“And is everything okay with Ryan? He looked a little…tense the last time I was here. I hated to leave you like that.”
I am biting my lip anxiously. I think I hear a car on the road and check to make sure it isn’t Ryan coming back because he forgot something. But the car continues on and doesn’t stop, and I breathe, relieved again.
“Did you have time to look at that thing I asked about?” I say, sipping my cup.
“Ted Kenopensky,” he says, nodding. “Why are you asking about him?”
“I need to know when he died. And how. It’s very important to me.”
Frank looks at me, a frown shaping between his eyes. I can tell he’s wondering about my motive for this, but he doesn’t dare to ask. He doesn’t want to make me mad at him. I fiddle nervously with my cup as he pulls out some papers from his briefcase.
“I was able to print out the autopsy without anyone seeing me,” he says and pulls out a stack of papers. “But I’ll have you know that what I am doing is illegal, so you can’t tell anyone who your source is.”
“Of course not. It’s not for anyone else but me.”
He spreads out the papers, and once again, I am looking at Ted’s dead eyes. “He was found hanging from his ceiling,” Frank says. “And that is the cause of death, according to the autopsy.”
I look up, and our eyes meet. I like sitting here with him. Frank makes me feel safe. It’s the first time in days I feel remotely calm.
“But…” I say and grab a photograph. “The tongue isn’t thrust out of his mouth. Isn’t it usually when people hang themselves?”
Frank gives me a look. “That was the first thing that made me suspicious. You’re absolutely right. Usually, when people hang themselves, the tongue is thrust out of the mouth, and the jaws are clenched. Once, back when I was an EMT, I was called out to a suicide where the jaws were clenched so tightly that they had to be pried open forcefully, so we could pursue lifesaving measures. Three times I have worked scenes where a person hung themselves, and each of the victims had a thick foam around their mouths, and they had soiled themselves. Their hands were clenched into fists—what they call ‘posturing.’ This happens when the brain begins to die. Also, they all had claw marks around their necks from desperately trying to free themselves, thrashing about violently as the body instinctively tries to survive. None of these indicators were present in Ted’s body, at least not according to the autopsy.”
“And not in real life either,” I say, thinking back to the night when he was taken down. I had seen no tongue thrust, no clenched jaws, and definitely no foam. “But there are broken blood vessels,” I say. “Around his eyes. That means that the cause of death was asphyxiation, right?”
Frank nods. “His neck is unbroken, but his hyoid bone is broken, which indicates he was strangled.”
I look up at him, holding the picture between my hands. It is shaking violently, and I try to make it stop, but I can’t. “So, what you’re saying is, you don’t believe he hung himself, is that it?”
Frank swallows, he sips his cup again, then sighs. “It doesn’t look much like a hanging to me, no.”
“And the marks around the throat? Are they from a rope?”
He shrugs. “Could be a rope or hands. It’s hard to tell when I’m just looking at pictures. I’d have to examine the body myself in order to determine this, and even then, it might be difficult to tell the difference.”
I exhale and drink more coffee while my hands shake nervously. I know coffee probably isn’t what I need right now, but I can’t help myself. I haven’t slept properly for several nights, and this is what keeps me from passing out.
“And the time of death?”
He looks down at his papers. “They determined it to be between midnight and five after two a.m. when the SPs arrived.”
I stare at him, barely blinking.
Ryan was there at two a.m. Or ten minutes to, to be exact. I still remember the time because I looked at the clock in the car right when he left Ted’s house.
“And they can’t be mistaken?” I ask. I can hear how bad my voice is shuddering, but I can’t make it stop.
“It is an approximate time, but the body was examined pretty soon after death occurred, so it can’t be off by much. They can be pretty certain, due to body temperature, degree of decomposition, blood pooling, rigor mortis, and so on.”
“So, he did definitely die at night and not earlier in the day?”
Frank nods. He pauses and drinks more coffee. I finish mine and look out the window, worried, wondering when Ryan will be back. None of what Frank has told me has made me calmer. Nothing is giving my husband the benefit of the doubt, only confirming my suspicions.
Frank exhales. His eyes are scrutinizing me. It makes me nervous, the way he is looking at me.
“What’s going on here, Laurie?” he asks. “First, you ask about Clarice, and now this? I’m concerned about you; you seem a little out of sorts. Could you please let me in on what you’re working on? Is it for a news story? Because if you are working on a story, then I have to tell you, it makes me slightly nervous. I’m risking everything by giving you this information. The least you can do is let me in on what is happening.”
It takes me a while to get to the conclusion that I need a friend in this. I walk to the kitchen and pour us both some more coffee, then grab a couple of Oreos and eat them while I’m out there. Frank comes out to me, brushing up against me while the coffee machine is brewing, the smell of fresh coffee filling my nostrils. I have always loved that smell; it reminds me of my grandmother’s house. I miss her and am suddenly overwhelmed with deep sadness. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I try to hide it from Frank, turning away from him, but of course, he notices. He grabs me by the shoulders and tries to turn me back around.
“Hey, what’s going on, Laurie?”
I lower my head and hide my face in my hands, then cry. “I…I fear that Ryan is in trouble,” I say.
“What do you mean, trouble?”
I look up at him, and our eyes meet. I feel warm inside and hopeless at the same time. I feel so stuck in this house like I can’t get out, but I know it’s not the house. It’s my life and my marriage I’m thinking about. I feel stuck in a situation I can’t resolve, and I’m afraid it’s gonna end in disaster.
“I mean that I…he was there, Frank. Right before Ted died, he was in the house. I saw him leave.”
“So, what? You think he…no, Laurie, come on.”
“Then, why didn’t he call the security force? If he didn’t kill him, he must have seen him hanging there. And now you tell me that you don’t believe he was…that he killed himself, that maybe he was already dead when he was hung up.”
Frank sighs. “I know what I said, but going from that to…to think that Ryan has…”
I turn to face him. We’re standing really close now, and I can almost feel his breath on my face. He smells good, and I like being close to him. I miss being close to someone I don’t fear.
“He was there at Sandra Mulcahey’s house right before she died too. I saw a message where he wrote that he would stop by for coffee. I thought he had an affair with her…that maybe she killed herself because he wouldn’t leave me and marry her or something like that, but now this thing happened with Ted, and I don’t know what to think anymore.”