“We’re talking about an accident seen by five witnesses. If you think there’s some kind of conspiracy involved, there’s a big hole in your theory. If—”
The sheriff sighed. “I know. If it wasn’t an accident, all the army truck had to do was knock him off and keep goin’. There wouldn’t be any reason for all these witnesses and rigamarole.”
“Exactly.” The CID man rose and stretched. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the base. As far as I’m concerned, the driver of the truck, Sergeant Wallis, is cleared.” He looked at the sheriff. “Are we in agreement?”
Sheriff Munster said reluctantly, “Yeah. It musta been an accident.”
Mary was awakened by the sound of the children crying. She lay still, her eyes tightly closed, thinking: This is a part of my nightmare. I’m asleep, and when I wake up, Edward will be alive.
But the crying continued. When she could stand it no longer, she opened her eyes and lay there, staring at the ceiling. Finally, reluctantly, she forced herself to get out of bed. She felt drugged. She walked into Tim’s bedroom. Florence and Beth were there with him. The three of them were crying. I wish I could cry, Mary thought. Oh, I wish I could cry.
Beth looked up at Mary. “Is—is Daddy really d-dead?”
Mary nodded, unable to speak the words. She sat on the edge of the bed.
“I had to tell them,” Florence apologized. “They were going to go off to play with some friends.”
“It’s all right.” Mary stroked Tim’s hair. “Don’t cry, darling. Everything is going to be all right.”
Nothing was going to be all right again.
Ever.
The United States Army CID Command at Fort Riley is headquartered at Building 169, in an old limestone structure surrounded by trees, with steps leading up to the porch of the building. In an office on the first floor, Shel Planchard, the CID officer, was talking to Colonel Jenkins.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news, sir. Sergeant Wallis, the driver of the truck that killed the civilian doctor—”
“Yes?”
“He had a fatal heart attack this morning.”
“That’s a shame.”
The CID man said tonelessly, “Yes, sir. His body is being cremated this morning. It was very sudden.”
“Unfortunate.” The colonel rose. “I’m being transferred overseas.” He allowed himself a small smile. “A rather important promotion.”
“Congratulations, sir. You’ve earned it.”
Mary Ashley decided later that the only thing that saved her sanity was being in a state of shock. Everything that happened seemed to be happening to someone else. She was underwater, moving slowly, hearing voices from a distance, filtered through cotton wool.
The funeral service was held at the Mass-Hinitt-Alexander Funeral Home on Jefferson Street. It was a blue building with a white portico and a large white clock hanging above the entrance. The funeral parlor was filled to overflowing with friends and colleagues of Edward. There were dozens of wreaths and bouquets. One of the largest wreaths had a card that read, simply: “My deepest sympathy. Paul Ellison.”
Mary and Beth and Tim sat alone in the small family room off to one side of the parlor, the children red-eyed and still.
The casket with Edward’s body in it was closed. Mary could not bear to think about the reason.
The minister was speaking: “Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place. In all generations, before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, ever from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth doth change, and though the mountains be shaken into the heart of the seas…”
She and Edward were in the small sailboat on Milford Lake.
“Do you like to sail?” he had asked her the first night they dated.
“I’ve never been sailing.”
“Saturday,” he said. “We have a date.”
They were married one week later.
“Do you know why I married you, lady?” Edward teased. “You passed the test. You laughed a lot and you didn’t fall overboard.”
When the service ended, Mary and the children got into the long, black limousine that led the funeral procession to the cemetery.