by Nikki Sex
Neither child had any idea of those that had saved them. They didn’t know about the courage and murder of Edgar Gates; Grant Wilkinson’s relentless sense of personal responsibility; Detective Roman Bronowski’s desire to avenge his colleague; nor André Chevalier’s passionate drive for justice—but that was just as well.
Thanks to the dogged persistence of an unknown few, Gabriela and Noah were free to be children.
Adult concerns were for adults, which was exactly as it should be.
Leaning their heads back in the warm, comfortable van, Gabriela and Noah closed their eyes. They were utterly worn out after an exciting day of healthy, wholesome fun.
Images of Disney characters, smiling and laughing children, ice cream, fun rides and the love of their families danced round and round in their thoughts as if on cheerfully painted carousels.
This time, when they fell asleep, they both had very happy dreams.
Epilogue
“Nothing is ever settled until it is settled right.”
— Rudyard Kipling
~~~
Detective Roman Bronowski
The day was cool, mostly cloudy, with the threat of showers and a thunderstorm forecasted for later. Roman had a raincoat over the usual suit he wore to work.
After leaving the police station early, he took his time driving to Restland Cemetery. His mind was preoccupied, his heart full. How could he feel so happy, so satisfied, and yet so melancholy and sad at the same time?
Restland was an expensive place to bury a loved one. Despite financial restrictions, Celia Gates and her husband had chosen to bear the cost. They wanted their son Edgar buried in the beautiful, well-cared for cemetery, where they could visit regularly.
Roman had anonymously donated a thousand dollars toward Edgar’s burial expenses. He felt it was the least he could do for the young man, after all Edgar had done for him.
Parking his car, Roman grabbed the bottle of the finest Kentucky Bourbon and began the long walk to Edgar’s grave. He knew exactly where to go; he’d been there many times before, although not recently.
This visit would be different.
While walking along the trail, much to his surprise, he came upon Celia Gates and André Chevalier strolling toward him. Obviously, they’d been visiting her son’s grave. Roman didn’t even know André was in Dallas, nor was he aware the Frenchman knew Edgar’s mom.
Roman thought back to the spy-like conversation he had with André—it now seemed a lifetime ago. He’d felt utterly foolish talking on the phone while in his bathroom with the shower running to prevent being overheard.
Later, after the pedophile ring had been destroyed, he discovered André hadn't been paranoid. Roman’s house had been bugged. Les Miller, the cop he’d been suspicious of, had since lost his badge and was under investigation.
André’s passionate statement from that time came back to him, ‘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 had agreed completely. He’d been consumed with a burning desire to avenge Edgar’s death. It was the least he could do. If not for Edgar’s actions starting a chain of events that allowed Roman to figure out what was going on, Roman would’ve been murdered, as well.
Now, here was André Chevalier with Edgar’s mom, visiting her son’s grave. There was a story there somewhere, Roman felt certain of it.
He wondered if he’d ever get to hear it.
“Detective Roman Bronowski, it is a great pleasure to see you, mon ami,” André said with a welcoming smile. “You are acquainted with Mrs. Celia Gates, no?”
“Yes, of course,” Roman said, nodding toward her. “I’m very pleased to see you again.”
Looking sweet and young, even after having four children, Celia Gates would still have her ID checked at a bar. There was a compelling hint of vulnerability about her, something in her smooth skin, kind face and big, dark eyes that made a man want to protect her.
It was all camouflage, of course. There was a stubborn, determined powerhouse hiding beneath her seemingly defenseless exterior. The woman had been volunteering as advocate at a local rape crisis center for years.
She was the source, the inspiration. It was her son’s love for this woman as well as the principles she stirred during his upbringing that led Edgar to discover his courageous heart. She was the spark that initiated his lifelong mission, his search for justice—however short that life was.
“You have brought whisky?” André asked.
Roman lifted the bottle. “For Edgar.”
“Bravo!” One dark brow arched, his eyes filled with meaning. “I comprehend perfectly.”
Alcohol was a traditional form of celebration. This fact hinted to André that Roman had good news, which he did. While dying to ask him about it, André wouldn’t—not with Edgar’s mom nearby.
The Frenchman was one person who respected the fact there was a time and place for everything.
Celia Gates gestured toward the bottle of bourbon. “Really?” She smiled, arching a brow, pleased yet confused. “You brought that for Edgar?”
Roman shrugged. He felt unable to explain, but he took a shot at it anyway. “Mrs. Gates, your son was an inspiration, I hope you know that. We all owe him so much.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, but she appeared as though she might cry.
Roman turned toward André, purposely giving Celia a moment to collect herself. “If you’re available, I’d love you to meet my family. Any chance you can come over for dinner tonight or tomorrow? Or are you leaving town?”
“Mais oui, but of course. It would be a great honor. I am available this evening.”
“Seven o’clock all right for you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll text you my address,” Roman said with a smile. It was late notice for Angela, but his wife wouldn’t mind. In fact, she’d be delighted. He’d spoken to her of the astute, eccentric Frenchman who he credited for changes that improved their marriage.
Anxious to leave, Roman said his goodbyes and continued walking toward Edgar’s grave. No one else was around, which suited him perfectly.
Stopping before his colleague's gravestone, Roman stared at the small memorial. Edgar’s mom and stepdad were not wealthy and having their son buried here would've cost a fortune. This was probably the cheapest headstone available.
“Hey kid,” Roman began, while opening the bottle of bourbon. “So, I wanted you to be the first to know. Today, I arrested your asshole father. It seems he’d raped more than once. Your DNA finally hit a match. It took a while to track the cocksucker down, but he’s done and dusted now. He won’t be hurting any more women, ever again, thanks to you. Bail denied—he’s going down.”
“So, here’s to you, kid.” He took a swig from the bottle, raised it in a salute and tipped half of it over Edgar’s grave.
“I’ll talk to your mom about it tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’ll be sensitive—not that she can’t take it. She’s quite a woman, soft and sweet on the outside, but there’s tempered steel underneath.”
The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, bearing down on him. Roman paused to take off his raincoat.
“So… um, I guess you know all about the huge pedophile scandal. You’re the one who started the ball rolling, after all.” He put the bottle down on the lawn, then shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of spilled the beans—off the record, of course. I told that prize winning NY Times journalist about how you sent those pictures to the victims, how that started a domino effect and how you were killed for it. None of this would've happened, if not for you. Think about all of the people you saved that were being abused, not to mention the justice served for the ones who couldn't be saved. That's what you stood for.”
He cleared his throat. “It was behind your ultimate sacrifice. I think by the time that reporter gets the evidence together; it’ll be quite a testimonial.
"
Roman looked around the quiet cemetery. “Things might get a little noisy around here when you’re exposed as a courageous, whistle-blowing hero. The city will probably buy you a huge new gravestone. Maybe your family will make some money from telling your story, who knows? So, have another drink to celebrate.”
Roman took another large swig, pleased to find the alcoholic burn momentarily cleared the growing thickness in his throat. He coughed, then tipped the rest of the bottle over the grave.
His brows drew down in concentration. “What else? Oh, yeah, you’ll love this, Edgar,” Roman said with a short laugh. “You know ex-senator Whitfield’s brother, that well known evangelical minister with his own TV show? That asshole used his reputation and connections to traffic children. Then, throughout police interrogation, he acted as though he was a servant of God.” The detective snorted. “More like on the payroll of the devil himself.”
His expression grim, Roman frowned. “Anyway, the bastard ratted his older brother out—off shore accounts, business records—the works. He gave us details of the pedophile ring in exchange for lighter sentencing, not that it’s done him any good. The self-righteous douche is in critical condition after getting shanked in jail.”
Shuffling his feet, he pursed his lips. “We now know the identity of the man who shot you, too. The ex-senator gave him up in a plea bargain.” Roman shook his head. “Don’t worry, Robert Whitfield hired an assassin to kill a cop. The only way that son of a bitch is getting out of jail is in a pine box.”
He somberly regarded Edgar’s gravestone.
“Speaking of your contract killer, Europol has him on their most wanted list. He’s apparently in Kazakhstan, but I don’t imagine he’s happy there.” He grinned. “We managed to freeze his bank accounts before he took off. I wish I could’ve arrested him for you, but the murdering piece of shit will never be allowed back on US soil. Eventually, he’ll be caught.”
The wind picked up, a cloud covered the sun. Roman rocked back on his heels and gazed up into the sky for a moment.
He steeled himself, then took a deep breath. “I’ve done what I could to avenge you, Edgar. As much as possible, I’ve tried to set things right. It’ll never be enough, but I’ve done my best.”
He knelt down to touch Edgar’s tombstone.
“Thanks for my life, kid,” he murmured softly. “I’ll never forget it.” Roman took a moment to read the words on Edgar’s memorial once more.
Here lies Edgar Gates, beloved son and brother.
Where there is much light, the shadows are deepest.
Bright star, gone too soon.
You proved it is not the length of life, but the depth.
Rest well, sweet son, until we meet again.
His heart full, Roman felt a jumble of mixed emotions. He was extraordinarily pleased to have accomplished what he set out to do, yet remorseful he hadn’t been able to save his colleague.
Edgar Gates had been a young man with integrity, conviction and his whole life ahead of him. The world was greater because of him. The world was lesser without him.
How can I feel like this? Roman wondered, as a number of powerful and overwhelming emotions tore through him.
When all was said and done, the detective felt incredibly happy, yet also unbearably sad.
As Roman Bronowski strode slowly away from Edgar’s grave, an empty Kentucky bourbon bottle in one hand, he was crying.
The End
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