Rubric's Cube

Chapter 2 Recovery of sorts

The sensation of falling through a trapdoor into a pit, passed.

The two policeman still sat, solid, unmoving and unmoved.

"How?" I whispered.

"We haven't finished our examination of the accident site," said Hansen.

"For Christ sake," I cried "when - why - where - can I see her - where is her - ," I whimpered, "body?"

Hansen said," I'm very sorry for your loss, and even more so for my inability to answer your entirely reasonable questions with any precision. Firstly we cannot determine the time until the reports from the emergency crews are received and the personnel have been interviewed and debriefed. Where - the A1M northbound, the nearest town is Doncaster. I'm afraid the accident was a front end collision to Mrs Blackwood's Porsche 911 and there was a fire. Her remains, few that there are, have to be separated from the wreckage and examined by the forensic laboratory which won't be until Monday next."

"I can't just sit here and do nothing for Christ sake," I shouted.

"Is there anyone we could call who could look after you, a relative or friend."

"Not really - Ellie was near enough an orphan, and my only family is my brother and he's living in Cornwall."

Hansen's calm was almost repellent, with his impassive face, the grey eyes half hooded by his eyelids. He said, "I'm not sure it is wise for you to be alone just now."

I got up restlessly and looked through the picture window into the wet dawn, drizzling grey mist onto the garden.

I turned and said as calmly as I was able, "Hansen, I'm not sure it's wise to have my wife destroyed in a motor accident. But it's happened. You'd better leave me to fight it out on my own. Give me a contact number and a reference and go."

He scribbled something on a business card which he carefully placed on the coffee table.

"Good bye Mr Blackwood. Give me a telephone call on Monday."

Hansen stepped firmly to the front door and Winford followed. As he passed me while I walked to the door to see them off, he whispered "Sorry," and touched my arm. I looked into his brown eyes, with lines of care radiating from them. There was humanity there, lacking in Hansen. Perhaps Tom Winford had seen too much of motorway carnage.

The door closed behind them and I heard the six cylinder engine of the BMW start and the car back away. The house was unnaturally quiet.

What should I do now? I was officially on leave until Monday. Not counting today, four days and if I rang the office I would get compassionate leave to go to Yorkshire to see Hansen and the police. And there might be an inquest. Then a funeral to organise. And I couldn't keep the Ferrari and this house up on my salary alone. So I'd have to sell them. And then there was Ellie's work to be told. And all Ellie's clothes, and her shoes and -

This maelstrom of problems tangled in my mind and then overwhelmed me with grief as I thought of the clothes, and more personal - things.

I looked at the whisky bottle. That wasn't the answer.

Decide something.

Go to Cornwall and see Mark, my brother and his family. That might help me straighten my thoughts. I could ring him now even though it was 6.30 am. He was always up early feeding his goats and chicken, and what all. But leave it until I had a breakfast and more coffee inside me.

I made myself eat a breakfast of two fried eggs on toast, and two large coffees.

The hollow feeling in my stomach persisted. Strange how grief started there, but had a short circuit to the tear ducts.