Mrs. John Doe Read Free Page A

you’re back in New York. That would be best.”
    “And the—the transportation?”
    “Your airline will be able to assist you. They’re used to these things.” More quietly, he added, “With security these days, I’m afraid it will have to be the cargo hold.”
    She didn’t know what to say to that, so she simply nodded again. Another tear ran down her cheek.
    “There are a few forms for you to sign,” he said. “My assistant is bringing them down from my office. Are you—are you ready now?”
    “Yes,” she whispered. She reached out as though to touch the upturned face on the steel pallet, but her hand stopped before it reached its destination, slowly returning to her side. At a nod from the doctor, the orderly pulled up the sheet and rolled the big drawer shut. The harsh metallic clang seemed to reverberate in the frigid, sterile room.
    A few other people had arrived in the waiting area by the time she and the doctor rejoined Bill Howard there, but she took no notice of them. She moved directly into the arms of her friend, her husband’s friend, and wept against his shoulder. Then they all sat in a corner of the waiting area. A young Asian woman in a white lab coat arrived with legal papers and a big, sealed manila envelope. Nora signed a Certificate of Death, a Certificate of Formal Identification, a Receipt of Personal Effects, and a Certificate of Waiver of All Pursuant Claims, whatever that was—probably so she couldn’t sue the car’s manufacturer or the City of London for having erected a stone wall on Holland Park Avenue. She signed it anyway, thinking all the while of the body in the drawer next door. How small he’d seemed, and how fragile. A heart and liver condition of long standing…
    “The, er, personal effects are here,” Dr. Gupta said. The assistant handed her the manila envelope containing a plain brown wallet, a key ring with three keys, a disposable cardboard camera, and a small white box. Nora opened this last item, a jewelry case. She removed a layer of cotton and stared.
    It was a simple gold chain with a heart-shaped locket. She snapped it open and found a tiny, recent photo of Jeff, smiling confidently into the camera. In the box under it, nestled in a second layer of cotton, was a miniature envelope with a card.
Happy Birthday!
Inside the card, in Jeff’s handwriting:
Pal, always keep me close to your heart. Love, J.
    Pal
. His private name for her; only the two of them knew what it meant. Her forty-eighth birthday was in three weeks, July 21, and he’d already bought her a gift. The wallet held two hundred forty pounds and two photos, one of her and one of Dana. Jeff’s credit cards, insurance cards, gym membership, and all the other things that he normally carried were absent, even his driver’s license. She’d never seen this wallet before either. It certainly wasn’t Jeff’s usual wallet, the one she’d given him years ago. It wasn’t real leather but plastic, what she’d heard called
pleather.
    She turned to look at Bill. “What about his—”
    “It’s okay,” her friend assured her. “His other wallet was at his place, and everything was there. All his belongings too. No need for you to worry about it now. We’ll pack it up and send it to you.”
    “That’s all, really,” the doctor said. “We disposed of the clothes he was wearing. They were…” He trailed off, then quickly handed her an engraved business card. “If you need an official report of the accident for insurance purposes, refer your carrier to me. The police in Kensington didn’t make one. They have no record of him, only of the incident itself. They listed the driver as, er, John Doe. I’ll notify them of his identity.”
    “My company will take care of all that, Doctor,” Bill told him, and Dr. Gupta nodded.
    Nora looked around the crowded room, a mass of strange faces with eyes that all seemed to be watching her. She stood up slowly, fastened the gold chain around her neck, and