Ironside: Ah, you assume she jumped.
Eve: Well, the Harbor Patrol said it was suicide.
Ironside: Right. And that's what's wrong. That beautiful bridge. It's an easy out. Find a body in the Bay. Retrieve it. Wrap it up. Freeze it. Label it suicide. Close the case. Bury the body. Forget the whole thing.
Ed: Chief, Mr. Ironside, sir, most of them are suicide.
Ironside: Given proof, not assumption.
Eve: You're hinting in your delicate way that Samantha Dain was not a suicide?
Ironside: Eve, I never hint. Hinting is evasion. I'm telling you.
Ed: You know something we don't know?
Ironside: Never ask a leading question.
Ironside: When I stopped the bullet that put me into this perambulator, I got 1,432 fan letters; most of them slush. Oh, a few of them had the virtue of honesty. There were even two or three worth keeping. I dug one of them out last night. On the desk, Mark. Come on, read it.
Mark: Dear Captain Ironside, I know what it's like to be lying in a hospital bed staring up at the ceiling knowing your world has come to an end. You find yourself thinking "Well, there's one way out: the big sleep." But believe me, Captain, living is better than dying. You'll find out. I did. Signed, Samantha Dain
Dr. Gwynne: When I've completed my autopsy, I won't keep a thing from you.
Ironside: Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Gwynne.
Dr. Gwynne: You're welcome, Chief. Each time we meet, my anticipation grows.
Ironside: Anticipation of what?
Dr. Gwynne: Doing an autopsy on you.
Ironside: Not a chance. I'd roll off the table before I'd let you lay a finger on me!
The medical examiner tells Ironside that there is no physical trauma on Samantha Dain's body. A fall of 200 feet, even into water, would produce very significant trauma; at that velocity, hitting water isn't much different than hitting any other substance. Depending on how her body hit, there would at least be broken bones.