I wish the whole goddamned thing would melt, she thought.
Chapter 15: The Corpse
Bisch a Tiroler, bisch a Mensch.
If you are a Tyroler, you are a real human being.
The summer of 2003 was the hottest on record in Tyrol, with soaring temperatures even among the glaciated peaks of the Stubai Alps. By late June, much of the previous winter’s snow was gone, and with less snow to reflect the sun, the glaciers experienced heavy melting. At the Stubai Glacier, even the slope on the north-facing Schaufelferner had to be closed, which deprived the resort of its summer skiing revenue. For one of the first times since the concept of global warming had entered public consciousness, a direct, monetary cost of it could be measured.
On July 18, a corpse appeared on the Schaufelferner’s slope. Like a butterfly emerging from a pupa, it began with a piece of yellow fabric poking up through the surface. Further melting revealed the fabric to be part of a tattered rain jacket that clothed a body.
Martin Baer called the MacPhersons on July 19.
“They’ve found Duncan,” he said. “I just saw on the news that they pulled his body out of a crevasse on the Stubai Glacier.”
“Where exactly?” Lynda asked.
“The news is saying 120 meters east of the Eisjoch tow-lift—that he must have gone off-piste on his snowboard.”
Bob had a clear image of the spot, far outside of the east boundary of the slope. Immediately he suspected it was a lie to protect the ski resort from bad publicity and a liability claim.
The Canadian media didn’t catch wind of the story, so on Sunday evening, Lynda called a reporter named Rob Vanstone, who’d long taken an interest in Duncan, and gave him the scoop. She told him they were about to fly to Austria to retrieve the body, and were hoping to learn more about his death.
“We do want an autopsy done,” she said, “because the big question for me is: Did he get buried alive?”
The night before their departure, a Foreign Affairs officer in Ottawa called and told Lynda that embassy officials were standing by to assist them in Innsbruck. Believing that Foreign Affairs was still more interested in maintaining smooth relations with the Austrians than in helping her, Lynda declined the offer.
Just as they were leaving for the airport, Bob answered a call from Carole Wilson, the psychic from Toronto.
“Be sure to look at Duncan’s left leg,” she said.
On the flight to Munich, they had no idea what awaited them, though they felt confident they were finally about to discover what had happened to Duncan. However, as they would learn much later, the authorities in Innsbruck were again handling the case in a very confusing way. His body was initially to remain in cold storage at a funeral home in the village of Trins, southwest of the city, until they arrived to pick it up. But then, on Monday, July 21, the Canadian Embassy informed the officer in charge of Duncan’s case—Inspector Willibald Krappinger—that the deceased was a well-known person, that his parents would be escorted by officers of the Canadian Embassy, and that they expected an autopsy.
In fact, the MacPhersons would not be escorted by embassy officials, as Lynda had declined the offer from Foreign Affairs. And so, “out of courtesy,” Canadian Vice-consul William Douglas called Inspector Krappinger on July 22 to inform him of the change of plans. The MacPhersons would be arriving in Innsbruck without a consular escort.
Innsbruck was infernally hot when they arrived on the morning of July 24. In all the summers they’d visited, they’d never experienced anything like the heat that held Tyrol in its grip. No wonder the Schaufelferner was melting.
At gendarmerie headquarters, they met Inspector Krappinger. Also a pilot who’d investigated aviation disasters, his office was adorned with photos of crash sites. As Bob too was a pilot, he couldn’t contain his curiosity about the pictures.
Krappinger spoke voluminously about plane crashes, but had little to say about Duncan. He seemed unable or unwilling to answer even basic questions. When Bob asked him where the body had been found on the glacier, he pulled out a grainy photocopy of an aerial photograph of the Schaufelferner and circled a large area—apparently an attempt to avoid pinpointing the body’s location. Bob nevertheless saw the blurry outline of a Snowcat, parked in the middle of the slope, and figured it marked the spot. The men must have used the vehicle to transport themselves and their equipment to the site.
“May I see the original photo?” Bob asked.
“No, it’s only for the police,” Krappinger replied.
So that’s the way this is going to be, Lynda thought. More secrecy.
“Where is Duncan’s body now?” she asked. Krappinger replied that it was at the Institute of Forensic Medicine. Just before they left, Bob demanded copies of the police photos. Krappinger refused, but then apparently changed his mind and called someone. Another officer then entered with a stack of photos and handed them to Bob.
Outside the station, he and Lynda looked at the images and realized that, though they were indeed of the discovery site, they had been taken after Duncan’s body was recovered. Nevertheless they showed the site’s location—in the middle of the ski slope.
They went to the Institute of Forensic Medicine, where they assumed a scientific examination of Duncan’s body would tell them how he had died. As they entered its dimly lit foyer and walked down the hallway, they couldn’t find a living soul.
“Hello, anybody here,” Lynda said. Finally a young man popped his head into the hallway from one of rooms and asked if he could help.
“We’re looking for a doctor of forensic medicine,” Lynda replied.
“Come with me,” he said, and led them to the office of Dr. Walter Rabl, who was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and sandals. Tall and lean with a handsome, boyish face, he reminded Lynda of Duncan, and she immediately liked him. He had a warm and relaxed way about him (unlike the policeman they’d just met), and his English was excellent.
He invited them into his office and made them cappuccinos from a little machine. After they were seated and sipping their coffees, he said he was very sorry, and then proceeded to ask about Duncan. He seemed genuinely curious about the young man whose corpse was lying in his dissection room, though he mentioned nothing about a forensic examination.
“When are you going to perform an autopsy?” Lynda finally asked.
“The public prosecutor hasn’t ordered me to do an autopsy,” he replied, clearly uncomfortable with the question. “The district government office has asked me to confirm the identity of the body, but nothing more.” Lynda and Bob were stunned. A corpse emerged on a ski slope, and the authorities didn’t want to know the cause of death? It seemed incomprehensible. Rabl explained that the public prosecutor was apparently satisfied that the circumstances alone indicated that Duncan had died after accidentally falling into a crevasse, and that there were no indications of foul play.
“Well, how do you think Duncan died after he fell into a crevasse?” Lynda asked.
“Most likely from non-asphyctic suffocation,” Rabl replied. He then explained that, like avalanche victims, Duncan had probably been able to breathe some air trapped in the snow, but hadn’t gotten enough oxygen. This wasn’t a bad way to die. Indeed, avalanche victims rescued at the last minute claimed to have had warm and happy feelings.
Rabl’s suggestion was consistent with Lynda’s longstanding suspicion that Duncan had been buried alive in the crevasse by a careless slope groomer, but she still wanted scientific confirmation. Rabl replied that an autopsy may not reveal the cause of death because the body had been in the ice for so long. In any event, it was up to the prosecutor to judge whether the procedure was warranted.