Free Random Hearts by Warren Adler Page B

call," Vivien said.
    "Will you? I'd appreciate that."
    After hanging up, she paced the study. Mostly she hated the
feeling of total helplessness. Her emotions drifted from fear to panic to
anger. Anger seemed the most productive, holding at bay any debilitating
anxiety. How dare he do this to her! It was callous, unthinking. Then she
directed her anger against herself. She had been stupid, a typical brainless
do-nothing wife who left everything to her husband. She was a dimwit, the
ultimate traditional woman, the quintessential nonassertive wife. She deserved
to be in this state. She should have known where he was going, how and when,
instead of expecting others to know for her. That would change, she vowed.
Maybe she had become too contented. Bovine.
    She put Ben to bed, after enduring another bout of
questioning about Daddy, which only unnerved her further. To take her mind off
her fear, she turned on the television set to the news, and the first image
that assailed her was the crash, evoking the immediate horror of accident. She
quickly turned off the television set and thought about that. If he was in an accident, he carried identification. Shuddering, she pushed that thought
from her mind and debated whether or not to call her parents in Vermont. She rejected that idea. No sense in getting others upset.
    For a long time she sat in the silence of the hushed house
and looked out into the backyard at the stoic visage of their snowman, calm and
serene in the chill night, staring out at the alien world with his cookie eyes.
Then she opened a bottle of brandy, poured a glass, and sipped it slowly. The
warmth felt good as it trailed through her chest, soothing her.
    Soon, she was certain, she would discover a perfectly
logical explanation. That thought reassured her, but only for a little while.

9
    On the fifth day the weather eased, and work began again on
the rescue operation in the river. Early in the morning the crane brought up
the tail section. As it rose from the semi-frozen river, two bodies slipped
from it and fell back into the water, sinking beneath the surface. The spot
where they fell was quickly marked, and divers were sent down to recover them.
    Later in the day the big crane brought up the fuselage,
which, as it rose, looked like some giant beast emerging from the deep. A
number of bodies were found there, still strapped in their seats. Because of
the proximity of the baggage racks to the victims, they were identified
quickly. The rescuers were also able to match the seating plan to the overhead
racks and determine the ownership of various personal belongings.
    The extreme cold did not bother Sergeant McCarthy as it had
during the first days. He came to the temporary tent fully prepared with heavy
gloves, long underwear, and earmuffs. The body bagging and identification went
smoothly. There were no more Jane Does. The only odd thing was a group of
mysterious divers who went down along with the divers from the Army Engineers.
    "Some big classified thing," someone said.
"Defense stuff."
    There were military men aboard, and the sudden injection of
intrigue gave the day an uncommon feeling. It had begun to seem like routine.
    By the end of the day another twenty-three bodies had been
recovered, leaving less than twenty still on the bottom of the river, including
the pilot and the co-pilot who were obviously in the front part of the plane
which had not yet been raised. Everyone was happy with the progress of the
operation. The official departments involved took pains to commend their
personnel and to backslap themselves with the media, representatives of which
continued to haunt the site with their cameras and equipment although with less
enthusiasm than at the beginning. They did, however, continue to press
officials with questions that hinted at the possibility of sabotage or foul
play. These suggestions were quickly and firmly denied.
    Back at the Medical Examiner's office, McCarthy sifted
through the victims'