The Jumper (SF Mystery)

The Jumper 02: The Jumper

As he drove past Coit tower, Jeff pounded on the wheel, cursing the traffic. How could it happen twice? First Jane, and now Carol. "What is wrong with you, boy?"

He pulled out the box that had been in his jacket pocket, and threw it onto the floor. He had been sure tonight was the right moment. Maybe it would be better if it got stolen, he thought, even though it had cost him two months' salary. Maybe it was cursed. Maybe he was cursed, he thought with a bitter smile. He would have said he did not believe in such things, but the second time . . .

He had bought it for Jane, two years before, but she left before he could propose, walking out without explanation. Devastated, he did not want to give up on her, on them. He spent a month trying to get her back, finally understanding that she really was through with him when she threatened to get a restraining order. He had not called or tried to contact her since that phone call, but it took him six months even to begin to notice other available women around him.

When he did, he had several pleasant dates and casual relationships, but it was another year before he met Carol. She charmed him, seemed to fall in love with him, and moved into his apartment. His friends in the department had commented on how much happier he seemed. The relationship continued to grow, until finally he began to look at the little unreturned box, and thought about giving it to Carol. He still hesitated another month before setting up tonight, only to have his would-be fiancée walk out on him the night he planned to propose, for the second time.

Still in shock, Jeff drove into Chinatown, then to Clay Street near Grant Avenue, where his detective's badge got him through. It was a relief to have something concrete to think about. Corpses were much easier to understand, and a dead body was just the thing to take his mind off his misery.

There was a body waiting for him here, and he took a deep breath as he approached. As horrifying and sad as it nearly always was, there was something fascinating about the violent end of human life, which drew him.

The body had already been marked and photographed, and someone from the coroner's office was there to remove it, as soon as Jeff said it was okay.

The body looked strange, aside from the fact that it had fallen from the eighth floor. He frowned at it for a minute, trying to think of what was odd, before the assistant coroner said, "Looks like he was unconscious when he hit."

That was what was strange. Even if it was a suicide, people usually changed their minds on the way down, and tried to fly or land on their feet, but this guy—old man, he saw from the white hair—looked like his arms had been relaxed and at his sides, moved around by the wind, but not by his muscles.

"Any ID?"

"Not here, but you should go up. Apartment 822. They tell me there's another body, but, well, you'll see."

Puzzled, Jeff thanked him and went in. When the elevator door opened, he was surprised to see that it was full. Two paramedics came out with a stretcher, followed by a regular police officer. On the stretcher was a handsome young man with wide shoulders, unconscious, but handcuffed to the stretcher.

Jeff showed his ID to the cop, whom he didn't know. "What gives?"

He shrugged. "This guy was on the floor in the apartment. It looked like he was all the way out, but then we found a heartbeat. We marked where he fell. Cap'n said to keep him cuffed until you brainy guys tell us what's going on."

"Okay, thanks." Jeff took a few seconds to look over the young man. Aside from being almost indecently good-looking, with chiseled features, blond hair and cleft chin, he seemed unhurt, except for being unconscious.