Chapter 2

John Watson drove home almost by rote. He finally looked out at the front of his garage and realized that he had absolutely no idea how he got there. The entire trip from the diner to his house was a blank. He took a long, shuddering breath, exited the car and stumbled into the house.

His thoughts were chaotic and he felt a sense of emptiness and loss. He knew that he had to sit down and reason all of this out, but he just couldn't concentrate; he couldn't put his mind at rest, he couldn't even begin to explore the why of it all.

"Esther is having an affair, you stupid schmuck," his mind screamed at him. "She's having an affair, you stupid, idiotic cuckold - she's having an affair right under your fucking nose and you didn't even take the time to see it."

"NO, NO," John screamed aloud, his voice echoing off the walls. "THAT'S NOT TRUE, THAT'S NOT TRUE. SHUT UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP.'

He stood still, trembling, fighting to regain control. The pain he was feeling was visceral and tears kept coming to his eyes; he kept wiping them away impatiently. He walked slowly to the liquor cabinet/bar and poured himself a small glass of scotch which he diluted with water. Looking at the drink in his hand he hesitated and then turned and poured it into the small sink. He knew that that wasn't the way to go, he wasn't his father.

He walked into the bathroom, washed his face and looked in the medicine cabinet for the small vial of low dose Xanax that Esther had to help her sleep at times. He paused for a moment, looking down at the pills in his hand, then shook his head and put the bottle back in the medicine cabinet. His lips twisted in a bitter smile and he almost laughed at what he momentarily contemplated. He felt a bit calmer, the shock of this sudden revelation slowly wearing off and his brain starting to function again, albeit a bit erratically.

"So, Jim Moriarty is back, he's back and she never said one word to me. No wonder our marriage has been going to hell these past few months. It's a wonder she has been able to keep both her marriage and her lover balanced, but then again, Esther has always been talented." John thought to himself. "Now the question is - what the hell am I going to do about that. There's little doubt that she been fucking him for months now and they're going away for a few days together on business," he laughed briefly yet bitterly. "No wonder she's hasn't been too interested in sex with me, she's been getting plenty from him."

John knew that he wouldn't, couldn't accept his wife's infidelity. There was just no way that he could stay married to a wife who was an adulteress. He would have to take some action - he would have to file for divorce. He felt a sudden pang as the word entered his consciousness. Divorce - such an ugly, cheap, tacky word, but there it was. He briefly considered counseling, but knew that it was now too late. Perhaps before she took the plunge into infidelity, perhaps then, perhaps then... , but not now, now it was too late.

As John sat, contemplating the bleakness of his future, the sorrow that had enveloped him slowly began to be replaced by an icy calm that cleared his mind. He felt a coldness creep into his soul, a bitterness at his wife's betrayal. No more tears, no more feeling sorry for himself; it was now time for him to take some action. The anguish that had etched deep lines in his face faded to be replaced with a grim determination. The boy who had once roamed the mean streets of the city had taken control; he would be no one's patsy.

Despite what he considered overwhelming evidence of Esther's adultery, John also recognized that there remained a small kernel of doubt. He knew that before he took any action he would first totally satisfy himself that what he suspected was, in actuality, true. He needed hard, factual evidence of his wife's infidelity. Then there would be no doubts.

A grim smile came to his lips, 'There's a price to be paid for betrayal, sweetheart; a very high price," he muttered under his breath as he picked up the phone - but he didn't feel the tears coursing down his cheeks.

"Essie", Stan Hopkin's voice boomed through the almost empty offices.

"It's almost 3:00 and I have to take off. You guys are almost finished, right?"

"A couple more hours, Stan. Jim is finishing the first part of the final draft and I'm almost finished here.

"Okay. Don't forget, your plane leaves at 7:00 tomorrow evening. Your tickets will be at the ticket counter. Get a good night's sleep and be fresh for that damned meeting with Simmons. It should all be routine now, that is if that louse doesn't find something else to worry us about. Say goodby to Jim for me. See you all when you get back," Stan Hopkins said as he departed.

"Shit, leaving tomorrow evening is going to lead to another spat with John," she thought to herself, wondering how they could ever manage to put this behind them. Could they ever find their way back to the love that they had shared?

Esther again felt a sense of foreboding, realizing that spending a couple of nights alone in an hotel with Jim, even though in separate rooms, and hopefully separate floors, might be disastrous if John knew. Again she wondered if she hadn't made a very serious error in judgement by not telling her husband that Jim had returned to the firm. She shook her head impatiently, she had done nothing wrong and she intended to do nothing wrong - but why then did she feel so anxious?

"John, come in, give me your jacket," said Irene as she saw John standing in her doorway. "Now, tell me what's going on, you didn't sound yourself on the phone. Do you want a drink or something?"

"Nothing, Irene," John replied. "Thanks for letting me come over on such short notice. I really need to talk to you."

Irene saw his drawn features and red eyes. She knew that something had happened, but she would follow John's lead. Something was obviously very wrong; her heart went out to him.

"Okay, John. At least sit down."

John turned into the small, but comfortable living room. The late afternoon sun flooded the room, giving it a warm, lived-in feeling. If he was not so troubled, he would have again marveled at how Irene had made her home so inviting. He sat down in one of the easy chairs and crossed his legs, looking up at her He smiled weakly, again feeling a surge of affection for his good friend.

"Renee, I'm really sorry about bringing my problems to you. It seems that you are the lucky one, you get to share them," John told her, straining to get out a chuckle.

Irene sat, waiting. Her posture invited John's confidences and he related to her his suspicion that Esther was in the midst of an affair. "It all makes sense now, Renee. Why our marriage has deteriorated over the past few months, her dismissive attitude, her lack of affection toward me, her obvious disrespect."

John's voice had risen a bit and he paused, regaining control. "I don't even remember the last time we really made love. I'm not talking about a quickie coming together. I'm talking about making love, the way two married people who adore each other should. Irene," John paused again and tears came to his eyes. "I don't even remember the last time we even kissed, can you believe that?"

Irene hurt for him, and for Esther. Despite now having the information John had given her, she found it hard to believe that Esther would betray her husband. She knew how much she adored him.

John" Irene replied gently. "Listen, please. I know that your discovery about Moriarty's return has shaken you, but try to reason this out. It could very well be that Essie hasn't mentioned it to you for the very reason that she knew that you would go ballistic. It could very well be that she just didn't want to get you upset. Couldn't that be true?"

John just sat and shook his head. "I've thought of that, Renee. I've tried to come to that conclusion, but it just doesn't fit. The fact of his return and when he returned coincide with the beginning of our problems. That's just too much coincidence. You know, whenever Essie would tell me that she had to work late, or had to go in on a Saturday, it never, ever entered my mind that she wasn't telling me the truth.

"I knew that this project was a killer and I was understanding, but the late nights, the weekends, her sudden absences, supposedly work related, started to fray at the very fabric of our marriage. We had small spats about it and I warned her that she was putting her career ahead of our relationship but she called me paranoid and then tried to placate me, telling me that this thing would soon be over and then we would be back to normal."

John paused again and then smiled bitterly. "Let's call a spade a spade, Renee. Let's not try to evade the obvious, Esther is screwing Moriarty and there is absolutely no way for me to accept that. My marriage is over, it's irrevocably broken. All I have to do now is make sure that I get the evidence I need in order to satisfy myself before I start divorce proceedings."

Irene gasped and her hand covered her mouth. "Divorce? Wait, John. Hold on. Aren't you jumping the gun just a bit. All you have are suppositions, suspicions. I admit that it doesn't look good, but don't go off half-cocked. You've got to get to the bottom of this. Talk to Essie, for goodness sake. You know that she can't lie to you. Talk to her."

"Goddamn it, Renee. She's been lying to me for months, don't tell me that she can't lie, she's gotten damned good at it. Look, Irene. You're into drama, stagecraft, etc. Can you make me up so that I can't be recognized? I'm going to fly out after she leaves and I'm going to shadow her and Moriarty. I'll get the evidence I need. I'll catch her in the act."

Irene laughed, releasing a bit of her tension. "John, John, what... you're going to be James Bond? Forget makeup, you'll look ridiculous and no makeup is going to last two or three days. But you may be right about flying out and just looking around. You know what, you may find that you're totally wrong.

"If you want to make yourself disappear, not be noticed, all you have to do is just change a few things. You never wear a hat of any kind, so get a ball cap and wear it. Drop in at the local dollar store and get a pair of horned rimmed glasses with little or no correction. You're always in either a suit or sport coat. Ditch that, wear a denim jacket and jeans, something that no one has ever seen you in. Just those few things will make John Watson disappear, believe me."

John nodded in agreement. "Good idea, I'll do just that. They don't expect to see me there and so I doubt that they'll spot me. Esther is leaving Monday morning - I'll call and get a ticket for the flight following hers."

He sighed, "At least I'll be doing something, not just waiting around wringing my hands, envisioning her in bed with that asshole."

Irene grimaced. It felt strange, having the shoe on the other foot, so to speak. So many times had John and Esther commiserated with her after another failed relationship. Now the roles were reversed, a scenario that she never thought would ever happen.

She moved to John as he rose and hugged him, then walked him to the door, asking him to keep her informed as to what was happening. He assured her that he would and slowly made his way to his car and pulled away.

Irene stood for a bit in the doorway, deep in thought, her heart going out to her friend. Unbidden, another thought crept into her consciousness. She said softly to herself, "John is planning to divorce Esther. He'll then be available..."

Irene shook her head impatiently. "Stop it, you fool," she castigated herself. "You're supposed to be their friend, not a manipulative bitch." But the thought lingered, the seed was planted and it would resurface.

"John? John?" Esther shouted as she came through the door. Her husband had just come into the house from the rear deck and heard her calling him.

He stood there, noting her agitation, wondering, what now? "Okay, Esther, calm down. I'm here, you sound upset. What's wrong?"

Esther visibly calmed herself, steeling herself for the anger that she expected after she told him of the change in plans, that she'd be leaving tomorrow evening instead of Monday morning.

"John, please, please don't be angry and please let's not have another spat." She took a deep breath and just blurted it out. "John, I'm leaving Sunday night instead of Monday morning. This is the end of the project, John. Once I get the signature, it's all over. No more crazy hours, back to normal. I know that we have had problems, honey. But just let me get this thing over with and, I promise, things will be so much better."

Esther stood there, not realizing that she was clenching her hands, anxiously awaiting the blow-up she so feared, but knew was coming.

John just stood there, controlling his ire. "Okay, Esther. I understand," he grated. "Don't worry. No shouting, no more invectives. I fully understand. You go and do whatever you have to. We'll talk when you return. We'll have much to discuss." He then turned and left the house, got into his car and drove away. He just couldn't stomach being near her, he didn't want to be in the same building.

Esther stood watching him leave, her mouth agape. This was something she didn't anticipate; John had never turned his back in anger and walked away. It was at that moment that Esther knew that her marriage was in serious trouble and she wondered if they could ever find a way back. But beneath her frustration, anxiety and fear there smoldered a core of resentment and anger. He should be more understanding, more aware of what her job demanded of her, more supportive.

John returned late that night. He had parked along the riverfront and had walked. He wasn't quite sure how far, but it seemed miles. He returned to his car exhausted in both mind and body. His had figuratively tossed the ball of his marital discord around endlessly. He had berated himself - what's the use of agonizing over this? The end was self evident - quit the bullshit, get the goods and get it over with. This festering wound had to be cauterized, or you'll bleed to death.

He entered a dark and still house. He saw that it was after midnight and he softly crept up the stairs and into the guest room. Too tired to undress he kicked his shoes off, laid back on the bed and, despite the devils plaguing his thoughts, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next day was chilly in the Watson's household. John and Esther avoided each other as much as possible and when the taxi pulled up late in the afternoon, Esther just picked up her briefcase and suitcase and left without a word to her husband. John looked through the window as she entered the cab and pulled away. He started to have second thoughts about his trip the next day. After all, what did it matter now? Esther's departure seemed a fitting end to the relationship, did it really matter if she was going to shack up with Moriarty?

"No, I want the proof," he thought to himself. "I want hard evidence. I don't want there to be any doubts."

Was it to justify his paranoia?

It was a very different looking John Watson that checked into the hotel the following morning. Wearing a Phillies baseball cap, the silly horned rim glasses, plaid shirt and denim jeans and jacket, he looked a far cry from the staid academic that everyone was used to. He was shocked at how different he appeared. He became quickly convinced that he really wouldn't have to worry too much about being spotted or recognized.

It was now after 11:00 a.m. and he knew that Esther would be out. He figured that she wouldn't return until later in the afternoon or evening. He would plant himself in the lobby, in a spot he had already chosen. The large, artificial palm would screen him to a degree and the light in that corner was dim. Another advantage was that he would be able to see the elevators from that vantage point.

From the check-in desk John started for his room, then hesitated as he saw a hotel shop featuring fresh flowers. He entered and picked up a business card for the establishment, then turned and left. Moving into an alcove he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number of the florist and ordered a dozen roses to be delivered to Mrs. Esther Watson. He specified that the flowers be delivered to her room within the next hour. John then strode into the lobby again and sat and waited.

It wasn't too long before he saw a bell man carrying a vase of red roses leave the shop and head for the elevator. John was close on his heels and entered the elevator behind the bell man whose name tag read Bill. Bill pressed floor number 12 and looked questioningly at John who just nodded and smiled.

They both exited at the twelfth floor. Bill turned left while John hesitated a moment, then turned and followed Bill slowly. He saw Bill knock on a door, wait a bit and then use a pass key to enter. The room number was 1212. John smiled, turned and quickly headed to the stairs. He didn't want Bill to find him wandering the hallway. At floor 11, John went to the elevators, saw one descending, waited a bit and then pressed the down button and exited on floor 9 where his room was located.

John was seated in the lobby in his previously chosen location at approximately 4 o'clock. He sat with a newspaper on his lap, making a rather negligible attempt to read in the dim light. His eyes would wander occasionally to the wall clock where the minutes seemed to tick away in slow motion. Finally at 6:33 John saw Esther enter the lobby. With her was a tall, slender blond man who, despite the years since he had last seen him, he recognized as James Moriarty.

They didn't seem to be in a good mood; they appeared tense and lines of frustration seemed etched on their faces. It appeared that the negotiations had not gone well. They said very little to each other, but John saw Moriarty take Esther's elbow. He tried to move her into the dining room, but she pulled away, shook her head and headed to the elevators.

Moriarty shrugged and followed her, John staring intently at the floor indicator. He watched the floor numbers flash, pause on floor 8 and then proceed to floor 12. He didn't realize that he was holding his breath, and then let out an explosive blast of air.

John entered the hotel coffee shop where he quickly consumed a club sandwich and an iced tea. He didn't want to be away from his location for too long. Minutes later he was back in his chair with his newspaper, pretending to be engrossed. He sat there until a few minutes after 11 then rose and traveled to his room. His suitcase was still on the bed. Jon was in deep thought as he unpacked, washed and brushed his teeth.

"Maybe Esther is right," Jon wondered. "Maybe I am paranoid. There was nothing that looked anything like an affair. Their body movements certainly did not appear to be anything but professional. There was no "looks", no touching, no soft smiles." John shook his head impatiently, "am I really being a blithering fool? Have I really gone off half-cocked?"

John undressed, pulled on a pair of pajamas and got into bed, but he didn't even make an attempt at sleep. He needed to think - he needed to use his intellect to reason out what was happening. "Could I have been so wrong," he wondered. John knew that he needed to try to push his emotions aside and tackle this problem analytically, something he should have done months ago. Unfortunately, being in love and suspecting that one's spouse is unfaithful isn't truly conducive to clear thinking or reasoning.