Faithful? Fateful

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 1^st 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.