Nuremberg Tour 15

The phone rings, "this is Lt Peterson, city police. Could we come visit for a bit?"
By this, I deduce I am not guilty of anything. Since when do the police need permission?
I find myself instantly liking her, she has a kind look, "I'm Lt Peterson, this is Ms B, one of our psychologists in Victim Services Unit."
"Could I put on tea? Or prefer coffee?"
They choose coffee.
Lt hands me a letter, eight pages, I recognize the handwriting, Ariel's. "Please read this, then we'll talk."
It's a long diatribe, blaming Globe and Mail, National Post, Canadian Jewish News, every local Jewish rag in Canada, a half dozen book reviewers by name, his publisher, six other Profs, the other woman, and especially me.
We collectively are guilty for his complete failure to refind the muse, me most of all. As his "fiancee" (oh no, here we go again), I am guilty of sidetracking him. In fact I am so guilty, he has bequeathed his unfinished novel to me. With his death, it now becomes my duty to finish it.
Lt smiles gently, "before we talk, we do have some very sophisticated tests to use at site. So, we are positive it's a genuine suicide, as opposed to someone with a gun staging it. I'd like your reaction."
"Ma'am, with all due respect, there is an out and out error of fact in there. I am not, and never was his fiancee."
Laugh, "oh, I figured as much. The local Jewish rag ended up with egg all over their face after the Muslim one published the story of your quote."
"That's a relief."
"So, what was the nature of the relationship then?"
"If this is your way of asking about sex, there was none. He has never seen the inside of my apartment and vice versa. We'd meet in coffee houses once a fortnight and talk mostly of literature."
"And yet, he does blame you for being the distraction?"
"Ma'am, I believe the statement is I slowed him down sufficiently that he then fell prey to - gasp - sex with the other woman."
We all laugh.
She sighs, "you my friend are in for a lot of trouble. He has sent a copy of this nonsense to Globe and Mail, National Post, every Jewish paper in Canada. Some will publish; others won't."
I groan, "so, what do I do?"
"No one in mainstream, that is non-Jewish Canada would believe a letter like that. Unfortunately, ah Ms B."
Ms B smiles kindly, "Rachel, we are talking hero worshippers here. Any and all logic goes clean out the window. Guilt by insinuation. They'll hate mostly you for taking their hero away."
"Oh no."
Lt resumes, "just between us, there is one service I could provide. If the heat gets too much and you choose to legally change your name, I could give a letter. You'd still have to pay the fees, but you'd be exempt from publishing it in the Official Gazette."
"What about other stuff?"
"Once you have the legal name change document in hand, then health card, drivers license and income tax are routine. Here's my card. Ms B will stay and talk personally. It has been my experience that when this happens in a minority, it's invariably worse than when it happens with mainstream people."
"Thank you for your help, I may need to take you up on your kind offer."