“You want me to climb up there… ?”
“You betcha, chief. I’m a sixty-year-old man, for Godsake.”
“Sixty?”
“Bet yer ass.”
“You’re in better shape than me, anyway.”
“I know that, and you oughta be ashamed to admit it.” He dug the Swiss Army knife out of a front pocket of his shorts, and tossed it underhand to me.
I fumbled it and had to bend down to pick it up.
“Get up there. Haul yer ass. Kimberly comes along and sees him swinging up there with his dick in the wind, she’ll have nightmares the rest of her life.”
I figured that Andrew was probably right about that.
My swimming trunks didn’t have a pocket and I wasn’t wearing any shirt, so I kept the knife shut and slid it down the top of my right sock. Then I started climbing the tree.
It wasn’t my idea of a good time.
For one thing, I was worried about falling. For another, I was on my way up to a dead guy. I’d had about as much experience with dead bodies as I’d had with live gals. Basically, none. And I would’ve liked to keep it that way. (Not about the gals, about the corpses.) If being dead wasn’t bad enough, he was as good as naked. There’s just about nothing I’d rather see less than some guy without any pants on. Especially the front of him, which is the section that was turned toward the tree trunk—and me.
I made sure not to look at him, and kept my eyes on the tree while I climbed. After a while, his bare feet showed up in my peripheral vision.
I turned my head and saw where the rope was tied off. I didn’t look up to see where it came from. Obviously, though, it went upward from around his neck, was looped over a limb above his head, then came down —sort of behind him. It was wrapped and knotted around a limb just a little distance below his feet.
Which meant I could cut him down without climbing any higher, if I was willing to squirm out on the limb. The idea didn’t appeal to me. To get within reach of the rope, I would need to go under Keith—and nudge his feet out of my way. If that wasn’t bad enough, what was going to happen when I cut the rope? He would fall on me, that’s what.
I wanted to be out of harm’s way when I cut him loose.
So I turned my face to the tree again, and kept on climbing.
Even trying not to look, I couldn’t help but see a lot more of Keith than I liked. You just can’t _avoid_ taking glances, now and then, when you’ve got something like that hanging next to you.
For instance, you want to make sure you aren’t about to bump into him, or something.
And you want to know if he’s got something on him that might, say, leap across the gap. I mean like a snake or other beast.
Anyway, it made me feel pretty sick, the way he looked. The whole business disgusted me, especially that he didn’t have any pants on. But then I got up high enough to see his face, and things got a hundred times worse.
I won’t even get into what he looked like.
“It’s him for sure?” Andrew called.
“I think so.”
“Do you think so, or know so?”
“He’s all wrecked up. His face. But I guess I’m sure.”
“Hung?”
He meant “hanged.” Hung meant something very different, also applicable to the situation. I was in no mood to make any cracks, though. I said, “Yeah. But he’s got blood all over his hair and face. It looks like maybe someone whacked him on the head, then strung him up.”
“Go ahead and cut him down.”
“Just a second.”
I checked out the rope. It didn’t look very new, and was a little thicker than an ordinary clothesline. It had an actual “hangman’s knot.” I counted thirteen coils. They were tight against Keith’s right cheek, and the thickness of the knot had shoved his head sideways. From the top of the knot, the rope went straight up to a limb several feet above his head. It looped over the limb, then stretched down behind his back, straight as a rod to where it was tied off on the limb below his feet.
He’d probably been hauled up by someone standing on that lower limb.
Maybe he’d been killed first, or at least knocked out.
“What’re you doing up there?” Andrew called. “Cut him down!”
I wondered if there might be a way to lower him.
If he could be hauled up, why not lowered?
Because, looking down, I could see that there was no extra rope at the lower limb. After tying it off, the killer must’ve cut off any excess.
I hated to just cut him loose and let him drop.
“Damn it, Rupert!”
“He’ll fall,” I called back.
“So what? He’s dead. He won’t feel a thing.”
“Okay, okay.”
I climbed a little higher. Hugging the tree with my left arm, I brought up my right leg and pulled the knife out of my sock. I used my teeth to open the blade. Then I reached out over the top of Keith’s head and pressed the edge of the blade against the rope.
Andrew’s knife must’ve been awfully sharp.
One slice, and the rope popped.
Keith dropped.
It was worse than I expected.
He hit the limb underneath him, all right. But it went in between his legs and slammed him in the crotch. The whole limb shook. He sat there for a few seconds, head hanging. In his bright shirt, he looked like a flamboyant cowboy who’d fallen asleep in the saddle. Then he slumped over sideways. He fell the rest of the way head first.
Andrew let out a grunty noise and pranced backward to get out of the way.
Keith hit the ground with the back of his head. His spine seemed to bend in half. His legs shot down and his knees struck the ground on both sides of his face. For a second, he gazed up at me from down there like some sort of mutant that was half-face, half-ass. Then he tumbled over sideways.
I pushed my face against the tree trunk and sort of trembled for a while.
Pretty soon, Andrew started telling me to quit stalling and climb down—and bring the rope with me.
I did it. I had to climb out on that lower limb to get the rope. My hands shook too badly for me to untie the knots, so I used Andrew’s knife to cut it loose. Then I just let it fall.
On the ground, I gave back Andrew’s knife. He’d already picked up the rope and coiled it.
“What’re we going to do with him?” I asked.
“Kimberly can’t see him this way.” He handed the rope to me, then crouched by the body and took off Keith’s noose. “She’ll want a look at him, though. We can’t get around that. If she doesn’t see his face, she’ll never believe he’s really dead.”
At that point, Andrew pulled and tugged at the body until it was stretched out flat on its back.
“Where’s his damn trunks?”
“The killer must’ve taken them.”
“Look around.”
I did, but couldn’t find Keith’s swimming trunks, sandals, or anything else.
“Wanta give him yours?” Andrew asked.
“No way. Are you kidding? Not mine. You want to go around volunteering pants, volunteer your own.”
He gave me a smirk. “Run on back to camp, then, and grab a beach towel… a blanket…”
“Maybe we should cover him with leaves or something.”
