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23.1.2008 | 23:25

Whatever killed Hollywood actor Heath Ledger on Tuesday remains a mystery. A Wednesday morning autopsy was inconclusive-meaning it found nothing. It could be up to ten days before the exact cause of his death is discovered, officials say.

CBS 2 in New York is reporting that a source close to the investigation into the death of actor Heath Ledger claims that, in addition to prescription drugs, police also found a $20 bill with narcotic residue in the SoHo apartment where Heath’s body was discovered on Tuesday afternoon. Several drug packets containing an unknown substance were also found. CBS 2 has stressed that it is still unclear if any of these items belonged to the actor.

Lindsay Lohan has been left crushed by the death of Heath Ledger. An inconsolable Lindsay, romantically linked to Heath as recently as November, has been telling friends “I loved him,” adding that the two were going to see each other on Friday
The New York Times has precise new details about the death of Heath Ledger and how the whole Olsen Twins chatter got started.
They report:
"According to the police, at about 12:30 p.m., a housekeeper, Teresa Solomon, arrived at the apartment, at 421 Broome Street in SoHo, to do household chores. At about 1 p.m., she went into Mr. Ledger’s bedroom to change a light bulb in an adjacent bathroom; she found him on the bed face down, with the sheet pulled up to his shoulders, and heard him snoring.
A masseuse, Diana Wolozin, arrived to give Mr. Ledger a massage at about 2:45 p.m. At 3 p.m., after Mr. Ledger did not emerge from his bedroom, with the door closed, the masseuse called him on his cellphone but got no answer. She saw him laying in bed. She took a massage table out of the closet and began to set it up near his bed. She then went over to him and shook him, but got no response. Using his cellphone, she used a speed-dial button to call Mary-Kate Olsen in California to seek her guidance, knowing Ms. Olsen to be a friend of Mr. Ledger’s. She told Ms. Olsen that Mr. Ledger was unconscious. Ms. Olsen said she would call some private security people she knew in New York, and hung up. Ms. Wolozin again shook Mr. Ledger, called Ms. Olsen a second time, and said she believed the situation was grave and would call 911.
Ms. Wolozin called 911 at 3:26 p.m. to say that Mr. Ledger was not breathing. The call occurred less than 15 minutes since she had first seen him in bed and only a few moments after the first call to Ms. Olsen. The 911 operator urged Ms. Wolozin to try to revive Mr. Ledger, but Ms. Wolozin’s efforts were not successful.
Emergency medical workers arrived at 3:33 p.m., at almost exactly the same moment as a private security guard summoned by Ms. Olsen. The medical workers moved his body to the floor and then used a defibrillator and CPR, to no avail. Mr. Ledger was pronounced dead at 3:36 p.m. By that point, two other private security guards summoned by Ms. Olsen had arrived, as had police officers.
The police said that all five witnesses — Ms. Solomon, the housekeeper; Ms. Wolozin, the masseuse; and the three private security guards summoned by Ms. Olsen — were fully cooperating with the authorities."
This article from The New York Times published just two months ago shed a new light on the untimely death of Heath Ledger:
“I stressed out a little too much,” Mr. Ledger said.
He tends to do that. He is here in London filming the latest episode of the “Batman”franchise, “The Dark Knight.” (Mr. Bale, as it happens, plays Batman; Mr. Ledger plays the Joker.) It is a physically and mentally draining role — his Joker is a “psychopathic, mass-murdering, schizophrenic clown with zero empathy” he said cheerfully — and, as often happens when he throws himself into a part, he is not sleeping much.
“Last week I probably slept an average of two hours a night,” he said. “I couldn’t stop thinking. My body was exhausted, and my mind was still going.” One night he took an Ambien, which failed to work. He took a second one and fell into a stupor, only to wake up an hour later, his mind still racing.
Even as he spoke, Mr. Ledger was hard-pressed to keep still. He got up and poured more coffee. He stepped outside into the courtyard and smoked a cigarette. He shook his hair out from under its hood, put a rubber band around it, took out the rubber band, put on a hat, took off the hat, put the hood back up. He went outside and had another cigarette. Polite and charming, he nonetheless gave off the sense that the last thing he wanted to do was delve deep into himself for public consumption. “It can be a little distressing to have to overintellectualize yourself,” is how he put it, a little apologetically.

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