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helpful and probably would have been edited out before the video was given as a souvenir to the skydivers. There was a fascinating shot of Darbo's shoes, a couple of riveting close-ups of Justin Darbo's altimeter, and a few quick views of the drop zone below, desolate except for the row of neatly parked SUVs.
    Steve clicked off the TV and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. The screen was empty, but Mark could still see a picture. Rebecca Jordan sitting on her window ledge, staring at him.
    "Our last case had much more interesting video," Steve said, referring to the infamous Lacey McClure sex tapes. "There ought to be a rule. If there's going to be video involved in a homicide investigation, there should at least be some sex, explosions, or martial arts to watch."
    Mark groaned and rose from his recliner, not an easy task considering how plush and soft the cushions were. It was about eleven thirty, but felt much later. He was exhausted, his eyes stinging.
    "I'm going to bed," Mark said, trudging towards his bed room. "Wake me when the case is solved."
     
     
    CHAPTER SIX
     
     
    The case wasn't solved, but Mark was awake nonetheless. He lay in bed, unable to sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, he'd see Rebecca Jordan in her window, staring across the street at him for what seemed like hours.
    Help me.
    And then she'd jump—only in his mind, she managed to hold her stare with him as she fell. The instant she hit the tree branch, Mark's eyes would flash open and he'd find himself looking at the electric clock on his nightstand.
    The fourth time it happened, around three a.m., Mark gave up. Despite his exhaustion, he got out of bed, put on his clothes, and went to his car.
    Mark drove along the dark, deserted streets to the nearly empty parking structure at Community General. He took the pedestrian bridge from the parking structure to the hospital, pausing midway to look across the street at Rebecca's building. It was a dark night, and the building was lit only by the glow of some streetlamps, but it looked to him like her window was still open. And for a moment, he could almost see her sitting on the windowsill.
    Help me.
    He blinked away the image and continued quickly on his way to the hospital, taking the elevator to the intensive care unit.
    The first thing he noticed as he stepped out of the elevator was that the Marlboro Man was still there, reading Highlights for Children . Mark wondered if the cowboy was looking for the hidden objects in the illustrations. As far as Mark knew that's all anybody who opened the magazine ever did. He also wondered what the big man was still doing there.
    Mark went directly to Rebecca's bed and checked her chart. Nothing had changed, not that he was expecting anything. He wasn't quite sure why he was there, except that he couldn't sleep, that he couldn't close his eyes without seeing her looking back at him.
    She wasn't looking at him now.
    He took a seat beside her bed, glanced at the monitors, then studied her face.
    She seemed at peace. Tranquil. Of course, she also looked that way when she jumped.
    It occurred to Mark that he'd encountered two jumpers yesterday. One who wasn't wearing a parachute and one who was. One who wanted to die and one who didn't.
    The irony might have amused Mark if it wasn't so tragic and if, in some way, he didn't feel responsible for making sense out of what happened to them both.
    Usually when he embarked on an investigation, there was at least something that didn't fit, some inconsistency or incongruity he could focus on, a clue trail to get him started.
    Not this time. Not with either situation.
    For one thing, Rebecca Jordan's case wasn't a murder. It was an attempted suicide. He'd never investigated anything like that before, which forced Mark to ask himself some basic questions.
    If he started looking into her life, what mystery did he hope to solve?
    Why did she want to die?
    If that was truly his motivation, was the answer to that question