It was a well-known fact that suicide victims who jumped off bridges often took off their shoes, placing them to the side, as if shoes couldn’t get wet. But nobody thought about their coats or anything else. Sometimes they left purses, keys, or wallets, anything to identify that they’d gone over the bridge, in an effort to help find closure for families and friends, if the body never surfaced.
As Kate walked toward the group of police officers, standing and talking in a huddle, one turned to look at her and nodded. “Good morning, Detective.”
“Morning, Slater,” she murmured, recognizing the officer from her earlier department, her gaze still on the woman’s pumps. “Did we find the body?”
He nodded. “The divers are bringing her out now.”
Kate stepped closer to the railing and looked over. “If she’d been any closer to the park, she would have hit the rocks first.”
“Right,” he said. “Most of them jump from the middle of the bridge.”
Kate looked out and saw that they were not much farther than the lions mounted on either side of the bridge, heading toward West Vancouver. “Depending on the force of her fall, she might easily have hit the rocks, just under the surface,” she murmured.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” he said.
“Any identification left with the shoes?”
“Not that we know of.”
Kate nodded. “Sure seems to be an awful lot of jumpers already.” She had done a quick search a few days ago, and the stats had stuck with her.
“This year has been pretty tough on everybody.”
“I know, but we’ve had what? A fifty percent increase in jumpers from last year?”
Two men nodded. “A lot of businesses went under, and people are suffering financially, not to mention the mental health aspect.”
She sighed. “And there’s never enough we can do for them either.”
“Were you called in on this?”
“No, I heard it on the news. I was already close by.”
“Ah, that explains it. I’m surprised to see you here so fast.”
She waited until everything was dealt with as much as they could on scene, while they waited on the coroner. At that point, she walked back to where she had parked up the hill. Not very many places to get out of the way of the normal heavy traffic, but she’d parked on a service road. She would have to go across the bridge in order to get back where she needed to go. But that was all right; it wasn’t a very long turnaround.
She quickly drove across the bridge and turned around to head back into Vancouver. Instead of going to the office, she headed to False Creek area, to a small harbor café that should be open by now. She parked, got out, and walked, the brisk air hitting her senses, the saltwater breeze lifting her hair. She watched as the sun rose, its light shining on the city she loved so much.
Picking up a coffee, she found a bench and sat. She had a morose feeling inside, once again confronted with the realization of just how many people willingly took their own lives because they felt that was better than any other option, unable to see a way out of whatever hell they were in. It made her sad, but it also made her angry.
She’d never gotten to that point herself, but she’d gotten close, and she certainly could understand it. As she sat here, she recognized a man’s voice behind her, ordering coffee at the counter. She waited, knowing that he would come in her direction.
Finally he stepped up beside her. “May I sit?”
She nodded with a half smile. “Why not?”
“I haven’t seen you in a few days.”
“It’s been busy,” she said, with a wave of her hand.
“Why are you here so early now?” Simon St. Laurant asked.
“Why are you?” she replied, her eyes going wide.
He smiled. “Deflecting a question with a question, huh?”
“Are you a lawyer now?”