Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (75 page)

"Sometimes
there are forces and events too big, too powerful… that you cannot do anything
about them, no matter how evil or wrong they are and no matter how dedicated or
sincere you are or how much evidence you have. This is simply one of the hard
facts of life you have to face."

 — Former CIA
director William Colby (Re: 1979 Boy’s Town Child Abuse cover up)

~~~

Detective
Roman Bronowski

“André
Chevalier, as I live and breathe!” Roman said with a huge smile, pleased and
surprised to see the man who did so much toward improving his marriage.

Roman’s life had
changed completely after meeting him. Maybe it was due to the man, or maybe it
was just the moment. Like ripe fruit falling from the tree, Roman had been
ready for André’s words of wisdom. The Frenchman’s scolding reprimand had been
the exact thing he needed at the time.

Would he ever
forget what André had said? ‘Y
ou are a man who takes good care of your
possessions—such as the car—but you do not put the same time and effort into
your wife and your marriage! You service your car, as you wish it to run
smoothly—yet do you show such thoughtfulness, care and consideration of your
wife? Non!!’

The truth of
that statement had rocked Roman like a heavyweight boxer’s punch to the jaw.
André’s later observation,
“Your wife? She is learning to live her life and
to be happy without you.”
That had been the knockout blow.

“Thanks,
Janice,” Roman said to the blushing older woman who escorted the Frenchman to the
detective’s desk.

“
Merci, madame
,
for your most expert guidance,” André said, offering her a small regal bow. It
was an archaic gesture, yet it didn’t seem in the least out of place.

Bemused, Roman
watched their interaction. Chevalier’s words were polite, even ordinary, so why
did they somehow sound so…erotic?

“You’re very
welcome,” Janice said. With the pink in her cheeks, she seemed a much younger
woman. Awkward in her movements, as if uncertain what to do with her hands—or
her feet, for that matter, she turned on her heel and fled from the room.

Roman stood up,
walked around his desk and shook André’s hand. An experienced administrator, Janice
was level-headed, competent and capable. In all of the years they had worked
together, he’d never seen her blush.

“What on earth did
you do to Janice?” he asked.

“Me?” He
shrugged innocently. With an undercurrent of mischief in his dark gaze, he
adjusted one of his cuffs. “I did nothing. She was most gracious and agreeable.”

André
Chevalier is like catnip to women,
he realized.

Grinning, Roman wondered
what the man’s appeal really was. The lean, muscular physique of a fighter
didn’t hurt. Nor did the fact the Frenchman had that sexy accent and was
impeccably dressed at all times. Roman took in his crisp, perfect suit and
figured his tailor must be sought after.

André wasn’t
classically handsome, not with those scars. Yet the fine scars on his face from
acne or perhaps chicken pox when he was younger, didn’t detract. If anything, his
physical imperfection inexplicably added to his magnetic charm.

Roman decided it
was the man’s eyes. They were filled with confidence, humor and understanding.
As if he’d seen all manner of things and managed to keep a balance. He wouldn’t
hide from evil—he’d fight it, yet André still had an optimistic personality
that would always be grateful. As though he saw the good in everything.

André tilted his
head and looked Roman up and down with those dark, intelligent eyes, making no
attempt to hide his scrutiny.

“You seem very
well, my friend.” He cocked one dark eyebrow. “Does this mean Mrs. Bronowski is
also very well?”

“You bet your
sweet ass she is,” Roman said, still grinning. “I owe you, Chevalier. You sure
know what you’re talking about when it comes to relationships. I can’t thank
you enough for your help.”

The Frenchman
waved a hand in the air, dismissing the compliment. “It is nothing.”

When André
beamed a devilish grin at him, Bronowski blinked with surprise. Maybe that was
what women fell for, that striking, boyish smile. If Roman went for men, André
Chevalier would make the top of his list.

“I am most
happy,” André said. “Of a certainty, it pleases me to know Mrs. Bronowski now
enjoys the attention she deserves.”

Roman nodded,
his eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”

André reached
into his suit jacket and pulled out a large envelope. “I wished to visit
friends in Dallas, so I chose to hand-deliver the records your judge subpoenaed
concerning my client, Mr. Wilkinson. Take care,
mon ami,
for it is most
confidential.”

Roman nodded,
took the envelope and locked it in his desk drawer. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Chevalier.”

“
Je suis
désolé
, I am so sorry, but I cannot stay. Would you perhaps walk me to my
car? We can share our thoughts in the open air.”

“Sure.”

Roman guided
André back through the maze of office desks, down the stairs and out the front
entrance. They walked four blocks away, to where André had parked his metallic
silver, Audi R8 V10 Spyder rental car.

“Nice ride,”
Bronowski said, impressed.

André’s eyes lit with satisfaction. “
Eh bien.
It pleases me to
drive a well-made car.” He looked around discreetly, then pulled out a burner
phone from his pocket. Pretending as though he were merely shaking the
detective’s hand, he thrust the small device into Roman's palm, catching the
detective by surprise.

“What’s this?”

“Something you
must immediately hide.”

Roman slipped
the phone into the front pocket of his trousers.

André’s
expression was grim. “My friend, there are many eyes watching, many ears
listening. I wish to speak to you in confidence.” He hesitated then added,
“concerning the papers I gave you. May I call you tonight?” His gaze rested
meaningfully on the pocket where Roman had hidden his phone.

“Of course.”

On one level, André's
caution didn't surprise the detective. Roman knew there were prying eyes and
ears around the precinct. That much had been painfully apparent after the death
of Edgar Gates.

However, the
fact André was aware they were under close surveillance was unexpected and
unsettling. Bronowski's curiosity was piqued. He wondered how the man could be
privy to such knowledge.

“Expect my call
at 8 p.m. That is when you are in the shower—with the water running,
oui?”

“Er… yes.”
Whoa. Does he think my house is bugged?

“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.

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.