Free The Doctor's Wife by Elizabeth Brundage Page A

way, we’re almost like family.” She laughs. “Now, get some sleep.” The door slams and locks.
     
     
    I will not sleep, he tells himself. But he can’t hold on. Shivering, he feels himself sinking into the smothering darkness.
     

 
    11
     
     
    ANNIE SEARCHES Michael’s drawers, the pockets of his trousers, looking for something she may have missed, some courier of fate that may have predicted his death, but finds nothing. She topples over the basket of laundry and searches the pockets of Michael’s dirty pants. A slip of paper comes out in her hand. There’s a name on it: Theresa Sawyer.
     
     
    She hears a car crunching up the driveway and glances out the window. It’s Bascombe’s blue cop car. She hurries downstairs and opens the door.
     
     
    “They’ve completed the autopsy,” he tells her. “Dr. Singh wants to see you.”
     
     
    “I’ll get my bag.”
     
     
    She leaves the children with Christina and they ride into Albany in Bascombe’s car. The weather is treacherous, all sleet and freezing rain. “Not exactly four-wheel drive,” he says, trying to make a joke. She attempts a smile, but her heart pounds and she’s afraid she is going to cry. Sleet pierces the windshield, and it begins to hail. The bare branches of the trees are clawlike, monstrous. The sky is unusually dark, tinged with a watery fluorescence. Bascombe turns off the expressway and weaves up to the hospital. People hurry down the sidewalks under umbrellas as the hail pummels them with menace. It is a strange scene, the yellow hail like an alien presence. Bascombe glances at her. “Hail fucking Mary.”
     
     
    Singh is expecting them. A yellow folder sits before him on the desk. Bascombe pulls out a chair for her, and Annie sits down. “I’ll come directly to the point, Mrs. Knowles. We have determined that the man they found near the car is not your husband.”
     
     
    As if someone has pulled a white shroud over her head, the room goes hazy and white. Her body spins. Did I hear him right? Singh’s obeisant assistant gets her some water.
     
     
    “The first indication was in his mouth. The deceased’s teeth are either completely decayed or missing. After consulting your husband’s dental records, we found that he was quite meticulous about his teeth.” Annie pictures Michael’s mouth, his white teeth and easy grin. “Once we got into the chest, we discovered a pacemaker.”
     
     
    “My husband didn’t have one,” she says softly, nearly disbelieving.
     
     
    “We traced the registration number on the cardiac device. The man who was burned in your husband’s car was a drifter from Utica. His name was Walter Ooms.”
     
     
    “Does that name mean anything to you, Mrs. Knowles?” Bascombe asks.
     
     
    “No, it doesn’t.”
     
     
    “I made a copy of the report for you, Detective.”
     
     
    Bascombe takes the file. He puts on his bifocals and reads over the report. “Thank you, Doctor.”
     
     
    “You’re quite welcome,” Singh says.
     
     
    “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Bascombe takes Annie’s arm, but she pulls away.
     
     
    “I need to see him one more time,” she says. “I need to make sure.”
     
     
    Without hesitation, Singh’s assistant pulls the body out and swiftly lowers the sheet. Annie stares at the burned body for a long time. Her eyes roam the outlines of his shape. “Did he steal the car?” she asks no one in particular.
     
     
    “Possibly,” Bascombe says.
     
     
    She turns toward him, shaking. “Do you think he’s alive?”
     
     
    Bascombe sighs, says nothing.
     
     
    She grabs hold of his arms. “Please, Detective, you’ve got to find him.”
     
     
    “We’ll do everything we can, Mrs. Knowles.”
     
     
    “No, that’s not good enough. Please. Please! You’ve got to find him!”
     
     
    Bascombe raises his eyes slowly, with pity, and pulls her toward him and holds her in his arms. This display of emotion overwhelms her and she