Read Online Wicked Is the Whiskey: A Sean McClanahan Mystery (Sean McClanahan Mysteries Book 1) by T.J. Purcell - Free Book Online
Authors: T.J. Purcell
Ads: Link
said.
Doc smiled.
“We average a half dozen bridge jumpers every year in the Pittsburgh region, and they’re almost always white males,” he said.
“I didn't know that.”
“Suicide is four times more common among males than females, but more than 75 percent of all suicides are committed by white males. And virtually all bridge jumpers are white males.”
“Interesting.”
“Suicide is an interesting subject,” he said. “Aside from this coroner gig, studying it is a hobby of mine. I keep a history of all suicides in Allegheny County dating back to 1901.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Last year, we had 139 suicides in Allegheny County. Sixty-six shot themselves in the head. Thirty-five hung themselves. Twelve overdosed on drugs. Two took rat poison. Two slashed their wrists. Eight sucked exhaust fumes. Six jumped from bridges. And two threw themselves in front of trains.”
“Two people ended their lives by jumping in front of a train?” I said.
“Yeah, a gruesome way to go. Blood and limbs splattered along 50 feet of track.”
He held the box up to me again.
“Come on, have a donut.”
“No, thanks.”
“We track all suicide cases in Allegheny County to identify the causes and hopefully help prevent future suicides. But in Preston’s case there are a few things that may be inconsistent with suicide.”
“Go on,” I said.
“First, why was Preston's body found so close to where it went into the water?”
I shrugged.
“You know from past cases that the will to live is remarkable. Even in the most desperate suicide cases, we know that once a bridge jumper hits the water, his will to live is rekindled and he will do everything he can to stay alive.”
“OK.”
“But if a jumper were to leap off a high bridge, such as the Birmingham Bridge in Pittsburgh’s South Side, he’d likely be so broken up he wouldn’t have much of a chance. Or worse, he could get stuck in the mud on the river floor.”
“That can happen?”
“Oh, yeah. In the spring, the rains pump so much silt into the Monongahela that the river’s floor is three-feet thick in muck. Don’t you remember the story of Bobby Weiss back in 1968?”
“I don’t,” I said.
“Before your time. Weiss was a high school student whose girlfriend broke up with him at the prom at what was then the Hyatt Hotel. Well, he got drunk and, while walking across the bridge he decided to dive headfirst into the Monongahela. His body sliced through the water and penetrated the muddy river floor like a dart.”
“Wow.”
“It was three months before the muck washed away enough to allow his decomposed body to finally break free and float to the surface,” said Doc. “You sure you don’t want a donut?”
“Positive, thanks.”
“Now here’s what we know about Preston. The weather had been especially dry at the time Preston went into the water — for three weeks prior to that time. That means the river was at a near standstill. And Preston’s body was found very close to where it went in.”
“Which means?”
“He didn’t try to swim for the banks once he hit the water. Very unusual.”
“I’m not following you,” I said.
“The Maryville Bridge has one of the lowest bridge spans on the Monongahela. We only have one recorded suicide on that bridge since it was built in 1948 — a severely drunk man jumped in and was unable to save himself. We had three other reported attempts — these are only the ones we know of — and all three swam safely to the banks. Hell, we’ve heard stories of college Kids jumping off that bridge for fraternity pranks and swimming to the banks without so much as a bruise.”
“And?”
“Well, my autopsy finds that Preston did not suffer any physical damage that would have incapacitated him and prevented him from trying to swim to the bank, yet his body was found just a few feet from where he went in. That would mean he made no effort to save himself.”
“Which might suggest he was
Doc smiled.
“We average a half dozen bridge jumpers every year in the Pittsburgh region, and they’re almost always white males,” he said.
“I didn't know that.”
“Suicide is four times more common among males than females, but more than 75 percent of all suicides are committed by white males. And virtually all bridge jumpers are white males.”
“Interesting.”
“Suicide is an interesting subject,” he said. “Aside from this coroner gig, studying it is a hobby of mine. I keep a history of all suicides in Allegheny County dating back to 1901.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Last year, we had 139 suicides in Allegheny County. Sixty-six shot themselves in the head. Thirty-five hung themselves. Twelve overdosed on drugs. Two took rat poison. Two slashed their wrists. Eight sucked exhaust fumes. Six jumped from bridges. And two threw themselves in front of trains.”
“Two people ended their lives by jumping in front of a train?” I said.
“Yeah, a gruesome way to go. Blood and limbs splattered along 50 feet of track.”
He held the box up to me again.
“Come on, have a donut.”
“No, thanks.”
“We track all suicide cases in Allegheny County to identify the causes and hopefully help prevent future suicides. But in Preston’s case there are a few things that may be inconsistent with suicide.”
“Go on,” I said.
“First, why was Preston's body found so close to where it went into the water?”
I shrugged.
“You know from past cases that the will to live is remarkable. Even in the most desperate suicide cases, we know that once a bridge jumper hits the water, his will to live is rekindled and he will do everything he can to stay alive.”
“OK.”
“But if a jumper were to leap off a high bridge, such as the Birmingham Bridge in Pittsburgh’s South Side, he’d likely be so broken up he wouldn’t have much of a chance. Or worse, he could get stuck in the mud on the river floor.”
“That can happen?”
“Oh, yeah. In the spring, the rains pump so much silt into the Monongahela that the river’s floor is three-feet thick in muck. Don’t you remember the story of Bobby Weiss back in 1968?”
“I don’t,” I said.
“Before your time. Weiss was a high school student whose girlfriend broke up with him at the prom at what was then the Hyatt Hotel. Well, he got drunk and, while walking across the bridge he decided to dive headfirst into the Monongahela. His body sliced through the water and penetrated the muddy river floor like a dart.”
“Wow.”
“It was three months before the muck washed away enough to allow his decomposed body to finally break free and float to the surface,” said Doc. “You sure you don’t want a donut?”
“Positive, thanks.”
“Now here’s what we know about Preston. The weather had been especially dry at the time Preston went into the water — for three weeks prior to that time. That means the river was at a near standstill. And Preston’s body was found very close to where it went in.”
“Which means?”
“He didn’t try to swim for the banks once he hit the water. Very unusual.”
“I’m not following you,” I said.
“The Maryville Bridge has one of the lowest bridge spans on the Monongahela. We only have one recorded suicide on that bridge since it was built in 1948 — a severely drunk man jumped in and was unable to save himself. We had three other reported attempts — these are only the ones we know of — and all three swam safely to the banks. Hell, we’ve heard stories of college Kids jumping off that bridge for fraternity pranks and swimming to the banks without so much as a bruise.”
“And?”
“Well, my autopsy finds that Preston did not suffer any physical damage that would have incapacitated him and prevented him from trying to swim to the bank, yet his body was found just a few feet from where he went in. That would mean he made no effort to save himself.”
“Which might suggest he was
Similar Books
