When Never Comes

by Barbara Davis

“And what do you know?” There was another long pause, the sound of a heavy breath being let out slowly. “Unfortunately, not much more than we did the night of the accident. We got a few tips this morning after the photos broke. We’re checking them out, but in cases like this, you tend to get a lot of crackpots. So far there’s nothing concrete. Whoever she was, no one’s looking for her. At least not yet.” “So what do I do? I live on a private road, and I can’t get out of my house. They’re practically camped out on my front porch. I can’t even close the front gates.” “I’ll send a car around to move them off your property and clear the street. I can’t guarantee they won’t be back, but for now at least, we can give you a little breathing room.” “And you’ll call me when you finally know something?” “Christine.” His voice was annoyingly paternal. “Sometimes the best thing for everyone is to just move on, to remember the good times instead of dwelling on a lot of unpleasantness. A name isn’t going to change anything. Why not leave the police business to us, hmm?” “Because we’re not talking about police business, Detective. We’re talking about my life. My husband. My marriage. My driveway. So please don’t condescend to me. The way I see it a wife’s right to know the truth trumps a friend’s desire to sweep his poker buddy’s indiscretions under the rug. Come to think of it, you didn’t seem all that surprised that there was a woman in my husband’s car the night he died.” “Christine—”