Fire in the Stars. Barbara Fradkin
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mud or ocean silt in his mouth or ears, and rigor is minimal. At those temps, that’s not unexpected, but those two facts taken together, I’d say he wasn’t in the water too long.”
“Can you tell how he died?” Biggs said.
The doctor sat back on his heels. “No water in his lungs. Now, cardiac arrest or laryngeal spasm could have killed him when he entered the cold water …”
“But he could have been dead before he hit the water?”
“That’s one possibility of several.” He straightened with a creak and a groan. “Well, I’ve done what I can. The autopsy in St. John’s should tell us more, but meanwhile you can treat the death as suspicious.”
Chris looked over at the ring of townspeople still pressed against the tape. A few had departed but most waited for news, worried about family and loved ones up and down the coast.
“How about I show the photos to the boat crew and the locals, sir. See if anyone recognizes him or has any relevant information. Then they can go home.”
“Good idea.” Biggs gestured to the constable on guard. “Send the photos to Leger too and we’ll split up the interviews. It’s going to be a long night.”
People crowded around as Chris approached. Relief showed on their faces as one by one they shook their heads. They didn’t know who the dead man was, but a few echoed Norm Parsons’s belief that he was not a fisherman, indeed not likely even a native Newfoundlander.
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