Free The Divide by Nicholas Evans

there. Everything Abbie ever did or said or had for breakfast is there. Just look it up.”
    Hammler blushed. Charlie nearly cheered.
    “Mrs. Cooper, I’m well aware how difficult a time this is—”
    “Difficult? Difficult! You haven’t the slightest idea.”
    “Mrs. Cooper—”
    “Who the hell do you think you are!”
    She was on her feet now and heading for the door.
    “I’m not listening to any more of this bullshit.”
    All the men had stood up too. Hammler looked like a kid who’d just been mugged for his candy. He started to say something but Mrs. Cooper, swinging the door open, turned to face them and cut him off.
    “When you’ve got something new to tell us, I’m sure we’d be only too delighted to hear from you. But this morning, Wayne, we’re a little pressed for time. We have to go pick up our dead daughter and ship her home for the funeral. So if you’ll excuse us, we’ll go now. Come on, Benjamin.”
    And she was gone. Her footsteps echoing angrily down the corridor. Hammler’s jaw was jutting and he seemed about to head off in pursuit. Charlie stepped forward and gently restrained him.
    “Let her go,” he said quietly.
    “But there’s a lot to—”
    “Later. It’s not the right time.”
    Ben Cooper was just standing there with his head bowed, looking forlorn and embarrassed. Charlie picked up the poor guy’s coat and laid a hand on his shoulder.
    “Come on,” he said. “You’ll need a lift.”
     
     
     
    The sheriff parked outside the hotel and they sat in his truck for a few minutes with the rain drumming on the roof. He reassured them again that he would do everything in his power to find out how Abbie died. Ben was in the front and kept glancing over his shoulder at Sarah who hadn’t said a word and didn’t even seem to be listening. She sat hunched by the back window, silhouetted by the silver rivering of water on the glass. Her hair was wet and straggled and the collar of her white raincoat turned so high it looked as if she might at any moment vanish.
    The sheriff apologized again for the FBI man and promised to call as soon as he had any news. They thanked him and went inside to check out and collect their bags. While Ben paid the bill, Sarah stood alone under the portico and when he had finished and came out to join her, she didn’t wait for him to come alongside but turned and walked ahead of him out to the car, heedless of the rain, her arms folded tight to her chest. Ben noticed the backs of her calves were spattered with mud and the sight touched him and made him want to say something comforting, even if it was only to declare his admiration for the way she had stood up to that little FBI creep. But he was too wary of her now and didn’t trust himself to find the right words or tone.
    As they drove slowly out along Broadway to the funeral home, the repeating thud and swish of the wipers made the silence between them so loud that Ben could bear it no longer.
    “How the hell could she be pregnant?” he blurted.
    With a week’s notice, he couldn’t have come up with anything more crass. Sarah turned and looked at him and he swallowed and stared ahead and braced himself for the blistering put-down. But she said nothing.
    Jim Pickering was waiting in the reception area to welcome them. He was wearing a smart suit in a middling shade of blue, dark enough to be formal but not somber. From one glance at Sarah he seemed to sense that it was best to keep words to a minimum and soon he was leading the way once more to the viewing room.
    Ben asked if she wanted him to go in with her and was neither surprised nor offended, only relieved, when she said she would rather see Abbie alone. The image of the girl in her white gown was etched in his head and he doubted he could bear the etching of another, of mother and daughter together. Instead, he went with Jim Pickering into the office along the corridor to do the paperwork.
    There were documents to sign and details to be