Sunday morning, after another fitful night's sleep, my anger and rage started to subside. I'd spent Saturday drinking and wallowing, staring at the television like a zombie. I couldn't tell you any show that had been on. I then started thinking like a normal person again. The rational parts of my brain reminded me: you've suspected this for four years. It shouldn't surprise you.

One good, rational thought led to another: I didn't trust my wife, plain and simple. I'd caused myself so much stress, and spent so much money, trying to prove that she'd been cheating. Every time I'd been told there was no 'there' there, I'd felt a perverse mixture of relief and disbelief. The absence of evidence had only made me more suspicious. I'd been caught in a torturous loop of my own making. That realization made me feel stupid.

When she did finally cheat, she didn't do it behind my back. She rubbed my face in it. She made extra sure I could feel the heat of all that money burning. All those years married, now wasted. It didn't matter much to me that I'd technically get more dollar value from the split. Hell, talking about dividing up the assets just made me feel that heat all over again. Here's a little something for your trouble. Don't spend it all on one PI.

Divorce was the only option, though. The more I ruminated, the more I became certain of that, even as I questioned every other decision I'd made. I wouldn't be with a woman who was able to treat her husband this way, all the while claiming to love him. She'd had a four year affair - albeit sexless - with her boss, and, in classic cake-eater fashion, she'd gone out in a blaze of glory.

Oh well, her loss, I thought.

The next thought was better. I could play just as dirty. I could try to rope-a-dope my wife. I could delay filing for divorce, and instead just separate out the finances. Maybe a trial separation, based on what my lawyer recommended. Separation or not, I wasn't about to have sex with her anymore, so it would just be a matter of time until she broke her own post-nup - the one Gail had come up with, and talked her into giving me. John and Gail would be England, so Molly would have to get her needs met elsewhere. But I'd bet even if she stepped out with someone else, it would still be enforceable.

I was fantasizing, I realized. I couldn't blame myself for not thinking straight considering what she'd heaped on me the past seventy-two hours.

I needed to cut my losses and move on. Based on her recent actions and admission of love for John, I had very little faith in her thinking process. She'd probably run to an attorney if I tried to put her in a cage. Shit, maybe she already had one lined up, as part of some back-up plan with John and Gail. If she knew me at all, she had to know how I'd feel and react to all this. The post-nup was likely a ruse so she could have her weekend. Maybe she and lover-boy would file immediately, like tomorrow. That would trump and preempt any other agreement - even Gail's - and would be as easy as filing for irreconcilable differences. I'd already decided I would wait until that bastard John and his sadistic wife left for England before filing the divorce papers, just in case they tried for one more romp. Now I would have to rethink that. I might as well get my investigator on the job, Monday morning, just to make sure.

I went online, separating our checking and savings accounts. I had credit cards in my name, as did she. Not much to do there. I fired up my company payroll app, changed the direct deposit to my new solo checking account, and changed the beneficiaries on my insurance. Lastly, I canceled Molly from my health insurance. Bob Voss was our corporate attorney and a golf buddy. I sent an email asking for a hard-nosed divorce lawyer. Finally, I sent my PI an update, outlining what I'd need from him for the next two weeks.

The yard needed some attention, but I figured that wasn't going to be my problem after this weekend. Instead, I started packing my belongings. I filled the garage with large plastic totes and, just to be vindictive, stacked them all neatly in her parking space, after parking her car two doors down. My day-to-day items were next, and I used a large- and medium-sized suitcase, plus my garment bag for work suits. During the packing process, I thought about what I would say in the note I left her. My ring wouldn't be prominently displayed on the message, as it was already in her possession. Then I decided, Why leave a note at all? What is there to explain?

I was dragging the last of what I was taking to the front door when the bell rang. I flung it open for emphasis, half expecting it to be my wayward wife and her lover, or maybe that big fucker, Larry.

I was surprised instead to see a man in a cheap suit, flanked by two police officers. "Mr. Thomas Whitmore?" I nodded, somewhat stunned.

"I'm Detective Solomon." He had his badge out, plus some other documents in hand. "We have a warrant to search your premises. May we come in?"

I still hadn't said anything. That was uncharacteristic for me, but all sorts of thoughts were running through my head. That prick, John, must have filed a complaint for getting his balls kicked into his esophagus. I didn't reply out loud. I just stood back, allowing them entry.

"Mr. Whitmore, can we sit at the table while these officers execute the warrant? I have some questions for you." He waved his open hand towards the dining room table, just right of my vestibule.

"Sure, what's this all about?" I finally got out.

"Are you planning on going somewhere?" Solomon looked towards the door and my bags.

I studied him for a moment before answering. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

"Your wife is Molly, correct?" he asked and I nodded. "And you're aware of her whereabouts right now?"

"Yes." I answered. He raised an eyebrow, suggesting that I should say more.

"At this very moment, I don't actually know where she is. Last I saw her she was at her boss' cabin by the lake about fifty miles from here."

"And when was that, exactly, Mr. Whitmore?"

"Just after midnight on Friday evening," I stated flatly. "Again, what is this about?" I was sure that Decker or his pimp of a wife were trying to cause me more trouble because I'd left.

"I'm going to need you to come to the station," he stated in a very official tone. "I have some additional questions for you."

"I'm not going anywhere until you explain."

The other officers returned with a butcher's knife in an evidence bag. They closed in on me.

"Mr. Thomas Whitmore, you are under arrest for suspicion of murder. Place your hands behind your back, please."

I was numb - literally numb in every sense of the word. The woman I'd loved and was married to for 15 years was dead. There would be no divorce, or reconciliation. Somehow, knowing she was gone forever had softened my thinking about that. Alas, I'd never see her again. Never touch her soft cheek, never kiss her lips. Never argue, scream, turn and stomp away.

Everyone who'd been with Molly in that cabin was also dead, I had been told. Larry's wife, Janet, was nowhere to be found, and the detective had been hammering away at me for forty-five minutes about where I had stashed her body.

Solomon came back through the door with the perfunctory can of Coke. "Alright, Tom. Let's start again." Somewhere over the last several hours, the detective and I had progressed from formality to being on a first name basis.

"Aren't I supposed to get a call or something?" I asked, irritated.

"Not yet, Tom," the detective said, taking a deep breath as though preparing himself. "Not unless you're asking for an attorney. I'm trying to give you a chance to get on the right side of this thing - to help yourself. We know why everyone was there. We also found your wedding band. Nobody will blame you for lashing out in a moment of rage. It's totally understandable. Is that what happened Tom? You were so hurt, and felt so betrayed, that you lost it for a moment?"

"I've explained this already, Detective," I said with a sigh. "I left the cabin late Friday. I've been home all weekend."

"But you have no witnesses, Tom," he countered. "You're telling me your car was in the driveway, but you didn't go anywhere at all the entire weekend. That sounds awfully convenient to me. Further, when we come to search your home, we find a bloody knife in your car and your bags packed. When forensics comes back, I'm betting that the murders occurred during the time when you were still at the cabin. I think the district attorney will agree. The easy way out of this for you is to just tell the truth. Now, why don't you tell me what really happened?"

"I think I need an attorney, Detective."

My call was to Bob Voss. "Jesus, Tom. What's going on? We all saw on the news. Where are you?"

"Bob, I need help," I said in a raspy voice. "I'm at the precinct, arrested. They think I killed Molly... and her lover. Some other people that were at the cabin covering for them... so they could... I need help, Bob."

"Tom, you need a criminal defense attorney and I'm a corporate lawyer. I can recommend someone that I know well." He was silent for a moment. "Tom, you're going to have trouble here at work. I had a meeting with old man Winters and Skyped the board members in from New York this morning."

"I'm sure, Bob," I answered dryly. "Guilty until proven innocent, eh?" Then I dropped it, because I still needed his help. "Listen, can you please call your friend and explain my situation? I'm at the station on 4th Street. I'm innocent, Bob. Please believe that. Tell old man Winters I plan to fight these bogus charges and be out of here shortly. I didn't kill anyone, Bob. You have to believe that!" I broke down sobbing into the phone. It was all too much.

"Okay, Tom. Let me make the call, and I'll do what I can here. It's a sticky situation, but it is fluid. You getting in front of this will help me when I talk to them. I'll remind them of our obligations to our employees, but remember, Tom, you're management, so they can easily just freeze or demote you out of existence."

Can you come with your...friend?" I almost begged. "So you can hear my side? If that would help, then please do."

"I can't do that Tom," Bill stated emphatically. "Conflict of interest for the corporation and all that. My friend is Alvin Flint, Al for short. I'll speak to him off the record after he finishes with you there. He can bring me up to speed. Hang in there, Tom."

Mr. Whitmore..."

"Call me Tom, please," I interrupted. "And may I call you Al or Alvin? I can't take all this formality."

"Sure, Tom, like I said, you're in a pickle here," he mumbled flipping through a stack of papers. "That's a nice way to say it. Let's see...

"They have you as the last person to see all the deceased alive. Mrs. Decker...um - Gail found the bodies on Saturday night, about ten-thirty. And due to you having the alleged murder weapon in your possession, no witnesses to put you anywhere but the scene up to and including Sunday morning, they plan to charge you. You will be arraigned Tuesday morning. It's going to be up to us to defend and refute circumstantial evidence. Now, are you sure you went nowhere over the weekend? Gas, liquor store, any place?"

"No," I replied, defeated, "I told you I came home Friday after midnight, got dead drunk, and Saturday I did pretty much the same thing. Who would want to kill them? Was the cabin broken into?"

"No Tom. No signs of forced entry." Alvin looked up from his paperwork to meet my eyes. "We don't have a lot to work with here, initially, until we get the results from the knife. That doesn't mean we can't prove your innocence. My team will start looking at security footage along your return home route. I'll need that tonight, please. Also, can you please take off your shirt?"

Alvin saw my immediate look of confusion. "Sorry Tom, but I need to be thorough. Did they check you for defensive wounds?"

I just shook my head, as I started to remove my shirt.

"Tom," he said it in a way that forced me to look at him. "We have some things on our side. I don't see any cuts or bruises, and that's definitely in our favor. There are still two other potential suspects besides you. This... Janet - the security man's wife - and of course Mrs. Decker herself. We also have yet to see the forensics and let our own people analyze it. Tell me about the events leading up to this weekend again. Try not to leave anything out."

I was exhausted, but realized I was in a fight for my life. If I were the cops, I'd have myself as the number one suspect too. Crazed husband goes after wife and lover, leaves no witnesses. I'm sure that's how the papers and news media would spin it. Hell, they'd probably already started. I related the whole sad situation once more, trying to be as exact as possible.

"Where did the knife come from?" he asked nonchalantly.

"I have no idea." I said with a shrugged, I honestly didn't know. "That's the honest truth. The detective said they found it in my car. But that can't be right because I didn't take the knife, and they were all alive when I left. If I had taken it, there wouldn't be anything on it."

Al seemed pleased with this development for some reason. "The forensics on the knife should be completed in the morning. We'll have to see what they come back with. How well did you personally know Mr. and Mrs. Decker?"

"Not well," I said. "I mean I know... knew, John, probably a little better. Whenever my wife had to travel with John, I had both of them followed on and off for four years..."

"Wait, you had them followed how?" Alvin asked as he sat straight up. "Did you say four years?"

"Yeah, four different PI firms," I said. "None of them found anything going on."

Al thought for a moment, and then asked, "What was discussed in the interview with the detectives?"

"I don't remember," I replied. "I was in shock - honestly, I still am. They were certainly pushing hard for a confession, from my recollection. They made it sound like they had their man."

An officer stuck his head in the door and told us it was time for them to transfer me to county lock-up. Al started gathering his paperwork to close out our meeting.

"Alright, give me the names of your PI firms," he requested. "I'll see if I can find anything they missed. I'll also want a look at their interview with you."

A thought struck me as my lawyer started talking about investigating. "Hey, can I get a copy of what they have on me? Not my background or anything like that, just what they found at the house, what kind of evidence they have?"

"Of course," Al replied. "I'll go over all that with you, right after arraignment. This is the part where I politely ask if you're sure you want to see all the gory details."

"I'm not looking forward to it, but I need to see everything."

Al nodded curtly. "Exactly right. Whether you end up taking the stand or not, you're the best witness we've got right now. Hopefully those PI's will give us something else. I'm not throwing the prosecutors under the bus or making wild accusations, but it is an election year, and they have four dead bodies - brutally murdered - and one person still missing. They look at motive and opportunity, and you have both, so it's going to be a dogfight. Even the most minute detail can and will make a difference here.

"Stay vigilant in jail. Some of these macho assholes try to start marking their territory right away, especially if they know for sure they're headed to the big house."

I knew what he was trying to warn me about, and needed no further explanation. We said our goodbyes. Minutes later I was shackled, hands and feet, taking a ride to my new home at County. Being alone in the back of that squad car, and finally coming down from the non-stop adrenaline, I wanted to cry as I thought about Molly. I was pretty good at holding it back; I thought my best bet in the short term would be to focus on the anger that someone had killed her.

Tuesday morning I pled not guilty and was held over without bail. Seems the DA saw me as a flight risk. Al told me that murder charges almost never get bails regardless. Alvin asked if I was in the frame of mind to go over the evidence as we made our way back through the hallway between the courtroom and lockup. I never thought I'd ever be seeing this part of the building.

"Tom, these photos are graphic and this whole thing is gruesome," Al warned me. "You're going to want to puke as soon as you see them. I left the very graphic ones of Molly out. Oh, and one more thing, the blood found on that knife belongs to all four deceased, but most of it to Janet."

He let that sink in as he studied my face intently. "So now, that's going to be their theory. You murdered everyone, and for some reason you took Janet with you. They've already towed your car to the crime lab."

My attorney had been right. As soon as I saw the first picture of John and Molly, I turned my head towards the stainless bowl that had been placed on the table and barfed up everything in my stomach. Everything. Later, in my cell, my guts churned again and I barely made it to the commode. My bunkmate was actually a pretty good guy, for a criminal, and quite chatty too. He watched me wretch without saying or doing anything. After I returned to my bed, though, he went from expressing sympathy to telling me his own tale of woe, in about two minutes flat. He didn't seem to mind that I was reading through my case file.

Finally he asked, "So, what's your story?"

"I don't really want to talk about it," I replied, trying to act more manly than I felt at the moment.

"It'll probably help," he went on, "you know, talking it out and all."

What the fuck, right? A therapist, prisoner, and roommate all in one; what are the odds?

So I did. He listened patiently, not saying much as I told him everything that led up to the weekend at the cabin.

"So this chick Janet is missing?" He didn't wait for my response. "She's involved, you know. Man, in my experience these types of crimes are all about the jack. Figure out who got the biggest payday or stood to benefit the most, and there's your killer."

What he said carried some weight. I had been thinking about Gail since I was first brought in for questioning. She'd copped out of the weekend, claiming she'd be too upset. Then she'd shown up anyway, on Saturday, conveniently finding the grizzly scene - too conveniently. I began to realize she was not only involved, but had likely been the one to set me up. I needed to speak with Alvin about that call.

And where the fuck was Janet? She seemed to love her husband, at least enough to die with him. I perked up a bit realizing that Alvin was right: there were still two people who had opportunity besides me. Gail certainly had a motive - mine, basically. Sexism's a bitch.

After my cellmate fell asleep, I was back at it in the dark. It was easier to view the photos in almost no light - not on my eyes, but on my heart.

John and my wife lay nude in his bed, stabbed to death. It almost seemed staged, with both of them on their backs, her left hand touching his right. Her rings were prominently displayed. Jacki was also in bed, in her assigned room, I supposed wearing just a bloody T-shirt. She had a crazed look on her face, and even though her body wasn't in a defensive position, I had a feeling she had put up a struggle. Larry was face-down in the hallway between his room and John's. There was a huge pool of blood; he'd been a big guy, so that made sense. Someone had gotten him in the back. That had been wise on the killer's part. Larry wasn't just a big, fat lump. He could've done some real damage in a head-on fight.

The other photos seemed unrelated to the crime, but I understood that certain things could be used later as theories were developed and discarded. The one that stood out right away was the kitchen knife holder, missing one butcher's knife.

Gail and her attorney had gone into great detail in her statement to Detective Solomon. In my opinion, it was almost enough to implicate her. She'd gone into great detail about the lunch meetings that she and John had had with Molly. She'd described Molly as troubled, maybe even fearful of her husband. That wasn't true, of course, but I had little doubt if we went to trial, she'd be spinning that web further.

She went on to say, "Probably why she refused sex with my husband during those previous four years." She'd set me up as much as she had my wife, if in fact she was the killer.

Then it dawned on me that lots of people besides Gail or Janet could have also committed the crime. Maybe John had been into something illegal at work. Maybe he'd been skimming - and maybe not off the company itself, but a vengeful client. Maybe he'd been rushed off to London because of something scandalous he'd done, and the company had needed to save face. If that was true, Molly would have almost certainly known, and possibly been involved.

In fact, if Gail was involved, it seemed odd for her to make such a big deal about both the lover's post-nups. Her behavior was baffling to me. She seemed so intent on pinning everything on me that she didn't seem to realize, or care, that she was establishing her own motive to murder her husband and my wife. Lying there, in my dark cell, I became frustrated. I'd only created more questions for myself, and gotten fewer answers.

The next morning after breakfast, I was led into a small room with only a desk and two chairs. This was going to be me and Alvin's conference room for the next several weeks.

"Your PI's all sent me everything they had from the investigations," Alvin started. "I must say, this John Decker was squeaky clean - your wife also. I guess I'll just have to keep digging."

The next meeting was three days later - Friday - a whole week after this debacle had begun. Al seemed surprised when I took charge.

"I need to sign some sort of affidavit to give you power of attorney, right?" I started.

"Not an affidavit, but essentially yes," he replied. "You know to cover things, while you're in here. Mortgage, utilities and so on."

"Exactly," I continued. "I'd like you and Bob Voss to have co-power of attorney for bills, and to keep the prosecutors from freezing my funds. I have about 4 grand in checking and a little over $250,000 in savings. You can obviously transfer what's needed into checking.

"Here's a letter for my parents, and another one for Molly's parents." I paused and handed him the envelopes. "One for my brother, and this last one, for my last PI firm. I want him to follow Gail, day and night. I don't care about the cost. I want to know when she's taking a piss. You tell him, right now, Gail will probably be playing the grieving widow and not making any serious moves. After John's funeral, I want someone glued to her hip. I want him to put feelers out on Janet. Anywhere a credit or debit card pings. I want him to find a way to monitor Gail's finances too. Any large deposits or withdrawals, other than John's life insurance. Have him find out if she still plans to leave for Europe now that her husband is... retired."

That last comment didn't sit well with Alvin. "Tom, I know you have hate and anger for your wife's paramour, but I'm cautioning you right now: don't talk about John Decker at all unless you say something that's perceived as you being sad he's gone. Assume that literally everyone in here is a snitch, because they are.

"I'll have to clear this with the prosecutor - giving your letter to Molly's parents," Alvin continued. That's a law now. The DA's office will almost surely read your letter first, which means I'll need to read it before giving it to them. Can I read it now, in case I need you to make changes?"

I gave him permission. I could practically see the words in my mind as he read them for himself.

Mike and Lucille,

Molly and I were very happy, I thought. We were in love. I loved her, and in many ways I still do. Four years ago, Molly fell in love with her boss. Her words, not mine. She told me she loved me, in fact, but was 'in love' with John Decker. Again her own words, told to me on the last day I saw her. Yes, I've been arrested. And accused, I suppose, probably already tried in some people's minds. That's to be expected. I have bigger things to worry about.

First, I need to mount my defense. Then, find whoever killed my wife and your daughter. And then lastly, to make them pay. I will not rest until all three are accomplished. You know what kind of man I am and you know I've never lied to you, so I won't say 'the thing.' You should already know it. I didn't go into a rage or lose my mind when Molly ambushed me on this weekend at the lake. I simply begged her to leave with me. Later that first night, seeing her by the pool with her lover made me mad enough to confront HIM. Then I left. After a fitful night, I was clearer in my resolve to divorce Molly. Had she come home as promised, that's what I would have done. She knew how I felt about what she was doing.

I will miss Molly always. I'm truly sorry for our combined loss. When I find and deal with the perpetrator you'll be first to know.

Respectfully,

Tom

"Seems pretty straightforward, Tom," Alvin said, returning the letter to its envelope. "Not sure you want to say 'sorry' in there, though. The prosecution could try to use that against you."

"Just leave it, Al. We'll be able to explain it." Alvin was not used to taking orders from his clients.

My letter to my parents was quite different. They lived five states over, and because I was a late baby, they were also elderly and less mobile. I reassured them of my innocence, and that I would reunite with them soon. I told them how much I loved them, and asked them to try not to worry too much.

My brother, Robert - we all called him Buddy - I asked to watch over my house and to take care of some things for general upkeep, or just pay someone. I told him how to get in touch with Alvin for money or anything else, and that I loved him.

The Al asked me a strange question.

"Tom," He began, "At any time while you were at the cabin, did you see Larry in possession of a gun - a pistol?"

"No." I stated. "Never once. He had a handgun?"

"Yes, and rounds were spent." Al explained. "Well, at least one round was fired. Forensics shows gunpowder residue on Larry's dominant hand and a bullet was found in the wall at the end of the hallway, nearest the room you said you were given. The second round hasn't been located."

That was odd to me, and Al seemed perplexed as well. I could see the gears turning as he pondered how it might help us.

Life moved slowly forward for the next month. The courts were backlogged as usual, so I had a singular goal: trying not to lose my mind in jail. The idea that I could not only find Molly's murderer, but also exact some vengeance kept me going most of the time.

Almost thirty days after I'd been arrested, Alvin and I sat down for yet another meeting. I was not prepared for what he told me, though.

"Tom," he started. "I've spoken with the District Attorney just an hour ago. They're prepared to move forward to trial."

He waved his hand, seeing I was about to come unglued. "Tom, even with our evidence - your phone location, the initial interview with the detectives, numerous cameras along your route going home, they still feel confident or they wouldn't be going forward. Mrs. Decker has been fully cooperating and her attorney has provided an alibi for most of the time between when you left the house and the time she allegedly found the crime scene. They've asked me to make an offer. Let me explain the offer first, then I'll answer your questions, and explain how I think we should proceed and why, okay? Plead guilty and the DA will recommend leniency at sentencing, considering the stress you were under that day. That still puts you in prison for quite a long time."

"Why would they offer something like that?" I asked, stricken. "Do they think it's open and shut case?"

"No, they don't," Al said. "It's going to be a fight for both sides. They know we have angles. They're also completely aware that you're rotting in a cell already, and that you're shouldering one hundred percent of the risk. That's how this game is played."

"Okay," I stammered. This was confusing. "Then why bother, especially since they know there are other suspects out there?"

"Two things, as far as I can see," Al reminded me, as he started explaining. "The knife in your possession and it's an election year. That's why they're willing to go to trial. But if you take the deal, the DA has a story to tell that plays well in the papers. You get a little leniency because you got caught up in an epic clusterfuck of infidelity and intolerable cruelty, and ultimately took responsibility for your rampage, saving the state the expense of a trial, and the victims' loved ones the pain of a public spectacle. That's how the 'order' part works, Tom.

We were both silent for several minutes. Al and I had developed a weird relationship. He was the messenger I always wanted to kill, but there were moments when I thought to myself that I actually kind of liked him. He was no-nonsense and an honest man.

"Tom," he said softly, "I can't tell you how to proceed. I can't do that because I can't predict the future. As your attorney, I suggest you trust me, and we go to trial. Their evidence is circumstantial, and ours doesn't have to be nearly as solid as theirs, in theory. Your alibi's not perfect, but it's better than decent. They have a knife, with blood from everyone, and in such condition they can likely prove it was the murder weapon. They have Larry's pistol with two rounds missing, but only one discovered. We still have Gail but more importantly, Janet, because she hasn't turned up. Gail is the key here. If we can trip her up on the stand, we not only have reasonable doubt, but have a shot at making her a credible suspect."

I decided to trust Al. We proceeded to trial. Ther were manu emotional ups and downs, as the trial dragged on. Some days were better than others, though I was hardly qualified to keep score. Some days, I got the feeling that Al's cross-examination had gone really well. Other days, it felt like he was just ticking boxes while the prosecution steamrolled me.

Al kept reminding me Gail was the key. She was to be the prosecution's final witness, meaning we were both playing the same game. The DA's betting she'd be an emotional superstar of a witness, and All hoping to prove her the villain. With reasonable doubt the goal, we had the easier job.

"Objection, you honor!" Al exclaimed, full of vehemence. "Leading the witness."

"I withdraw my question," the prosecutor said, walking back to his table. He had just been expounding on my state of mind during the phone call between Gail and I that Friday afternoon. No matter how many words he tried to put in Gail's mouth - in the form of questions - she wasn't putting on the performance needed to make me out as the homicidal maniac.

Gail had been on the stand for three days, laying it on pretty thick. She was playing the poor, grieving widow, just about to get on with her new life in London with her husband. I saw through her act, but, being the defendant, I couldn't just stand up, point my finger, and scream, "She's a liar, everyone!" I kept telling myself that Al would get his crack at her.

I tried to pay attention to everything, but three days was a long time, and direct examination could get very dry. My mind wandered; would I be dead too, had I remained at the cabin? I'd tossed that around a lot, and had come to the conclusion, that yes, Gail would have killed me without a second thought. I believed that their meetings and the post-nup had all been a smokescreen, making it appear that she had taken great steps to separate the pair going forward. They also helped imply that she truly loved John.

My theory was that John had told her how he'd felt about Molly. Hell, he'd come right out and admitted he loved her and wanted to sleep with her. It would be hard for any spouse to accept that, and for a person like Gail, it would have been impossible.

The real question was if Gail was diabolical enough to temper her rage into cold steel, planning not only his demise but all the others', and then executing - pun intended. Could she have even pulled it off? I didn't think I could have stabbed four other people - well, I don't think I would have succeeded in killing all of them that way, anyway. Larry had been there specifically to 'keep an eye' on me so I wouldn't cause trouble. The biggest guy I'd ever met was therefore on high alert to my presence and movements. I leaned in to discuss that with Al. We had this thing going where I'd notice something slightly off or out of place, mention it, and he'd make a note on his pad for later, and then we'd talk about it during recess.

The PI reports made me feel even worse than when they'd come up empty on John and Molly. Gail was indeed the grieving spouse, making arrangements for John's passing. Her family had been coming over regularly to help handle John's affairs and dispose of various household items. I did learn that Gail still had plans to move to Europe. That came as a surprise; again, she seemed to be flirting dangerously close to acting guilty. The prosecution laid out the reasons for her move though. She already had a home they had set up before the murder. She also had a job with a major London-based charity.

And where the hell was Janet?

Al's cross was an all-out assault. The DA objected almost non-stop to Alvin's lines of questioning. Why would she and John have a huge guy like Larry present, for such a small-statured man like me, if she wasn't worried about her ridiculous plan to begin with?

Gail countered that was exactly the point. Everyone, including my wife, was concerned about my so-called 'temper.' ' Luckily, Al had multiple witnesses on call from Molly's circle of influence to dispute those claims - but as his cross of Gail continued, I became convinced that he'd been right all along. The jury needed to suspect her, because of her own testimony. That afternoon, Alvin switched direction with Gail, to discuss why she and John had hired Jacki.

"You don't know what, Mrs. Decker?" Al hammered her. "That the hooker you hired would be adequate, or that your husband was going to engage in an extramarital affair?"

More shocked murmurs from the gallery. The judge glared and moved for his gavel.

"Objection!" the District Attorney shouted. "Your Honor, he's clearly badgering the witness. And with all due respect to the deceased, I ask that word be stricken from the record. She was a sex worker."

"Overruled, counsel." The judge quickly replied, although he did instruct the recorder to strike 'hooker.' "Please answer the question, Mrs. Decker."

"That she would be... adequate," was Gail's much quieter response.

"And could you please tell the court how much you paid for said services?" Al continued.

Gail was quiet, seemingly trying to figure out where this line of questioning was going. "Two-thousand."

"That's awfully expensive for a hook... sex worker, isn't it?" I wasn't sure where Al was going either.

"She isn't...wasn't a hooker, she was a high-priced escort."

"And still you weren't sure?" Al pressed.

"No." Gail found herself in a pickle of sorts. "I don't know Tom... Molly's husband that well. We met a few times, at company events. So that's why I wasn't sure."

"Why not ask Molly?" My brilliant Alvin asked the obvious. "I mean, you planned all this out with her and your husband during numerous meetings, right? Or was it your husband's idea to hire this... escort?"

"Badgering the witness, Your Honor!" The DA was pissed now.

"Sustained," said the judge. "Do you have a point here Mr. Solomon? If so, let's get to it."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Alvin turned to face Gail directly as he approached her, and leaned on the witness chair's rail with his forearm. "I'll rephrase. Mrs. Decker, why weren't you at the cabin that weekend?"

"I...I didn't think I could handle being there. Having my nose rubbed in it." The lying bitch had real tears.

"But it was fine to rub Tom... my client's nose in it, wasn't it?" Alvin kept the pressure on. "He was as much a part of your plan as the other 'character actors,' right?"

"No!" Gail almost shouted. "We... I needed him to see what was going to happen first hand. Yes, I knew it would hurt him, just like me, but I needed him to know, and... be there, at least for a while, to make sure he kept his wife on a short leash in the future. I didn't know he would react like that. Go berserk and kill everyone."

"Move to strike, your honor; supposition," Alvin said, as if knowing it was coming.

"Sustained. Recorder, please strike those last two sentences from the record."

"So, Mrs. Decker, let's get this straight." I could tell Al was winding up for the big pitch. "You concocted this so-called plan. You blackmailed your husband and his potential lover - in fact, made her your husband's lover by giving her a clear path - and then tricked her husband into being there? Is there anything else? I mean, that's pure evil, but of course you're sorry now, so I guess it's okay."

"Objection Your Honor!" The DA was losing patience fast.

"Sustained," the judge said immediately. "Last warning, Mr. Solomon."

"Alright, Mrs. Decker, let's try this again," he said in a low, purposeful tone. "Why would you want Molly's husband there in the first place, the last place and any other reason in between?"

Gail thought momentarily. "Women are different than men. We can separate love and sex. I could give my husband this gift, and then I could forgive him under the right conditions - the conditions I set, and thought long and hard about. I expected Tom... Mr. Whitmore to be upset, confused, and probably his male ego and pride to take a big hit. Like I said, I don't really know him. Maybe he was the kind of man who liked a little on the side and it wouldn't be as big a deal. When I spoke to him on the phone, I knew I'd made a grave misjudgment. He was... beyond angry. You heard the tape."

The DA had played my conversation with Gail from that fateful Friday. Conveniently, she'd given Molly her home number, and of course it was all recorded. It didn't bode well, as I'd said some things to her that certainly put me in a bad light, especially to strangers... like a jury.

I didn't like how this was going. But Alvin had coached me, and told me what to expect. We were playing a long game, committed to poking little holes into that web. He knew all he needed to about Gail and the others. The plan was to keep her coming back to the witness stand until she tripped herself up. In reality, she'd only have to provide a reasonable doubt.

"But wait," Al said, feigning confusion, "didn't we just hear you testify, at length, about how 'everyone' was concerned about Tom's terrible temper? And that that, indeed, was one of the reasons that Mr. Larry Bleeker was there in the first place?"

The DA made a move. The judge raised an eyebrow. Al didn't back down.

"Your Honor," he said, "I asked a question. I asked Mrs. Decker whether or not she recalled just having testified to having had prior knowledge of Tom's terrible temper, and having made arrangements specifically because of it."

"Rephrase, counsel," the judge said with a sigh.

"Certainly, Your Honor," Al replied. "Mrs. Decker, were you, or were you not, already led to believe that my client had a terrible temper, when you arranged this plot?"

Gail was silent on that one, and looked everywhere for a lifeline. I traced her gaze to the prosecutor's table, and then to the judge. She found nothing. After a few more moments she started crying, the age-old fall back for women when caught. Sobbing, but with no real tears. That was the moment I knew for sure. And by God, I'd get my revenge one way or the other.

During the time window the coroner testified that the victims had perished, my vehicle had been picked up traveling home, away from the cabin, by business and private cameras along the way. My attorney had gotten all that. I had been surprised that that hadn't been the end of it. The DA made certain that the coroner testified on direct that he couldn't pin down the times of death to an exact minute. That made the case look weak, and Al's cross was devastating.

Three days after Gail was finished testifying, I was sitting in court, waiting while the attorneys and the judge were in chambers. Alvin finally reappeared with the others.

"What's happening?" I asked as soon as he came to the table.

"As your attorney," he said, seemingly elated, "it's my job to tell you everything involving your case, so if you insist, I will, but I'm asking you to trust me again. I think you'll be pleased, but I want everyone in this room to see the look on your face this afternoon. Can you give me your trust on this?"

I simply nodded. I was pretty spent by that point, and, for a man who liked to be in control, I'd been sorely tested by being forced to lean on Al.

To my surprise, after a long morning and lunch recess, court resumed, and Al called Gail back to the stand.

"Mrs. Decker," Alvin began. "We've taken so much of your time already, so let me get directly to the point. Were you aware that your security man, Larry, was conceal-carrying a firearm that weekend at the cabin?"

All the color drained from Gail's face. I think the phrase goes "looked like she'd seen a ghost," and it was beyond apt.

"No," she answered weakly.

"Would you have any knowledge as to why he may have fired that weapon... upstairs?" Al asked.

"No I... No, I wouldn't know anything about that." Her face said she did.

I don't know what my face showed. I know I was stunned. The PI was doing double duty, and costing me a fortune. On the other hand, he was saving my life. After the crime scene had been released by forensics, my guys went in on a theory. Larry's gun had been identified at the scene as belonging to him. The county forensics team had gone over the entire second-floor, and the stairwell leading down into the dining area, looking for that second round.

They never found it, but the PI's were working on pure logic. Larry fired his weapon in self-defense. For the better part of an afternoon, my guys came up just as empty as the county experts. That is until one of them saw a picture hanging at the top of the staircase that looked out of place. The minute he took it off the wall, he noticed something else very suspicious. And then finally, he found a spot of wood putty, as big around as the tip of one's pinky finger. Scraping some off with his pocket knife, there he found the missing bullet.

"Nothing further, Mrs. Decker." Alvin said with some gumption in his tone. The prosecution did not redirect. Al called the forensics expert back to confirm the second round indeed came from Larry's gun.

Closing arguments were a bloodbath. Al walked the tightrope between facts and theatrics like a pro - which I supposed he was. He did this judo maneuver where he laid out all the reasonable doubt in my case, then fake-apologized to the jury for having accidentally told them the case in favor of Gail... which, obviously, the prosecution wholeheartedly accepted, since she'd never been arrested, or even properly investigated. By the time he was done, she looked pretty damned guilty, and the state looked pretty damned incompetent. Al waited until after the 'Not Guilty' verdict to crow. He said that closing arguments like that were like a wet dream.

I let him have his moment. He'd earned it.

I finally came home to a lonely, empty house. Thankfully, my brother and his wife had at least kept it clean and dusted. I cried for a long time. The first thing I had an overwhelming desire to do was take a hot shower in my own bath. That's when it all hit me. I sat on the tile floor, curled up and bawling until the water turned cold. It was one of the least masculine things I'd ever done, but I sure felt a lot better afterwards.

Everything had been taken from me. My wife. My pride. My dignity. Some friends and family, who were still convinced of my guilt even though I'd been exonerated, were casualties too. All taken by John fucking Decker, and his ice-hearted bitch of a wife. She'd moved to Europe, a week after her final day testifying. I'm sure the payday from John's death had her grinning like the fucking Joker as she flew in 1st class to Heathrow. Instead of getting most of his stuff through some quickly thrown together, bullshit post-nup, she now had everything of his and everything of hers. Whether the insurance company would pay out was another matter, but even if they didn't, she was set for life.

Now I had to play my own long game. She would screw up, just like every liar and cheat. Then I'd have my justice.

Molly's parents never responded to my note. No visits from them in prison either. Of course, my parents were elated, and spent most of my first week home doting on me. I don't think I'd ever eaten so well. Mom made no bones about 'fattening me up.' They'd flown in for the trial at great expense - both financially and physically.

One night, I sat on the back deck with my father. It was something we'd done a few times since Molly and I had bought this place, when my folks had actually felt well enough to visit. This night we were sitting in reflective silence, staring at the stars in the northern skies. I was sipping my scotch, savoring it after so many months without. My dad broke the quiet.

"So, who do you think did this?" Dad was very measured in his tone. I pondered his question.

"I don't know Pops," I said.

He gave a calculated and diminutive chuckle. "Really? No idea at all?" His words were soft, but judgmental.

"It's best you don't... well, in case it all goes south," I stammered.

"And... what is to become of my son?" He turned towards me. "After all is said and done."

"That one I really haven't figured out, Dad."

"If you need help - anything at all - Tom, will you promise to call me? Please? Mom and I worried every day that we'd lost you. I don't ever want to repeat that hell again. I may be old, but I still have plenty of tricks up my sleeve. And a few good frie....associates as well."

Dad had always had my back, and here he was, at it again. If push came to shove, I'd get him involved out of respect, but I loved my father, and I had no intention of losing anyone else dear to me. This also felt like a burden I had to bear. No one needed to know that I felt less of a man. Couldn't keep a wife, couldn't stop her and her lover. Couldn't protect her in the end either. Even if she'd conspired to make an unwilling and knowing cuckold out of me, she was gone now. Whether she could see me from wherever she was didn't matter much. I had to see this through. It was personal in a way few people could understand.

Gail was a monster. She'd taken the love Molly and John had built, however hurtful and wrong it had been, and then used it against them. She'd probably nurtured it, once she'd decided to murder them. To her, I'd been nothing but a patsy. She'd thought she had everyone out of the picture; by now she must have known that I was free, and so there was still a loose end. As much as I wanted justice, I still needed to watch my own back. Gail was not to be underestimated.

"Dad, I promise. And Dad? I love you."

Almost eighteen months to the day of my arrest. Nineteen grand spent. When I got the call, I almost pissed myself, I was so happy. The person we'd been looking for was hiding in plain sight, and where she was hiding spoke volumes. I called Dad, let him know where I was heading, and asked him to give Mom a kiss for me. I made two other calls before booking my flight.

Gail walked through the door to her upscale condo with her friend and lover on her heels. It looked like it had been a day of shopping, make-overs, and new outfits head to toe. I knew from my investigator that the annual charity ball was this weekend, and that Gail had been rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers for a while now.

Two steps after dropping her many bags in the vestibule, she stopped, frozen to the floor. Sitting in her parlor was a face from the past; mine. The woman behind Gail almost ran into her, and then she also stopped on a dime. Fight-or-flight was the first expression I saw on Gail's face, buy, she'd played it cool and close to the vest for so long now, that it was almost second. She recovered quickly.

"Tom." She made it a statement, and her fake half-smile formed. "What a surprise. How did you get into my home?" The question was laced with derision and accusation.

I only sat quietly, with a more genuine smile on my face. I could tell it bothered her. She was good, but not that good. Case in point, I wasn't in prison.

"Hello, Gail." I slowly tilted my head to one side in order to address the other person in the room, positioned behind her lover, practically hiding.

"Janet," I deadpanned. "Nice to see you again as well." Janet's eyes had been staring in fear, but at hearing her name, she quickly found a spot on the expensive carpet that interested her. Gail decided a good offense was better than defense.

"Okay, Tom." Gail put forth her best high-class voice, dripping with affability. "What can I do for you? You've made yourself at home in mine. Should I check my den? My jewelry armoire? Janet can go to the buffet and inventory the silver while I'm having a look around."

"Cut the crap, Gail." I replied with force. "You know why I'm here."

With a mocking smile, Gail crossed her arms and said, "Why Tom, I have no idea, really," in a fake southern belle voice. Then her demeanor changed in a snap, the fake smile replaced by an evil smirk. "But I'm all fucking ears."

With a sigh, I said, "Why don't you two sit down? We have a lot to discuss, and we should do it before I run short on patience."

"Not to be impolite," Gail fired back, "but you have a lot of nerve, telling me to sit after breaking into my home. How about I just ring the authorities?"

I removed a thick envelope from inside my sport coat and slammed it onto the glass coffee table. "Gail, we can do this the hard way if you prefer, or you and Janet can just sit your asses down."

The envelope was stuffed with a bunch of nonsense, but I'd anticipated this. You see, I'd made it my business to learn every single thing I could about Gail Decker since my acquittal. Her first instinct was to bully her way out of a situation. She'd become so smug - even more pompous than before the murders - and that would be her undoing.

The pair looked at each other, and then sat on the sofa across from me. Gail leaned in, reaching for the envelope. "Uh-uh, not yet, Gail. Let's talk first."

She sat back and put her hands in her lap, taking a deep breath. I noticed Janet, then - really noticed her. With the new strawberry-blonde hair, cut much shorter now, and the 20-30 pounds she'd lost, it was no wonder the investigator's had taken so long to connect the dots.

I leaned back, with my right arm over the back of the chair. I wanted to take a relaxed posture, but one of confidence. "So, Janet," I asked, "have you come back from the dead, or have you just been enjoying life?"

She didn't answer, so I continued. "I mean, Thailand has done wonders for you. It's like they stripped 20 years clean off you."

"Enough, Tom," Gail growled. "Get to it. I grow tired of all this, and I'm still very much still thinking of the breaking and entering charges."

Just what I was hoping for.

"Well, I must say that England has not helped with your manners, Gail," I told her, leaning forward. "Fine. Compensation, Gail. That's what this meeting is about. You took everything from me, including my dignity, all so you could live high on the hog. You fucking owe me, you cunt."

I wasn't sure how good my acting job was - seeming to lose control - but they both bought it hook, line and sinker.

"Tom, I have no idea..." she started.

"Quit the fucking theatrics, Gail." I motioned at Janet. "I went to prison, you bitch. Sat in prison. Awaiting, and then enduring a trial, accused of killing this - this fucking traitor."

"I'm pretty sure you went to prison for killing my husband." She smiled as she said it. "Among other things." A little dig, her calling Molly a thing. "Your choice of lawyers saved you from paying for your crime, but here you are, yet again. You don't seem too bright to me, Tom."

There it was. She felt she had the upper hand, and her body language showed it. It was time to take the wind out of those sails. I pulled a photo out of my pocket and unfolded it, then laid it on the table so they could both see.

"Whose blood do you suppose is on that knife?" I asked neither one of them in particular.

Janet caved far earlier than I suspected she might, but it saved me a ton of time and trouble. Gail saw it on her face a few moments after I did.

"Don't you dare say a word, Janet!" she admonished her meek lover. "Keep quiet and let me discuss this with Tom. Go in the bedroom and lay down."

Sitting up straight, I slowly pulled the Glock 9mm from its holster under my sport coat, setting it in my lap.

"Don't go, Janet. Stay here with us. I'd hate to make a mess of these antique rugs."

Gail was looking towards the front door. I could tell what was on her mind.

"That won't work, Gail." I said with no emotion. "You can't outrun a bullet. The two of you won't be able to overpower me either. You could try calling 911, or whatever they call it here, but that would only end up landing both of you in prison for murder. Of course, they would probably want to take me in too. That might allow you both an opportunity to run, so that's why I'll have to shoot both of you in the leg before the cops arrive."

"Alright Tom, how much?" Just like that, she'd shifted gears again. Damn, the cold-hearted bitch was smooth.

I pretended to ponder her question. "Hmmm... how much? Now that's a conundrum, isn't it? On the one hand, you saved me a lot of money on a divorce. A lot of time, too. That has to be worth something, I suppose. On the other, I'm guessing your plan was to take all of John's money, which you did, and the life insurance payoff, while I was your scapegoat. How much was Ole' Johnny worth, Gail?"

"Eight mil, or thereabouts," she stated unemotionally.

"And the rest of his estate; his assets?" I queried. "That had to be a lot more. Did you get the life insurance check?"

It was so much that she didn't want to say.

"It was enough," she claimed. "Enough so Janet and I could live comfortably."

"So, you two are lovers?" I asked, already knowing. "Probably before Larry found out the hard way."

"We're lovers, yes, Tom." Gail snorted. "It started not long after Larry started working at the company. We've been together for almost four years."

"Who cares?" I laughed out my reply. "Start talking, Gail. I want the details from that night. What I hear, might even influence how much I decide I want." I waved the gun for effect.

"I'm sorry, Tom," she replied with a smirk. "I'm wondering if you might be wearing something, you know, to record this?"

I chuckled a little too loudly for my own comfort, looking her straight in the eye.

"If I was, the cops would have stormed through that door already, you dumb cunt." My response dripped with disdain. "You don't get it. You're not in charge anymore, Gail. I want to know the 'what' and the 'why.' I want details. Then, and only then, we'll talk money - the money I want for now, that is. I'm sure I'll be back when that's gone. You're the gift that will keep on giving, Gail, like it or not."

I looked Janet straight in the eye. "I'm giving the orders now, Janet. She's going to talk, and we're both going to listen, okay? The next time she tells you something and you listen to her, I'm gonna put a bullet in her knee. If you want to be pushing a wheelchair around forever, be my guest."

Gail laid it all out. She'd been the dominant mastermind who'd planned it all. Janet hadn't been needed to cook that weekend, only to provide more doubt regarding my innocence. Gail had given her a fake passport; before the police had even shown up at my home on Sunday morning. Janet had already been on a flight to Bangkok. She'd stayed there for a year with a close friend of Gail's and had worked hard to lose some weight. Before moving to London, six months ago, she'd also needed to change her hair style and color.

"Alright, Gail," I interrupted, "Let's hear about that night. Leave nothing out, or you'll lose something important to you... today."

"Can we at least have tea?" she asked. Boy, she was a piece of work.

"No, Gail." I pointed the gun at her head. "No tea."

"Okay, Tom," she said with a heavy sigh. "I was there, behind some bushes, when you booted John's testicles into the stratosphere. I barely stopped myself from laughing. That would have really ruined everything.

"It's a good thing you left though," she continued. "I'm the one who ended up watching them, not you. My worthless husband, rutting away in your wife poolside - after his balls recovered, of course. The sickening little noises he made. I wondered momentarily if Molly made those stupid little keening sounds when she was with you. But in the end, I had to focus on not throwing up."

Poor Jacki had been first up. Gail had come in through the open slider unnoticed while John and Molly were fucking each other to death in the pool. I wondered why I hadn't kicked him harder.

The young escort had fought hard for her life, as the pictures seemed to have shown.

After a viscous struggle, Gail had finally been able to get both of Jacki's hands wrapped into one of hers. That's when Gail thrust the knife deep through her rib cage. Had she not struck pay dirt on the first incision, Jacki may have actually won her battle, the way Gail explained it. I found it disconcerting that she seemed to revel in the retelling of it. Meanwhile, Janet was upstairs with her husband, and he'd commented that he was glad Tom had decided to come back and was getting some comfort from the escort. Little had he known those muffled screams hadn't been moans of pleasure.

Janet's job had been to distract her husband until Gail could sneak into John's room. They'd returned to the room not long after, and, as they'd started to doze, Gail had unleashed all her fury on them. Both had been too surprised after their long day and satisfying romp to put up much of an initial fight. The number of stab wounds told the story of just how angry Gail had been about her husband's infidelity. That was the rage she'd tried so hard to project onto me, as her patsy. I didn't want to think any more about how close she'd come to succeeding.

Janet had been persuaded by Gail to kill Larry to 'prove her love.' I just looked on Janet with pity as Gail explained that. More importantly, it had made her a full-blown accomplice, with no hope for much leniency if she'd ever decided to go to the police. The plan had been to get him in the back while he was running to John's room - which they fully expected him to do once he heard all the commotion. But Larry's experience had served him well - not well enough, but I could hardly blame him. He'd gone for his gun first, before heading to the room. He hadn't run down the hallway either; rather, he'd tiptoed. Janet had followed close behind him, saying she was scared, the instrument of death hidden in her right hand behind her back.

Janet, having never using a knife on another human being, had had no idea the thrust needed to penetrate her husband through his clothing. The first wound had only seemed to surprise him. When he'd turned to face Janet, the whole truth - or near enough - had suddenly dawned on him. She'd had the knife poised to strike again. That's when the shot had rung out. A bullet had whizzed past Janet's right ear, and had shattered a framed picture near the top of the stairway. Gail had then come rushing out of John's room, causing Larry to turn again. That's when Janet had stabbed him for the second time, harder. Larry had fired a second round as he'd fallen forward. That bullet had missed Gail, and ended up being the one found by the police.

Larry had endured four more stab wounds to his upper back. Shortly afterward, he'd choked to death on his own blood, with his own wife straddling him.

Gail and Janet had been meticulous in cleaning up the glass from the picture. Ironically, the damaged picture was from one of John and Gail's wedding photos. I'd learned from the PI report they'd replaced it with a larger framed picture from the dining room that covered the smoke-stained wood surrounding the original.

Checking and re-checking to ensure nothing was missed, they'd found my wedding ring on the counter and laughed over the help I'd unknowingly provided.

The pair of lovers had then departed for Janet's home. She'd had a suitcase full of new clothing stashed in their guest bedroom closet.

The fake passport?" I asked. "I'm sure that took a few bucks."

"It did, Tom." She sighed long and hard before reaching for her purse.

"Uh, uh. Don't do it." I waved the gun.

"Easy Tom, just getting my checkbook. How much are we talking here?"

"Fuck you, you dirty whore." I spat. "Do you think I'll make things that easy for you?"

She actually giggled. Gail had the kind of balls her dead husband could have only dreamed about. If I'd kicked her that night, I might've broken my foot.

"Tom, I think you should check on the definition of a whore," she replied, enjoying herself. "That would be Molly, not me. I'm many things, but not that. It doesn't appear that you've come to realize it yet, but I've done you a very big favor.

"You don't strike me as the kind of person who could accept what John and Molly did to you: making you a damned fool and a cuckold. I wasn't at all surprised to learn during the trial that you'd been having them watched for the entire four years. But you must know, she would have raped you in a divorce. You live in a no-fault state, and besides, you were complicit in her infidelity. You were there, remember, right where I wanted you to be. Now, give me a figure."

Just then there was activity at the front door. "Police! Open the door!"

Gail looked at me with fury and disbelief. She shook her head, scolding me like a mother. "You stupid, stupid man," she admonished, "I took away your burden and could have made you very wealthy. Maybe included you with all the fun Janet and I have together. But no, you just had to have a conscience."

"You took away my burden, you foul bitch? You killed my fucking wife, and tried to take my fucking freedom!" I was losing control, and that was what she needed. Gail sprang from her seat, coming at me with a full head of steam. The move shocked me.

"Help, police, in here! Help!" She hollered it in her best acting voice, I might add. At the last second, I regained my composure and fired a slug into her kneecap. As she crumpled to the floor, I fired another that shattered her right collar bone. That one was unintentional. I was aiming at her chest.

Interpol and local authorities entered as I dropped the weapon. Police took in the scene, and yelled at me to get face down on the floor, hands behind my head. I was handcuffed and sat back down in the same chair as paramedics rushed in and attended to Gail. Janet just sat there, stunned, until officers led her into the next room. Other policemen kept entering, and finally I saw one I recognized.

"You okay, Tom?" Inspector Miles Standish asked. "Sorry about the protocol, but you weren't supposed to have a firearm, let alone shoot anyone."

I sneered at the man who'd helped me set this up. "Well, it was a good thing I did. She came right for me. What took you so long?"

I spent the rest of the afternoon at police headquarters giving my statement, which of course was substantiated by the recording from the wire I wore.

The next day, my attorneys served Gail and Janet immediately after their arraignment. We'd been working out the details for months leading up to the confrontation. Wealthy, dishonest people almost never get caught, so I knew I needed to savor this win. There were so many others out there who never got justice.

Both women were extradited to the U.S., prosecuted, and put on trial. Gail, for her part, remained stoic and belligerent. That actually helped my civil suit. As her trial unfolded, her testimony in my case fell apart. Eventually, I was awarded a seven-figure payout, even after the lawyer fees, for the women's part in the deception, my humiliation, and, most importantly, the murder of my wife.

I went back to Europe after the trial, intent on starting a new life and closing this chapter. Eventually, I made my way to the Caribbean, buying a small home on the Turks Islands. I've found myself quite content with the weather, and I have three regular women to share my bed.

Still, on the rare night I find myself alone, I often think of Molly. I think of all we lost, just because she fell for her boss, and then fell heedlessly into his wife's sick, twisted plot for revenge. That saddened me - for us, and for everyone who knew Molly. She didn't deserve that - not in my book anyway.

So, I try to live my life like today could be my last, in honor of my late wife. We certainly would not have stayed together, had she lived. Death having done us part - and her murderer having made me rich - I think I can afford to be charitable. It surely had been a fateful weekend, not just a faithless one.