The Silencer

by RC Boldt

  The small clock on the wall of the furnished apartment I’m renting chimes eleven times, reminding me of my task this evening. I head off to change my clothes, my mind already cycling through what needs to be done tonight.

  Once I finish, there’ll be one less monster roaming this earth.

  One less pedophile preying on the innocent.

  Chapter 27

  Agent Landon Lattimer

  “Landon! I’m so happy to see you, honey.”

  Mom comes rushing out from the kitchen to greet me as soon as I step inside her house. She wraps her arms around me tight as if she hasn’t seen me in years rather than a few days. I know it’s because she constantly worries about me even though I tell her all the time that I’m the safe one; it’s the nasty assholes out there hurting kids who have to worry.

  I hug her back and kiss the top of her head that reaches my chest. She leans back and peers up at me with a smile. Faint lines fan out from the corners of her eyes, and she still has dark blond hair. She refuses to “go gray naturally.”

  “Hair dye was invented for a reason,” she always says. I wouldn’t care one bit if every hair on her head were gray. She’d still be beautiful to me.

  “Did you have a good day at work?”

  I wince and drag a hand along my jaw. “It was…interesting.”

  She waves me toward the kitchen with a little laugh. “I can’t wait to hear about it. How about you fill me in while you work on these lights?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I follow her, and the aroma of seafood gumbo taunts me. “Mmm, does that smell good.” Leaning over the pot on the stove, I lift the lid and toy with the idea of sneaking a spoonful of a taste, but she swats my arm.

  “Ah-ah. Not yet, mister.” She flashes me a stern look, but it’s all for show. My mother’s a softie through and through. “That’s your reward for installing my new lights.”

  Damn. I look longingly at the gumbo before replacing the lid on the pot. Then I get to work on installing her new light fixtures over the kitchen island.

  “Where’s Damon?” I ask from the top of the ladder as I tackle screwing in the base of the first pendulum light.

  “Oh, he’ll be here shortly. After he finishes up at work.”

  I dart a curious glance her way. “He has a job?”

  “He sure does.” She smiles proudly. “He just started this week, bagging groceries at the Good Eats store down the road.”

  I nod and finish up before descending the ladder to start on the second light. “That’s great.”

  Damon’s seventeen years old, and his home life leaves a lot to be desired. Mom’s worked in the Human Resources department of the local community college around the corner from the Boys and Girls Club for ages, which is how she and Damon crossed paths.

  She spotted him roaming the streets one school day, and being the woman she is, she marched right over to him and introduced herself.

  That’s the thing about Mom. She may have lived here for a few decades—ever since Dad’s job moved us up here from Decatur—but she never fully lost her old-school Southern ways even though her accent has mostly faded.

  Community and faith are, and always have been, a big deal for her. When Mom gets it in her head that she’s adopting a seemingly unruly teenager who needs a stable parental figure, there’s no stopping her. She’ll practically smother them with love and caring and drag them with her to church, where she’ll have others fawning over and mothering them.

  There’ve been a few other kids who’ve come and gone over the years. Zena, a sixteen-year-old whose parents kicked her out when she discovered she was pregnant. She ended up losing the baby, but Mom had taken her in and helped her get her life back on track. These days, she’s living in Norfolk, engaged to an enlisted Navy guy stationed there, and Mom gets a Christmas card from her every year.

  Collin’s family had bullied him emotionally and physically after he’d come out to them. Mom discovered him when he’d been sneaking into their main office to use the restroom to clean up. She brought him back home and gave him the spare bedroom and told him he had to continue going to school or get a job in order to stay with her, and he had to at least attend church with her once.

  The poor kid expected the worst, no doubt, but my mom looped her arm through his, and the three of us walked into church together. We knew Collin anticipated harsh judgment, especially with one side of his head shaved and the top of his hair dyed bright purple. But that’s the thing about finding the right community and church. As Mom always says, true followers don’t judge others; they welcome and accept everyone.

  Collin ended up quietly attending with Mom from there on out, eventually joining the church band as one of their lead singers. Nowadays, Collin owns a tattoo and piercing shop downtown that’s garnered a great reputation over the years. He still sings at church on Sundays, and you can bet Mom’s in the front row like a proud mother.

  Even though Mom would never admit to having favorites, I think she might hold a smidge of favoritism for Ian. He’d been living on the streets after his addict parents had kicked him out for refusing to support their drug habit. He’d been desperate and attempted to steal Mom’s wallet from her purse one day when she was walking up the sidewalk to our house.

  The way she tells it, she’d dragged him by his ear, reprimanding him the entire time, and made him apologize and promise to never do it again. Then she fed him and sat him down to offer him a place to stay.

  Ian had stuck around the longest. Once he’d finished high school, working as a cook in one of the local diners, he’d moved up to a nicer restaurant until he’d saved enough for a down payment on his own restaurant.

  Mom had insisted on supporting him with what she called “a small donation” of capital, and I remember when she’d announced it at dinner one night. I thought Ian was about to burst into tears.

  He’s a good guy who owns a hell of a place these days, and he even named his restaurant after Mom.

  There was a gap for a while when I teased her that the well had run dry, but four months ago, Damon turned up. He’s a good kid who tries to talk a big game, but underneath it all, he just wants to be loved and respected.

  Mom says he grumbles every Sunday morning about having to go to church, but even though she doesn’t pressure him, he dresses in his best clothes and goes with her, like clockwork.

  “So…tell me about this interesting day of yours.”

  I let out a small groan and remove the old light fixture. “I’ve been assigned to an investigation and paired up with someone else.”

  “Oh.”

  That’s all she says, but it speaks volumes. If anyone knows me, it’s this woman. I’ve vented to her many times—leaving out details I’m not able to disclose, of course—about my work.

  Successes and failures. The times I’ve put away a motherfucking child predator and when I’ve been too late for the fuckers who’ve gone too far with their “toys” and abused the kids to death. She’s heard it all, and she always tells me the same thing.

  “Landon, by helping these children, you’re doing God’s work. Never forget that, honey. Especially when evil gets in the way.”

  “And who have you been paired up with?”

  Concentrating on tightening the screws in the new light, I answer, “Dr. Kennedy Alexandre. A forensic anthropologist.”

  Silence greets my words, and I hold the light in place, glancing down at Mom. Shit. She has that look in her eyes that says, Oh, a woman! Now you’ll give me grandbabies.

  “And is this Dr. Alexandre a nice woman?” She tries to stifle the excitement in her voice, but her eyes sparkle with that hope I’ll end up married and live in a house with the white picket fence.

  I flash her a stern look before focusing on tightening the rest of the screws. “Mom. Don’t go there. It’s just work.” Bleak memories edge their way in. “Tried that already, and we both know how it turned out.”

  She heaves out a disappointed sigh. “But, Landon, that
was a long time ago.” When I shoot her another look, she sighs again. “I just want to see you happy, sweetie.”

  “I am happy.” And it’s true. I’m happiest when I’m putting away assholes who deserve to rot in prison for the crimes they committed.

  I’m just not sure I’m cut out for the happily-ever-after shit Mom wants for me. When you get burned badly enough, you learn pretty damn quickly not to go near the fire again.

  “Okay.” Disappointment laces her tone in that single word but quickly morphs to be defensive when she continues. “Tell me more about this woman you’re working with. I hope she’s easier to work with than your other partners.”

  Mom’s always in my corner even though she recognizes how much of a hard-ass I am when it comes to partners.

  “Easier to work with…” I climb down the ladder and rest an arm on one of the rungs. “I’m not sure about that just yet. She’s brilliant, but she’s used to working alone, so…”

  Mom nods. “Which means she’s a lot like you when it comes to partners.”

  A small laugh escapes me. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mom tips her head to the side. “So, what exactly will she be doing on this investigation?”

  “She’s looking at the evidence to determine whether the accused individual committed the abuse of the minor. She studies vein patterns in hands and other identifying marks to prove the identity of the abuser.

  “She has an eighty-seven percent plea reversal rate when she submits evidence at trial, which is pretty impressive.”

  Mom smiles gently. “It sounds like she’s doing God’s work, too.”

  “Guess you could say that.” I drop a kiss on her cheek. “Now, let me test these lights out to make sure they’re in workin’ order. Then I’ll clean up and get some of that gumbo as a reward.”

  Once I finish, put the screwdriver and ladder away, and wash up, Mom has a piping hot bowl of gumbo waiting for me at the table.

  Just as I lift a spoonful of her homemade goodness to my mouth, she uses that It’s just an innocent question tone of hers. Of course, I knew it was only a matter of time, and frankly, I’m surprised she waited this long to ask.

  “Is Dr. Alexandre married?”

  Sliding her a side-eye, I shake my head. “Don’t go there, Mom.”

  She sighs as if I’ve just told her I was becoming a vegan. “You can’t blame a mother for asking.”

  Chapter 28

  Kennedy

  Justice can be fickle to those who underestimate it.

  I see that justice is served, but I don’t mean letting them get three meals a day, access to a library, a gym, and a bed for decades on end.

  That doesn’t normally happen, though, because these pedophiles quickly learn that when other prisoners discover you raped and brutalized young kids, they’ll often deal with you themselves.

  And it’s never pretty.

  This is why most of them commit suicide shortly thereafter. For them, it’s a coward’s way out, especially after they flaunt their actions in photos or videos or even brag to their fucking friends.

  Catherine Lefholtz is, for all intents and purposes, a servant of D.C., yet she lives in the lap of luxury. Her income has gone from five digits to the upper six digits in the span of four years.

  How would a person amass that kind of wealth as a secretary for D.C.’s Attorney General?

  Simple. All you have to do is sell your soul.

  And violate children in the most abhorrent way.

  Yes…Catherine facilitates bringing minors to the AG, much like a pimp would handle prostitutes. Except these young kids are aspiring to have a future in politics and believe their unpaid internship will consist of learning the ins and outs of a government position. They don’t know what they’re getting into until it’s far too late.

  She enjoys drugging them first and then restraining them for AG Millingham. Tonight, however, she’s alone in her palatial home, enjoying a relaxing soak in her enormous tub. A glass of wine sits off to the side while classical music pumps loudly through the mounted speakers.

  Catherine is the epitome of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Attractive and sincere in appearance, she’s soft-spoken and comes off as motherly.

  But it’s all a ploy. Beneath the disguise is a vile creature unfit to roam this earth with decent humans.

  Her eyes are closed, head tilted back against a cushion at the side of the tub while her mouth is parted in her relaxed slumber. She makes it far too easy because she doesn’t hear my approach.

  This is the embodiment of evil. Sleeping comfortably with no guilt—no conscience eating away at her for her misdeeds. These people go on as if they’ve done nothing wrong. As if they haven’t destroyed the countless lives of others.

  Anger pulses through my veins as bloodthirsty vengeance urges me forward. My gloved hands grip her jaw, and my needle is embedded in her gums by the time she opens her eyes. Shock has the whites overpowering her pupils and irises.

  I’ve nearly expelled the entire contents of the syringe when her mouth parts wider, but I shush before singing to her in a whisper. “Hush, little monster, don’t you cry. I’m gonna make sure you will die.”

  When I retract the needle, her body goes rigid. “That’s right,” I murmur softly. “Your organs are experiencing paralysis. You’ll drown in your own bathtub.”

  It’s an obvious struggle for her to move her lips, forming one word that ekes out in a shaky breath. “Why?”

  “For all the kids you’ve exploited and allowed to be abused.”

  Her facial muscles go rigid from the poison, then I ever so gently push one gloved hand on top of her head. She sinks into the bathwater, eyes wide open, and satisfaction fills me to the brim that I’m the last face she’ll see standing over her.

  I’m getting closer to my personal endgame, saving the very best for last because I want to savor that one.

  I anticipate the moment he begs for me to spare his life. When he cries out to a god who won’t hear him.

  When he looks into my eyes and sees that there’s no fucking chance of mercy.

  When he sees that my eyes are as cold and dead as he made me long ago.

  LOCAL NEWS

  “It’s been reported that Catherine Lefholtz, longtime secretary to Attorney General Millingham, has passed away at the age of fifty-seven. Sources say that she was found unresponsive in her bathtub.

  “Attorney General Millingham offered a brief statement, citing Lefholtz’s ‘profound dedication to the people of D.C.’

  “From all of us at Channel 3, our thoughts and prayers go out to Catherine’s family and friends and to Attorney General Millingham, as we know he’s certainly feeling a great sense of loss…”

  BREAKING NEWS

  LOCAL NEWS STATION

  “We’ve just gotten word of a developing story out of our home city of Washington, D.C.

  “An anonymous source shared with us that a minor, whose name will not be disclosed to protect their identity, has brought forth accusations against Mayor Paulson. The minor in question claims that Mayor Paulson sexually abused her, filmed the act, and uploaded the video online.

  “Our source informed us that one of D.C.’s most well-known attorneys, Chad Denowitz, is representing the alleged victim pro bono.

  “Former FBI Director Javoris Gasden, who has been very outspoken in his claims of corrupt individuals mingling within political circles of D.C. and not hesitant in his disapproval of Mayor Paulson, was spotted approaching La Patisserie café this morning. We caught up with him and asked if he would like to comment. He stated,

  ‘Unfortunately, I put more weight in the allegations against the mayor than the idea of the man actually being innocent.

  There’s a tendency for many of the upper elite and members of the political circus here in the city to have certain perverse sexual preferences that veer into the illegal realm and include the abuse of minors.

  Contrary to what people want to believe, it isn’t a conspiracy th
eory.’

  “Be sure to stay tuned as we’ll keep you updated on this story as it progresses.

  “In other local news, this year’s Community Cares Gala will be held on Saturday. The annual event raises funds and awareness to support educational and vocational programs for teens of low-income families…”

  Chapter 29

  Agent Landon Lattimer

  The end of week one

  “So, you really have an eighty-seven percent plea revers—”

  “Yes.” She doesn’t glance away from her study of the paused image on the large screen.

  I’ve never had trouble focusing before, but this woman makes it a challenge. The tiny crease she gets between her brows and the way she studies these still-shot frames, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip while she’s deep in thought, have me fucking fascinated.

  For Christ’s sake, I shouldn’t be. But she makes it hard not to when she murmurs under her breath—which I’m pretty damn certain she doesn’t realize she does—when she discovers a new detail.

  “Bingo,” she whispers to herself, and I can’t help the smile that forms on my face.

  “What’d you find?”

  She blinks at me as if she’d been caught in the throes of a trance. There’s the slightest hesitance before she rises from her chair and heads to the projection screen.

  “This right here.” She points at the man’s hand, near his left index finger.

  His hand clenches the child’s hip so violently, the skin over his knuckles draws tight. And fuck it all if I don’t wish we knew exactly who it was because I’d like to introduce my fists to that fucker’s face.