Doctor Newsome was a man of high integrity his entire adult life in marriage as well as occupation. It wasn't merely a virtue he aspired - it was an intrinsic part of his character, woven into the very fabric of who he was. Maybe that character quality stemmed from upbringing – his father being an esteemed surgeon, his mother an adored high school teacher who left a legacy of students that kept in contact with her long after they graduated and matured into adulthood. Even after years of her retirement she would still receive former student visitors to her home on occasion. Maybe it could just be simple genetic contribution from Newsome's one of his distant relatives or just plain beneficence. Ultimately, it was this deeply ingrained attribute that earned him a well-deserved reputation among family, friends and associates as someone who could be trusted - and that trust meant everything to him.
But recently all of that changed. His flawless honesty had been tainted when a pair of mysterious goons paid him a visit in his office the day Lawrence's body arrived at the morgue and in not so subtle terms pointed out to him that his willingness to cooperate with them in forging Lawrence's death in the autopsy report as a heart attack would be a matter of high importance for national security. Doctor Samuel Newsome, being the honorable man he is at first refused in no uncertain terms and in equally uncertain terms the goons promised that his life would become a living hell from which no relief would be forthcoming. They further construed that not only would his professional reputation be ruined, but that he would become an overwhelming source of embarrassment and shame to his family and those who knew him. To make matters even more foreboding they went so far as to say the lives of his wife and children would even be at stake. Their threats were delivered with such coldness and indifference that Samuel felt an arctic shiver slither his spine. He knew then without a doubt their threat was serious. He had no recourse but to place aside his pride and comply. It left him consumed by crushing guilt and a profound sense of violation. After deep and agonizing reflection, he resolved that continuing in his beloved vocation was impossible under such relentless circumstances. So his solution; he submitted a written request to the county office for an earlier retirement date than he had originally planned. He had been vested in his job for over twenty years but having been so committed and devoted to his position he had worked three years over the allotted retirement time. Originally, he was scheduled to retire a year and a half from now, but instead of waiting until that time he requested and received approval of a date a year earlier which gave him only six more months on the job. The emotional devastation hit him so hard he considered quitting on the very day of the incident - but he held back, fearing such a sudden departure would arouse too much suspicion. As difficult as it was to keep such a terrible secret from his wife it was the best choice – less she knew safer she remained.
Friday evenings for the Newsome's was usually home movie night. Doctor Samuel Newsome was still on his short five day vacation from his duties at the city morgue and he planned to spend a quiet evening with his lovely wife, drinking wine, eating pizza along with as many garlic knots that would fit into his stomach, while watching a movie in the theatre room of their two-story, thirty seven hundred square foot, four bedroom colonial home. With his demanding work schedule and a never-ending stream of fresh cadavers Doctor Newsome had very little quality time to spend with his wife, Breta. Though he loved his job he loved Breta even more, deeply, and needed to share just as much time as possible in her company. Especially considering that the last of their three children had finally graduated college last year, secured a job - rather a career - in journalism at a prestigious newspaper agency in New York City and just a little over two months ago moved from home into her own apartment in lower Manhattan. So, in a way they considered this time not only an opportunity for loving couple affection, but as a celebration of liberation from the demands of child-raising after twenty-four mostly pleasant but extremely demanding years in that role – parental solitude was truly a breath of fresh air. Breta experienced more of a challenge than Samuel in adjusting to their new freedom – maternally speaking she missed her children - though Sam too quietly suffered through his occasional days of paternal nostalgia. For now, their times were happily spent staying in touch with the children and the fine, positive progression experienced in their own lives. Life for the Newsome's overall was grand.
From the foyer Samuel took the stairs down to the wine cellar. He flipped a switch and florescent ceiling lights banished the darkness. The wine cellar was of a modest size, and home to approximately five hundred bottles of wine from all over the world. Samuel took his wine collection as seriously as any endeavor pursued in his life. The cellar was specially constructed to maintain a constant year-round temperature of fifty-five degrees and a steady humidity conducive to the proper maintenance and aging of the wine. The cellar also contained two back-up emergency generators in case of the likelihood of a power outage. Sam walked about two feet down the single narrow isle between two columns of fir wood wine racks measuring five feet in height and twenty feet in length. He stopped, knowing exactly the placement of the bottle he intended for use, reached up and carefully slid the 750 ml bottle of 2001 Valandraud from the rack. It was a Red Bordeaux with a 94 quality rating and a price tag in US currency of two-hundred ninety nine dollars. It was was a rare find. At the time Samuel made the purchase he was in France in December of 2002 attending a special forensic science seminar. Some of the most prestigious doctors in the field of forensic medicine were in attendance and many he knew of also shared a mutual passion for the rubicund liquid. The wine had not yet even reached the general market, but a close associate and friend of his by the name of Doctor Angel Vernado personally knew the merchants Jean-Luc Thunevin and his wife Murielle Andraud who produced the wine and Samuel was able to purchase it at a bargain basement price.
As he was about to leave he turned back and kneeled down to the second wrung of the wine rack from the bottom to inspect yet another wine bottle, this one a 1992 Araujo Eisele Cabernet Sauvignon also a Red wine with a rating of 96 and even more expensive. Sam rotated the bottle and as he straightened up, smiled slightly at the thought of sharing this prized possession with his wife beneath the veranda at the Can Dourada Villa in Catalunya, Spain with a romantic view overlooking a sunset glazed Mediterranean sea in celebration of his retirement. The trip and retirement of course would be a total surprise to Breta. He anticipated that day now with the excitement and enthusiasm of a child on Christmas Eve awaiting the arrival of old Saint Nick. To have the privilege of looking into Breta's eyes and see them alighted with loving appreciation, surprise and happiness would not only make him feel completed as a devoted and loving husband, but would be the balm he sorely needed applied to his wounded emotions. He inhaled a deep breath, taking in the cool, musty damp air and in a little better mood now he began to whistle a song as he headed toward the stairs, flipping off the light as he passed the wall switch, returning the cellar to catacomb darkness.
Sam entered the theatre room. It was still bright with the main lights as they had not yet started the movie. When they did by use of a remote dimmer switch the lights would be lowered to movie theatre level as the Blu-Ray disc played across the wall-mounted 75" LED Sony Bravia accompanied with a high-quality BOSE sound system for full spectrum absorption and escape into the cinema. Breta placed the last of the four Hor d'oeuvres, a bowl of fresh raw shrimp with cocktail sauce, on the swivel tray of the theatre couch between their seats. She was a sepia complexioned, petite, handsome woman with curly short-cut silvery hair and light brown eyes that always seemed pinched with a smile even when she was upset which was rarely. Samuel set the wine bottle and a pair of Spiegelau Grand Palais crystal wine glasses on the tray and delivered an affectionate kiss to the lips of his wife.
"Is that the kind of evening this is ultimately going to turn out to be?" Breta asked with an alluring smile and a voice soft and musical in its tone. She was dressed in a sleeveless white T-shirt that subtly revealed medium-sized but still firm-for-her-age breast and black cotton knee-length shorts that emphasized a pair of shapely calves.
"Strong possibility, baby," Samuel flirted.
"Everything's ready," Breta said. "All we're waiting on is the pizza."
Just then the doorbell chimed and a red indicator light in the ceiling over the television blinked – it was the room's silent alert feature that a visitor was at the front door – as once the theatre door closed and the movie was in progression no sound from outside could be heard in or out of the room.
"Appears you talked them up." Samuel said. "I'll get it."
"That can't be the pizza," Breta said. "It's too early. I called it in barely fifteen minutes ago."
Reaching the doorway to the theatre room, Samuel turned to Breta and said, "If it is them you want me to tell them their too early and to come back later?"
"Be funny," Breta said, waving him on. "Go on silly get the door."
Samuel reached the front door. Checked first through the peep-hole, then unlocked and opened the door. The pizza delivery man was dressed in an official uniform of red and white striped shirt with cap to match and black pants, balancing the insulated warmer delivery bag on one hand. He was a tall, slim fellow with a pencil mustache and a handsome smile.
"Must not be too busy for you guys tonight," Sam said, reaching in his pocket and removing his wallet. "You're early." He looked inquisitively at the delivery man. "You must be new. I know all the delivery guys."
"Yeah," the delivery man said with disinterest, as he tore open the Velcro flap to the warmer bag with his free hand, reached inside of it, but instead of withdrawing a box of pizza he presented a .22 caliber pistol sound suppressor equipped.
Samuel was too surprised at first to be dismayed. In fact, initially, he thought or wanted to think it was a simple joke, a promotional prank on the part of some over zealous but stupid advertising jockey at corporate headquarters with a grim sense of humor. But when no 'bang' flag popped from the gun's barrel, Sam was quick to realize this was no public relations gimmick and that prop guns especially are never equipped with silencers… he sensed… knew then these were his last moments on earth.
It is said by those with the misfortune of experiencing a sudden event that leads to a life threatening situation that one's life flashes by. In those final precious seconds of accelerated remembrance Sam did see in his mind's eye all his future dreams, hopes and desire extinguish. At the dawn of that frightening awareness the first bullet spit from the gun barrel penetrating the center of Sam's forehead. Eyes wide with terror his head snapped back involuntarily, as he awkwardly stumbled backwards several inches due to the small but deadly caliber's impact. The second fatal shot entered his chest directly into the heart. Sam fell to the floor, dead, with a thud dampened by plush white carpeting. His assignment completed the assassin then quickly disappeared into the night, followed shortly by the slam of a car door and the screech of tires against blacktop, as blood drained from Sam's mortal wounds pooling red onto the carpet.
"Sam?" Breta's soft voice innocently called out to him. She was standing at the doorway of the theatre room peering down the long hallway that led toward the living room and eventually the foyer to the front entrance of the house, unaware that her husband was no more. "Honey, is that the pizza?"