Majorca Flats 608

Colin scrambled up the boulders and ran after the Killer.  He knew he’d be too late.   He moved closer to the edge of the cliffs with caution.  There were many steep vertical rocks—some of them thirty or more metres high—eroded relics of the volcanic pipe that had risen here millions of years ago.  Warily he approached the edge of the cliff and peered over.  He could see only that there was a steep edge, and far below, the tops of giant gum trees.  He got down on his hands and knees and crawled closer to the edge.  He looked down.  Thirty or forty metres down he could see the Killer’s body, spreadeagled across the top of one of the rock columns.  The body was quite still.  All the same, the Killer might have survived the fall, even though it seemed unlikely.  He would have to call out rock-climbers to get to it.  It was too close to the columns of the cliff face for a helicopter to lift the body off.  And no one would be able to climb the columns without special equipment.

 

Jeff had made it up the path and came out onto the summit track behind him.

 

“He jumped?” Jeff asked.

 

“Yep.”

 

There was a silence.

 

“I couldn’t stop him.”  Colin was weary, still breathing hard.

 

Jeff shrugged.  “Prob’ly for the best.”

 

“Yeah.”  Colin was too sick at heart to argue.

 

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