Richard H. Nilsen

An Old-Fashioned Hanging: A Hallum Johnson Adirondack Mystery Richard H. Nilsen

The flies were the first thing that would have caught my attention. The drooping, sagging mass of flesh and the smell of urine and the bowels having let go were right up there in sensory overload, but the buzzing blue and green shining flies all over the body signaled there was no going back for this dude. From doing suicide on-call for more than a decade, I've seen my share of "successful" attempts. There are no pretty stories to tell. Even though I came upon the scene after the fact, long after as a matter of fact, even though the photos I eventually saw were black and whites in a sheriff's file, I had seen enough of the real thing to be able, no matter how hard I tried not to, to see the body gently swaying in the tepid breeze from a tree limb like some very bad, rotten fruit. Question was: Did Bobby Banks climb a tree and let go, or did he have a little help? That's what I was being paid to find out.