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“Doc, just get to the point,” Walt said, sliding the photo back across the desk.
“My examination suggests that someone performed oral sex on Mr. Young, bringing him to the edge of climax, but before he ejaculated the rope around his neck caused him to stop breathing.”
“Christ. You got all that from an autopsy?”
“Each body tells a story, Detective.”
The Wizard had been busy, Walt thought as he ran a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair.
“From what you see,” Walt asked, “he was a willing participant in whatever the hell went on?”
“Perhaps right up until the end. There were heavy amounts of the victim’s own skin cells under his fingernails, suggesting that he clawed at the rope around his neck before he died. I noted scratch marks on the neck above the ligature wounds.”
“So he panicked at the end and tried to take the pressure off his neck, but was too late.”
“Correct.”
“And no chance this was a suicide, as some defense attorney will surely claim?”
“Definitely not.”
Dr. Lockard pulled another photo from the file and continued.
“The rope used to strangle Mr. Young was jute rope, which we commonly see in S and M bondage. High friction, low stretch.” Dr. Lockard pushed the photo across the desk. “The same rope was used to bind his hands and wrists. Two important points here. Let’s talk about the knots that bound the victim’s hands first. As you know, some suicide victims secure their own hands behind their backs to prevent saving themselves if they have second thoughts.”
Walt nodded. “The voice of insanity safeguarding against the voice of reason.”
“In this case, it’s clear that someone else bound Mr. Young’s hands.”
Dr. Lockard pulled two more photos from the file. The first was of Cameron Young still hanging from the balcony, a close-up of his bound hands held together with rope stretched tight by rigor mortis. The second photo, taken at the morgue after rigor had softened, was of the knot.
“The knots used to bind Mr. Young’s hands were not the type seen in suicides. You see here?” Dr. Lockard pointed at the photo. “For a suicide victim to bind his own hands together, he has to use some sort of slipknot. Sink your hands into loose knots, pull your arms apart, the knots tighten. That’s the only way to do it. These were not slipknots. They were tightly bound knots. Doing some research, I believe they are alpine butterfly knots. This is outside my area of expertise, but it looks like the knots are commonly used in mountain climbing, and require two hands to complete. It’s impossible to tie two alpine butterfly knots this close together and step through them to get your hands behind your back. And it’s clearly impossible to have tied them blindly behind one’s back.”
“So someone else tied him up?”
“Correct.”
Walt gathered all the photos, tapped them a few times on the desk to organize the stack, and then placed them facedown to the side.
“So Cameron Young was getting his rocks off during a sordid S and M evening. Based on the extensive whip marks on his back and thighs, it was a violent night of games. Part of the foreplay included a rope being tied around his neck. The rope was tightened to some degree for added eroticism while someone simultaneously performed oral sex on him. The rope became too tight and he died before he reached climax. His partner panicked, tied the end of a long length of rope to the heaviest thing they could find, which ended up being the safe in the closet, and then tossed him over the balcony to make it look like suicide. Do I have your theory correct?”
“That’s a pretty clean summary of my examination. Have any suspects?”
Walt stood up. “I’m working on it. Thanks, Doc.”
CHAPTER 18
Manhattan, NY Friday, June 25, 2021
JIM OLIVER HAD SET HIM UP IN A SUITE AT THE GRAND HYATT AND WALT was happy to be free from the claustrophobia that surely would have come from a single room. After remembering Dr. Lockard, with his beady eyes and unkempt hair, as well as the vivid image the doctor had painted of Cameron Young’s last night, Walt needed a little space to move around and shake the restlessness from his limbs. Even twenty years later, the doctor had the ability to unnerve him. Walt walked from the bedroom to the minibar and poured two more fingers of rum. He sat down at the desk in the main living area where more pages from the file waited. They were transcripts of his first interview with Tessa Young, the victim’s wife.
THE CAMERON YOUNG INVESTIGATION
They were back in the Catskills for a long weekend, gathered around the stone patio out back, with the sweeping staircase leading down to the pool and with the mountains sprawled along the horizon. It was a beautiful summer afternoon. They had spent the morning on the Youngs’ sailboat, and now a bottle of sauvignon blanc stood in the middle of the table and each of their glasses were full.
Victoria took a sip of wine. Tessa spun her wineglass but hadn’t tasted it yet.
“I saw the Times reviewed your book,” Victoria said to Cameron. “Impressive review.”
