Sylvia,
I know that you are stricken with grief at the loss of your husband, and I too mourn his untimely passing, but to so callously suggest that his death was more than a tragic accident is not only manipulative, but absurd. I detailed quite plainly (and painfully as you should recall) the fullest extent of his gruesome injuries, however reluctant I was to do so, because it was your right as his beloved wife to know just how he died. I do not doubt that ink and paper could not fully elaborate upon the macabre sight that greeted you beneath that sheet, and for that you have my heartfelt apology. I would also beg your pardon once more, for I wish to explain the more confusing aspects of the (again, my apologies) corpse, if only for posterity. If this would cause offense or greivance, I bid you to skip to the final paragraph.
-i- You noted that not only had his chest cavity been wrenched open, but that 'all manner of blood and fluid had been drained from him'. Allow my to lay this mystery to rest. As you no doubt recall your husband, the late Eric Thorn, was crushed by a cave-in while we were spelunking in Turkey. This mortal impact pressed the very blood from his body, until none remained, which would explain:
-ii- Why his bones were 'missing'. They are in fact, still in their original location, just pulverized to dust by the trauma of the cave-in. The coroner noted that they had even been quickened and fused into the muscles and tendons surrounding them, a phenomenon, while unusual, is not unheard of.
-iii- As to the 'persistent and sinister odor of burn and decay' about the body I can only submit that the scent of death is quite strange and strong the first time around.
I fear that my words have done nothing to ease your sorrow in this sad hour, and perhaps I have done more harm to you by tearing open fresh wounds (if you will pardon the expression). I can only attest one final time how deeply greived I am at Eric's parting, and present my apologies that you were not with him at the time of his death.
Yours in mourning,
Bartholemew
