Free When One Man Dies by Dave White Page A

Jovi?”
    “Yeah.”
    We walked in silence for a few seconds. Tracy watched her feet.
    She was right: even though it was a little cool, it was a nice night. The sky was clear, a half moon crested above the ocean, and the sea air always added something to an evening. I reminded myself, however, not to get sucked in by it. At any moment, my nerves screamed, I could be ambushed. What if the two thugs from my office had followed me?
    “You really don’t remember me, do you, Jackson?” I looked at her.
    She laughed. “I used to see this guy, Pablo. We hung out at Artie’s bar. One night we had a fight. You were there.”
    “I remember.”
    Memories swirled at the edges of my brain. There was some familiarity to the story, but it was hazy. Four years ago, I was so coked up I hardly remember anything. Except for the few weeks when Jeanne and I were separated. Right before I proposed.
    “Then why didn’t you say so in the bar?”
    “I didn’t want to talk about it in front of Artie.”
    The memories started to come into focus. I could see Tracy’s face, a little younger, drinking a mixed drink. Doing a line of coke with me. Kissing her.
    “Tracy, I—”
    “We never slept together.”
    “I know,” I said. “But my fiancée thought we did.”
    She slowed a step. The buildings on our right were cracked and broken, rotting wood holding them up. It was quiet, not another soul around. To our left the waves crashed a little louder.
    “I was the reason you two separated?” I nodded. “Among other things.”
    “But you got back together?”
    “When I cleaned up.”
    “I’m a different person now. I don’t do coke anymore. I’m with a guy. I’m happy.”
    “I’m different, too,” I said.
    She nodded. “You know what’s funny? That guy Pablo, he and I became best of friends. We broke up that night. But we’re really close. He married one of my best friends. What about you? The woman you were with?”
    “Jeanne passed away.”
    The waves seemed to crash a bit harder, louder. Made it hard to hear.
    “I’m sorry,” Tracy said. “Thanks.”
    I was suddenly aware of how easy it was to talk to Tracy. I was able to let myself go and give up information I usually kept close to the vest. Not to mention how easy she was to look at.
    Then, “I should call Pablo. I haven’t heard from him in a while.”
    “You mention him more than your boyfriend.”
    “Pablo’s a good friend. I miss him.”
    We walked in silence for a few minutes. I had asked my questions. The waves continued to crash, hypnotic. We reached the end of the boardwalk and turned around, continuing to walk in silence.
    Eventually she said, “I love it here at night. It’s not as dangerous as they say. I come here alone before a gig, just to listen. It’s like a concert of its own, the water crashing around like that. I find it inspiring.”
    “It is soothing.”
    She gave me one of those smiles you give a small child.
    “So, where in Sayreville are you playing tonight? I might come and listen.”
    She sighed. “You won’t appreciate it.”
    “You hardly know me.”
    We were back at the intersection. She walked away from me, toward what I assumed was her car. Unlocked the door, pulled it open. Turned back to me.
    “Thanks for walking with me. If you are really going to listen, it’s a place called Jacob’s Jazz. I don’t know the name of the road it’s on, but you can Google it. That’s how I found it.”
    “I’m glad we met up,” I said.
    She closed the car door and drove off into the darkened streets. I exhaled a deep breath, turning over in my brain some new information, thankful that I hadn’t been shot at.

Chapter 16
    It took Bill Martin hours to get through to the Madison police detectives. He would dial, get put on hold, and hang up in frustration. Finally, a Detective Blanchett got on the phone. He sounded exhausted, but gave Martin the rundown on Donne.
    “Did you arrest him?” Martin asked.
    “No. We couldn’t hold him