They watched from the foot of the bridge as the patrol boat drew closer to the body. It was carefully hauled on board and there was very little pause between securing the body and puttering over to land. As it neared land, the driver killed the engine and it coasted over to them until it softly banged against the bank just off the base off the archway on the Manhattan side.

Aside from the driver and the officer in the boat with him, Rachel and Jack were the first to see the body. The man was male, likely in his early forties. He had light brown hair made dark by the water, and his wide open eyes were also brown. Right away, Rachel saw the nasty abrasion on the right side of his head. It looked almost like road rash, the blood still flowing, albeit not quite as much as the stain on the side of the bridge would have led her to believe. Then again, if hed been face down in the water, the blood flow had likely slowed considerably.

Other than the scrape on the side of his head, there were no clear signs of injury. She knew that most suicides into water often broke their pelvis and several ribs but none of that would be verifiable until he was placed on an examination table.

Anyone got evidence gloves? she asked.

Branson, whod appeared as if from nowhere, handed her a pair from the inner pocket of his suit coat. She slipped them on and pressed solidly against the mans right side in a few places. She was pretty sure she felt at least two broken ribs.

Thoughts? the boat driver said.

Plenty. But the most jarring one is that this is four bodies in four nights, all apparent suicides. And I think it now goes far beyond coincidence.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Because the body was in such good condition, just about every possible avenue for identification was available to them. Rachel, fighting off exhaustion with a cup of precinct coffee that tasted just a few grades above diesel fuel, was sitting in a small conference room with Jack when Branson came into the room. He tossed a thin folder down onto the table and collapsed into one of the available chairs. Apparently, hed not slept for quite some time, either.

The victim is thirty-nine-year-old Dustin Adams. He worked as an insurance claims adjuster and lived in Brooklyn. As we speak, theres a unit headed over to his residence to inform his wife. I figure if you guys want to act fast, I can head over there and talk to her, too. Maybe give it about half an hour or so.