Cliff

Chapter 5 -- Back in the Apartment

"I know this sounds old, but I really can't believe he's dead."

"Well, you knew him better than I did, but he sure didn't seem about to die the last time I talked to him," Tom said. Tom spoke slowly, hesitantly, as though he knew that anything he said would probably be the wrong thing. He never did well at showing his feelings.

They were both in shock, and probably not thinking very well. Sally was just picking up things and looking at them, then putting them back down. The question kept going through her head "Why? Why? Why?". She would ask each object she picked up, Why? How could a guy that was such a happy freeloader as Bob was, inviting himself almost daily for supper, even though he often brought most of the groceries for them, kill himself? He wasn't depressed. He was bothered, or irritated. May even have been worried. But people do worry, and get irritated, and need to talk to other people without deciding to kill themselves instead. He would have left a damn note! Something!

Sally looked for the note. She looked again at everything written down. There certainly wasn't much here. It must all be in his office. product. No note.

Oh God, she would have be the one to tell all his friends. Was she? Someone would have to do it. His family probably didn't even know who his friends were, especially the ones he had made since he left Kansas. She looked for an address book. It was there, in the desk drawer. There weren't very many names in it at all, and most of what was there seemed to be business names and numbers. She didn't know what to feel about that. It seemed sad that he didn't have many friends, but she was relieved not to have to tell a lot of people, one by one, that he had died. She didn't know what to feel about anything, anyway.

She put all the stuff in a box. His clothes went into the suitcase she found in the closet. Bob wasn't much of a clothes guy, and apparently hadn't acquired much since he came here. She recognized all of them again, and cried some more over them. They seemed like him, and she felt really odd folding them, although she had washed them often enough with hers. They took turns doing each other's laundry. It made for larger loads and saved money.

She never thought they had many secrets from each other. Now that he was gone, she realized that he must have had some.

At least she hadn't found any correspondance or pictures of other women. Then she felt guilty again at being jealous, and sad again, that there wasn't a Bob to be jealous over.

Tom offered to leave. "Please, Tom. I don't know what to think about anything, but I know I don't want to do it alone. I know I'm not good company, and I don't know what I'm thinking about or doing or saying, but I don't want to do it alone. Please stay here with me."

The simple words with the open vulnurablilty that went with them touched Tom. He really liked Sally a lot, and would have gotten to know her better if Bob hadn't been there first. He also didn't know what to think or feel. He would never have competed with Bob over Sally, but now Bob wasn't here any more. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't caused Bob's death, and that Sally could and might choose him, now that Bob was gone, eventually. In the meanwhile, he could and should do what he could to help Sally, trying to do it without taking advantage of her. He felt responsible and noble, and a jerk.

It wasn't said, exactly, but when Sally and Tom finaly went home, they had made up their minds that Bob hadn't killed himself, and they both wanted to know how he died, and what he was doing on the edge of the cliff. Mostly because they didn't have any other ideas how to begin, they went along the shore themselves. The cliff was only a block and a half from Bob's room, but it must have been different at night in the fog.

"The only reason I can think of for Bob to be here in the fog at night would be just to think, or worry about something. There isn't anything to see, especially at night, and especially in the fog."

"Tom, he wasn't going for a walk. He was meeting me at 9 o'clock in the coffee house, and he didn't leave my room until after 6. He said he was going home to write a letter. Said it was private. Did he ever get home, I wonder? Maybe he went here, after eating his, or I should say my, sandwich, to do his walking and thinking."

The next day, Sally was still upset enough to ask the town constable about it. She hadn't even known there was such a thing as a town constable, having spent all her life until now in a large city, with a police force. Goose Cove had one, though, and his office was in the Goose Cove Municipal Building. It wasn't grand enough to be a city hall. His office wasn't all that grand, either.

But he was, tall and large in the way of law enforcement officers, maybe 35 years old and maybe brown hair and eyes, and the usual moustach. He was wearing a blue uniform with a badge, yards or leather with a lot of dangerous looking hardware attached to it.

He seemed friendly enough, though, and asked her nicely enough what he could do for her.

"You were called in about Bob's death.", she said, "I can't believe he killed himself."

"Maybe he didn't. From what I gather, he was alone, and that means that either he meant to fall off the cliff or he didn't mean to. Doc says that he actually died from a blow on the head. That would surely have happened when he fell onto the rocks below the cliff."

Sally went very slowly into her next question. There had been talk of Bob's being drunk, and she wanted to know the truth about that. But she didn't want to be giving the constable ideas. "I've heard that Bob was drinking. Is that so?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," the constable explained, "I didn't do a blood test, because it really didn't seem to matter. It isn't a crime to drink and then walk off a cliff, or to drink and then jump off a cliff either, for that matter. So what if he had?"

"Officer, it would make a lot of difference to me to know that he hadn't. Everybody is saying that he was drunk."

"The're saying he must have been drunk, because they can't figure how he came to fall off the cliff any other way. There's a difference. Nobody really knows anything."

Sally changed direction slightly. She was becomming a bit bolder, now. "You said he was alone. How do you know that?"

"Kind of like the drinking thing. I didn't see any signs that he had company, and nobody saw him with anyone. You weren't there yourself, I suppose?"

"Of course not! If I had been there, would I be here asking questions?"

"No, I suppose not, but you'd be surprized at what people actually do do. I assume you know the fellow that jumped?"

"He was a very good friend, and not likely to throw himself over a cliff without notice."

"Then we're left with an accident, in the dark, in the fog. And I wouldn't put too much stock in what people are saying about his being drunk. I haven't heard anything resembling evidence that he had been drinking--at least not in public. As for the being alone part, I'll keep on listening to people and if you hear anything about him being with someone, or anyone who saw him near the cliff, I expect you to tell me about it. I don't suppose you have any idea yourself why someone would push him off a clif. Do you have any other boy friends?"

"Officer, I don't have boyfriends that push each other off cliffs. It's a treat when one of them buys my coffee, much less fights over me." She regretted saying that as soon as it came out. Bob treated her exactly the way she expected to be treated. They both had more on their mind than flowers and sentiment. She went on, "I had no other 'Boy Friends', as you put it."

"I didn't mean to offend. I never did know exactly how to ask that question. But it seems more polite to ask than just to snoop around asking the neighbors."

"OK, you asked. Bob and I both had a lot of things on our mind. He had about six months to complete his theses, or be pretty close to it. Then he would get a job in oceanography. I was within a year of my own, and then we would see what we could do together. All of us are pretty single-minded here."

By us, she meant the students that lived in Goose Cove to complete work at the research institute. They formed a large minority of the population, and were generally liked by the community. The constable agreed, "You sure aren't much into raising hell on weekends, I'll say that. Folks in my field are surprized when I tell them what the population and average age of my jurisdiction is. Makes me look real good."

Sally couldn't think of anything more to say, so she told the constable again that she would tell him anything she heard about Bob's death and got up to leave.

"Just call city hall, and ask for me. I try to let them know where I'm at most of the time. Sometimes, I don't want them to know where I'm at, though."

"Thanks.", she said, and wondered why. She was exactly where she had been. She knew that a lot of things weren't true, and a lot of things weren't known. Correction. She knew that Bob was alone when it happened. Correction again. She knew that no one had told the constable that Bob hadn't been alone. She also knew that Bob's death wasn't being "Investigated". The only way the constable would find out anything would be if someone came up and told him.

So Bob just accidently walked off a cliff in the dark and in the fog. She still didn't believe it, but she didn't have a better answer. Bob had no enemies. He was a graduate student in oceanography. His every waking moment was dedicated to finishing his research and writing his theses. He had no vices, other than her, and she wasn't anything to walk off a cliff or be pushed off a cliff over. Who would have fought over her? What a dumb ques- tion. Fought who? Or was it fought whom? Neither. None of their frinds fought over anything, ever. But, like the cop said, either he fell off the cliff accidently, or he fell on purpose, or he was pushed.

Tomorrow she would write to all the names she could find in his personal things.