When One Man Dies

by Dave White

  “You liar!” I lurched toward Martin.

  Martin stepped in and hit me with a right to the stomach.

  Two uniformed cops burst through the door and grabbed me, pulling me off the ground.

  “You son of a bitch! You were my partner!”

  “Let go of him!” Lester screamed.

  Martin turned and called to another uniform. The uniform nodded and took the lawyer out of the room—not forcefully—shutting the door behind him.

  The other two cops pressed me against the wall. I struggled against them. Tears stung my eyes.

  Martin stepped in close, right up near my ear.

  “You dare bring up that I was your partner?” he said. “That boat sailed away the moment you decided to put half the department on trial. I don’t owe you anything.”

  I spit words through clenched teeth. “I kept your name out of it for a reason.”

  “No loyalty, asshole. You showed none to your teammates, I show nothing to you.”

  I tried once again to tear myself away from the cops. Martin hit me in the gut again. I went down to a knee as the air rushed from my lungs.

  “You took everything from me,” Martin said. “My job, my livelihood. And I had Jeanne. I loved her, too, you know. And she went back to you. All you had to do was go through rehab, clean your act up. I was clean! I could have given her everything! And she still went back to you.”

  “She . . . didn’t . . . love you.”

  “She did. She would have come back to me. If that car—” Martin crouched, like he had to regain his balance. “Goddamn it.”

  “You liar! It’s not true!”

  Martin moved in close again. “She had a mole on the inside of her left thigh. It was small, barely noticeable, but she was self-conscious about it, wasn’t she? Didn’t want anyone to touch it. I told her it made her who she was. She was beautiful.”

  “You bastard,” I tried, but didn’t say it with much force. I could see the mole in my mind’s eye.

  Standing back up, Bill Martin put his hands in his pockets. “Isn’t it funny, Jackson, what can happen when one man dies?”

  I struggled to look him in the eye. Every nerve in my body screamed to just ignore him. He was lying. He had to be.

  “Your friend kicks the bucket and your life goes to hell. And me?” Martin chuckled. “Man, I’m really starting to feel good about myself again. Get him out of here. Give him to his lawyer.”

  The cops dragged me to my feet and started to escort me out of the interrogation room.

  “Wait,” Martin said. “On second thought, book him. Put him away.”

  I went without putting up a fight. I couldn’t. My entire body was numb.

  Chapter 34

  Bill Martin didn’t think about Jeanne often anymore. But now memories of her were everywhere. He could sense her scent, that floral perfume she wore. He heard the lilt of her laugh, saw that half smile.

  She said she loved him and Martin had believed her. It was a relationship that shouldn’t have worked, but when they were together, they clicked. Everything was right.

  Jeanne Baker took Bill Martin’s mind off the job.

  He exited the interrogation room in search of coffee. He thought about going outside for a smoke. Despite bringing up his own past demons, he felt good. It was time to celebrate.

  Jackson Donne was finished.

  Heading out the front door, he pulled a cigarette from the pack, smiling.

  Chapter 35

  I spent the night in a holding cell. I didn’t sleep. I sat on the metal cot counting the bricks in the wall.

  And thinking about Jeanne.

  I imagined her with me, smiling over drinks, laughing at some dumb joke, kissing me on the cheek before going to class. And then I thought of Martin. Pictured his arm around her, paying for her dinner, kissing her as deeply as I had. The two of them together poisoned all my good memories.

  My stomach clenched, my hands pressed into fists. I tried to get back to counting bricks.

  I lost count after ten.

  ***

  They booked me the next morning, an old judge setting bail at fifty thousand dollars. I glanced across the courtroom to see Martin standing there, a smile plastered on his face. I was reprimanded by the judge when I slammed my fists on the table I was sitting at.

  Lester Russell asked me whom to call to pay the bail and I told him. There was only one person I knew with fifty thousand dollars. Then I was transferred back to the holding cell. The bus to the local jail wouldn’t leave until late in the afternoon. I hoped my bail was paid by then.

  ***

  The guard on duty escorted Leonard Baker to my cell four hours later. He’d aged since the last time I’d seen him, and not well. A few months after Jeanne’s funeral we’d sat in a park, him telling me he was going to keep an eye me. Keep me from doing something stupid. At the time he had darker hair and fewer wrinkles. Even after the death of his daughter, he stood up straight. Now his hair was completely gray, wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes and lips, and he hunched a bit as he stood.

  “Why did you call me, Jackson?” he asked. “We haven’t spoken in years.”

  I moved to the bars and said, “I missed your witty conversation.”

  “Bullshit.”

  The guard unlocked the gate and I stepped through. We followed him down the hall to his desk. He had me sign several sheets of paper, returned my belongings, and told me not to leave the state.

  Outside, I asked, “Can you take me to my lawyer’s office?”

  Leonard nodded, said, “Did you really do the things they say you did?”

  “It was either that or die.”

  “I remember a time a few years back where you would have just given up.”

  Leonard Baker’s car was parked on a side street. I got in the old, blue Buick on the passenger side. Leonard started the car.

  “So,” he said, pulling out into traffic, “why did you want me to get you out?”

  “Bill Martin arrested me.”

  Leonard didn’t react, didn’t say anything, didn’t take his eyes off the road. He stopped at a red light.

  “Does that name mean anything to you?” I asked. “I don’t appreciate your tone.”

  “He told me some things.”

  “Like what?”

  The light turned green and the car accelerated a little faster than I expected.

  I said, “He told me that he and Jeanne had been together.”

  The lunch crowd was thinning out on the streets, but there was still traffic. People going about their lives unaware that mine had been put on its side.

  “Well?” I asked.

  Leonard kept his eyes on the road. I punched the dashboard, pain shooting through my hand.

  “Talk to me, goddamn it!”

  “What would you like me to say, Jackson?”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I only met him once. I didn’t even know he was your partner at the time.”

  “You knew?”

  “And if I did? How does that change anything?

  We pulled onto Route 18 and picked up speed. Lester Russell’s office was in East Brunswick. Without traffic we’d be there in ten minutes.

  “You could have told me.”

  “When? When you and my daughter got back together, she asked that we didn’t tell you. And once she passed on, you were such a mess, Sarah and I were too worried about helping you get through the day.”

  I stared at the taillights ahead of us. “Bill Martin is an asshole.”

  “You weren’t exactly a knight in shining armor.”

  Leonard hadn’t looked at me the entire trip. He took an exit off 18 and stopped at another red light.

  “Jeanne and I were good together,” I said.

  “Yes,” Leonard said. “When you were sober. But if I remember correctly, when you were stoned and drunk, you cheated on her.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Jackson, listen. I know yo
u loved my daughter. All women are allowed to make their own choices, aren’t they? And eventually she came back to you, when you got your life straightened out.”

  “That asshole—”

  “Just stop. Jeanne’s been gone a while now. It’s time to let go.”

  “Every memory I have of her is tainted.”

  The car stopped and I noticed the familiar sight of Lester Russell’s small office. It reminded me of a doctor’s office, a gray aluminum-sided house with a sign hanging from a lamppost on the wall. His name and occupation were on the sign.

  I started to open the door. “Thanks for getting me, Leonard.”

  “Jackson, wait,” he said. “You’re going to do whatever you want with this information. Yes, Jeanne was with Bill Martin. But she picked you.”

  “I know.” I shook my head.

  “You’re a good man, but not terribly smart. I do you a favor, I bail you out of jail, and how do you repay me? By yelling at me, punching my car. We haven’t spoken in years. And you think I’m just going to up and help you out with your problems. You’re asking me to crucify my daughter’s memory for your own good.”

  “I—”

  He turned toward me. “Get out of my car and don’t call me again. After Jeanne’s funeral I told you that my wife and I would be there for you. You ignored us. It’s too late now.”

  He reached out his hand and I took it. “Good luck, Jackson.”

  Chapter 36

  Lester Russell asked, “Last night, what did he say to you?”

  It was a warm afternoon, signaling the beginning of spring’s transition to summer. Russell had the air-conditioning on.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “You fucked up, Jackson.”

  I nodded. He was right, but at this point I didn’t care about being a private investigator.

  He’d been with Jeanne. Despite my conversation with Leonard, the image still stuck with me.

  Lester Russell stood awkwardly.

  “I need to get my car. Can you help? After that, I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  No. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

  ***

  After getting my car, I drove back to my apartment and tried to sit for a while. I got antsy around midnight and decided to get out.

  The Olde Towne Tavern was hopping. The jukebox blared The Clash as I entered. Kids played pool, flirted with other kids, danced, screamed, and drank. The place smelled like old cigars, and a cloud of smoke hung from the rafters. I pushed my way to the front of the bar.

  Artie was busy tonight, but his face dropped when he saw me. I must have looked like hell. I tried to ignore the Bud Light sign with the mirror. He finished making a drink and then asked if he could help me.

  “Jack Daniel’s,” I said. “Might as well bring the bottle.”

  “Jack? You don’t drink Jack anymore.”

  “Pour yourself a shot, too. I see you got other bartenders working tonight. You don’t have to do too much.”

  There was a woman in a black tank top and jeans, long blonde hair, flirting with a couple of guys as she mixed a rum and Coke. There was another guy in a T-shirt and khakis pulling the tap on a Coors Light for two giggling girls. They were all smiling.

  “What’s the matter?” Artie asked. “Pour the drink first.”

  He did, but didn’t deliver it to me. Artie cocked his head toward his office behind the bar. I got up and made my way toward him, through the bar into the office. Bare bones, Artie had a desk with papers on it, a small TV, a couch, and a picture of him from his days in the military. Vietnam, if I remembered correctly.

  Sitting on the couch, I knocked back the first Jack Daniel’s. The liquid burned its way down my throat and calmed my involuntary shiver. It didn’t do much for settling my stomach, however.

  “What happened?” Artie asked.

  I told him most of the story, being arrested, losing my license. I didn’t mention Jeanne.

  “Did this have to do with Gerry?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. Truth was, after I listened to Martin speculate, it didn’t sound too far off to me. But I was working on Rex Hanover’s case when I got arrested. And to believe the two cases to be interlocked sounded way too coincidental. “But I have nothing to do with it anymore.”

  Artie sat forward. “You’re giving up?”

  “What choice do I have? I have no license. Nothing.” I smiled. “Nothing but my buddy Jack Daniel’s.”

  “Didn’t you once tell me you wore a suit with a hole in it to show how dedicated to solving a case you were? That you’d risk everything?” Artie leaned even closer.

  “Fuck that.”

  “Why are you being such a pussy?”

  I answered by pouring another glass and knocking it back. “Why won’t you help a friend?”

  “Because when you help out a friend, when you look into their lives, you find out you don’t actually know them. No one is who you think they are. It’s all lies.”

  Artie poured himself a shot. “That’s the way it goes, man. People keep secrets.”

  “Save it. If I told you what I’ve found out, you’d understand.”

  He downed the Jack and said, “Then tell me. I’m your fucking friend. All I know is it looks to me like you haven’t been working. Then you come in here and you want to get loaded and tell me that Bill Martin took your license away.”

  I told him everything. Gerry was probably making drugs. I nearly killed two men. Jeanne slept with Martin.

  Artie swore at me, told me that I couldn’t give up no matter what, but the night was beginning to fade. The alcohol crept around my brain, around the exhaustion, the tight nerves, and after a few more shots, the evening spun into blackness.

  ***

  “What time is it?” I said through a dry mouth.

  The lamplights were too bright, and my head throbbed. I had to rub out my eyes before they would focus. I was still in Artie’s office, laid out on the couch, empty bottle of Jack next to me. Someone was massaging my shoulder.

  “You okay?” Tracy said. “Artie called me. He told me what happened.”

  I blinked my eyes to adjust to the light. Sitting up made me feel like I was on a boat. “How much did I drink?”

  “Artie said he only had two shots. You must have had the rest.”

  “Shit.” I looked at my wrist only to find my watch missing. “What time is it?” I asked again.

  Tracy reached over and handed me my watch. “You put it on the table. It’s four in the morning.”

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “I called you and you never answered. I got worried. I called Artie. It was busy in here, and he didn’t get to the phone until I called an hour ago.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  She sat back in her seat. “This afternoon, you said whatever you were doing had something to do with Gerry.”

  “I did?” I couldn’t think past the pain in my head. “Yeah.”

  “Oh.” I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands and fought the thought of vomiting. I needed water or Gatorade or something that wasn’t alcohol.

  Everything that happened came flooding back to me. My vision clouded for a moment, and I shook my head to clear it.

  “And when I got here, Artie was pissed off.”

  “Well—”

  “Why won’t you look into it?”

  I didn’t need this now. Not with the headache. Not with all that happened in the last day. “I am looking into it.”

  “You aren’t. Every time we talk you’re looking into something else. You’re working, but you’re not working on finding my uncle’s killer.”

  “I—”

  “Are you afraid of something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t.” Her face was flushed, burning red.

  “I can’t look into anything. I’m not
a private investigator anymore.”

  “What do you mean? Artie didn’t say—”

  I interrupted and told her. I told her what Martin said, how he thought Maurice and Josh were connected with Gerry. And how much I wanted to believe that it wasn’t connected, though it was too much of a coincidence.

  Tracy listened, and as I sat up she put her arm around me. I couldn’t see her face, she wasn’t looking at me as I talked, and I thought she might be crying. But she didn’t shudder or whimper or sniffle.

  After I was done talking, she was quiet for a long time. “You can’t look into it anymore?”

  “No.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Drink.”

  She glared at me.

  “Just a joke. I don’t know. I’m going to back to school.”

  “Bill Martin. Do you trust him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I used to be his partner when I was a cop. He was dirty. So was I. But eventually I felt guilty. So I turned our whole division in. I kept his name out of it, but a lot of his friends went down. He got demoted and he blamed me.”

  “So would I.”

  I nodded. “Now he’s pissed.”

  “So he took your license.”

  “Among other things.”

  I wanted to tell her about Jeanne. About what he took from me. My past. But I didn’t say anything. When Martin was with my fiancée, I was trying to be with Tracy.

  I looked at her. The light from the lamp cast a shadow over her face. She looked tired but focused. Her skin was smooth, her eyes soft. I remembered why I found her so attractive. I tried to hate her for helping me drive Jeanne away. But I couldn’t. Tracy and I may not have slept together, but we wanted to.

  “Will he solve my uncle’s murder?”

  “I don’t know. I think I was his only lead.”

  She shook her head. “That not what I meant. Will he work on it? Will he do the best he can?”

  “Not if there isn’t anything in it for him.”

  “Is there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She put her hand on my leg, kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes. For a moment the throbbing went away. I didn’t want her here. But I couldn’t get her to leave. I knew if she left, I’d drink my way into a cocoon. I couldn’t deal with Jeanne.