Dry Bones: A Walt Longmire Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

hand and sighed. “From the initial examination, I would say reversible cerebral anoxia. Note the frothy substance emitting from the mouth and nostrils?”
    “Yep.”
    “Hemorrhagic edema fluid, the result of mucus in the body mixing with the water; the presence of this contributes to the prevention of air intake and the final asphyxia.”
    I glanced at Vic and then back at Isaac. “So, he drowned.”
    He stared at the marred features. “The only thing, Walter, was that Danny was a very good swimmer.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “He, like myself at one time, was a member of the Polar Bear Club.”
    Vic glanced at me with an eyebrow arched like a fly rod at full strike, and I figured I’d better explain. “It’s where these crazy people get together and jump into freezing cold water in the middle of winter, usually to support a charity.”
    She looked at me, incredulous. “You mean like a frozen lake?”
    “Exactly.” Doc Bloomfield stood and redirected an examination light over Danny’s face. “Our chapter used to hold events out at Lake DeSmet on New Year’s Day. There was an instance where one of the younger members jumped in the hole in the ice and became disoriented. The channels are dangerous near the cliffs, but Danny here dove in and brought him back up to safety—as I said, he was an excellent swimmer.” He focused the light, the contrast making the damage to the man’s face that much more horrid. “So, how is it that he could’ve drowned in one of his own reservoirs on a beautiful day in May?”
    Vic glanced at me and stepped forward to study Danny’s face. “Why did he stop doing the jump-in-and-freeze-your-ass-off party?”
    Isaac carefully brushed more of the hair back. “He was getting older, and he was having drinking problems.”
    “So, maybe he got plastered and then fell in the water?”
    “He took pills.”
    They both turned and looked at me.
    Remembering the night I’d met the man, I pushed off the wall and stood over the body, reached toward the rolling table that held the dead man’s clothing, and unbuttoned the breast pocket of the same sort of green canvas shirt where I’d seen him get his pills all those years before. Fishing inside, I pulled out a prescription container and rattled the contents. Handing the waterproof bottle to the doc, I watched as he adjusted his glasses and read, “Omeprazole.” He looked up at me. “Nothing surprising here; it’s a proton pump inhibitor that blocks the enzyme lining of the stomach and decreases acid.”
    “He was also chewing Tums when I first met him.”
    “Danny suffered from stomach trouble his whole life.”
    I gestured toward the bottle. “So this stuff is just prescription Tums?”
    “Pretty much.”
    “Who gave them to him?”
    He read from the plastic container and handed it back to me. “A doctor in Hardin named, of all things, Free Bird.”
    “You’re kidding.” I shook my head as I read the name. “Not Cheyenne or Crow, for that matter.”
    Vic piped up. “Maybe he’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd fan.”
    Isaac continued to study the body. “There’s something else that bothers me, Walter.” He reached out and turned Danny’s face. “The reddish coloring in the cheeks, fingers, and toes.” He examined the damaged hand again. “And there is some exfoliation on the digits, but it’s possible that that was the work of the turtles.”
    I studied the pill container. “Can you get in touch with this Free Bird? In my experience, doctors tend to be a little more open with their own kind.”
    “Certainly.” He suddenly noticed something in Danny’s other breast pocket, and he unbuttoned it, producing a large flask with a beaded leather sleeve. “Hmm . . .”
    “Was he supposed to be drinking with his condition and taking those prescriptions?”
    “No; as far as I know, he was a recovering alcoholic.” He turned the cap and sniffed the contents. “I’m not so discerning, since I don’t drink, but it’s