MISSING
By Tessa Harvey
The latter put his hands over his eyes and broke into terrible tearing sobs. His whole body shook.
"Oh no," he cried, "why now? We have been hoping for this for several years. Oh God, why? This is so not fair!"
The police stayed until the man was more settled, then left. Blanche was upset.
The missing woman had been pregnant, the foetus so young she probably was not even sure herself.
Mind wandering, Blanche wondered why on earth her parents had named the woman Angel. God and angels were for the policewoman a distant mystery. She did not want to know more. Life did indeed seem very unfair.
At least the man had seemed honest, thought Blanche, remembering the high-ranking church leader on television smoothly protesting his innocence of any crime. To her, he had seemed very guilty. She wondered about the young man they had visited. How much had he contributed to his wife's death? And why had she gone missing in such a storm?
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Something was niggling at Gabe like a sore throat or the beginnings of a headache. Maybe my conscience, he thought wryly, thinking back to his last hostile encounter with the police.
It was something to do with the police....but further back. He recalled walking down to the morgue with a constable. As expected, the morgue was icy and very quiet. He remembered shivering. They approached the covered, dead body of his wife, the constable's steps measured, echoing his own hesitancy and shuffling. He did not want to do this - identify his dead wife. Dead was dead. What difference did it make?
As they drew close, the policeman's phone shrilled. He looked at the caller ID and glanced at Gabe, who said, "Fine, answer it." The policeman turned away. He was excited and congratulated someone.
Gabe slowly flicked up the body cover. Long, blond, wet hair, a smudge of bruised face, a drift of multi-coloured dress. The constable turned back, ending the call. "Is it your wife?" he queried, hesitantly.
"Yes."
They left.
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