Shadow of a Broken Man by George C. Chesbro Page A

incredible what you've found out in such a short time."
     "There's much more. There has to be. Your wife could have all the answers. You know, Mike, sometimes it's better to face up to a problem."
    He looked pained. "I just don't want to take that kind of a chance. If anything should happen to her—"
    "Something has already happened to her, Mike. It was five years ago, and it's still eating at her. She's obviously a principal in this case. Sooner or later, I think the police are going to be back in on it."
    "Why do you say that?" he asked sharply.
    "Because of the murder I mentioned; the man's name was Arthur Morton. If I continue this investigation, I think it's going to open the lid on a can of worms someone tried to close five years ago. The process may already have begun."
    "Why?" he said, alarmed. "Have you been to the police?"
    "No." It was only a half-lie; I didn't consider talking to Garth going to the police.
    "Then how do you know all this?"
    "Mike, I don't think you really want a lecture on detective work. You've got a decision to make. If you want me to continue, you're wasting my time and your money by keeping me away from your wife; it's like walking around the world to get across the street."
    Foster looked shaken, and I felt sorry for him; I'd been beating him over the head with two razor-sharp horns of a dilemma. But it was Garth who might take it upon himself to reopen the case, and it could cost him his job. In light of that possibility, I didn't mind putting a little pressure on my client.
    Foster was staring at his feet. I nudged him and pointed to his car, which was decorated with a buff-colored thirty-five-dollar ticket. "You'd better get your car out of here before the tow truck shows up," I said.
    He looked at the car absently, as if it belonged to someone else. "Can you keep on working a little while longer?" "If that's what you want. It's your money, and I don't leave until Thursday. May I talk to your wife?"
    "Would you wait on that just a while longer?" he said, a plea in his voice.
    I shrugged. "All right, Mike." It was his money, and I'd given him my best advice.
    He seemed relieved, "Can I buy you breakfast?"
    It was after ten; I hadn't eaten, but I wasn't hungry. "Some other time. If you're still my client, I've got work to do."
    "I'm still your client, Mr. Frederickson. Can I drop you someplace?"
    "The nearest car-rental agency. You might as well come along, since you're paying for it."
    "Where are you going?"
    "South Jersey. I want to talk to the cop who had Rafferty."
    Foster blinked. "The police had Victor?"
    "I don't want to take the time to explain now, Mike. I'd like to get on the road."
    Foster nodded toward the big Olds with the buff decoration on the windshield. "Use my car. I'll take a cab home. Tomorrow's Sunday. Leave it in the street in front of your apartment house and I'll pick it up in the morning."
    "What about your wife? Won't she wonder where the car is?"
    "I'll tell her it broke down. Go ahead and take it."
    I removed the ticket, got into the car, and pulled the seat up all the way. In the rearview mirror I saw Foster, hands jammed into his pockets, staring after me. I liked the man; he was groping blindly, sifting through the ashes of the past because he thought it could help his wife. I was convinced those ashes weren't cold, only banked; they could still burn.
    I turned at the corner and Foster blinked out of sight.

    6
    The Olds was big, powerful, smooth-riding. Slipping out of Manhattan through the stone umbilical of the Lincoln Tunnel, I made good time in the light weekend traffic. Within an hour I had passed through the depressing yellow air of northern New Jersey and was immersed in the flat, deadly monotony of the New Jersey Turnpike.
    I was off the Turnpike by two thirty. A gas-station attendant gave me some directions and I headed northwest.
    Sunny Acres was a pleasant retirement community, spacious and clean, at least on the outside. I parked in a