Maggie took a deep breath, let it out slowly. «Okay. Okay, okay. Let's do this.»
«That's my girl. Pluck to the backbone,» Saint Just said, extracting a key from his pocket and inserting it in the lock. «We wouldn't want Undercuffler to get up and wander away, would we?» he asked, pushing open the door.
«Very funny. You're a real barrel of laughs,» Maggie said, holding up her oil lantern as Saint Just did the same.
They entered slowly, just as lightning flashed outside the windows, lighting up the room—and the body—for a few seconds before thunder crashed overhead. «Oh, great, that's just what I needed—special effects. And yup, there he is. How about I stay over here, and you just tell me what you think I should see?»
«Two reasons, my dear, the first being that I wasn't quite sure I saw what I saw the first time I looked. But by now, postmortem bruising may have helped define what I saw.»
«So now it's postmortem bruising. Who the hell do you think you are, Alex? A forensic scientist or something? You watch television, that's all.»
«And I read books, as a true devotee should always seek to increase his knowledge,» he said, putting a hand on her elbow and guiding her closer to the table, which was easily accessible now that all of the chairs had been lined up against the walls. «Some marks on a body become more intense after death. Please don't ask me to explain why, but I do believe I could incorporate some of the more elementary conclusions in our future stories, as a body is a body, no matter in which century death occurred, yes? I should like us to be more technical in future. Expand my horizons, as it were.»
«Captialize on the current forensics rage to increase readership, you mean, don't you?»
«Yes. That, too. Am I so transparent?»
«I'm not even going to answer that. But it's a good idea, actually. Okay, we're here. Sam's here. Show me what you want to show me so we can make like shepherds and get the flock outta here.»
«Charming.» Saint Just retrieved a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves from the tabletop and put them on. «Marylou offered them to both Arnaud and myself, having found them in the kitchens. Good girl, Marylou. Always eager to help.»
«You look ridiculous,» Maggie said, shaking her head. «Like you don't want dishpan hands. I wouldn't be caught dead in those things.»
«Really? In that case, would you be so kind as to put your bare hands under each side of Undercuffler's jaws and help me lift back his head?»
«Yeah. That's going to happen. And you've made your point. Go ahead. Show off. And then let's get out of here. This is really creepy, as if you don't already know that.»
Saint Just walked to the short end of the table and grabbed hold of Undercuffler's jaw, lifting the head up and back only with considerable effort. The body was very cold, cold enough for Saint Just to feel that cold through the gloves. «He moves even less easily now. Hmmm. Now, if you'll hold up the oil lantern, please, and take a close look at our friend's throat?»
«Oh, God.» Maggie stepped closer, lifted the lantern just as another round of lightning and thunder added their bit to the scene. «What am I supposed to be looking at? I can see the bruising where the rope bit into his neck. Even ripped the skin. And some—are those scratches?—that are vertical, not horizontal. Wow. That had to hurt.»
«I'm convinced it did, yes. Now look higher, to the very top of his throat, at the back of the chin. Do you see more bruising?»
Maggie glared at Saint Just for a moment, then stepped closer, looked. «Yes. Wow, Alex, there's a second bruise. Not as bad, but it's there. Wider, a little bumpy—like it hit harder in places. How did that get there?»
Saint Just lowered Undercuffler's head and stepped away from the body. «The drapery cord—braided silk— was softer. And the second bruise was much higher on the throat, much in the way it would be if someone were hanging from a makeshift noose. I have the length of drapery cord that was around his neck here somewhere, and I believe if I were to now compare it to the two different lines of bruising, it would fit the second one. The postmortem one, as it were.»
«I'll take your word for that,» Maggie said. «So what caused the first one? And, yes, I think I already know where this is going. But I still want to hear you say it.»
«Very well. The other line of bruising, the thinner line, the cut skin, is much lower, actually a fairly straight line across the Adam's apple, indeed, around the entire neck. Not at all the sort of line you'd expect from a noose. Now, as you say you already know, what does that tell us?»
Maggie walked over to the line of chairs, sat down. «Okay, I'll play. We'll start slow, since you seem to want to build the suspense, although I have to tell you, being your straight man isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'm going to be nicer to Sterling in your next book.»
«Maggie? Please stay on point, if you will.»
«Bite me. All right, all right. It tells us, oh, great and learned Saint Just, how Sam died. He was strangled. Choked with something. Something thinner than the drapery cord. Gee,» she said, rolling her eyes theatrically, «I wonder what it was. Oh, and wrapped around his neck with a lot of force, too, right? No woman did that.»
«Thank you. I concur. Undercuffler was most likely surprised from behind, as someone looped the murder weapon over his head and pulled . Twisted. Undercuffler had to have put up a struggle, but to no avail. It's difficult to struggle for long when one's airway is being impeded. Still, the exercise had to have taken considerable time, at least three to five minutes, as this was not your typical garrote, where a knot is placed in the weapon and pressed against the Adam's apple—or two knots are placed along the length to correspond with the carotids—either ploy considerably shortening the exercise. No, not a quick or pleasant death, Maggie, but definitely a determined murderer.»
«I don't know if I'm glad or disgusted that we both know so much about this stuff.» Maggie sat back, folded her arms, rather hugged herself. «I don't like doing this, but okay, let's imagine it. The killer sneaks up behind Sam, throwing the rope, string, whatever—since you're still holding onto the punchline—over his head, twists, pulls back hard. Sam is surprised. Shocked. Scared. He reaches up with both hands, scratches at his skin trying to get the rope off. But the other guy is stronger. Sam kicks, flails, is maybe even lifted off his feet—that's a deep cut in his neck.»
«Yes. Undercuffler can't cry out, but he can make noise. We've a rather full house here, so somebody could have heard him. Unless, of course, he was in the attics at the time of death.»
«Right up above my head,» Maggie said. «Except I wasn't there until after four o'clock or so because I stayed with Bernie all afternoon, and then I was playing music pretty loudly, and then you came in and—okay, okay, so nobody heard him. I'll buy that theory. Keep going.»
«Sterling and Perry heard bats,» Saint Just said. «But I don't think that means anything, unless what they actually heard was the squeaking of hinges as the murderer returned to the scene of the crime and opened a window in preparation of hanging Undercuffler outside on the scaffold. That's all you would have heard, Maggie, as the murder itself had to have taken place much earlier, perhaps shortly after you two argued. Other than the murderer, you may have been the last person to see the fellow alive, in point of fact. In any event, I believe we may consider Sterling's fear of bats a lucky escape, if the murderer was busy with Undercuffler's body at the time.»
«Oh, man, don't tell Sterling. But that would explain the bats, too, wouldn't it? It was already dark. A couple could have flown in the open window. If the killer left it open, that is. Do bats fly in the rain? Birds don't, I don't think. So I don't think we can be sure about the bats.» She slapped her hands on her thighs and stood up. «Okay, upstairs, right? We have to check out the attics.»