shook her head. “Don’t patronize me. It’s just something I feel. And I need to know.”
Time to give her the speech. “Jen, I’m sure it’s just that. A feeling. A lot of women come in here with the feeling, and I follow their husbands around for days and find nothing. Save your money. You don’t want to know anyway. It’ll just mess up your life.”
I don’t know why I decided to give her the speech. I needed the money. I could take the case on, follow her husband around at night, and still have time to dig into the Gerry thing. But this woman looked shell-shocked, and I didn’t want to screw her over.
She stared me straight in the eye. “You ever get a thought in your head and you couldn’t get it out? It just keeps gnawing at you? That’s what’s happening here. I have to know, no matter what the consequences. It’s been bothering me, in my head for the past few days. I can’t get it out. I’m losing sleep. I can talk to my husband, but I can’t just flat out ask him. I have the money. What do you care? Why won’t you just allow me to hire you?”
“Because I don’t like seeing people get hurt.”
“I appreciate that you have a heart. But I want to do this. I’m a grown woman.”
I opened the desk drawer. Pulled out a contract. “You’ve convinced me.”
“So,” she said, “how do we do this?”
“Well, first things first, Jen. I need to know your full name, your husband’s full name, where he works. A place I can catch him to tail him, that sort of thing.”
“My name is Jen Hanover. My husband’s name is Rex, same last name. I have a picture.”
“That’ll help,” I said, writing the information down.
She went into her purse and dug out a wallet-sized photo. Handed it across the desk to me. I took it, gave it a once-over.
Rex Hanover was a thickset guy, wearing a tight black T-shirt with a logo in script writing over a breast pocket. His arms bulged in the sleeves, and he wore black jeans. Looked like a bouncer, close-cut hair, strong cheek bones. Tan.
“Where does he work?”
“At Billy’s in Morristown? It’s a club or a bar. Off Two Eighty-seven.”
“You have directions?”
“Just a business card.” She dug that out and handed it to me as well.
“I’ll MapQuest it,” I said.
“He’s working every night this week. I’ve never known anyone who does that. I go to work during the day, come home about seven, and he’s just heading out. He doesn’t get home till three, sometimes four in the morning.”
“Let me ask you something. When he gets home, does he smell like cigarette smoke?”
She thought about it, eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. “No. He doesn’t smoke. Well, on the weekends he smells that way. But not during the week. So many people to watch outside, he still gets that smoke smell, even with the no smoking law.”
“Maybe it’s just not that busy during the week,” I said, not wanting to push her expectations either way.
She shifted in her seat, as if she was searching for something to say.
Finally she came up with, “He used to smell that way even during the weekdays.”
“Any idea who he might be having an affair with? If he’s having an affair.”
She shook her head. “What’s your address?”
She gave me an address in Morristown. “Why come down here?”
She scratched her nose. “My husband knows a lot of people. If he knew I hired a private investigator up there, if word got out, I’d be in trouble. He doesn’t know people in this area.”
I nodded. “Okay, we’re almost done. I charge seventy-five bucks an hour plus expenses. I also require a retainer. Say five hundred?”
She nodded, took out her checkbook.
We finished the paperwork, shook hands, and she headed toward the door. I told her I’d let her know as soon as I had any information.
After she left, my cell phone rang. Lester Russell, the caller ID said.
“What’s up, Jackson? You aren’t in prison again, are you?”
“Think I’d have my cell phone with me?”
“Good point. Why are you calling me when I’m in trial? You knew I wouldn’t get back to you until now.”
“Out already?” I said as I looked at my watch. Close to four. “I only have a few minutes.”
“I need a favor.”
“Of course you do.”
I told him about Gerry. Told him I wanted some information from the cops.
“Jeez,” Lester said. “I’ll make a few calls. See what I can find out. But not until the trial is out this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Lester.”
He sighed. “I can’t keep doing this stuff for you. I’m a lawyer, not a snitch, not an informant. I think it’s time you made nice with the boys in blue.”
“There are two sides to that coin,” I said.
Bill Martin nodded at the woman coming down the stairs. She didn’t seem to notice him. That was fine.
He flicked his last cigarette of the pack onto the ground, crushed it with his shoe, and hiked to Donne’s office. The glass door was opaque and had his name inscribed in black lettering. Beneath it said PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. Should have said Traitor.
Or even better, Asshole.
Martin didn’t bother to knock.
Donne was hanging up the phone. He looked up and froze. “How’s it going, kid?” Martin asked.
“Bill.”
Martin took the chair in front of the desk, flipping it around so he could sit with his arms resting on the back.
“I’ve heard,” Donne said, “that sitting that way means you’re intimidated by women.”
He fired back. “If you knew what I’ve done, you wouldn’t bring that up. I’ll tell you someday.”
“Why are you here?”
“You were at the tavern today, right? Saw what happened with Gerry?”
“You’re investigating the case.”
