Susan asked me, “What are you thinking about?”

“About… how lucky we are… you and I… and how lucky I am that you made this happen… and that no matter what happens next, we’ve had this time together.”

The doorbell rang at 10:00 A.M., and I opened the door to Special Agent Felix Mancuso.

We shook hands and exchanged greetings, and as I showed him into the foyer, he took off his rain hat, and I saw that his baldness hadn’t progressed much in ten years, but what was left of his hair had gone from black to salt-and-pepper. When his beat had been La Cosa Nostra, Special Agent Mancuso’s Italian-made suits were always better than theirs; but now, I noticed, his gray suit and his shirt and tie were nothing special, and he’d blend in nicely on the streets of New York as he followed terrorists around the city – or whatever he did with the Terrorist Task Force. I noticed, too, he was wearing a flag pin on his lapel, the better to blend in with everyone else in New York.

Susan was in the kitchen, and I’d asked her to give me ten minutes with Mancuso, so I showed him into my new old office and invited him to sit in my old leather club chair. He did a quick scan of the room as I sat at my desk chair and shut off the phone ringer.

He said to me, “This is a very nice place you have here.” He asked, “And this was your wife’s family estate?”

“We like to say ancestral home.”

He saw I was being droll, so he smiled.

I informed him, “She owns only this guest cottage and ten acres. Most of the remaining acreage and the main house are now owned by Mr. Amir Nasim, who, as I mentioned, has a few problems of his own that may interest you.”

Mr. Mancuso did not reply to that. He said, instead, “I wish you luck here. It must be nice to be home.”

“It is, except for my Alhambra neighbor.”

He nodded.

As I said, he’d been here twice before – once when he’d offered me a ride home from the city after Frank Bellarosa survived the Giulio’s shooting, and once when he’d given me a ride to Alhambra to show me the result of Susan’s better aim in ending Frank’s life.

On that subject, I needed to clear some of the air from the last time we’d spoken, and I began, “Mrs. Sutter told me that she believes you may harbor some negative feelings toward her.”

He replied, frankly, “I did. But I’ve become more realistic since we last had occasion to interact.”

And, I thought, probably less idealistic. Especially after he’d taken a career hit for something that was not his fault. In the end, Susan had gotten off easier than Special Agent Mancuso, proving once again that life is not fair. I said to him, “I think Mrs. Sutter can be more helpful this time.”

He probably wondered how she could be any less helpful than last time, but he replied, “I’m glad to hear that.” He informed me, “My personal feelings, Mr. Sutter, have never interfered with my professional conduct.”

To keep it honest, I said, “You know that’s not true.” I pointed out, “But that could be a positive thing. For instance, I appreciated your personal concern about my involvement with Frank Bellarosa.” I suggested, “Mrs. Sutter could also have benefited from your advice.”

He thought about that, then replied, “You make a good point. But quite frankly… well, that was your job.”

“Also a good point. And I’ll go you one better – she should have insisted that I not get involved with Frank Bellarosa, but instead she encouraged me to do so.”

He did not seem surprised at that revelation, probably having long ago deduced the dynamics of the John-Susan-Frank triangle. He did say, however, “There was a point when… well, when it was no longer simply some taboo fun or whatever it was for the both of you. It was at that point when you both needed to save each other, and your marriage.”

“And don’t forget our souls. But by the time we realized that, Mr. Mancuso, it was far too late.”

“It usually is.”

I gave him some good news. “Mrs. Sutter was vehemently opposed to my even speaking to Anthony Bellarosa.”

He responded, as I knew he would, “I’m glad someone learned their lesson.” He smiled, and I was treated to that row of white Chiclets that I remembered.

I reminded him, “We’ve all learned our lessons.”

The intercom on the phone buzzed, and I picked it up. Susan asked, “Shall I make my grand entrance?”

I was glad I hadn’t hit the speaker button, nor would I ever with Susan on the line. I replied, “Yes, and please have one of the servants bring coffee.”

“The last servant left thirty years ago, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. About five minutes.” I hung up and said to Mr. Mancuso, “We’re out of servants at the moment, but Mrs. Sutter will bring coffee.”

Again he smiled, then took the opportunity to say, “I never understood how two people from your world could have gotten involved in Frank Bellarosa’s world.”

I thought about that and replied, “Well, if that’s a question, I don’t have an answer.”

He suggested, “Part of the answer may be that evil is seductive. I think I told you that.”

“You did. Add to that a little restless boredom, and you have at least part of the answer to your question.” I added, “I’m speaking for myself. I’m not entirely sure what motivated Mrs. Sutter to do what she did.”

“Did you ask?”

“Not directly. But you can ask her if it’s bothering you.” I added, “It might possibly have to do with sex.”

He didn’t seem shocked by that, though he would have been shocked if I’d told him it was also about love. But that was none of his business.

He thought a moment, then replied, “Adultery is a symptom of a larger problem.”

“Sometimes. But to paraphrase Freud, sometimes adultery is just adultery.” I asked, “And what difference does it make now?”

“Because, Mr. Sutter, to know and to understand is the first step toward real reconciliation. More importantly, it is absolutely critical that you know who you are, who she is, and what you are forgiving.”

I could see that Mr. Mancuso was still practicing psychology and still giving spiritual advice. Plus, he’d added marriage counseling to his repertoire. I asked him, “I don’t mean to be… disrespectful, but do you have any professional training outside of the law and law enforcement?”

He didn’t seem insulted by the question, and responded, “As a matter of fact, I spent two years in the seminary before deciding that wasn’t my calling.”

I was not completely surprised. I’d actually known a number of Catholic lawyers and judges and a few men in law enforcement who’d once been seminarians. There seemed to be some connection there, though what it was, was only partially clear to me. I asked him, “What made you decide that the priesthood was not your calling?”

He replied, without embarrassment, “The temptations of the flesh were too great.”

“Well, I can relate to that.” I thought about suggesting that he become an Episcopalian and give the priesthood another try, but he changed the subject and said, “If I may make a final observation about what happened ten years ago… in all my years of dealing with crime, organized and otherwise, I have rarely come across a man with the sociopathic charm and charisma of Frank Bellarosa. So, if it makes you feel any better, Mr. Sutter, you, and your wife, were seduced by a master manipulator.”

“That makes me feel much better.”

“Well, I offer it for what it’s worth.”

Felix Mancuso seemed to believe that the history of the human race could best be understood as a struggle between good and evil, with Frank Bellarosa being Satan incarnate. But that did not explain Frank Bellarosa’s all too human feelings of love for Susan Sutter, and his final good and honorable deed toward me that caused his death.

To move on to the present problem, I let him know, “Anthony Bellarosa is not as complex or as charming, or even as intelligent, as his father.”