"-which people in autoerotic activities sometimes do," Troubridge finished.

"To keep them from changing their minds," Sciortino said, snapping open his Zippo lighter.

"And the knot is in front," Troubridge said.

Sciortino cupped the lighter flame and leaned into it to light his cigar.

"In autoerotic hangings," Troubridge said, "it's usually at the side of the neck. Or the back."

"What're you looking for, Jack?" Sciortino asked.

"Virtually all hangings are suicidal," Troubridge told Jack. "Obstruction of the airway is caused by compression of the trachea or, when the noose is above the larynx, elevation and displacement of the tongue. Because of the small amount of pressure needed to compress carotid arteries, you can hang yourself sitting down. Like this."

Troubridge sat on the bumper of a junker and pulled his necktie above his head. He rolled up his eyes so only the whites showed and lolled out his tongue.

"Beautiful," Sciortino said. "You look deader than our hanged friend."

"Had more practice," Troubridge said.

"Dying?" Jack said.

"Studying the dead," Troubridge said. "Six, seven months back, don't you know, this guy hanged himself from the bedpost while his wife was sleeping in the bed."

Troubridge beamed.

"Hanging's the second or third most popular form of suicide," he said. "Depending on the part of the country."

"What about in Columbia County?" Jack asked.

"Around here," Troubridge said. "It's number one."

"February comes around," Sciortino said, nodding, "and people get stir-crazy."

"Christmas bills come due," Troubridge said.

"Seems like it'll be dark forever," Sciortino said.

"Cold forever," Troubridge said.

"People run out of wood," Sciortino said.

"Or can't afford the oil," Troubridge said.

"Or gas," Sciortino said.

They stood, side-by-side, finishing each other's sentences like a vaudeville team. Mr. Bones and Mr. Interlocuter.

"Friday comes around," Troubridge said, "they check their pay envelope, see how little they made-"

"After they've given the vigorish to the Uncle," Sciortino said.

"They wonder why they're working so hard," Troubridge said. "For what? And-"

Troubridge again grabbed his necktie and yanked it over his head, ghoulishly grinning.

3.

"Why're you so interested in maybe the hanging was autoerotic?" Sciortino asked Jack.

"I'm not so interested," Jack said.

Sciortino looked at him. Hard.

"It's just," Jack said, "if it wasn't autoerotic..."

"We're done here," one of the Crime Scene Unit technicians said.

"Okay," a state trooper said, "bring him down. Hey, Minutello, leave the knot intact."

"Hmm," Troubridge examined the body. "We got a fracture, don't you know. Of the thyoid cartiledge. The superior horns."

Jack watched Troubridge examine the corpse, which was lying on a gurney.

"Fracture of the neck is rare," Troubridge said. "Only with osteoarthritis, with a sudden drop, or obesity, or old age."

Jack approached the body.

"But his neck is fractured," Jack said.

"Ninety hangings," Troubridge said, "I only seen one fracture of the cervical spine. The woman weighed over three-fifty."

"How'd she get up high enough to hang herself?" a trooper asked.

"She looped the rope over the back of the couch and tied it to one of the back legs," Troubridge said, "then rolled off the couch."

"You think someone could've, what, Jack? Knocked out our friend and strung him up?" Sciortino asked. "Any lumps on the head, back of the neck, anywhere someone might've given the guy a whack?" he asked Troubridge. "Any contusions on the arms where someone held him against his will?"

"Not that I can see," Troubridge said, examining the body.

"Or maybe two guys snuck up on him." Sciortino pointed at the body with his cigar. "What do you think, Doc? Two guys maybe hanged this mook?"

Wiping one hand against the other, Troubridge stood. To Jack, he said, "It's virtually impossible for one or two healthy males to hang a third unless he's been beaten unconscious or drugged or drunk."

"Maybe there were three guys," Jack said. "Four."

"Why not five?" Sciortino asked. "A dozen? Maybe the Elks interrupted their monthly meeting and came to the junkyard? Or maybe he was attacked by a biker gang? Or Russian gangsters? Or the Mafia? Or the CIA? They forced him to drink a bottle of Jack Black? Made him snort lots of coke? Want to see what the tox scan says? Seems to me, Jack, your boy was probably always drunk and drugged. We pare his fingernails, look for some killer's DNA? You think we got a budget for that?"

"You're going to close the case, huh?" Jack said.

"Jack," Sciortino said, "it's over, done, finished. The boy hanged himself."

"Why?" Jack asked.

"Who knows?" Sciortino said. "The guy was a fruitcake. Look at the way he was living. A pig."

"And pigs always hang themselves, right?" Jack said. "He suddenly got real disgusted with himself and decided to end it all."

"You think that doesn't happen?" Sciortino said.

Sciortino grabbed Jack's arm and steered him away from the crime scene.

"It ain't murder, Jack," he said. "What the hell're you trying to do?"

"He knew Gaynor," Jack said.

Sciortino stared at Jack.

"Could've given her the drugs that killed Frank," Jack said.

"Could've, would've, should've," Sciortino said. "You want to take that to the DA? Get a true bill on could've?"

"It's a big coincidence," Jack said.

"Like someone finds you dead in your car, which accidently runs off the road some night?" Sciortino said. "You know life is full of coincidences."

"Seems to me-," Jack started.

"Seems to me," Sciortino said, "you're not paying attention."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

1.

Jack, who made himself scarce after Sciortino's warning, got a flashlight from his car and, after the cops had left, circled back to the crime scene. He played the flashlight on the ground below where Stickman had been hanging, up at the branch where Stickman had tied the rope, and ran the beam along the branch, the light illuminating bark greenish and diamond-patterned, like a snake. When the beam came to the end of the branch, it dropped down the trunk, elongated, a finger of light, as if it were dripping liquid.

Jack aimed the light to the right and left and higher, picking out broken twigs and small branches, where Stickman might have climbed up to tie the rope.

Jack aimed wider and higher.

The area of broken branches extended three, maybe four feet, in each direction.

More than one man would make climbing a tree?

Or damage consistent with one or two men hauling up a third?

No, Jack thought, I'm building a case. Anyway, if Stickman had been drugged, unconscious, and then hanged by others, only one guy would have to climb the tree and tie the rope. Then, climb down and put the noose around Stickman's neck.... No, two men. One to lift Stickman's body and a second to set the noose, then drop the body, fracturing the spine.

Building a case ...

"Could've, would've, should've," Sciortino had said. "You want to take that to the DA? Get a true bill on could've?"

"It's a big coincidence," Jack repeated aloud and repeated Sciortino's answer: "Like someone finds you dead in your car, which accidently runs off the road some night?"

"Yeah," Jack said, again out loud, "life is full of coincidences."

Like Frank getting together with Jean Gaynor, Jack thought.

2.

"Let's say Robert asks Frank to do a favor," Jack said, leaning across the table in a booth at the Mohawk Trail Diner overlooking the river.

"To help Jean?" Caroline said.

"We could look in the court records," Jack said, "the cops must've pulled in Jean plenty of times. Frank puts in the fix."

"And whatever Robert or his father is giving Frank for doing the favor, Jean decides to sweeten the thank-you with sex and drugs," Caroline said. "That could explain how Frank started using."

"But not why somebody would kill Frank," Jack said.

"You're sure the bad coke wasn't an accident?" Caroline asked.

Like someone finds you dead in your car, which accidently runs off the road some night?

"Just a coincidence?" Jack said.