The lights were a chaotic jumble, and the surroundings were deafeningly noisy. The complicated layout of the shared villa made it impossible even for the police to completely keep the onlookers out. There was more clutter here than at any crime scene. Dozens of cardboard boxes of all sizes were piled in front of the window where Schiller stood alone, stuffed with every conceivable kind of miscellaneous item. Sausages and smoked meat hung above the window, while several pots of dried, leafless plants sat by the stairs, their soil filled with ash from God knew where. The wall to the left had been blackened and yellowed by smoke, and several greasy pots sat atop a built-up stove, apparently used for frying something.
Outside the first-floor windowsill, there was also some meat and equipment for freezing ice cubes, piled so high that it blocked half the window. Through the remaining gap, Chick's dangling calves and feet could be seen.
By now, the corpse had been frozen solid, its surface glimmering with a lustrous sheen. Schiller turned to Victor and asked, "When did you freeze him?"
"When the body was first discovered, about an hour ago." Victor looked somewhat nervous. "Did I affect your assessment of the corpse state?"
"You know I don't need to assess the corpse state." Schiller stepped over the clutter and went up to the second floor. The rope had been tied to the curtain rod above the second-floor window, with the other end wrapped around Chick's neck.
"If this really was suicide, then he stood by the second-floor window, tied the rope, looped it around his own neck, and then jumped straight out."
"A very efficient method of suicide," Schiller said. He saw Victor come upstairs as well, holding a pen and writing something down. Schiller looked