The Night Crew

look of fear on their faces.
    One of the security men looked toward Anna, and even leaned her way—but as he did, a woman shrieked, and the men in suits turned and ran through the open door.
    My God, Anna thought, he jumped.
    The girls in pastel dresses were looking at the door, the boys were looking at each other, all were frozen. Anna knew that this was one of the moments she’d remember: they were like sculpture in some modern wise-cracking installation called California Kids.
    Then Anna moved, and when she did, a couple of the girls began sobbing, and one of the boys yelled, ‘‘Oh no. No, Jacob . . .’’
    Anna ran lightly down the hall, found another open door a few rooms closer than the one where the security men had been. She looked inside: a man and woman, both grayhaired, horrified, were standing at their window, looking out. Anna stepped inside:
    ‘‘Did he jump?’’
    The woman, white-faced, looked at her, her mouth working, nothing coming out, then: ‘‘Oh my God.’’
    Anna stepped around an open suitcase, walked across the room and looked out the window. The jumper was facedown, a black-and-white silhouette on the yellow stone, six feet from the pool. Ten feet from the body, Jason was moving in with his camera. From across the pool, Creek also focused on the body.
    Anna took out the recorder, hit the record switch, held it by her side: didn’t hide it, just held it like a purse.
    ‘‘What happened?’’ she asked.
    ‘‘I don’t know . . . I think it was just kids, having a party. They were making noise, we could hear them running in the hallway. The next thing we know people were screaming and the hotel people came.’’
    Anna could feel the recorder taking up tape: ‘‘Did you see him go?’’ she asked the gray-haired man.
    ‘‘I think he was coming in,’’ the man said. ‘‘He turned and it was like he lost his balance and all of a sudden he jumped, like he was trying to make the pool . . .’’
    The woman turned to her husband. ‘‘Jim, let’s get out of here.’’
    Anna stepped back, looked at the luggage tag on the suitcase: James Madson, Tilly, OK. ‘‘Are you Mr. and Mrs. Madson?’’
    The woman turned toward her. ‘‘Yes, yes . . . Are you with the hotel? We’d like to check out.’’
    ‘‘You’d have to talk with the people downstairs. Are you all right, ma’am? What is your name?’’
    ‘‘Lucille . . . I’mall right, but the man, the boy, he . . . Jim, I think I’m going to throw up.’’
    She started toward the bathroom with her husband behind her, one hand in the middle of her back, patting her, and Anna stepped to the door and looked out.
    Hotel security was there in force, along with four or five uniformed cops. She stepped back, said, ‘‘Madson, M-A-DSO-N, Tilly, Oklahoma, T-I-L-L-Y,’’ to the Nagra, then popped the recording tape and slipped it inside the waistband of her pants. She had two spare tapes in a black pouch on the carrying strap: she took out a spare, slipped it into the recorder. Hotel security usually didn’t ask if they could have the tape, they simply took it, destroyed it, and apologized later.
    Anna stepped into the hall. Two of the men who’d been in the room were just coming back out. Hotel security and a manager-type. Before either could say anything, Anna said, ‘‘Could somebody help my mother? I think she’s gonna be sick.’’
    The manager-type asked, ‘‘What’s wrong?’’
    ‘‘She saw the man jump, she’s in the bathroom . . .’’
    The manager went by, into the Madsons’ room, while the security man ran down the hall toward the elevators. Anna turned the other way and walked back down the hall to the steps.
    Into the stairwell, down and around, and around, to the first floor. Pause, listen. Nothing. She stepped into the hallway, saw a sign that said Parking Ramp, and went that way. Creek was standing fifty feet from the body. No blood, no movement, nothing but a hotel clerk and three cops walking reluctantly toward it. Creek saw her coming and made his open-handed ‘‘Got anything?’’ gesture.
    She’d pulled the headset back on. ‘‘Quick quotes from a witness,’’ she said into the mike. ‘‘They said there was some kind of party before he jumped, or fell, or whatever.’’ Anna spotted Jason, headed toward them. ‘‘Creek, look up there, fifth floor, about one, two, three, four, five windows to the right of the jumper’s window . . . See where the curtain comes