Free Panic by Nick Stephenson Page B

everything that’s happened,” said the consultant, frowning.
    “Sure, I can buy that. But we’ll need more than circumstantial evidence to prove murder.”
    “And there’s the rub. Whoever is leaving the trail of bodies is making them look just enough like suicides to give a jury enough reasonable doubt to throw out a murder charge.”
    “There must be some evidence we can use.”.
    “The blood pooling around Hank’s body is a little darker than I would have expected,” said Leopold, pointing to the stains on the carpet. “This happens when the heart isn’t pumping enough oxygen into the blood, and is usually caused when something constricts the oxygen supply.”
    “Someone strangled him?” asked Jerome, from across the room.
    “Not likely,” replied Leopold, “otherwise we’d see bruising around the neck. However, I do think his airways were constricted prior to death. Mostly likely something inserted into the wind pipe, which would be much harder to detect during an autopsy.”
    “Why not just let him choke?” asked Mary.
    “The point is to make it look like a suicide. People don’t usually dispatch themselves by sticking foreign objects into their windpipes, and if Hank had died prior to the wrists being cut we’d be able to tell. Judging by the lack of color around his face and lips, I’m certain it’s the blood loss that killed him.”
    “So the killer stopped Hank breathing just long enough for him to pass out?” asked the police sergeant.
    “Yes. Cutting off his oxygen for long enough beforehand would have made it far easier to arrange Hank in this position. If he’d struggled, the killer might not have been able to be so convincing.”
    “Not convincing enough for you. But I’d imagine it’s convincing enough for a jury,” said Mary. “Just one question: How did the killer get out? The door was locked from the inside when we arrived.”
    “Check the windows,” said Leopold.
    Jerome unlatched the living room window, which opened just enough to fit his forearm through.
    “The windows don’t open all the way,” he remarked. “No chance anyone could have fit their whole body through, even if they did ignore the fifty-foot drop.”
    Leopold took a few minutes to examine the rest of the apartment. The tiny kitchen was littered with unopened mail that had been left on the countertop, and there was a strong smell of decomposing food coming from underneath the sink. He pulled open one of the cupboard doors and recoiled as the smell from the open garbage can hit his nose and he quickly shut the door again. He turned to leave, but noticed a letter lying open on top of the pile of junk mail. He picked it up and studied it carefully.
    “Found anything?” asked Mary.
    “Just a bank statement,” said Leopold. “Nothing unusual. We can use the account reference to check for any irregularities. Should save us getting a warrant, at least.”
    Mary walked over and examined the piece of paper in the consultant’s hand.
    “You can’t just hack in to someone’s private account.”
    “Actually, I can,” said Leopold, punching Hank’s details into his cell phone. “I have a contact who can look into this sort of thing. I’ll send everything over. Shouldn’t take long.”
    He hit the send button, ignoring the sergeant’s protestations, and turned his attention back to Hank’s body.  
    “We need to keep looking,” said Mary. “There must be something here that can explain what happened that doesn’t involve us breaking about fifty federal laws.”
    “We can start with the laptop in the bedroom,” said Jerome. “There’s probably something on the hard drive we can use.”
    The bodyguard led the way into the bedroom and pointed out the laptop, shoved into a corner of the bed and partially obscured by the pillows. The bedding and furniture was old, but the room itself had been recently redecorated, like the rest of the apartment. Leopold picked up the laptop and turned it on,