He turned up the volume, but I snatched away the remote control and turned off the television.

“Don’t think you’re going to get off so lightly!”

He sighed again and fumbled in the pocket of his blazer for the half-smoked cigar he always carried with him.

“Okay, I got caught,” he said, rolling the Cuban between his fingers. “That little slut was always hanging around. She got me all worked up and I couldn’t resist. Then she blackmailed me. And I was dumb enough to give her a hundred grand.”

“How could you do it?”

“Do what? She was nineteen. She was fucking everything that moved. I didn’t force her. She came after me.”

I got up and jabbed my finger at him. “You knew she was my friend!”

“What difference does that make?” he said. “When it comes to sex, it’s every man for himself. Besides, if you want the truth, you didn’t miss much. Vinca was a ballbuster and a lousy lay. She was only in it for the cash.”

I didn’t know what infuriated me more, his arrogance or his vindictiveness. “Just listen to yourself!”

Far from being unnerved or uncomfortable, Richard sniggered. I could tell that some part of him was enjoying this conversation. He probably got off on the idea of the proud father affirming his superiority over his son by humiliating him.

“You filthy pervert. You disgust me.”

This finally riled him. He got to his feet and stepped toward me until he was only inches from my face.

“You have no idea what she was like, that girl! She was the enemy; she was the one threatening to destroy our family.”

He nodded to the photographs on the table.

“Think what would have happened if your mother or the parents’ association had seen those. You live in this romantic, literary world, but real life is nothing like that. Real life is brutal.”

I was tempted to punch him in the face to prove that life could indeed be brutal, but it would not have achieved much. And I still needed information from him.

“So you gave Vinca the money,” I said, forcing myself to sound calmer. “And then what happened?”

“What always happens with blackmailers—she wanted more, and I refused.” Still toying with his cigar, he screwed up his eyes as he thought back. “The last time she showed up was the night before Christmas vacation. She even brought a pregnancy test to try and turn the screws.”

“So the child she was carrying was yours!”

“Of course it wasn’t,” he spluttered angrily.

“How can you be sure?”

“The dates didn’t fit with her cycle.”

It was a pathetic defense. And in any case, Richard always had been a compulsive liar. And what made him dangerous was that, after a while, he ended up believing his own lies.

“If it wasn’t yours, whose was it?”