They found her hanging by the banister by the strap of her purse. Her iPod earphones were dangling out the side where the zipper had been ripped open; the headphones clacked together like bones. Her shoes had fallen off at some point. They were perfectly upright, side by side, pointing the same direction, as if she'd flown or been yanked up from their soles, not as if they'd fallen from her feet sometime in the gallow's dance and the loss of sensation that spread from neck down like the feel in her fingers from playing guitar too much--that burning, cutting, numb pain that was worth it because it'd pay off someday.
After being carefully photographed and documented, her purse was searched by the forensics department. They found TicTacs and guitar picks, lip balm and hand sanitizer. They found a picture of a man scribbled onto a ketchup-stained Wendy's napkin. They found twelve black Sharpies and a small handkerchief with a picture of a tea kettle on it. The fabric was thin and showed makeup and sweat stains. There was no money in the purse. There were no keys to the blue Dodge Intrepid that had been parked in her driveway the morning of her death. There was pepper spray and a Swiss Army knife on a keyring but no car or house keys.
They found a bottle of cheap body spray, but her purse smelled like metal. She had sprayed it heavily on herself and throughout the house before she hanged herself, they guessed, to try and cover up the smell of death. It didn't, though. She and the purse both smelled like metal.
She'd locked and bolted the doors and windows and set the ADT alarm before doing it. When the police first investigated, the alarm beeped at them and sent a warning to the ADT office before the police could get it worked out. Her dog had met them at the door, starving, growling, snapping at their hands as they tried to calm it down. They trapped it in the kitchen, where the phone's display screen blinked with fifty some messages from people who knew something was not right.
One of the policemen remarked how this woman had been one of the safest homeowners he'd ever seen, and then he cut the twisted red strap from around her bruised and broken neck.
After being carefully photographed and documented, her purse was searched by the forensics department. They found TicTacs and guitar picks, lip balm and hand sanitizer. They found a picture of a man scribbled onto a ketchup-stained Wendy's napkin. They found twelve black Sharpies and a small handkerchief with a picture of a tea kettle on it. The fabric was thin and showed makeup and sweat stains. There was no money in the purse. There were no keys to the blue Dodge Intrepid that had been parked in her driveway the morning of her death. There was pepper spray and a Swiss Army knife on a keyring but no car or house keys.
They found a bottle of cheap body spray, but her purse smelled like metal. She had sprayed it heavily on herself and throughout the house before she hanged herself, they guessed, to try and cover up the smell of death. It didn't, though. She and the purse both smelled like metal.
She'd locked and bolted the doors and windows and set the ADT alarm before doing it. When the police first investigated, the alarm beeped at them and sent a warning to the ADT office before the police could get it worked out. Her dog had met them at the door, starving, growling, snapping at their hands as they tried to calm it down. They trapped it in the kitchen, where the phone's display screen blinked with fifty some messages from people who knew something was not right.
One of the policemen remarked how this woman had been one of the safest homeowners he'd ever seen, and then he cut the twisted red strap from around her bruised and broken neck.
