When One Man Dies

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Book: Read When One Man Dies for Free Online
Authors: Dave White
smooth.
    “What did the police tell you?”
    She took almost half the drink in her mouth. Swallowed and didn’t even flinch. “They asked if I knew where Rex was. They asked a lot of questions. Said he was wanted for questioning. They wouldn’t say if he was all right. Is he all right?”
    “I don’t know. Did he call here, did you hear from him?” Etta James ended. Sam Cooke now, “We’re Having a Party.”
    “What happened?” Jen said. “You’re acting like the police. I hired you. I want to know what happened. I asked them the same thing and they wouldn’t tell me. I don’t know what’s going on. My God, my stomach is in knots.”
    She finished off her drink. I told her what she wanted to know. By the time I was done, she was sobbing again. Now my stomach was in knots. Still couldn’t clear the smell from my nostrils. The feeling of déjà vu.
    I drank my scotch, let her cry. Over her shoulder was a window, Venetian blinds closed. There was a hint of light against the blinds. The sun was coming up.
    “He called,” she said. “Just said he had to go away for a while, but he’d be back. He’s done this a few times before.”
    “He has?”
    “It’s the reason I came to you in the first place. Sometimes he goes to work, calls me, and tells me he has to go away.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
    “I didn’t think it was too important.” Her crying had slowed. “Tonight. When he called tonight, I was mad. I swore at him. He told me he couldn’t talk long, hung up on me. Bastard.”
    “Did you tell the police he called?”
    No tissue now, she wiped her face with the back of her hand. “No. They wouldn’t tell me what happened. They wouldn’t tell me anything. So I didn’t tell them.”
    “Mrs. Hanover, your husband murdered someone.” She took a deep breath. “No. He didn’t.”
    The music changed again. Sam Cooke to Van Morrison, “Into the Mystic.”
    “My husband didn’t kill anyone.”
    “Mrs. Hanover—Jen—I took pictures of him.”
    “You have him on camera? Actually murdering someone?”
    “I have him with the body.”
    “You didn’t see him kill anyone?”
    “No.”
    Jen nodded. “I don’t believe Rex could ever kill anyone.”
    “You should have told the police he called. They need to find him. Did he say where he was going?”
    “No.”
    “You should have told them.”
    “I don’t want the police to find him.” I downed the last of my scotch.
    “I want you to find him,” she said. “Mrs. Hanover. Please.”
    “Find him, Mr. Donne. Bring him home to me. Once you find him, we’ll both see that he’s not a murderer. This has to be a misunderstanding. I can believe he cheated on me. I can understand that. But my husband is not a murderer.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    Sitting across from me, Jen leaned forward. Took my right hand in both of hers.
    “Will you help me?”
    I took air in through my nose. The smell—again I was back in my childhood home, my mother crying on the couch. My father had disappeared. We never heard from him again. I remembered how helpless I felt, an eight-year-old boy who could only hug his mother. A helpless eight-year-old.
    “I’ll help you find your husband,” I said.
    Jen Hanover smiled, stood up, and gave me a hug. I patted her shoulder, and felt the weight of the past day get a little heavier on my shoulders.

Chapter 10
    The sun was barely coloring the sky, and the sound of traffic was still light. It wasn’t even six. That meant the man he was looking for was still around. He always was this time of morning.
    Jesus Sanchez made his way around the corner and froze. Bill Martin saw and nodded at him. Sanchez paled.
    “Yo, what the fuck you doin’ here, man? Didn’t think you were into this shit anymore.”
    Martin extended his hand; Sanchez ignored it. “I said, what the fuck are you doin’ here?”
    “Need to ask you a few questions.”
    “Yo, you ain’t a narc anymore.”
    “I need to know who the

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