N Is for Noose

scalpels, hanging scale. The room where we sat was as bland as a pudding-no smell of formalin, no murky Mason Jars filled with snippets of organs-giving no indication of the mechanics of the body's preparation for cremation or burial.
    "Have a seat," he said, indicating two matching upholstered chairs arranged on either side of a small side table. His manner was relaxed, pleasant, friendly, curiously impersonal. "I take it you're here about Tom's death." He reached over and opened the drawer, pulling out a flat manila folder containing a five-page report. "I ran a copy of the autopsy report in case you're interested."
    I took the folder. "Thanks. I thought I might have to talk you into this."
    He smiled. "It's public record. I could have popped it in the mail and saved you a trip if Selma 'd asked for it sooner."
    "Tom's death was classified as a coroner's case?"
    "Of necessity," he said. "You know he died out on Highway 395 with no witnesses and probably not much warning. He hadn't seen his doctor in close to a year. We figured it was his heart, but you never really know about these things until the post. Could have been an aneurysm. Anyway, Calvin Burkey did the autopsy. He's the forensic pathologist for Nota and Mono counties. Couple of us in attendance. Nothing remarkable showed up. No surprises, nothing unexpected. Tom died of a massive acute myocardial infarction due to severe arteriosclerosis. You'll see it. It's all there. Sections of the coronary artery confirmed ninety-five percent to one hundred percent occlusion. Sixty-three years old. Really, it's amazing he lasted as long as he did."
    "Nothing else came to light?"
    "In the way of abnormalities? Nope. Liver, gallbladder, spleen, kidneys were all unremarkable. Lungs looked bad. He'd been smoking all his life, but there was no indication of invasive disease. He'd eaten recently.
    According to our report, he'd stopped off at a cafe for a bite of supper. No pills or capsules in his digestive system and the toxin report was clear. What makes you ask?"
    " Selma said he'd been losing weight. I wondered if he knew something he wasn't telling her."
    "No ma'am. No cancer, if that's what you mean. No tumors, no blood clots, and no hemorrhaging, aside from the myocardium," he said. "Doc said there were signs of a minor heart attack sometime in the past."
    I thought about it. "So maybe he knew his days were numbered. That would give him reason to brood."
    "Could be," he said. "Tom wasn't in the peak of health, I can assure you of that. The absence of pathology doesn't necessarily mean you feel all that good. I knew him for years and never heard him complain, but he was sixty pounds overweight. Smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, just to cover both clichés. He was a hell of an investigator, I can tell you that. What's Selma 's worry?"
    "It's hard to say. I think she feels he was holding out on her, keeping secrets of some kind. She didn't press him for answers so now it's unfinished business and it bothers her a lot."
    "And she has no idea what it was?"
    "It might not be anything, which is where I come in. Do you have any theories?"
    "I don't think you'll turn up anything scandalous. Tom was churchgoing, a good soul. Well liked, well thought-of in the community, generous with his time. If he had any faults, I'd have to say he was straitlaced, too rigid. He saw the world in terms of all black or all white with not a lot in between. I guess he could see the gray, but he never knew what to do with it. He didn't believe in bending the rules, though I've seen him do it from time to time. He was a real straight-ahead guy, but that's good in my opinion. We could use a few more like him. We're going to miss him around here."
    "Did you spend any time with him in the past few weeks?"
    "Nothing to speak of. Mostly, I saw him in the context of his job. Not surprisingly, the county sheriff's department and the coroner's office are just like that," he said, crossing his fingers. "I'd run into him around town. Played pool with him once. Sucked back a few beers. Bunch of us did a weekend fishing trip last fall, but it's not like we laid around at night baring our souls. Fellow you ought to talk to is his partner, Rafe."
    " Selma mentioned him. What's his last name?"
    "LaMott."
    I sat in the rental car in the Kirchner Sons parking lot, leafing through Tom Newquist's autopsy report, his death certificate spelling out the particulars of his passing. Age, date of birth, Social