Read When One Man Dies for Free Online

have time to go home. I wanted to talk to Jen Hanover before the police did. She was my client, and she deserved to hear the news from me, not two detectives who were thinking about arresting her husband. I found her address and tried to navigate the streets of Madison, following street signs toward Morristown. At nearly four in the morning, with few gas stations open, few streetlights on, it was hard to read the signs.
    I drove around in circles for nearly half an hour before finding the street. I drove down Washington Street slowly eyeing the cross streets. That turned out to be unnecessary, and I found the house by watching Blanchett and Daniels make their way to a small house, ranch style, and ring the doorbell.
    Jen Hanover answered the door after a few minutes. She was wearing a long New York Giants T-shirt that I assumed she used as a nightgown. She yawned as she opened the door.
    I put the car in park and watched the detectives go inside. I decided to wait until they left before talking to Jen. A second encounter with the cops in one night was too much. Plus, I wanted to know what the police told her without me around. It was possible they’d give the wife more information than they gave me, a lowly witness. And if Rex was there I didn’t want to be involved in an arrest anyway.
    Though, if I’d committed a murder, left the body out in the open, the last place I’d go was directly home.
    I sat in the car, engine and battery off, leaning my head against the headrest. My body was tense, not tired as I expected it to be. Adrenaline rushed through me, and there was no threat of my falling asleep. But sitting alone, on the dark street, my mind wandered a bit. After five minutes, neither Daniels nor Blanchett was dragging Rex Hanover out of the house in cuffs. I assumed my guess that he wasn’t at the house was correct and they were now questioning my client.
    I thought about Daniels, her ass swaying out of the interrogation room in perfect rhythm with her steps. She was confident, almost arrogant, as if she were better than the job. Every time Blanchett forced a question or a joke, she shot him a look like he was an idiot, not worth being in the same room as her.
    But the frayed tie, the disheveled look told me otherwise. I only owned one suit. I didn’t wear it much. I only wore a suit to impress the clients who held the kind of cash that could pay my rent two months in advance. One of the few times I did wear it, I ended up being attacked by a jealous husband.
    A few years ago, I had stopped by the Olde Towne Tavern for a drink before meeting a client at his mansion in Old Bridge. Artie served my drink with a message. There was a man who had been raving about beating the shit out of me. He’d come in an hour earlier, downed four shots of Jack, and started to talk.
    “This Jackson Donne asshole has ruined my life. Fucker took pictures of me coming out of the fucking Rahway Motel on Route One with a broad I’d met just three hours before I took her back to the hotel. What kind of world is this where a man can’t bring some chick to a hotel room?” Artie assured me he was completely drunk. But, he warned, I should probably stay away.
    I ignored Artie and ordered a beer, seeing the guy across the bar, head in his hand, about to pass out. Sipping my beer, I chatted with Gerry about the Yankees. They didn’t have enough pitching, he offered. I thought their offense could overcome that. As Gerry was about to respond, the drunk, all dressed in leather like a biker, popped his head up and saw me across the room. One beer was all I was going to stay for.
    The guy, I don’t even remember his name, came at me in a drunken rage, pulling a switchblade. I tried to sidestep his first stab and did so, but the second one caught me in the sports jacket, tearing a hole right through it. As he withdrew the knife, I hit him with a right cross. It sent him sprawling toward the floor. Two of the other regulars grabbed him and held