fingerprint powder, which resulted in more smearing than removal.
“What made the authorities decide he was murdered?” I asked. “With the sill so low, couldn’t he simply have tripped or stumbled and fallen through the window accidentally?”
“The police think that’s how the murderer wanted it to look. But Uncle Hiram had an injury that was, as they put it, ‘inconsistent’ with how he landed on the bricks. If he’d landed differently, maybe they’d never even have suspected it was murder.”
“What kind of injury?”
“He landed face down, but there was an injury to the back of his head. The medical examiner said he’d been hit with something, although they’ve never identified what. At least not publicly. The weapon has never been found.” Wryly she added, “Although they got a warrant and spent enough time searching my place for it.”
“And the ripped-up carpet?”
“There wasn’t any visible blood on the carpet, but they took it off for laboratory testing anyway. And the tests did show specks of blood. Uncle Hiram’s blood, according to the analysis.”
“Which gives further weight to the conclusion that he didn’t stumble and fall through the window on his own. The blood came from the blow to the head.”
“Right.”
“So, the theory is that when he was hit on the head, he fell forward and plunged through the window, breaking it?”
“I’m not sure if they think that’s how it happened, or if they think the killer hit him and then picked him up and shoved him through the window after he was unconscious.”
“That would take a fair amount of strength.”
I glanced back at Kelli. She smiled without humor. She struck a bodybuilder’s pose and flexed a bicep under the gray sweatshirt. “They seemed to think I could have done it easily enough. Uncle Hiram wasn’t a large or heavy man.”
“Was it the blow on the head or the fall that killed him?”
“The blow on the head was vicious, but it wasn’t fatal, according to the autopsy. Landing on the bricks was what killed him. The only good thing—” She broke off and swallowed. “If you could call anything good in all this, it’s that he was probably already unconscious from the blow and didn’t know he was falling or feel the impact on the bricks.”
“What were he and the killer doing up here together, if the third floor was usually closed off?” I went back to the window, noticing what I hadn’t before. The view of the town from here was truly spectacular, the narrow main street lined with picturesque old brick buildings.
“Good question. The police didn’t lay out details for me, but from their questioning I gathered they thought I removed the plywood blocking off the third floor, lured Uncle Hiram up here on some pretext, and whacked him with some heavy object. But, since I know it didn’t happen that way, I have no idea why he was up here.” Again that bitterness in her voice, along with an undercurrent of frustrated helplessness.
“Or who was with him,” I murmured.
“Exactly.”
“Hiram, or whoever removed the plywood, must have used some tool to do it. I wonder what happened to it?”
“There was a hammer. The police took that too, but it turned out to have only Uncle Hiram’s fingerprints on it, and no trace of blood. They said it wasn’t the weapon.”
“So the killer didn’t just grab whatever was readily available to kill Hiram. Which means the killing wasn’t a spur-ofthe-moment impulse. It was planned, with the killer thinking ahead to bring his own weapon.”
“I guess so,” Kelli said, although she sounded uncertain, as if she hadn’t thought of that particular angle. “Even though I know it happened, I-I still find it hard to believe that someone could deliberately kill him.”
“You’ve never been officially charged with the murder?”
“Much to most people’s annoyance and exasperation, no.”
“Why not?”
“Except for the motive of grabbing Uncle Hiram’s
“What made the authorities decide he was murdered?” I asked. “With the sill so low, couldn’t he simply have tripped or stumbled and fallen through the window accidentally?”
“The police think that’s how the murderer wanted it to look. But Uncle Hiram had an injury that was, as they put it, ‘inconsistent’ with how he landed on the bricks. If he’d landed differently, maybe they’d never even have suspected it was murder.”
“What kind of injury?”
“He landed face down, but there was an injury to the back of his head. The medical examiner said he’d been hit with something, although they’ve never identified what. At least not publicly. The weapon has never been found.” Wryly she added, “Although they got a warrant and spent enough time searching my place for it.”
“And the ripped-up carpet?”
“There wasn’t any visible blood on the carpet, but they took it off for laboratory testing anyway. And the tests did show specks of blood. Uncle Hiram’s blood, according to the analysis.”
“Which gives further weight to the conclusion that he didn’t stumble and fall through the window on his own. The blood came from the blow to the head.”
“Right.”
“So, the theory is that when he was hit on the head, he fell forward and plunged through the window, breaking it?”
“I’m not sure if they think that’s how it happened, or if they think the killer hit him and then picked him up and shoved him through the window after he was unconscious.”
“That would take a fair amount of strength.”
I glanced back at Kelli. She smiled without humor. She struck a bodybuilder’s pose and flexed a bicep under the gray sweatshirt. “They seemed to think I could have done it easily enough. Uncle Hiram wasn’t a large or heavy man.”
“Was it the blow on the head or the fall that killed him?”
“The blow on the head was vicious, but it wasn’t fatal, according to the autopsy. Landing on the bricks was what killed him. The only good thing—” She broke off and swallowed. “If you could call anything good in all this, it’s that he was probably already unconscious from the blow and didn’t know he was falling or feel the impact on the bricks.”
“What were he and the killer doing up here together, if the third floor was usually closed off?” I went back to the window, noticing what I hadn’t before. The view of the town from here was truly spectacular, the narrow main street lined with picturesque old brick buildings.
“Good question. The police didn’t lay out details for me, but from their questioning I gathered they thought I removed the plywood blocking off the third floor, lured Uncle Hiram up here on some pretext, and whacked him with some heavy object. But, since I know it didn’t happen that way, I have no idea why he was up here.” Again that bitterness in her voice, along with an undercurrent of frustrated helplessness.
“Or who was with him,” I murmured.
“Exactly.”
“Hiram, or whoever removed the plywood, must have used some tool to do it. I wonder what happened to it?”
“There was a hammer. The police took that too, but it turned out to have only Uncle Hiram’s fingerprints on it, and no trace of blood. They said it wasn’t the weapon.”
“So the killer didn’t just grab whatever was readily available to kill Hiram. Which means the killing wasn’t a spur-ofthe-moment impulse. It was planned, with the killer thinking ahead to bring his own weapon.”
“I guess so,” Kelli said, although she sounded uncertain, as if she hadn’t thought of that particular angle. “Even though I know it happened, I-I still find it hard to believe that someone could deliberately kill him.”
“You’ve never been officially charged with the murder?”
“Much to most people’s annoyance and exasperation, no.”
“Why not?”
“Except for the motive of grabbing Uncle Hiram’s
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