“You see, boy,” said Siri. “If you have enough money, women can forgive the smallest of transgressions.”

Geung snorted.

“Perhaps it w-w-was too cold in the freezer,” he said.

“A chicken doesn’t become a sparrow after a night in the icebox,” said Siri.

“You’re speaking ill of-of the dead.”

“I know. And I’m sure he’ll make me regret it when he gets to the otherworld. But first, to work. What do you see here?”

“Broken bones,” said Geung.

“Many?”

“Left arm three places, shhhhoulder, both legs, ankles, ribs, and probably more.”

“Good. All consistent with falling onto rocks from a cliff. See anything inconsistent?”

Geung looked at the doctor querulously.

“I . . .”

“Yes?”

“I have D-d-down syndrome.”

“So?” said Siri. “That doesn’t make you an idiot.”

“I don’t have . . . I-I-I’m not qualified.”

“Nonsense. How many times have you sat in on our autopsies?”

“Forty-seven.”

“Right. And there I was thinking it was a rhetorical question. Just take a look at our friend here and tell me what your gut says.”

“It says ‘Grrrr’ sometimes.”

Geung laughed. Siri slapped his friend’s forehead playfully.

“Hilarious,” said Siri. “Sadly, we don’t have time for comedy. The security people will be here soon to throw us out. Tell me what you see.”

Mr. Geung ran his eyes over the body like a scanner passing over a document. He flipped over the corpse and scanned what Nurse Dtui referred to as the B side. He looked up at Siri and shook his head. Siri gestured for him to continue. Geung lifted the arm. It folded in places arms had no right to fold. He took hold of the hand, turned down the palm, and looked surprised. He went to the other side of the table and checked the back of the left hand.

“You see it?” said Siri.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Scratches. On the backs of the hands.”

“But not the palms,” said Siri. “But if you’re repelling an attack or falling, it’s instinctive to hold out your palms in front of you. It doesn’t do any damned good from two hundred meters, but we aren’t really programmed from birth to fall from a cliff. And, even if you land on bushes, you’re probably dead already and you don’t have any more chance to bleed. These scratches are caked in congealed blood. My guess is they occurred before the fall.”

“But how?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, Geung. Here’s our experienced hiker. He’s been to the cliffs many times before. A happy man. He takes a pretty girl to a scenic spot. They drink some wine. No stress. Next thing you know he’s free-falling to the rocks below. I have just one explanation.”

Siri stood at the head of the table and ran his fingers through the victim’s thickening hair.

“I thought so,” he said. “Geung, come and feel this.”

Geung hurried over to complete his test. He, too, ran his fingers across the scalp. At first he didn’t feel anything, but then . . .