"Maybe he was holding his breath when he blew out his brains."

I thought she was going to make me stand in the corner. She said, "Sexual asphyxia… that's the clinical expression for the fetish you've raised. It involves strangulation, a sudden disruption of blood, and therefore of oxygen, to the brain. But that's not what happened here, was it? He watched a dirty movie, he put a pistol to his head, and he blew out his brain."

I had a really funny response to that, having to do with the possibility that he accidentally blew out the wrong brain. But I sometimes obey my better angels, and instead I suggested, "You could theorize that he used the tape as a distraction from a task that was surely unpleasant. A mental diversion… a form of mental anesthesia." Recalling the conversation with my lady shrink friend, I informed her, "Here's another thing to consider. With suicide victims, the manner of their death often expresses what they were thinking, their final thoughts."

"All right… I can see where that makes sense." She gazed thoughtfully at Clifford Daniels's body and asked, "What do you think was the last thing that passed through his mind?"

"A 9mm bullet."

I think I had worn out her stamina for my bad jokes. In fact she said, "Try again."

"Well, it's not necessarily a conscious or even deliberate arrangement on the victim's part. Maybe he was experiencing a final narcissistic impulse. You know, like subliminal exhibitionism run amok."

"You think?"

"I think it's fair to say that Clifford had one exemplary feature. Wouldn't you agree? Maybe he wanted to be remembered for that."

I couldn't tell what she was thinking about this, but she remarked, "Men are really strange."

"Check the nearest magazine rack. Males have no monopoly on sexual exhibitionism… or oversize organs, or weirdness."

"And you consider who buys those magazines, and why." She then concluded, "You raise an intriguing point, though. I'll be sure to consult with a psychiatrist about this."