Early in the afternoon after her last shift, Marlena excitedly hurried behind the one-way mirror to listen in on the interview with Sara's ex. Sasha eagerly volunteered to do the questioning; it must've been a guy thing. She spotted Detective Browning in the background of the interrogation room, overlooking the grilling.

40-year-old Sean Gentileschi was seated in the interrogation room, wearing a pair of crisp khaki slacks and a baby blue polo tee. His face sported a razor stubble and his jet black hair was a little long, to his collar, making him look younger than he really was. He jiggled his foot nervously, toyed with his sunglasses and appeared uneasy, with his blue eyes shifting around the room.

Sasha entered the room and introduced himself, "Hello. Mr. Gentileschi?"

"Yeah," Sean Gentileschi stood. "You pronounced my name right. Jen-till-shee. I'm a descendent of Orazio Gentileschi, you know, the famous artist."

"Great. I'm Sasha Zarek, Crime Scene Investigator. Before we start the investigation, I'll need to take a shoeprint. Lift up your foot for me please?"

Looking bewildered, Gentileschi lifted his right foot and Sasha bent to put a transfer underneath it.

"Interesting shoe," remarked Sasha as he pressed down on Gentileschi's foot. "Lift again, please." Gentileschi obeyed and Sasha removed the transfer. He sealed it and put it in his folder. "Thank you very much.

"Mr. Gentileschi," Sasha said, sitting, "please be aware that this conversation will be audiotaped and videotaped." He nodded towards Cameron Howe, manning the video camera.

"Sure," Gentileschi said, also sitting; cool as a cucumber despite his anxious exterior. "You, ah, said this was about Sara?"

"Let's go chronologically, Mr. Gentileschi," Sasha said. "For the record, please state your full name and occupation?"

"Sean Burgess Gentileschi; I own and operate a day spa in Beverly Hills, California; I do so from my home in Indian Springs, in my mansion: the House of Lomi.."

Marlena was impressed.

"So, Mr. Gentileschi—"

"Just call me Sean, please. I know my last name ain't exactly a party to say. Or spell for that matter."

"Okay…Sean," Sasha continued. "You were recently both married and divorced to Sara Lucille Sidle?"

Gentileschi scoffed, "If you can call it married, sure."

"What do you mean by that?"

Sighing, Gentileschi shook his head, "Sara…was a good time. Funny, smart, independent…a demon in the sack. Wrong gal to tie down, however. See," Gentileschi leaned in, "I never…I don't…I don't think Sara was the…really the marrying kind. The first few months we were married, yeah, cool, fine. But she'd just have these sudden mood swings, you know? She'd be happy one day but become depressed the next…go crazy psycho-bitch. She'd storm out of the house and go…somewhere. I don't know. I just figured she would drive around until she blew off some steam because she'd be more contented when she came back."

"How long were you married to Sara Sidle?"

Sean paused, "Almost five years."

"And how long was she exhibiting this behavior? This leaving-and-coming-back thing?"

Another pause, "I think she's always been like that. I didn't start noticing it until maybe a year into the marriage. She became pregnant with Evie around that time."

"Did you ever find out where Sara went?"

Yet a third pause, "Yeah. I followed her one night."

"Where did she go?"

"Twenty-four San Matteo Boulevard," Sean replied flatly. "Sound familiar?"

"Yes." Sasha nodded, knowing exactly what Gentileschi was going to say.

"Home of Gil Grissom."

Marlena's blood ran cold. She was familiar with address of course but to hear this…she could hardly wait to hear where this was going to lead.

"I spied on them," Sean readily admitted. "I saw my wife in the arms of that…that…asshole," he spat finally. "I kept thinkin', 'what's he got that I don't got, besides graying hair?'"

Sasha repressed a chuckle and remained professional. "Getting back on the subject of your daughter, Evie…"

"Ah. She was one of our bigger arguments," Sean said, nodding. "Sara was too protective of this kid. Everything had to be her way with Evie. I almost had no say in naming her! I had my heart set on naming our little girl Christina after my godmother. But Sara was hell-bent on naming her Evelyn and wouldn't settle on Christina for anything but a middle name. Even then, Sara changed it to Christine. I tried to change it behind her back, too.

"Sara had needed an emergency C-section…and while she was recovering, the nurses asked me if the baby had a name. So I called her Christina Megan Gentileschi, which was the name I though we'd decided on. When Sara found out, naturally, she was pissed off and changed it, this time behind my back. The kid's name was changed three times before she left the hospital as Evelyn Christine Sidle. So you see, Sara always had to have her way."

Sasha pursed his lips, wondering what to say next.

Come on, Sash, Marlena silently pleaded. Sic 'em.

During the silence, Sara and Breeze sauntered in and stood beside Marlena behind the one-way mirror. Sara looked extremely subdued and somewhat pale.

"How's it going?" Breeze asked, handing Marlena a cup of coffee.

"It's a strange story," was all Marlena said, taking the cup. "You alright, Sara?"

"Fine," Sara answered quickly.

Following a long pause, it was obvious that Sasha had no need to think of anything else to ask, because Sean Gentileschi continued.

"After Evie was born," he was saying, "and time went by, things got better. But, ah, not for long. Something didn't sit right with me."

"What do you mean?" Sasha asked, leaning in on Gentileschi.

An additional pause from Gentileschi made Marlena screw up her mouth in habit. He threw his sunglasses on the table and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "I really loved that little girl, you know. I mean, she was my little lucky star. I bet Sara didn't tell you I renamed my resort after her—Eve's Garden. Heh, you know, at first, I didn't suspect anything. She just looked exactly like Sara."

Behind her, Marlena heard Sara intake a sharp breath.

"But as she got older…and we would greet people on the street…they would never say how she looked like me. You'd think she'd look somewhat like me, right? Never once did I hear: 'she has her father's nose' or eyes or ears. Never. When I brought this up to Sara, she covered it up, saying Evie got her looks more from her grandparents, Sara's parents. I knew that was bullshit."

"What are you getting at, Mister Gentileschi?" Sasha raised an eyebrow.

"I had DNA testing done, okay?!" flared Gentileschi. "I did it for Evie."

Sara moaned but it emerged like the fragile mew of a kitten. Out of the corner of her eye, Breeze saw her making a run for it. Marlena stiffened, barely breathing.

"When you did the DNA testing," resumed Sasha, "What did you discover?"

Gentileschi's gaze hardened, "The obvious was revealed—Evie wasn't mine."

Marlena felt a chill in her bones. She could tell Sasha was speechless because, for once, his mouth was open and no words were coming out. Marlena looked to her left—Breeze was still there but Sara had exited the room.

Sasha racked his brain to try and think of the next question he was supposed to ask. This had come as such a shock it threw him off-course. He decided to veer away from the topic of Evie and went a totally different direction.

"Mr. Gentileschi…did you know the deceased?"

"Know him? I knew that he was screwin' around with my wife and he was her boss and that's about it. I never spoke to the guy."

"You've been to his house?"

"Once. That one time that I told you about a few minutes ago—to do some novice spying."

"Did you go inside?"

"Hell no."

Sasha paused, "You were there once? Just once?"

"Yes."

"Stayed outside?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Why?"

"Just answer me: are you sure?"

"You answer me: Why?"

Sasha cleared his throat, "We have evidence that proves otherwise. See, we matched your shoeprint that we lifted only moments go to a second shoeprint we found inside Gil Grissom's apartment. Now," Sasha leaned in, his steel eyes flashing with determination, "do you wanna think over my last question?"

Sean retorted with his own defiant stare. He too, leaned in and met Sasha eye-to-eye. "I think," he replied, "I want my lawyer."

Sean Gentileschi's lawyer was a high-priced number who wore Armani and Rolex and a smug smirk. Sasha hated him the moment he entered the interrogation room an hour later. But he was a CSI—he felt almost obligated to hate lawyers, along with those FBI bastards. Either way, Sasha could read this guy like an open Dr. Seuss book but this time the illustrations were not pretty.

The lawyer sauntered right up to Sasha and gave a firm handshake that gently crushed every bone in Sasha's hand. He could almost hear his knuckles crack but didn't let his face show discomfort.

"Evan James Leigh, attorney-at-law," the lawyer announced as if it was the most important factoid in the entire case. He sat down stiffly beside Gentileschi.

"Sasha Zarek, CSI-Two," was Sasha's answer through gritted teeth. He too then sat, facing this oily-slick lawyer and his client.

"Mister…Zarek, is it? Let me be frank. How can you accuse my client of the murder of a man he did not know?"

"Didn't know? Mister Leigh, you've been misinformed. Although Mister Gentileschi did not know the victim personally, he knew of him. And that's all it takes."

"Of course Sean knew of the victim. He was his wife's boss, was he not? Besides, reports say Gilbert Thatcher Grissom was poisoned internally. Now wouldn't you say that takes steps to being a bit more personal than if my client was to, oh, I don't know, put a bullet through his head?"

"I'd say it's personal," Sasha said firmly, "especially since the victim was sleeping with your client's wife."

The look on Leigh's face told Sasha that this information was completely unknown to him. Sasha continued,

"We also found a footprint in Gilbert Grissom's residence that matches Mister Gentileschi's—Aquila boots, size men's ten. They're very rare, and very expensive, from what I hear. We understand Aquilas are made and purchased only in Italy. Mister Gentileschi was in Italy nearly five years ago according to expense reports, which also told us he purchased a pair of Aquila boots. Credit card history says he even purchased a second pair only last year."

Gentileschi stuck out his chin like a defiant kindergartener, "Damn boots. They may be Italian but they suck when it comes to travel. I wore them three hours a day and they fall apart. Three-hundred-and-fifty dollars, my ass."

"So," Leigh sighed, imperturbable as ever, "you found footprints. How do you know they belong to Sean? There are hundreds of men in Nevada with a size ten shoe."

"Indeed," Sasha replied. "However, consumer reports say that only seven people in the state of Nevada have a size ten Aquila boot—and two of them belong to Mister Gentileschi here. Might I add, he's also wearing the said boots?"

Leigh and Gentileschi were both quiet.

Behind the one-way mirror, Marlena's heart was beating a mile a minute. Beside her, Breeze was getting goosebumps so that she untied her sweatshirt from her waist and pulled it over her head.

"Think we got 'em?" Breeze asked, fluffing out her hair.

"Dunno," Marlena said hoarsely. "But why else would he call in his lawyer?"

Breeze shrugged, "To prove he's innocent, that's why. It's why everyone has one. It's why I have one."

"I don't. Shh…they're starting again."

"Do you mind telling me how your footprint got in Gil Grissom's residence?" Sasha was saying.

"Careful, Sean," Leigh advised.

Gentileschi let out a long, drawn out sigh as if he was the victim in this whole ordeal.

"I did go to…Gil Grissom's home…the day he died," he began, "with violent intentions."

"Sean," Leigh said firmly, as if talking to a disobedient puppy. But Gentileschi continued unabashed,

"I wanted to let that bastard know that Sara pledged her love to me, her fidelity to me and he should keep his fuckin' hands to himself!" Sean fumed. "I went around ten AM, had a steel baseball bat in hand. I didn't anticipate to use it—just as a threat, shake it in his face, to show him what he'd be kissin' next if he didn't stop screwin' around with my wife."

Sasha was now intrigued, "Did you physically fight?"

Gentileschi sneered, "Didn't your mama ever tell you to use your words and not your fists?"

"No. My mama was a Cossack. She told me to use a shotgun. But I digress."

"Anyway, we didn't throw punches, we threw verbal gauntlets. We exchanged words for a good hour."

Marlena could picture the out-of-control Sean waving a steel bat in Grissom's face…

"What the fuck do you think you're doing with Sara, God-damn son of a bitch?! What the fuck's goin' on in your head, you geriatric bastard?!"

She could picture Grissom standing his ground firmly, unwavering, never even flinching…

"Sara and I have an honest relationship…if it's bothering you so much why don't you talk to Sara about it? She's the one who set everything up. She's the one who's been throwing herself at me."

"So you were there for an hour?"

"Yeah, before I went to lunch with my girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Sasha raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "You made a big stink over your wife having an affair and you have a girlfriend?"

"It's complicated. Sara was with Gil from the get-go. I didn't get together with Keil until after I left Sara."

"So you figure if she does it, you could, too."

"I told you, it's complicated…I actually missed Sara, something that I didn't realize till I left. I missed Evie especially. I wanted them back, I really did. I figured if I could get Gil to end the affair, then I could get Sara back and push Keil away."

"And you'd be a happy family again?"

"Yes. But apparently someone else had other plans."

"Apparently," Sasha sat back, as did Gentileschi and Leigh. "Apparently. So, you were there from ten to eleven AM?"

"Give a take a minute," Gentileschi nodded. "I left my home office around eight, left Indian Springs, went to Gil's…met Keil for lunch by eleven fifteen."

"Can anyone confirm this?"

"Sure. Keil, for one. And my secretary. Her name's Layla, Layla Feldman. She's a senior at LVU and works for me as a source of income," Gentileschi bragged. "I'll get you their contacts ASAP."

"Uh-huh. You do realize, Mister Gentileschi, that you could be arrested for reckless endangerment and trespassing?"

"For what?!" Gentileschi flared.

"For threatening Gil Grissom with a baseball bat and for spying on him when he was with Sara."

Gentileschi turned to Leigh, who nodded, sighed and immediately became just as enraged,

"It doesn't make sense! Gil Grissom is dead! How can you bring him up on such charges? You don't have a confession!"

"Oh, yeah we do," Sasha replied gleefully. "We have the conversation both audio and videotaped. In my line of work, it's as good as."

Leigh sat back, defeated. Sasha sat back as well, thinking he had done a good job. Behind the mirror, Marlena breathed a little easier, knowing he had done a good job.