“What about the tawlet?” Timble said and I tried to place his odd accent.
“Toilet? You mean for him to step on?” Timble was nodding. “Nope. Too far away,” Okert said. “I measured. He couldn't have reached where he was hung if he stood on the toilet, and owing to the length of cord.” I was impressed that Okert had done a good job of observation and checking things out.
Timble hissed and swatted a dismissive hand at him.
“I've never worked a suicide before,” Okert said almost to himself. His lips pursed as he practically kissed the sucker. I had to wonder if the sucker was substitute for another habit that he'd given up recently.
“You're forgetting Old Mrs. Owens,” reminded Timble.
“Well, that was a simple one. Besides, the coroner did that one. She slipped a robe tie around her neck, t
