The History Professor

The History Professor

I had great fun with the comments on The Fire Inspector. Many are upset that the protagonist is punished, while (in their view) the others are not. One comment, by hushjf, gave me this idea. This story is from his suggestions, AND I report in advance, it is complicated.

The story is also similar to The Fire Inspector. I reused the character of Sal Maranzano. But the main characters are different and the ending is brand new.

For the BTB crowd, I wonder if this end measures up - or falls flat. The FTDS crowd may be upset, too. To me, the story ends as it should.

The story is unique, to my knowledge. It doesn't end the way it appears to be headed. As is common in my stories, there is no sex in this story. The premise is the same; revenge is not easy, and revenge without a price is not possible.

This story is entirely my creation. I use Word and CoPilot (AI) to edit.

My name is Mark Blake. I am professor of American history at the State University, here in the City. The students in my classes are primarily majoring in history, education, and other pursuits requiring multiple history courses. I find that enjoyable because I can teach them about people who are not generally known, like Hannah Arendt (1906-1975). Arendt was a Jewish refugee who fled Germany before WWII. She became an American political theorist, who wrote about totalitarianism and her concept of "the banality of evil." The core of the concept is wrongdoing often comes from thoughtlessness, not malice.

The lesson for my students is found in her quote, "The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil." The motive is not relevant to the victim. What difference would it have made to her had she been sent to a death camp because someone was truly evil, or merely following orders? None.

I never present students with one "right" point of view. We also discuss Michel Foucault, who believed morality was a social construct, not an absolute and evil is therefore created by systems of power.

What on earth is he rambling about, you might be asking yourself. I am faced with questions about morality due to my discovery. I saw my wife, Rachel, ducking into a motel room as I was sitting at a stoplight. I could do nothing; I was not the driver and did not want to share this dirty laundry with the school at large.

Right now, I agree with Arendt, I don't know whether she is doing this to hurt me or because she thinks I won't find out, the damage to my soul is the same.

What can I do about this? First, I don't even know what this is - one time, a casual affair, a love affair. Does that even matter? Her motive is important to her; can't say it's important to me. Or can I?

The truth is I have no idea how I feel. I did not imagine being here, now that I am here, I must learn to deal with it.

Today, my first class is at 1:20. Usually I am in by 8:30. It's nearing 11:00 and I am still at home; today must be an exception.

I got in my car and headed toward work. I'd not left our development and a red car, going 50 or 60 miles an hour cut me off, almost causing an accident. I looked down the street and saw heavy black smoke. I turned down the street to see the cause.

A very nice home, not two blocks from our house, was ablaze. The front door was wide open. Prudence had prevented me from trying to follow the red car, after all, what was I going to do if I caught them?

I don't know where prudence went.

Wisdom would say, the people fleeing left the door open. My mind was telling me, someone is trying to get out. Prudence would call 9-1-1. I put my car in park and ran toward the open door.

The heat was intense. I could see flames starting to come down from the second floor. The roof had been breached by flames. There was no time left. I heard a baby screaming. I looked on the floor and saw a woman, face down - her arms were extended and the baby was in her hands. It was covered in a blanket. It was no more than eight feet from the open door.

I dashed in. I could not believe the heat. I bent down and grabbed her arm; it was lifeless. I picked the blanket-covered child up and turned. I cleared the doorway and there was an explosion behind me. It hit me, but the force was not too great - the heat? Another story.

I lay the child down in the front yard and rolled onto my back - in case I was on fire. The pain told me I must have been.

An instant later I heard sirens. The child was still screaming, which told me he (it was a blue blanket that covered him) was not too badly harmed. I looked up, there was a fireman talking to me. I could not understand him. He waved his arm and people appeared with a stretcher. They put a mask on me, and I started to feel a little better. I heard "shock", maybe that was my issue.

I opened my eyes. I was in the hospital, lying on my left side with a pillow between my legs. My back felt like it was on fire. A nurse came around from behind me and said, "The hero is awake!" She left the room.

A doctor rushed to see me. "Mr. Blake, you are at Memorial Hospital. You have mostly 2nd degree, and one small area of 3rd degree burns on your back. You are lucky to be alive. You did save the baby."

"Third degree burns?"

"Very small area. The EMTs speculate you had just exited the house when the explosion occurred. You're lucky, had you been inside, they said you would have died."

"Funny, I don't feel lucky,"

"And I don't suspect you will for a while. But first on your agenda is meeting the child's grateful grandfather."

"His grandfather is coming here?"

"That's what he told me and I sure as hell was not going to argue with Salvatore Maranzano."

"The mob boss?"

"That's what people say. If I were you, I wouldn't say it to his face."

"Good to know. They don't teach mob etiquette at State; as far as I know," I tried to laugh at my feeble attempt at humor and found laughter is not something I would be comfortable with for a while.

"Pain?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I'll have the nurse give you a shot. Not too strong, Mr. Salvatore is due here at any moment."

"My treatment depends on him?"

The doctor thought for a moment, "I took an oath to do no harm. In my opinion, that includes harm to myself. You'll be fine with a light dose, Mr. Maranzano will not be disappointed, and I will be delighted."

The doctor looked around, like he was afraid he was being taped, then fled. A nurse quickly followed and gave me a shot. She left.

The door opened and a very large, very mean-looking man came in and looked around. I smiled at him. He just turned and left.

The door opened again and in walked an older gentleman. I swear the room got colder. He looked my way and that steely countenance changed to a smile-like face. I can't describe it any better. He might have been wearing his warmest look, but it still was not a smile.

"Mr. Blake, Mark. I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am to you. They tell me you saved young Luke from certain death."

"Mr. Maranzano, I wish I could figure it out. I was leaving home to go to State, where I teach history. I was on the through street and a red car ran a stop sign and turned right in front of me. I swerved to the right to miss him. Instead of turning back and giving chase, I continued toward a burning house. When I got there, I was compelled to go in. That's nuts."

"You sell yourself short. You are an extraordinary man." The smile faded, "What can you tell me about the car?"

"Honestly, I don't know; I think it might have been a Toyota."

"How so?"

"An associate has a Camry; it is that same color. At least I think so. I only saw it for an instant."

Maranzano turned toward his big companion. He said something, quietly, that I could not make out. The big man took it in without changing expression.

"My son and his wife were not involved in my business. He lived here, away from our enterprise. Someone decided to hurt me by hurting him. You kept them from being totally successful. I owe you a debt I can never repay. Is there something I can do for you? I mean anything."

"Yesterday, I saw my wife going into a motel room, kissing a man as she entered. I am learning to understand how I feel. I am going to divorce her. I wish I knew who he was and how to get revenge on him."

He looked at me for quite a while. It made me nervous; I looked away."

"Mark. May I call you Mark? Certainly, I want you to call me Sal, as my closest friends do."

"Sure, Sal, Mark is fine."

"You're a great person. You run into burning buildings. Revenge is cold bastard work. You're not a cold bastard, are you?"

"No."

"Let me say this. If revenge was what you want - I'm your man. But just now, I stared you down. If this lover falls on hard times, many people will stare at you. The two big suspects will be you and your wife. You don't need that. Take some time. Decide what you would like from me. It will be my honor to see you get what you want."

He stood and handed me a card with two numbers on it. "Mark, call me any time. Either of these numbers will work. I might not answer. No matter who answers, you can trust them. Tell them it's you and say you need to talk to me. Don't ask favors of them - they might think there is a limit; I don't."

We shook hands and he left.

Two minutes later my wife came in. "Mark, what were you thinking? Oh my gosh, what would I do if I lost you?"

I thought about confronting her, but this was not the time or the place. Sal was right, I am not a cold bastard, but I can confront; I am no wimp. "I just told Sal Maranzano I don't understand it myself. But I saw the smoke, an open door, and had to go see if I could help someone."

"You're a hero. You're my hero. The good news is your injuries are painful and not too serious. They want to keep you here for two days more; to make sure you don't get any infection. Then, it'll be at least two weeks before you can get back in the full swing of things."

"If you don't mind, they have been holding off a full dose of pain relief, and I am feeling like I need it."

"Oh my, of course!" She dashed out the door, and a nurse quickly appeared. She explained I'd be asleep soon after this shot. Rachel blew me an air-kiss and left me to be treated.

For the time I was in the hospital, I did my best to sleep - a feat in hospitals. I quickly learned that when someone walked in the room, if they turned right and approached me on the side I was facing, they were visitors. Those that turned the other way and approached me on the side of my burns were hospital staff. They had "stuff" back there for my treatment. You'll forgive me that I never rolled over to see what it was.

The only positive I could see right now was I wanted time to think through what I was going to do. Sal was right, even presented the means I didn't know if revenge was right for me. Convalescence gave me the time.

Rachel was extremely attentive. She basically took up residence in a chair in the corner of the room. If I, as much as raised an eyebrow, she saw to it I got what I needed. Mostly what I needed was the bathroom - an adventure I'll not describe further.

The pain lessened a bit and was replaced with itching. Think of it like the worst sunburn anyone ever had times ten.

Rachel got all the instructions she needed, and we'd have nursing help for the first few days. I was going home. For a week to ten days, my future was either bed or bathroom. I did get to sit up and eat.

I will say this; Rachel was at my beck and call. It also seemed to me she was doing it out of love and concern, rather than duty, or worse yet, guilt.

Days went by and I was still wondering what to do about the mystery lover.

Rachel's parents live about thirty minutes' drive from our home. My folks died a few years ago. Our children, Henry (Hank), 12, and Sarah, 9, stayed with Grams and Gramps, and visited me every day. Rachel told us all she wanted the house to be quiet and to have the time she needed to make sure I got healthy as fast as possible.

A week passed and I was itching, pardon me for that pun, to get back to work. The doctor, thanks to tele-health, and I decided I would go in for a few hours a day, the first week, to see how things went.

Rachel also went back to work. She works for a law firm, and they kindly allowed her to take off to take care of me. My time to come to a decision had dwindled away.

When Rachel got home from work on Wednesday, she was fidgety. She didn't say anything, so I didn't either. Thursday was worse, the kids even saw it at dinner.

After dinner I asked, "What's wrong?"

"Why do you say something's wrong?"

"I have burns on my back and am squirming less than you are."

"The attorney I work for just disappeared. He didn't come to work yesterday."

"What's his name again?"

"Like you don't know. Bill Michaels."

"I met him once. I forgot his name. I repeat, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

We didn't talk about it any further. I didn't know what, but clearly the answer to what's wrong wasn't "nothing".

Friday there was an assembly at the school, both Hank and Sarah had a role. Hank had a role in a one-act play; Sarah was singing in the girls' choir. We had a lot of fun, and it was a distraction from the growing tensions.

Saturday, things got really weird. I woke up a little before 8:00. Rachel never gets up early on Saturday - apart from today. I got up and went into the kitchen, the kids were in front of the TV, streaming something. "Where's your mom?"

"She said she had to go out. She'd be back before lunch."

"We talked about going out this afternoon."

"She told us to be ready. We are going out when she gets home."

Now, that is just short of bizarre. What on earth is she doing? If she had something important, why was I kept in the dark?

She got home and looked the best I'd seen her in a while. She was happy, full of life and energy, and wanted us to have a good day at the water park. I was almost captured by her energy - almost.

"Where were you? What is going on?"

"Mark, I know it has been strange. The attorney I work for has just plain disappeared. That has bothered me. I am over it now. I promise we will have a good talk after church tomorrow."

"Well, I didn't need to be a rocket scientist to decide the guy she passed going into that motel room was Bill Michaels. Now, the rat bastard is missing. That bothered her, for a few days, now it doesn't. She is resolved.

What changed, maybe I do need to be a rocket scientist.

The water park was a lot of fun. Rachel was enjoying herself like she didn't have a care in the world.

Sunday, we all went to church, then out to eat a nice lunch, and we returned home - I had a feeling this was not going to be a good afternoon.

Once we were in the house, the kids disappeared, doing whatever it is they do. Rachel came up behind me, hugged me, and said, "Let's talk."

She poured herself a glass of wine and asked if I wanted something. I had a feeling wine was not going to do it for me, so I deferred - just coffee.

"This is not going to be easy for me. It seems apparent Bill's departure is bad. I fear something has happened to him. By that, I mean he has been killed. If that is true, you and I are going to be suspects."

"And why would that be?"

"I made a mistake. That conference, when I was out of town for two nights, I ended up in Bill's bed one of the nights. People in the firm know about that. It was the only time; I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"I saw you going into a motel room. I assumed it was with him, or do you have other lovers?"

Tears came to her eyes, "That hurts. No, no one else, and no other time. I went there to set him straight, even though he went there thinking we were going to enjoy one another's company, again. You must not have hung around by that door. I left not five minutes after I went in."

She said it all without flinching. My accusation hurt her; she didn't expect it. I wonder if she did leave five minutes later.

"Did you know it was Bill?"

"What fucking difference does that make?" I was losing my cool. I was about to launch into her.

"It makes a huge difference. I didn't think you knew anything. I know you didn't harm him; that is not who you are. But the police don't know you. We must make sure you are not swept up in my mistake - well other than the mess I've created in my own home."

"Yeah, other than that little detail."

"It's not a little detail to me. Bad as that is; it comes from my own actions. Fighting a murder rap is extra damages that you don't need."

She paused; I could tell she was thinking through what she wanted to say. "Let me ask you something, I read that one strategy to help with a police investigation is to cast suspicion on your spouse, what do you think?"

"I think that might be a strategy when one of them is guilty. Are you guilty?"

"No!" came back vehemently, but I sensed something", I don't think she lied, so... "I'd advise don't do it. If I'm telling the truth and you are not, it will look bad for you."

"You're right. My rock, even when I did what I did. Listen, I am going to take the kids to my folks' house for a while, they love the pool. I know you need time. I will give you space. Call me if you want them to come back, or for any reason at all."

"Thanks, I appreciate the space."

"Try to forgive me, I need you and I love you."

Sad as I was to see the kids go, I did need time. We'd always said, "one and done". I meant it, I thought she did, too. Faced with the harsh truth, I had to admit it looked different, but how different? Was the difference enough. She knew me well, I needed time.

As it turned out, there was not much time.

Wednesday, in my office, two police officers asked if they could speak with me. "Certainly, in regard to...?"

"Where were you last Tuesday and Wednesday?"

"Either here or home with my family. I was recently burned and have been recovering."

"Did you know about your wife and a Mr. William Michaels?"

"Not exactly. Just before my injury, I saw her go into a motel room but did not see who she was joining. Just yesterday, she confessed to me it was Mr. Michaels."

"Were you okay with her, what would I call it? Indiscretion?"

"No, I saw her one day, was burned the next day, and have been recovering since. She has been integral to my recovery."

"What would you say, if I told you she says she thinks you might have known?"

"I told her I saw her go into the room. I told her I didn't see who was already in the room, maybe she didn't believe me."

"Do you think she could be trying to get us to believe you had something to do with his disappearance?"

"Surely not."

"That's not the same as no. What do you mean?"

"Yesterday, she said she read that a possible strategy was for both of us to point to the other. I told her that was only a viable strategy if one of us was guilty. Then I asked if she was and she said no. We agreed, if interviewed, we would tell the truth."

They seemed satisfied. Well, they didn't ask any more questions and left. I took that to mean they were satisfied. The following day, I got a call from my father-in-law. "They have arrested Rachel, for the murder of her boss, Bill Michaels. I will take care of her attorney. She tells me she is innocent; I believe her."

"She said she thought he'd come to a bad end, and we would be the primary suspects. For what it is worth, I don't think she is guilty, either."

"I'll tell her. She would appreciate hearing from you."

"Sure, I can do that. I'm probably going to divorce her, but I'll wait until after she is finished with this."

The fall semester had begun. I had classes on Monday-Wednesday, and Tuesday-Thursday. I could keep the kids with me from Thursday afternoon until Sunday night or Monday morning. They could stay with their mother when not with me. She needed them.

She had been released on bail. She had no prior trouble with the law, and apparently her lawyer was the best. Rachel's folks were wealthy and connected. I knew he'd take care of her.

Her attorney said they had no case and pushed for a speedy trial. It was scheduled for January.

Time passed. I remembered a song, Anticipation, part of the lyric was simply, "anticipation - is making me wait". It was a curious phrasing that I thought captured the nature of time while awaiting something. Somehow, both longer and shorter. In this case I dreaded the day, the days moved slowly, then suddenly the day arrived.

I sat with her parents, directly behind the defendant's table. Whoever thought my wife at a defendant's table, in a murder trial.

The prosecutor, an austere looking woman opened, saying it was a complex trial. Nobody had been discovered but there was overwhelming evidence, which would be laid out, fact by fact, until the jury reached the inescapable conclusion, Rachel Blake was guilty of the premeditated murder of William Michaels.

The defense attorney was like no one I'd ever seen. He was dressed nicely, but his blue suit didn't look quite right. He was almost distracted and attentive. It was a polished act designed to help him - I would be witness to how it helped.

"Pardon me. I've been involved in many murder cases before. Oddly, they are grizzly, ugly trials that you'd like to avoid, but they're simple. Straightforward. A body, a bullet, a gun, and an accused. This is different. No body, No method; yet they say there was a murder. I have no idea why. Then, they leap to another conclusion, not only was there a murder, but this mother of two committed it. Like you, I'll see what they say, but as of now, I'm stumped."

He's stumped, right. But he surely made me wonder, what is going on? In my mind, round one went to the defense.

The first witness was a policeman, who described the interviews and how they concluded a murder had been committed. There were discrepancies in the defendant's statements, there was physical evidence, DNA, blood, and clothing. They went through a ton of detail. I was convinced they had been right to arrest her.

Then, cross examination.

"That was impressive. Very impressive. Thank you, but I'm a bit confused. I'm sure you can help me."

That was his start. It made me feel uneasy; I'm sure the policeman felt it, too.

"Let's start with inconsistent statements. What do you mean?"

"She didn't tell the truth, she distorted things, in her favor."

"I see. For instance, you say she tried to point to her husband as a suspect. What did she say, specifically?"

He asked and was given permission to refer to his notes. "She told us she feared he knew of her affair."

"Oh, I see. She said she had an affair?"

"Not in those words. She went into a hotel room. Her husband told her he saw her go in. She feared he saw the victim."

"Did you interview the husband?"

"We did."

"What did he say?" He flipped through his notes.

"I asked him, 'What would you say, if I told you she says she thinks you might have known?' He responded, 'I told her I saw her go into the room. I told her I didn't see who was already in the room, maybe she didn't believe me.'"

"So doesn't that say she responded appropriately?"

"Well, no, I asked him, 'Do you think she could be trying to get us to believe you had something to do with his disappearance.' He hedged in his response. He said, 'Surely not.' I followed with, 'That's not the same as no; what do you mean?' His answer was, 'Yesterday, she said she read that a possible strategy was for both of us to point to the other. I told her that was only a viable strategy if one of us was guilty. Then I asked if she was and she said no. We agreed, if interviewed, we would tell the truth.'"

"So, she told the truth?"

"Or she lied, to throw us off."

"Isn't it fair to say, it was his statement that made you doubt hers. Why do you think she lied? Why not he lied?"

"He had alibis. He could not have done this. She did not."

"Oh, that's convenient, she has no alibi, so what she says lacks credibility. Why is that? When they both said the same things. Maybe nobody lied. Sounds to me like they did what they agreed; tell the truth."

"Objection!" came from the prosecutor, "Counselor is testifying. If he has a question, he must ask."

"Sustained."

"I'll move on. You said the investigation began because of her. Tell me about that."

"We got a call from the law firm they work for. He was missing and they feared foul play. When we questioned them, she was the one who demanded they call. When we asked her, she said it was known he'd had affairs. We followed that up. He was relatively new to the firm. The only indiscretion anyone was aware of was at a conference. That was between the victim and the defendant."

"Oh, I get it! She feared foul play, because she felt guilty. Her husband cast shade on her and she ends up here."

"No, you're twisting the facts."

"Oh! I'm twisting the facts. We can't have that. How am I twisting them?"

"She started a murder investigation. She knew he was missing and there was foul play. Then, she denies it and suggests her husband may have known. Then, we find DNA, blood, and clothing to suggest there is a murder. A murder only she worried about."

"Too many steps. Let's see if we agree. First! She felt guilty and had an investigation started."

"But guilty about what?"

"She tells me her mistake with Mr. Michaels. What say you?"

"Because she did him harm."

"Would we be here in court, if she had not asked for an investigation?"

"Most likely we would not."

"So, why, if she is guilty, would she ask for an investigation?" He paused, awaiting an answer, but when the policeman started to answer, he said. "I withdraw that question; it calls for speculation on your part - and we are both concerned about twisting the facts."

He paused, looking at his notes, "Next, we went through her statements and his about telling the truth. Isn't it a fact that my interpretation of them, namely they agreed to tell the truth, both told the same story, so that's the truth. Isn't that one reasonable interpretation of what she said?"

"But she might have been lying to..."

"Excuse my interruption. Obviously, there may be other interpretations of what she said. What I asked is my interpretation reasonable?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Thank you. No further questions." I don't know how the jury heard that, but it sounded like reasonable doubt to me.

The next witness was a forensics expert who testified that Mr. Michaels blood and DNA were found in the trunk of her car. Again, the cross exam is what caught my attention.

"DNA. Let me ask this," he put his hand on the banister in front of the jurors. "If you measure where I just touched, will you find my DNA?"

"Of course."

"So, if Mr. Michael ever put anything in this trunk, you would find his DNA?"

"But we found blood, too!" The expert spoke with great authority, like he'd set a trap and the poor defense attorney fell for it."

"How many pints?"

"We did not find significant amounts of blood; just traces."

"Oh, like a paper cut."

"Well, it could have been from a minor cut. It could have been from a significant, or fatal wound."

"I see. But it could have been from a paper cut."

"Objection! Asked and answered!"

"Sustained."

I thought she hurt herself with the objection. It was like she was afraid of that answer and didn't want the jury to hear it again.

The toxic lake, on the grounds of the old iron works was the locale for the clothing entered into evidence. A pair of Michaels' shoes.

The cross for this could have been done by me. Why would you throw a heavy body in the lake and leave a pair of shoes on the shore?

In all, the prosecution's case, and the cross examination had taken a week. The prosecution rested at 2:00 PM. The defense immediately stood and requested a summary judgment and acquittal; nothing had been proven.

The judge deferred and said he would give us his decision in the morning. We stood adjourned.

The next morning, it did not surprise me when the judge granted the defense's motion and Rachel was acquitted. She turned, hugged her parents and thanked them. She looked at me. "I want to talk to you; are you free this afternoon?"

"Sure. Your place or mine?"

"I'll come home, just the two of us. There are things you need to know."

While that might sound ominous, I could not imagine what she might tell me that would be of any value. I'd made up my mind.

Little did I know.

She drove to our home, well what had been our home, and pulled into the garage. She came in and I greeted her at the door. She did not try to hug or kiss me, for which I was grateful, and said, "Let's sit in the living room."

We sat. I offered soft drinks or tea; we both had iced tea.

"I have a lot to tell you. I will go through the whole thing, or you can stop me and ask questions. It is quite a tale. It starts the Saturday before we went back to work. The kids were with my folks, and the nurse was spending her last afternoon with us. You were sound asleep. I said I was going shopping.

"My car was in the driveway. When I left the house, a woman met me at my car and said she wanted to take me to someone who could tell me about my encounter with Bill Michaels. I asked who she was. She told me that was not important, but she guaranteed if I took her to this mystery person, I would be greatly relieved."

She stopped and took a sip of tea, set the glass down and continued, "For the life of me, I don't know why but I asked her to get in my car and she directed me to a strip mall. We parked and went into this office. A big man sat in the outer office, he stood and opened a door, I walked into the inner office and met, Sal Maranzano, for the first time.

He asked if he could record our conversation, to give to me later. I agreed. Watch this." She opened her iPad and played a video, sure enough it was Sal and Rachel.

"Rachel. I have some disturbing news. I am going to share it with you, then suggest a course of action. You went to a seminar with members of your firm. The second night, you ended up in bed with an attorney, Bill Michaels. I strongly suspect he drugged you."

"What do you mean drugged me?"

"I mean gave you a combination of drugs in a small dose that made you receptive to his advances."

"I'll kill him."

"We'll get to that. Did you feel drugged?"

"Mr. Maranzano..."

"Sal, please. I owe you a great debt."

"You owe my husband, who will disown me if he finds out."

"We'll get to that. Did you feel drugged?"

"To be honest, no. I had a couple of drinks, and I was slightly tipsy. I'd swear I was in control."

"I like that answer. You are being honest with me and I appreciate that. Let me ask; can you lie?"

"I try not to, but sure. I can look you in the eye and not mean a single word I say."

"I believe you can. Here is what I offer. One day next week, I will approach Mr. Michaels and ask him to disappear for a while. Then, on Saturday, you and I will meet with him, and ask him whether he drugged you."

"Why would he tell me that?"

"Oh, I'll make telling the truth a priority for him. If he did not drug you, then I fear you and I are not on the same side in this situation. But, if, as I suspect, he did, then I will leave it to you what his punishment should be."

"I'll kill him myself..."

"If that is your wish, certainly. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I don't know if you noticed, the woman who brought you here is nearly a carbon copy of you. When we finish here, you and she are going to decide how you will dress for Saturday. You will leave your home in your car, go to an agreed upon spot, and meet another car. She will get out, dressed like you, with a wig, and go to a public park and just sit among the other cars. Anyone who sees her will assume it is you, sitting in your car. Meanwhile, you will get in the car she leaves, and it will bring you to me and Mr. Michaels."

"That sounds like a lot of work. But it means I'd be invisible for a while."

"That's the idea. Now, here is where the lying comes in. The day after he leaves, I want you to say you believe there has been foul play. Get an investigation started. Obviously, you cannot say why - since it may in fact be foul play. Can you do that?"

"Sal, you're asking me to take a huge risk. What if I get this investigation going and you have it lead to me?"

"That is not my intent. Thinking about it, if I do it also leads back to me. That is not in my interest."

She sat thinking about it. She finally said, "I can't believe I willingly went to bed with him. Even though I thought I did, I never could figure out why. Okay, let's do it."

The recording stopped. She advanced to the next video and hit play.

The setting was a smallish room. There was a table, seated at the table were Rachel, Sal, and Bill Michaels.

"Bill, you have disappointed me. You know I hate disappointments. I am a generous man. I offer you one chance. If you tell the absolute truth, I will forget your transgression. Am I clear?"

His voice cracked, he was scared to death, "Yes Sir, very clear, I cannot tell you how..."

"Save the crap. I don't care. Did you drug Mrs. Blake to get her into your bed?"

"Yes, Mr. Maranzano, yes I did."

"I warned you about that. I told you there would be no second offense - and if there was, I would guarantee there would not be a third. I do appreciate your honesty." He turned to Rachel. "Time for us to leave, dear."

"Wait, you promised me."

"Walk with me, everything will be made clear."

Sal and Rachel stood and walked to the door. He opened it, they walked through, he closed it. There was the sound of two bullets being fired. He looked at Rachel, "I know I offered for you to make the decision. You don't want a death on your hands. Mr. Michaels knew he was forbidden to do what he did and told me in an earlier conversation, we held each other hostage. He was wrong."

That video stopped.

"He told me I'd be the likely person to be indicted. No body would be discovered; I would get off. He promised me these two videos would be sent to me - he told me they would play once. He went on to say, for obvious reasons, he did not want them available for a second viewing."

Rachel took the iPad to the front door, handed it to someone, came back and sat down. "Part of my agreement."

"I was raped, Mark. He tried to blackmail me into a second time. I told him no. You saw the first part of that."

"Raped! I was certain there was nothing you could tell me that would change my mind. I was wrong. Thank God, I was wrong."

"You forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive. It was not your choice." I looked at her, she was trembling. "One last question, "He let you off the hook, would you have given him the death penalty?"

"For potentially ruining my marriage to you? I'd've shot the son of a bitch myself."