And then he disappeared from view. Before Mike could move that less-than-three-feet distance, the retired police officer had fallen twelve stories to his death. Mike didn’t recall hearing the unmistakable sound of that over-ripe melon falling off a fruit truck on its way to the market—just the sound of the heavy drapes behind him rustling against the doorframe as the wind gently blew into the apartment.
He stumbled back into the living room, his eyes fixed straight ahead. A moment or two later, or maybe it was several minutes later, he was aware of the uniforms pausing inside the half-open door before rushing past him onto the empty balcony. The young officers looked down in disbelief and then back to Mike for direction.
“Write this one up as an accident. A horrible f*****g accident.”
“
