“I joined his organization and helped him recruit other members.” He pushed up his sleeve to reveal a cross tattoo. “He makes me attend induction ceremonies to inspire new members.”
Anger coursed through me, remembering Malory’s body. “Don’t lie to me about only preferring kids. You raped Malory and allowed others to do the same to your niece, Shelly. You’re just a sick fuck who’s making excuses for your crimes.”
The senator apologized to me again, but his words fell on deaf ears. The crimes he committed could never be forgiven. People with his predilection couldn’t be cured with a glass of whiskey and a quick apology.
“You should apologize to your family. Your sister was very distraught on TV, asking for the public’s help to find her daughter. Why didn’t you help her? You’re a senator. The media would’ve helped you.”
When he didn’t answer, I said, “You killed Shelly, didn’t you?”
“No!” he said. “I didn’t. Tony did.”
“But why would he do that?” I asked.
The senator didn’t reply, and frustration roared in my ears.
“You know what I hate most?” I flared my nostrils. “Adults who harm kids. My patience is running thin, Bill. I have no problem killing you.” Shifting in my seat, I leaned forward. “I’ve killed many people, so ending your life is a fantastic contribution to society. Tell me everything I need to know, and you might live another day.”
“I was drunk and had an urge. So when I saw Shelly and Malory at an event, I slipped a pill into each of their drinks. They took Shelly, and I brought Malory back to Massachusetts.” He wiped his hands on his thighs. “Hawthorneremoved the dead bodies for a price. Others hire him to eliminate opponents and unwanted witnesses. People in government, presidents, prime ministers, royalty, billionaires, you name it. It was and still is a big business.”
The level of filth running our world was unimaginable.
I knew Hawthorne was a serial killer but never understood his motivation. Senator Falcone confirmed the murders were business. Hawthorne, Tony, and others who committed these murders were assassins with a specific style. It would be difficult to eliminate them all at once.
“But then Tony lost Malory’s body during transit. I was shocked when her fake corpse was discovered in Etched Square and her actual body was at the hospital. He was supposed to burn it at the crematory.”
“The crematory would remove all evidence. How many other women died this way?” I asked, not expecting him to reply. He didn’t need to know that Emilio and his friends had intercepted Tony’s transportation.
Ignoring my question, he pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Do you have any evidence of your business with Hawthorne or Tony?”
The way his eyes moved told me he did, but he said nothing.
“I want everything,” I said. “Give a copy to Detective McNally, who will reach out soon. It’s over, Senator Falcone.” I rose to my feet. “Hawthorne didn’t trap you—your disease did.” I pointed to his head. “It’s still imprisoning you. Set yourself free and do the right thing.” I looked him in the eye. “Come clean.”
I reached for my shirt collar, pulled off a recording device the size of a button, and showed it to him. “I’ve got our meeting here. Youwillcome clean one way or another. Decide carefully.”
He sagged into the couch, looking like a defeated man with nowhere to hide.
Good.That was exactly how I wanted him to feel—hopeless and helpless, just like his victims.
I left his house and shook myself clean of his energy before sliding into my car. One down, two more to go. Then my team sent a text saying they were ready for me.
Chapter Sixty-One
Kain
When I arrived at a secluded warehouse, I found Christian Madison and Jordan Borowski, the two men who’d kidnapped Eva. They were both tied to chairs, waiting for me. I nodded to the four men standing around, and they left the room, guarding the outside.
A table with various tools sat nearby. I slid a hip onto the table and glanced at a knife, a hammer, a handheld saw, and other implements used in torture. Folding my arms across my chest, I looked at them.
Christian’s and Jordan’s faces were bruised, probably from fighting to escape my men.
“If you let us go, w-we’ll pay you,” said Christian, the dark-haired man who had dressed up as the old woman, deceiving Eva.
“Just name a number,” Jordan said, flicking back his brown hair that was smeared with blood.
“I’m not interested in money.” I gripped the serrated knife, flicking the blade with my fingers. “Do you know why you’re here?”
