My sister said his hands and feet had been bound and that he'd apparently hanged himself. It seemed to her like it might actually have been murder, which was why she found it strange that the police didn't stick around very long. It sounds like the body was just cleaned up and the books were closed. It seems strange to me, too, but I suppose we don't know the whole story. I was half tempted to put on a deerstalker and examine the area, and complain to passers-by about the cold trail.
I quoted to her Edward G. Robinson's famous monologue about suicides in Double Indemnity; "Come now, you've never read an actuarial table in your life, have you? Why, they've got ten volumes on suicide alone. Suicide by race, by colour, by occupation, by sex, by seasons of the year, by time of day. Suicide, how committed: by poison, by firearms, by drowning, by leaps. Suicide by poison, subdivided by types of poison, such as corrosive, irritant, systemic, gaseous, narcotic, alkaloid, protein, and so forth. Suicide by leaps, subdivided by leaps from high places, under the wheels of trains, under the wheels of trucks, under the feet of horses, from steamboats. But, Mr. Norton: Of all the cases on record, there's not one single case of suicide by leap from the rear end of a moving train. And you know how fast that train was going at the point where the body was found? Fifteen miles an hour. Now how can anybody jump off a slow-moving train like that with any kind of expectation that he would kill himself?"
I still have drawing to do to-day; well, just inking now and colouring.