The Circle of Eight by J Robert Kennedy

participant. It will become a ‘he said, she said nothing’
trial. There’s nothing more I can do. I’m sorry.”
    Laviolette
had slammed the phone down on him as well.
    His
phone rang in his pocket as his keys hit the door. He fished it out and took
the call from the office as he turned the key in his lock.
    “Oui?”
    “Sir!
I’m so glad I reached you. There’s been a development in the case.”
    “What?”
asked Laviolette as he pushed open his door and stepped inside. “I’m home!” he
called to his family.
    “We just
received a phone call from the United States. Their State Department.”
    Laviolette
kicked off his shoes, his aching feet sighing in relief.
    “Yes,
what is it?”
    “Your
witness, the Agent Green I think his name was, the one who attacked M.
Lacroix”—Laviolette froze, his heart beginning to pound in his chest—“is dead.
His wife and child, along with Agent Green, were blown up. A bomb in their
house!”
    But
Laviolette wasn’t listening.
    His
usual arrival at home would solicit pounding feet from the far reaches as
little legs carried little bodies to him from wherever they were, and a return
call from his wife, who would usually be in the kitchen preparing dinner.
    But none
of that had happened.
    In fact,
there was no evidence of any dinner being cooked. No sounds from the kitchen,
no delicious aromas wafting through the air.
    There was
nothing but silence.
    “Monsieur?
Are you there?”
    The
phone was still pressed to his ear, but forgotten.
    He
stepped deeper into the house, toward the kitchen, the floorboards creaking
slightly as he made his way, a sound he was so used to it didn’t annoy him
anymore. But the day they had rented the place, needing something bigger, it
had bothered him to no end. But with their fourth child on the way, they had needed
more space, especially with the fourth being a boy. A boy couldn’t be holed up
with his three sisters in one room, not as he got older.
    He
entered the kitchen and found nothing. No evidence of a dinner being prepared,
no evidence of a dinner even begun.
    “Sir!
Can you hear me? Are you alright?”
    He left
the kitchen, and entered the living room and cried out, dropping to his knees,
the phone clattering to the floor. All the furniture had been pushed to the
edges, leaving the center of the room empty, and in the middle lay his family.
    Dead.
    His wife
was in the middle, her arms stretched out to the sides, her legs tightly
together, like Jesus on a cross. And his four gorgeous children encircled her,
his two youngest, only three and five, at the top, their feet touching his
wife’s hands, their hands her head, their bodies stretched out as if to complete
the arcs of a circle. Their eldest, seven and eight years old, completed the
bottom of the circle surrounding his wife.
    And in
the middle, surrounding his wife, was a pool of blood so large, so complete, it
gave the entire scene an almost artistic look, the shimmering red pool
appearing as if it had been meticulously painted, rather than running from the
arterial cuts that had been strategically made so the blood drained into the
center, rather than outside, spoiling the image.
    Laviolette
stared, not sure of what to do. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. All he
could do was sob at the sight before him, at the loss of his loved ones, and in
a moment of final weakness, he decided he had to be with them
    He
pulled his service weapon, and placed it against his head.
    Then
pulled the trigger, begging God to forgive him for this ultimate of sins.
     
     

 
     
    Outside Stucco’s Residence, Maas Drive, Fort Bragg, North Carolina
     
    “You saw this in Geneva?” asked Red, his shaved head scratched and
bleeding. “Where?”
    “On some
file folders in that Lacroix guy’s room.”
    “So then
this is payback.”
    “Almost
definitely.” Dawson lowered his voice. “Split into teams. Family men with
single guys. Get to your homes, collect your families, and get them to