Page 73 of The Night We Lost Him

“I think the investigators were correct to rule out self-harm,” she says. “The fall pattern is consistent with someone caught off guard, as was the angle of contact. Forgive the bluntness. But, I do have to say, their other conclusions feel premature to me. With falling fatalities, it’s quite difficult to ascertain with any degree of certainty whether a fall from a great height is due to an accident or foul play because the fall pattern is similar.”

“So why did they conclude there was no foul play?”

“That would be my question as well. Unless they were privy to information I was not. There don’t seem to be toxicology reports here or proper blood splatter analysis. Your father was cremated, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Unfortunately, that really limits what we are able to determine now. There is usually a story that emerges. But without his body, I can’t be of much help.”

A story emerges. That language stops me. And something else does.

“Dr. Clifton,” I say. “What do you mean by ‘most aspects’?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said most aspects lend themselves to multiple interpretations.” I say. “Some aspects are more definite?”

“Certainly there are a few things I would characterize as—”

“Suspicious?”

“Requiring further investigation.”

“Like what?”

“There was a large contusion on his left cheek, which he could have sustained in an altercation before the fall. If we had access to the body, I’d be better equipped to study that and to see if they missed any foreign DNA under his fingernails… I also think the velocity with which he seems to have fallen suggests it was the result of a push. On an accidental fall, I would expect him to land closer to the cliff’s edge…” She pauses. “But, to be honest with you, the most compelling pattern piece to me, at the moment, is the fact that everyone is pretending they know anything with certainty in a very uncertain situation.”

“So without a body, is there anything left for me to do?”

She pauses, the air between us thick. “As a clinician, I don’t know. But as a daughter? You may want to go back to the scene of the fall again. Sometimes things emerge that you can’t see on the first or even the second visit.”

“And you think that’s worth doing?”

“I can’t promise you it will be fruitful, but yes.”

I take a moment to steady myself. “And if it were your father, and if you were making an educated guess, you think he was pushed?”

“I’ll say this. I can’t tell you he wasn’t.”

* * *

I call Sam’s cell, but it’s Morgan who picks up. She starts talking over me.

“Thank goodness it’s you,” she says. “I need you.”

“Okay, but I have to speak to Sam first. It’s a bit of an emergency.”

“You have an emergency? I have an emergency! We need to meet you at the brownstone ASAP. Sam wants to move up the wedding.”

I think I heard her wrong. I’m still focused on Dr. Clifton. On the scope of my father’s fall. The angling.

“So you and me just need to triage,” Morgan says. “Focus on the roof deck and how to get that ready. I need a detailed lighting plan, obviously. Also, maybe we like… erect a cool outdoor staircase or ladder that people have to climb up to the top?”

I try to process what she’s saying. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, a way to avoid guests walking through the unfinished house. I don’t need the judgment.”

“Is Sam there, Morgan? Can you get him, please?”