Read Secrets of Death for Free Online

suffocation, the alarm response usually caused by oxygen deprivation. Again, good planning is crucial.’
    ‘Why so? It sounds straightforward enough.’
    ‘There was a report some time ago about a world shortage of helium. As a result, some suppliers have been mixing air into their party balloon tanks. Even a level of twenty per cent air makes a tank unsuitable for use with a suicide bag. With that amount of oxygen, you’d know exactly what was happening to you. The alarm response would kick in and you’d start to panic.’
    There was no doubt that Mr Farrell had got it exactly right. His chosen method had worked perfectly. He was as dead as a doornail and had been for some hours.
    ‘It’san interesting method actually,’ said Abbott. ‘It can make the cause of death difficult to establish if the bag and the gas canisters are taken away before anyone reports the death.’ He looked at Cooper. ‘People do that to hide the fact it’s a suicide, you know. I mean, members of the family. It’s the insurance pay-outs, I suppose.’
    ‘Or the shame,’ said Cooper.
    ‘Shame? About what?’
    ‘It could be all kinds of things.’
    Abbott looked at him with a confused frown. Cooper smiled. There probably weren’t many things Wayne Abbott would be ashamed of. Not enough to kill himself over anyway. But every individual was different. Roger Farrell might have had some unbearable shame in his life that had driven him to this final act.
    ‘So I suppose theoretically someone could be murdered this way,’ said Villiers. ‘And then the killer could remove the bag and canister.’
    Abbott shook his head. ‘No, there would be clear signs of a struggle. You wouldn’t let someone put a bag over your head without fighting them. There’s nothing like that in this case. Besides,’ he said, ‘the bag and the canisters are still here. No one took them away.’
    Villiers looked at Cooper as he turned away from the car.
    ‘Another one, then,’ she said.
    ‘Looks like it.’
    It was hardly the first time. Every week now, someone drove out into the Peak District to spend their finalmoments in a favourite picturesque location. Heeley Bank was just the latest.
    Cooper was struggling to understand the motivation. Did that last glimpse of the hills really make the moment of dying easier? Could the sound of the wind, a running stream or the bleat of a sheep help to ease the pain of that inevitable slide into death?
    People must believe it did, he supposed. Unfortunately, no one was still around to testify whether it was true or not.
    Cooper reached into the car and picked a handful of items off the top of the dashboard. A parking ticket timed the previous afternoon, which had been stuck to the windscreen. A photograph in a card frame. Two couples, probably in their thirties. One might be Roger Farrell, but there was no point comparing it to the face of the dead man, which had become unrecognisable.
    ‘Is there a photo driving licence?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Abbott passed him a plastic evidence bag. Yes, it looked like the same person, though with a bit more hair in the photograph and a bit less weight. In fact, there was a distinct resemblance between the two men in the picture, the second perhaps a few years younger and a few pounds heavier. Two brothers with their wives? They looked close, though appearances could be deceptive.
    ‘There’s something else in there,’ said Villiers. ‘I can’t quite see what it is. It’s slipped down at the bottom of the windscreen.’
    Cooperfished into the gap with a gloved finger and retrieved a card. He thought it was a business card. A bit pretentious, but that was the style in some businesses. Fancy design in your cards. It was all about presentation.
    But it wasn’t a business card. Not the usual kind anyway. There was no name on it, neither a company nor an individual. There was no office location, no phone number, not even an email address. It simply carried a string of numbers and letters