“Hell of a way to go,” I say in a low voice.

Sighing, Glock glances up at the body. “What are people thinking when they do shit like this?”

I don’t bother trying to answer. “Did you find a note?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll do a more thorough search once we get some lights out here.”

“We’ll need to check the house, too.” I motion toward the platter-size wet spot in the dirt beneath the body. “Any idea what that is?”

“Not sure. Some kind of biohazard.”

It’s not unusual for a hanging victim’s bladder to release at the time of death, but something about it bothers me. I run my beam over the length of the body. That’s when I notice the dark stain on his slacks near the waistband. Too dark to be urine. “That looks like blood,” I say to Glock.

“Shit.” He adds his beam to mine. “Looks like a stain on his shirt, too. Bloody nose? Maybe he bumped something on his way down?”

“I don’t know, but we need to figure it out.” The victim is wearing dark slacks. A white shirt and a sport coat. Looking up, keeping my beam poised, I circle. Sure enough, in the small space between the lapel hems of the jacket I see a dark stain on the shirt.

“Get some photos of the scene and the victim, will you? We’ll take a closer look once the fire department gets him down.” I motion toward the woman standing near the door. “I’m going to talk to the daughter.”

“Sure.”

I leave Glock to his work and make my way toward the woman. “Ms. Harrington?”

She’s frantically blotting her nose with the tissue, which is now shredded, and tossing uneasy glances at her father’s body. She watches me approach, her eyes huge and owlish. “My God. I can’t believe he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

She closes her eyes and I notice a single fake eyelash stuck to her cheek. “I can’t believe he would do something like this.”

It’s not the first time I’ve heard those words. The family members of most suicide victims are shocked initially. Only after they’ve had ample time to reflect on the things the victim said or did in the weeks and months preceding their death do they realize the clues were there. They just didn’t see them until it was too late.

“I’m Chief of Police Kate Burkholder.” I offer my hand and we shake. “Do you feel up to answering a few questions?”

“Sure.” But her eyes keep flicking from me to her father’s body. “Can you guys get him down from there? I can’t stand seeing him like that. His neck … God.”

“We will as soon as the fire department gets here with some equipment and lights.” I motion toward the workbench twenty feet away, and we start toward it. “They’re on the way.”

I stop at the workbench and turn to face her so that her back is to the body. “When’s the last time you saw your dad?”