Instantly, Archer recognized the body as Trenton's. The presence of the portrait brought back the dull memory of his fable, Dorian Gray, though he didn't bother to think on it long. Clearly, this wasn't murder. This was an accidental death that needed to be swept away immediately.
As Isobel began to pinch herself, he reached over and grabbed her hand, frowning slightly. "Stop that. We must focus. First, did he have any family?" Family might ask questions. They might file a missing person's report. However, the other residents of the building had concluded that the police didn't dabble in Bellum Letale business. So perhaps this would be an easy solution. Clearly, nobody in the building would miss him. He was hated. Outcast. They could dispose of the body, sell his belongings, and pocket the proceeds. Nobody would ask questions, and nobody would care.