There but by the grace of God, go I, he thought.
“Très bon.” André paused. “When I ask if you will pursue the case, I speak of the missing evidence and the abuse of children.”
Roman said nothing. The silence lengthened.
André said, “There is reason to believe your phones are being tapped, the same with your home and your workplace. Those that commit such vile crimes against children, they are dangerous men. Men, you perceive, who will do anything to protect their secrets.”
“Yeah, I figured that out myself. I knew the station wasn't safe, but I hadn’t considered my home or personal effects were compromised. I’d like to take those sons of bitches down.”
“Cést bien! Yet, the dedication in your heart, or the proof you may have—these do not matter. Non! The group you fight against is too powerful! What they do not gain through financial means, they acquire through blackmail, violence or intimidation. They have endless resources to plant evidence or, as with monsieur Gates, to have people killed.”
“What are you saying André? What do you want?”
“My friend, I can help you. Not myself, you comprehend—but I know people. I do not believe that all evidence was destroyed. In fact, most sincerely, I hope you have the proof of these crimes in your possession.”
Uncertain, Roman hesitated for a long moment. “Hypothetically, what would you do with it, if I did have this evidence you’re talking about?”
“Ah,” André breathed in a soft sigh. Then he was silent for a long moment, as if he was coming to a decision. “I knew a man once,” his melodic accent and velvet voice murmured compellingly.
When Chevalier paused this time, the sound of running water from Roman’s shower suddenly muted. It was as if the story carried
weight enough to change the quality of the distance and space between them.
Roman felt as if he was in the same room with André Chevalier. The Frenchman had his undivided attention.
“This man did not know his father, but oh how he adored his mother! She was everything to him, the most beautiful woman in the world! Nothing could make her despair, for she had a sense of humor, vous comprenez. She was clever and understood people like no other. While she had very little, she was always grateful and felt herself to be blessed. His mother was all that was kind, good and loving, all the best and most vital traits of the fairer sex.”
André paused. The phone remained silent for a long time. Roman waited, barely breathing. He could picture the man clearly, as if he were with him as weaved his words around him.
Was the Frenchman confiding in him? Is that what this was?
André cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was flat, emotionless. “When this man’s mother died young, after a long illness, he was… taken by a group such as the one we both speak of.”
Fucking hell. Roman’s face tightened, he stopped breathing altogether. He was glad he didn’t have to say anything. He didn’t think he had the ability to speak a single word.
“This man, of course, was only a boy at the time. He was young enough he did not fully understand. This was a mercy, you comprehend.
“The boy was well-read, educated and intelligent. Through stories, loving attention and many philosophic conversations, his mother had generously passed to him all that she knew. She also raised him to have faith in the bon Dieu.
“It was his faith, I think, that saved him, for the boy could not find it in his heart to become embittered or isolated. Foolishly, perhaps, he sought to understand others, as well as himself. Such was his mother’s way. It was not only justice that I—that he longed for, you see. It was… redemption.”
André breathed out as if he would speak further, but then remained silent.
I? Roman thought. Jesus, was the man telling his own story?
Of course, that had to be the case. Roman wondered if André had intended to be as transparent as he was. Chevalier was no idiot. He was not a man to speak of anything without purpose.
The truth of that moved him.
Roman felt honored by his trust.
André cleared his throat. “This man who I speak of assembled a group of like-minded people who do what is needed to achieve justice. There are journalists, investigators and those in law enforcement. They are most careful, gifted people who will take this burden from you, my friend. If you can find it in your heart to trust me, mon ami, I vow we will find a way to safely expose these powerful men.”
There was another long pause in the conversation, yet this silence was different. Roman knew it was his turn to speak.
“You have no idea how sincerely I appreciate you taking this problem out of my hands, André,” Roman replied as relief rushed through him.
“C'est vrais?” André’s voice was expectant, joyful. “This is true?”
“Oh yes, by God. Thank you for telling me the story… of your friend,” Roman said. “But why me? How did you know… what made you think you could trust me?”
“Pardonnez-moi,” he said. “I commissioned an investigation into your affairs.”
“What?”
“I am a most careful man, my friend, particularly in matters such as this. Caution prevents mistakes, no? As you perceive the dangers in this line of inquiry, I trust you appreciate my position. I had to be sure I could confide in you.”
“What did the report say?”
“As you well know. You are a family man, a good husband, a good father. Most importantly, there was no evidence of sin for which you could be blackmailed or bribed. The summary of this investigation stated, and I quote, ‘Detective Roman Bronowski is an honest cop.’”
Roman threw back his head and laughed.
As an epitaph for his life so far, it wasn’t half bad.
“Tell me where to meet you—anytime, anywhere. You are correct, I have a full copy of everything from that hard drive. It’s been sitting in my safe like unexploded ordinance, threatening everyone and everything I hold dear. I’d love to pass this deadly menace on to someone else. André Chevalier, I’d like nothing better than to give it to you.”
The sound of the Frenchman’s lighthearted laughter made Roman smile.
Chapter 44.
“We are asking people to understand that slavery still exists today; in fact, according to a recent New York Times article, if you count the number of women and children in bonded labor, domestic slavery or sexual slavery today, there are more slaves in the world than at any other time in history.”
— Charlotte Bunch
~~~
Gabriela Lopez
Meanwhile, in a mansion in Georgetown, Washington D.C.
Nine-year old Sammy lay naked on his side. Propped up on one elbow, he regarded his friend with a cheeky smile and big blue eyes. His friend, eleven-year old Susie, grinned back at him. She was also propped on one elbow and naked, too.
The wrinkled old guy had fallen fast asleep between them.
Now they could have time to themselves.
The man liked to be called ‘daddy.’ Daddy had a flabby, round chest and belly, pole thin legs, and white, wispy hair.
When Susie and Sammy had first seen daddy without his clothes on, they both tried very hard not to laugh. He looked so funny! His skin was limp and there was lots of it, kind of like an elephant that had too much skin.
Daddy grunted and rolled onto his side, toward Susie. He immediately began to snuffle, then wheeze, then snore really loud.
Wide-eyed, the children both gasped with surprise and delight.
Sammy snickered, also very loud. Too loud.
Oh, no, Susie thought. Eyes shining, she put her finger to her lips in a ‘Shh, quiet!’ gesture.
Her friend grinned at her, clearly trying really hard not to laugh. A bubble of giddy excitement tore through Susie. Now she fought not to giggle hysterically.
Susie knew everything they did was being recorded and watched on video. If she and Sammy upset their paying customer, they’d get into bad trouble.
Suddenly, daddy made a particularly strident sound, a cross between a burp and a snort. It was too much! Quickly slapping their hands over their mouths to muffle any noise, both children frantically tried not to burst out laughing. If daddy farted now, they’d both be toast!
She widened her eyes with a desperate, meaningful look at Sammy.
He nodded.
Quietly, oh-so quietly, they both slipped out of bed, careful not to jar the mattress of the big bed.
As part of daddy’s special game, they’d been dressed in school uniforms. Now their clothes lay heaped on the floor at the end of the bed, but neither child bothered to put their outfits back on.
Susie wore clothes only when she wasn’t working, but she was used to it. Being stark-naked didn’t bother her anymore, unless it was cold. But in the various playrooms of the Big House, it was never cold.
Adults may find it difficult to understand, but kids are resilient and adaptable. They block out the negative. Naturally cheerful, children find joy in even the littlest things. For children in the Big House, sexual abuse was simply a part of their everyday life.
Pure.
Innocent.
Trusting.
Easily manipulated.
It would be years later, as teenagers and adults, when they would pay the price for their childhood. Then they would blame themselves, suffering from self-loathing, disgust, shame, guilt, trust issues and hours of therapy—if they were lucky.
If they were brave enough to seek help.
Living in the moment—as children do, they didn’t give it a thought. This was their life, and they were accustomed to it. To their eyes the Big House wasn’t dismal, disgusting, or difficult. It simply was what it was. There were rules, tasks and homework to do before they could pla
y.
Above all, they were children.
Thus, if a client fell asleep in a playroom—like today—the children became giggly as a matter of course. They simply couldn’t help it. How could they be expected to remain good and quiet and obedient when daddy had fallen asleep?
In the Big House, there was very much a ‘them’ vs. ‘us’ mentality. It wasn’t that the grownups were mean, bossy, or scary, although many times they were. The children simply had an unspoken code, a quiet undercurrent to silently band together against them.
This was a natural progression, the pull within every child to resist adult constraints. Or perhaps it was more that the kids recognized their attraction to one another, toward their own lively ‘tribe.’
Like all children, Sammy and Susie were apt to break loose into mad, over-spirited horseplay, given the opportunity. Get a few kids together without adult supervision and they gloriously ignite, kind of like spontaneous combustion.
Whoosh!
Kids become irrepressible. Playful. Untroubled.
Hilariously diverted by nothing at all.
In those few moments when their wild, young spirits were not strictly contained, the children naturally broke free.
Susie grabbed the tiny bag of candy that rested on the bedside table. Candy was what they received as a reward for doing a good job. When daddy visited it was also part of their play. He liked to pretend to ‘trick them’ into giving him cuddles with candy.
Daddy was really nice because he knew Susie and Sammy, so he always brought the candies they liked best.
Old guys were easy.
They mainly wanted hugs. That was OK. Who wouldn’t want a hug?
Special treats in hand, grinning as if they were both off to a day at the beach, the children quietly hop-skipped into the bathroom that was attached to the huge bedroom.
There they could talk and giggle without waking daddy up.
“Hey, how are you?” Susie whispered excitedly, bouncing with happiness and popping a gummy snake into her mouth. “I missed you!” She opened the bag and offered her friend his choice.
“I’m much better,” Sammy said, selecting a gummy bear. “I was sick.”
