His life was not worth living, so there was only one thing to do. End it!
THREE FIFTEEN A.M.
Dense fog covered the deserted bridge. Dr. Eldon McKinney eased the sleek Mercedes sedan to a stop against the low wall that separated the pavement from the walkway. He vaulted the wall, took off his Pierre Cardin jacket, folded it and put it on the ground.
The wallet from his back pocket. He thumbed through it. Eleven dollars. Sixty thousand in savings lost on worthless stock in the past two months. The big house mortgaged to pay off the bookie.
He flipped through the credit cards and smiled briefly at his distinguished bearded portrait on the bank card. All completely overcharged. He had been thorough. With her taste for luxurious living, how shocked Carol would be to find herself bankrupt.
He put the wallet down exactly in the center of the jacket.
The gold watch from his wrist. He looked at the engraving on its back: To Eldon, love always, Carol.
The investigation would inevitably bring to light her current shoddy affair with the young tennis pro; her prim, virtuous facade would crumble in the scandal. He put his watch down precisely on top of the wallet.
Then he leaned over the wall, reached into the car and pulled out a pack, bedroll neatly tied on top, a worn plaid lumber jacket and a slouch hat.
He zipped into the jacket, shrugged on the pack and adjusted the hat. Reaching into the jacket pocket, he extracted a small battery-powered razor and, whistling a cheerful song, began to shave as he strolled off into the fog.