The mourners were just arriving at the cemetery for the gravesite service. Anna had discreetly approached Dante to apologize for the increased police presence and to ask his permission to watch from a distance. Dante's expression for a moment suggested that he wanted to ask questions, to know why she was suddenly so concerned. Instead he merely nodded and turned away. He trusted her judgement.

Anna stood just off the road with two uniformed officers, politely distant from the small gathering. It was obvious that not all of the mourners from the cathedral had made their way to the gravesite; it was mainly close friends and family who slowly filled the seats clustered to one side of the open grave. The air was damp and close, the sky steel grey. Anna couldn't remember attending a funeral on a bright, warm, blue-sky day, and wondered how that could be. As she stood vigil in the cold, her hands thrust deep into her pockets, her scarf wound around her neck, she realized that the last funeral she'd attended had been her own daughter's. She pushed the memory away.

She pulled a gloved hand and her cell phone from the pocket of her coat. Still no call from Robert. She set the phone to vibrate, put it back in her pocket, and waited for the service to begin.

Robert's cell phone was the on the table between him and Elizabeth. She was watching him carefully, had removed her coat, and seemed ready to settle in for a long conversation. The bartender walked over and asked, "Can I get you two anything?" Elizabeth smiled. "We'll have a pitcher, please. Whatever darker ale you have on tap. Something appropriate for the horrible weather."

"I know, right?" the bartender laughed, shaking his head and walking away. "When the hell is spring going to start? Worst damned winter I can remember."

As the bartender poured their ale, Elizabeth placed her hands palms down on the table. She stood very still, steeling herself, Robert thought, for confrontation. The bartender came back with their pitcher, flipped down two paper coasters, and put two glasses on the table. "That'll be nine even," he announced.

Elizabeth pulled out a hundred dollar bill. "This seems to be the smallest I have." She cast her eyes down for a moment as if embarrassed. "Would you mind doing us a favour?" Her tone became confessional, and she looked at the bartender with such earnestness that even Robert wanted to believe her lie. "My friend and I haven't seen each other in quite a while. Do you think – would it be too much trouble – could you maybe give us a few moments here alone? A little bit of privacy? We promise we'll let you know if another customer comes in. We can knock on the door to the back room. What do you say?"

The bartender hesitated, looked at the bill, then back at Elizabeth. She flashed another smile. "If you don't mind me saying so, it doesn't seem very busy. It's not like you're going to lose out on tips because you neglected other customers."

The bartender laughed, took the money, and gave a little bow of thanks. He went up to the till, made change, and stuffed it in his pocket. He smiled at Elizabeth and gave her a subtle salute before he absented himself to the backroom.

Elizabeth immediately stood up, crossed to the front door, locked it, and flipped the sign to "CLOSED".

She walked back to the table. She grabbed Robert's cell phone and turned it off. "It's just you and me now, Scorpio. We can have this out once and for all." She picked up the pitcher and began to pour Robert a pint of the ale.

Giordano and Wu never arrived at the cemetery. Anna wondered if they would make an appearance at the wake. She watched as the priest signaled for the pallbearers to lower the casket. Straps creaking under the strain, the coffin slowly disappeared past the lip of the freshly-dug grave. Olivia Falconeri was the first to bend down and grab a fistful of dirt. She let it fall after and onto the coffin, then turned and walked away.

Robert stared at Elizabeth across the table. "If that's what you want, it's fine with me. I've managed to put most of the pieces together."

Elizabeth grinned. "I'm intrigued. What do you think you know?"

"I know you had your husband killed."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I admitted to that. It's inconsequential. Besides, I didn't have a direct hand in his death. It was arranged for me."

Robert didn't move. "By your father, who conspired with – or directed – the WSB. They honoured his request because of his importance to national security. All he had to do was call in a favour. Nothing surprises me about the agency I work for anymore. It's inherently corrupt."

Elizabeth laughed. "How does the saying go? 'If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.'" She leaned forward on the table and aggressively toward him. "Weren't you yourself part of that problem, Robert? You killed people for the WSB, didn't you? Have you ever thought that maybe you killed one or two Alan Schabers yourself? Are you sure everyone you shot or poisoned or blew up or arranged to crash in an airplane or helicopter was an enemy of the state and not just an enemy of someone who worked for the state? Someone with a grudge and with seniority?"

Robert's gaze remained steady. "I didn't need you and your case to make me wonder about that. Even at the time I realized I might be committing murder, not serving my country."

Elizabeth leaned away again. "So why did you do it?"

Robert crossed his arms. "Initially to protect Anna. To keep her safe. So I did it for love."

Elizabeth grinned again. "Loving someone makes a person pathetically weak. Love was and still is your Achilles' heel, Robert. But I suppose you aren't unique in that. Many people become fools for love. In contrast, being loved puts one in an incredibly powerful position."

Robert smiled for the first time. "And that's what everything comes down to for you: power. That's why you wanted to become Anna. To disarm others, to have them in your control without them realizing it. And that's why you wanted to become Carolyn Thompson. To have others love you, trust you, like you. Because no one has ever loved you, trusted you, liked you as you truly are."

Elizabeth's grin became brittle. "Tell me more," she commanded.

Anna was in the underground parking lot of the Metro Court. She pulled into a stall, put her car into park, and turned it off. She took out her cell phone. Still nothing from Robert.

Where the hell was he? Why hadn't he contacted her? She decided to try again.

The call went immediately to voicemail. "Call me, Robert," Anna pleaded; "I'm worried about you." She hung up, threw her phone into her bag in frustration, and got out of the car.

"The first time we met, Stephen told me he'd never been interested in you romantically but that he couldn't explain why. You're a stunning woman. It made me wonder."

Elizabeth laughed harshly. "Did you ever think maybe he was lying? That he'd rewritten our history because his poor, saintly wife had disappeared and he felt guilt for his past feelings?"

Robert nodded. "Yes, I thought he might be lying then, and when he told me that Carolyn believed there'd never been anything between the two of you. He told me she'd never been jealous."

Elizabeth stopped smiling. "Of course she'd never been jealous. That woman didn't have a jealous bone in her body. She was perfect. Stephen's story has at least been consistent."

Robert leaned forward. "But what if he wasn't lying? What if Stephen was telling the truth?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Go ahead and answer your own question if you like. For the sake of argument, I'll play along. As long as we don't confuse speculation with truth."

Robert continued. "Cards on the table, I'm strongly inclined to believe him."

"And why is that?"

"Because, you see, I'm a great admirer of female beauty. It wasn't meant as a compliment, but someone whose judgement I trust implicitly once described me as a 'swordsman extraordinaire.' Over the years my head's been turned by quite a few women. And I'm not easily put off." Robert frowned and leaned back again in his chair. "But you, my dear, you put me right off for some reason. You put my teeth on edge."

Elizabeth's expression was neutral. "Perhaps your reaction has something to do with your grand passion for Anna Devane."

Robert shook his head. "I don't think so. If I weren't with Anna you'd still give me the heebie-jeebies. The question is, why?"

The reception had already started. It was an informal affair, a "come-and-go," and according to the uniformed officers positioned in the hallway, a number of guests had already come, paid their respects, and gone again. The family had just arrived from the gravesite service. Before he entered the ballroom, Dante stopped to talk to Anna, who'd just finished being briefed.

"Do you want to tell me what's gotten you so worried, Commissioner?" he asked. "Should I be worried as well? Do you need me to look out for anything in particular?"

"You're not a detective tonight, Dante," she told him. "We have everything under control. I was a bit concerned when I noticed a few unexpected and surprising people on the guest list. I thought it wise to take precautions." Anna paused and moved in a bit closer. "On that subject, can you tell me who was responsible for the guest list? Who decided whom to invite to the funeral?"

Dante didn't bat an eye. "I can tell you that. I'm one of Sonny's executors. Alexis Davis gave us a list of names and addresses of people to contact, and we did."

"Do you know where Ms. Davis got that list?"

"She told us the list had been compiled and given to her by Sonny. She said they had a longstanding practice of reviewing his estate information every six months. He'd updated the list about three and a half months ago along with his will."

Anna frowned.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else I can help you with, Commissioner?"

Anna lightly touched Detective Falconeri's shoulder. "No, Dante. Go be with your family."

Dante turned and left. Anna considered the information he'd just told her. Anna would assume that any other mob lawyer could be bribed or bought, but not Alexis Davis. Her loyalty to Sonny had always been above reproach – if one didn't on principle reproach fidelity to organized criminals. Sonny himself had invited Gino Giordano or Mei Wu to his funeral.

Anna entered the ballroom and positioned herself at a table near the entrance.

Elizabeth smiled. "I don't quite understand how the fact that you don't find me attractive is pertinent to our discussion. Please explain: what does your revulsion for me have to do with anything?"

"Indulge me for a moment. I wonder, I just wonder if perhaps you don't have any idea how to act around and relate to other human beings. At least not unconsciously, innately. That night in the Metro Court bar you told me you emulate people consciously: you choose the people you pattern yourself on and imitate them deliberately. You're right that most people don't do that; they model themselves on others unintentionally, even involuntarily. Why don't you? Maybe you simply can't. You lack the instinct."

Elizabeth lifted her glass to her lips. "Are you suggesting that I'm a sociopath, Agent Scorpio?" She sipped her ale.

Robert shrugged. "Sociopath, psychopath. I don't appreciate the fine distinctions. As I understand it, we imitate others unconsciously in part because we have empathy. If one lacks empathy, which sociopaths and psychopaths do, one . . ."

". . . needs to imitate others consciously. And you think this applies to me. Fascinating. I would, of course, disagree. That I choose to pattern my behaviour strategically doesn't mean I suffer from some sort of psychological pathology. And it doesn't mean I'm unable to empathize."

"And yet, for some reason you make my skin crawl. And you make others uncomfortable – except when you adopt the mannerisms of someone else and simulate her personality. I see the way men react to you when you're 'being' Anna. I'd react the same way if I didn't know you were playing a role. You met your husband when you first started 'being' Carolyn. Would he have loved you if you'd been yourself? How many other women and men have you performed 'being' over the years? How much success have you had making friends and influencing people when you haven't had someone to pattern yourself after?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "You're so naïve, so lacking in self-awareness. And you think you're better than me. It's laughable, really."

At the wake, Duke had just finished a stilted conversation with the two gentlemen from New York he'd recognized at the cathedral. He hadn't seen them since 1988; they had once been part of Victor Jerome's organization but had parted ways with the family after the patriarch's death. Now minor henchman for another family allied with Corinthos, they had wanted to reminisce about the good old days under Victor, still remembered his relative kindness, his eagerness to reward loyalty, and his unwillingness to punish innocence. Duke hadn't wanted to take that trip down memory lane with them. Julian and Olivia Jerome had tainted everything, even the memory of a man who for a time had been like a father to Duke. He'd tried to be polite but extricated himself as quickly as possible from their company.

He went in search of another drink. "Scotch, no ice," he informed the bartender. When he turned to leave, drink in hand, he froze: Gino Giordano had appeared behind him. "Hello, Mr. Lavery," Gino said, speaking low. "I bet you didn't expect me here. Could we speak for a moment somewhere private?"

Duke regained his composure and worked to hide his surprise. "Lead the way," he ordered Giordano, who smiled, turned, and headed for the back corner of the ballroom.

From her table near the door, Anna noticed their movement. She wondered why Giordano had approached Duke, and watched from a distance.

As they moved across the room, Giordano made small talk: it had been a lovely service, it was so sad for the family, but of course their business carried with it certain risks. Duke said nothing in response, merely listened. Once they reached their destination, Giordano turned to face him again.

"Isn't it ironic that the two of us are invited guests at the funeral of a man for whose death we are largely responsible? Why are you here, Mr. Lavery? Why were you on Sonny Corinthos' list of officially sanctioned mourners?"

Duke shrugged and sipped his drink. "All I can think is that my invitation was a professional courtesy. I wasn't, strictly speaking, Sonny's competitor, nor was I allied with any of his competitors – that is, until you came into town. The man I really hate is Julian Jerome – as I'm sure you're aware. I had nothing against Mr. Corinthos personally." Duke looked away from Giordano, not wanting his next remark to be read as a challenge. "I will agree that your presence here is ironic since, I assume, you arranged the hit on Sonny."

Giordano was still smiling. "You shouldn't assume anything, Mr. Lavery – it's above your pay grade. Don't think or speculate about it at all, understand? As a matter of fact, I'm an old and dear friend of Mr. Corinthos. I'm devastated by his death. After all, I left my beloved homeland for this godforsaken backwater to help Sonny take Julian Jerome down."

Duke began to feel very uncomfortable.

"I conspired with him to start up a club. It seemed the best way to draw Mr. Jerome out and, more importantly, to encourage him to act in a way certain to piss off a very powerful and dangerous person. Believe me, Mr. Lavery, you don't want to cross Mei Wu. Her nickname on the street is 'The Devil.'"

Duke tried with dignity to take a large swallow of scotch. "You were in league with Sonny Corinthos? Then why did he die?"

Giordano calmly sipped his red wine. "After you fed me with false information, you mean? Of course I knew that your story about Sonny and Jerome conspiring was false. I also knew that you knew nothing about my involvement. You weren't Sonny's partner; you were his patsy, Lavery. He was using you."

Duke drained his glass. "I'll repeat my question: why did Sonny die? Why did you kill him?"

Giordano shrugged. "I saw an opportunity. There's no honour among thieves. I decided to throw my hat in with Ms. Wu. It was the more lucrative option."

"And the more dangerous game."

"Granted, but no gains come without risk. And I can minimize the risk."

Duke flagged down a passing waiter and gave him his empty glass. When they were alone again, he said to Giordano, "Sonny was a risk, since he knew about the deal you made to bring Wu to Port Charles. And now that you've told me about your deal, I assume . . ."

". . . that you are also a risk. That's correct. But if it's any comfort, you always were, Mr. Lavery, since you and Sonny worked together to involve Wu and me in your club. I just thought you should know the whole story. I want you to know why."

"Why you're going to kill me?"

Giordano shook his head. "No, why you're going to leave town and never return. Please understand: I would happily kill you, but I don't want Anna Devane's grudge against me to become personal. I don't care about the police, but I'd prefer not to aggravate a former WSB agent. I propose you tell her immediately that you're leaving and then simply disappear. Tonight. Pick up right now and walk away."

Duke scowled. "And if I don't?"

Giordano finished his wine. "Then you're dead. And to prevent Ms. Devane from troubling me, I'll kill her too. Call it 'prudent risk management.'"

Giordano walked away, deposited his empty glass on a table, and strode toward the exit.

Elizabeth's pint was gone; she refilled her glass. Robert's was still full.

"When I found out you were responsible for your husband's death," he told her, "I immediately suspected you might have killed Carolyn as well. I have to confess that, although I'm confident you murdered her, I'm not entirely sure why."

Elizabeth no longer pretended that their conversation amused her. "And how do you know I killed her? Do you have any proof?"

Robert frowned. "I have a strong hunch, the fact that you tried to duplicate her life, and one piece of circumstantial evidence. Nothing I could take to court, of course. But it's enough for me."

"Let's start with the hunch. What makes you think I killed Carolyn?"

"Every murderer has a motive. You must have had a motive to kill your husband. What might it have been?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Boredom? Irritation? People have killed for far less."

Robert shook his head and smiled. "Yes, they've personally killed for less, but you had to persuade your father, had to solicit his help. Maybe he's the kind of man who would arrange a murder because his privileged daughter was simply bored or annoyed, but that seems unlikely. His motivation must have been stronger. I suspect he did what he did to protect you."

Elizabeth didn't blink. "From what?" she asked.

"I think Alan found out somehow that you killed Carolyn. Is that what happened?"

Elizabeth didn't say anything for a moment. Then she said, "That's a fascinating theory. Ludicrous but fascinating. Tell me more. For example, how might he have found out that I murdered her?"

"Maybe the same way I did." Robert reached for his phone, which was still sitting on the table. Elizabeth shot out one of her hands, covered it. Robert's hand froze, hovering over hers. "Please. This relates to the circumstantial evidence I mentioned earlier."

Elizabeth withdrew her hand and Robert picked up the phone. He brought up a picture and turned the screen to face her – the contents of her modest jewelry box.

"I'd like to draw your attention to the tastefully modest sunburst pendant in the top right corner of the photograph. Stephen gave it to Carolyn on their second anniversary. And now it's in your possession. What's the story, Elizabeth? Did Carolyn give you this cherished item? That seems unlikely. Did you realize what it was? Did you just like it? Was she wearing it when you killed her?"

Elizabeth was expressionless. "Maybe I bought a pendant just like hers. After all, according to your theory I was imitating everything she did. Maybe I went out and bought the same necklace."

Robert smiled. "Maybe you did. As I said, it's just one piece of very circumstantial evidence. Or maybe you took it from her neck after you murdered her."

"I'm a serial killer now, am I? I take souvenirs from my victims?"

Robert shook his head. "No. Serial killers take souvenirs to relive their murders. I suspect you don't give your victims a second thought. If you took the pendant, it's because you were still interested in being Carolyn. You probably took it on impulse. And of course you never suspected that you would get caught."

Elizabeth laughed. "Ridiculous."

Anna watched Duke as he crossed the room and approached her table. He sat down and took her hand.

"I want you to know that I was a fool," he told her. "You were right all along; I was being played."

Anna began to speak but he silenced her. "I told myself I was protecting you from Julian Jerome but I was really justifying my need for revenge. You didn't need protection then. But because of my stupidity you do now. I'm leaving town." Duke stood up.

Anna stood as well. "Did Giordano threaten you?"

Duke smiled.

"Are you in danger? Do we need to get you somewhere safe?"

Duke's expression didn't change.

"Will you let me protect you?"

Duke shook his head.

"Can I at least bring you somewhere? Will you let me help you get away?"

"It's better that we not spend time in private. You can't know – and he can't suspect that you know – anything more."

Anna nodded. Duke leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Be safe," she told him.

Duke turned. Before he moved away, he said in a soft voice, "Everything will be all right. I promise you that. I've made this mess and I'll do what I can to put things right." Then he walked out of the ballroom.

Anna pulled out her phone and contacted the plainclothes detectives outside the building. "Duke Lavery is leaving. Follow him and report where he goes," she commanded. She put on her coat, grabbed her bag, and went to get her car.

Elizabeth's glass was empty again. She refilled it. "The only thing left to be determined in your imaginative little scenario is how and why I killed her. I can't wait to hear your theories, Agent Scorpio. Do tell."

Robert crossed his arms. "I have no idea how you killed her, other than that you killed her yourself. Maybe you strangled her, hit her over the head, I don't know. But you didn't have an assassin's help."

Elizabeth nodded acquiescence. "All right, we'll let that go. But what about my motive? Why would I have killed her?"

Robert grew serious. "To be honest, I still don't know. For a while, I was completely off track. I thought perhaps that Carolyn and Alan were having an affair and that's the reason you killed both of them. After all, if Alan fell for your imitation of Carolyn, it seems more than possible that he would fall for Carolyn herself."

Elizabeth was unimpressed. "Clever, but I have to point out that if – please note my use of the conditional here – if I had imitated Carolyn, I would have perfected her. I would have out-Carolyned Carolyn. There's no way Alan would have chosen her over me."

Robert leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "You mentioned irritation and boredom as possible motives for murder. Maybe you were bored of being Carolyn? Maybe you were irritated by her goodness?"

Elizabeth was impassive. "That sounds more likely. At times I found her insipid and her actions contemptible."

Robert continued. "The murder could be your modus operandi. Maybe once you've perfected your imitation you do away with the original."

Elizabeth looked uninterested. "Again you're assuming that I'm a serial killer, although I've only admitted to having part in a single murder."

"Or maybe when you want to change your behaviour you need to free yourself by eliminating the prototype you've bound yourself to."

Elizabeth said nothing for a moment. Then her lips spread into a strange smile.

Anna sat in her car waiting for the call. It came twenty-five minutes later. "Lavery left the Metro Court fifteen minutes ago with a suitcase." Anna realized he must have stopped at his suite to collect some clothing and his passport. "Now he's just pulled up at the Port Charles airport. What do you want us to do, Commissioner?"

"Follow him in at a discreet distance and make sure he gets through security," she told the detective. "He may be in some danger. Stay close by until he gets away."

"Do you want us to alert airport staff and find out his destination?"

Anna suspected Duke would be travelling under a false name. "No. Under no circumstance. Mr. Lavery isn't suspected of a crime. Simply observe and intervene if he's threatened."

Anna hung up her phone. Suddenly she thought of Robert. She checked again for a message – nothing. Why hadn't he called? She had a very bad feeling.

"Part of me feels sorry for you, Robert," Elizabeth told him. "You've tried so hard to understand. And I do admire your pluck."

Robert bowed his head slightly to acknowledge the compliment.

"But I think you've overcomplicated everything with your wild theories. You've spent too much time as an agent and policeman, with your modus operandi and your circumstantial evidence. The truth might be much simpler. If I were you I wouldn't look for a grand pattern to my behaviour, for violent rituals I'm bound to repeat by some mental illness. I'm not an obsessive compulsive mass murderer."

Robert folded his hands on the table. "Why don't you help me simplify here. If you were me, what would you think might be the motive for Carolyn's murder?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes upward and frowned, making a show of contemplating the possibilities. "Well, if you're correct that I was imitating Carolyn consciously, and if I were somehow committed to following her example, I might have killed her if she did something I really didn't want to do myself."

Robert finally understood.

"Something like getting pregnant."

Before he could react, she'd picked up the empty glass pitcher and smashed it against the side of his head.