Death Rope Read online

  ‘Why didn’t you call an ambulance straight away?’

  For an instant the question had hung between them unanswered, then Charlotte began babbling about shock and the urgent need at the time to free Mark from the noose. She hadn’t added that for a moment she had been unable to move. Instead of calling for help she had stood, rooted to the spot, staring at the two men entangled in their macabre one-sided embrace. After that, she could remember nothing more until the pounding at the front door had shattered the silence. Even then the gardener had been forced to shout at her to open the front door, or the police would have smashed their way in.

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ her sister-in-law had repeated when Charlotte finished speaking. ‘It doesn’t even make sense. How could he have reached the upstairs banister? Not Mark. I can’t believe it of him.’ She had sounded close to tears.

  The last thing Charlotte wanted to do was talk about what had happened, but she supposed she might as well get it over with or Amanda would never let it rest.

  ‘We think he went upstairs and tied the rope around the banister up there and then threw the end of the rope over, so he could reach it from the hall. Then he must have gone downstairs, climbed up on a chair, and…’

  Her voice had tailed off. Surely Amanda wouldn’t want her to continue.

  ‘I see,’ Amanda had replied curtly, too upset to continue.

  ‘So I’m sorry,’ Charlotte had resumed after an awkward pause, ‘but –’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Amanda interrupted her. ‘What could have driven him to do it? Mark wasn’t the sort of man to take his own life. Something must have happened to make him do it, if it really was suicide, which I doubt.’

  Charlotte hadn’t replied to what sounded like a veiled accusation. Whatever vile conclusion Amanda chose to draw was of no consequence. She hadn’t been there, and Charlotte had. The police were convinced that Mark had taken his own life, and nothing Amanda could say was going to change their minds. It was over, and Mark was gone.

  3

  Geraldine hadn’t worn her long black jacket since her birth mother’s cremation. It was hard to believe nearly a year had passed since then. Giving the jacket a shake, she pulled it on over black trousers and a grey shirt, an appropriate outfit to wear to a stranger’s funeral. Fulford Cemetery was not far from where she worked, and easy enough to find, but all the same she was nearly late. The car park was three-quarters empty as she parked her car and hurried into the prayer hall. Although the front rows were only half full, she slipped into a seat near the back of the hall. She had barely sat down when the funeral cortège arrived and everyone shuffled to their feet. As the coffin was brought in, Amanda caught sight of Geraldine and her expression tautened with recognition. Other than that, no one seemed to notice the stranger in the back row.

  It was a dreary service, even for a funeral, with a dull and generic eulogy. Geraldine was reminded of her birth mother’s funeral, where no one had spoken apart from the celebrant who had never met the dead woman or her family, and had taken no trouble to find out anything about her. The ceremony seemed to drag on interminably, but at last it drew to a close and the congregation filed outside to gather in clusters in the chilly spring sunshine. Observing the mourners, Geraldine could see nothing to arouse suspicion. The widow’s grief was evident but restrained. At her side a man, presumably her son, stood stiff and dignified. A young woman was holding his arm, a solemn expression on her face. Her hair was as black as Geraldine’s but hung down to her shoulders, while Geraldine’s was short. A few people hovered near them, looking slightly awkward. It wasn’t clear whether they belonged to their group or not.

  The dead man’s sister stood a few feet away from the widow and her party. After a brief hesitation, Geraldine joined her.

  ‘That’s his family,’ Amanda said, nodding her head in the direction of the group. ‘That’s his widow, Charlotte, with my nephew, Eddy, and his wife, Luciana.’

  If Geraldine hadn’t heard Amanda accuse her sister-in-law of having murdered the dead man, she might have been startled by the hostility in her voice. But there was nothing Geraldine could do to question any of them, or to look into the circumstances of this death, and nothing about the funeral that prompted her curiosity. Amanda had been so insistent; Geraldine had allowed her own judgement to be overruled and had consequently wasted her time attending the service.

  She was uncomfortably aware that she had only been tempted to investigate the death because it offered her an opportunity to assume some responsibility for her work. Having been recently demoted from detective inspector to the rank of sergeant, she was struggling to contain her frustration at waiting for tasks to be allocated to her when she had been accustomed to running her own team. Still, in attending the funeral, at least Geraldine had done her best to satisfy Amanda that her accusation had been taken seriously. With luck that would pacify her for a while, hopefully until she recovered from the shock of her brother’s suicide – if he really had taken his own life.

  Geraldine was about to return to her car when a portly man accosted her.

  ‘Are you a relative?’ he enquired.

  About to reply that she had worked with the deceased, Geraldine hesitated. ‘I used to be a neighbour,’ she muttered vaguely. ‘I kept in touch.’

  It was as well she had been circumspect, because she learned that her interlocutor had been working with Mark Abbott until his death.

  ‘It came as a shock, I can tell you,’ he added, lowering his voice. ‘I still can’t believe it. Did you know him well?’

  Geraldine shook her head and mumbled something appropriate.

  ‘He was the last person I’d expect to go and do anything like that,’ the man went on. ‘Not that there is anything quite like that, is there? But I mean, Mark of all people. You knew him, didn’t you?’

  Geraldine mumbled quietly.

  He glanced around, probably to check close family weren’t within hearing. ‘I thought it was a wind-up when I first heard the news. I mean, it would have been in pretty poor taste if it had been, but I simply couldn’t believe it. He just wasn’t that kind of person, was he?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t,’ Geraldine agreed. ‘Still, you never know.’

  ‘True,’ he nodded. ‘You think you know someone and then –’ he shrugged. ‘What gets me is that we were out the night before it happened, and he was right as rain then. Well,’ he hesitated, ‘that is to say, he seemed all right. He told me he was planning a holiday, and we arranged a game of tennis for the weekend. We used to knock up once in a while, you know. Nothing too serious. Not like when I was younger and could move around the court.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But it’s hardly what you expect a chap to be talking about the night before he tops himself, is it? Oh well, you never can tell.’

  He wandered off. Geraldine watched him go and talk to the widow and her son, before she turned to make her way back to the car park. Before she had left the forecourt, Amanda came over and barred her way.

  ‘I’ll be coming to see you again,’ she announced. ‘I’m not letting this go.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially and went on, without lowering her foghorn of a voice. ‘They think I’m going to give up, but I know what happened and I’m not going to stop until you find out who did it.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake,’ Charlotte interrupted her sister-in-law, stepping forward and hissing at her in a furious whisper. ‘Can’t you ever shut up? This is his funeral.’ She burst into tears and her son and daughter-in-law bustled her away, throwing angry glances at Amanda as they moved away.

  ‘Oh yes, they’d like nothing better than to shut me up,’ Amanda told Geraldine. ‘Her and her crocodile tears.’ She turned to glare at Geraldine. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m not likely to have anything new to tell you tomorrow,’ Geraldine said.

  With a grunt, Amanda strode away. Nothing in the mourners’ demeanour had borne out the accusation that had been levelled against them. But now a second p
erson had cast doubt on the idea that Mark Abbott had killed himself, and the dead man’s colleague from work was hardly likely to be harbouring a personal grudge against the widow. Aware that the dead man’s sister might be acting maliciously, Geraldine had to acknowledge that the funeral had raised a further question over Mark Abbott’s death. However hard she tried to ignore her unease about his suicide, she couldn’t shake off the suspicion that something was wrong.

  Returning to the police station, she shelved her curiosity about the alleged suicide, and settled down to work. It had taken her a few months to learn her way around York and get to know her colleagues at the police station in Fulford Road, but now her new place of work had become familiar, and she had struck up a friendship with a couple of her colleagues. Ted Allsop was a stocky man nearing retirement who had befriended Geraldine right from her first day at Fulford Road. She soon realised that he was equally sociable with everyone, but that only made her warm to his broad smile all the more. Another colleague who looked set to become a friend was a raven-haired woman called Ariadne, who had a Greek mother and an English father. She was about the same age as Geraldine and also single. Apart from that they had very little in common, but it was enough. If Geraldine could make just one real friend at work, she would be satisfied. Besides the relationships she was hoping to forge, her old friend, Ian Peterson, worked in York. His presence hopefully meant she was going to feel less lonely. Conscious that she could never return to London, she tried to focus on the positive aspects of her new life.

  4

  Although he wanted to disagree with her, Eddy nodded at his wife. He could never bring himself to argue with anything she said. Her long thin face was animated under her straggly black fringe, her cheeks flushed with exasperation, but she spoke kindly.

  ‘I’m sorry about your father, really I am. I know what it’s like to lose your parents.’

  Eddy dropped his gaze. Luciana rarely spoke about her parents who had died when she was in her teens. He had never even seen photographs of them. All he knew was that her mother had been an Italian who had married a Yorkshireman.

  ‘It’s not a competition,’ he muttered, and was immediately ashamed of his callous response.

  ‘I know, but the point is, you aren’t responsible for your stepmother. That’s all I’m saying. I don’t want to sound uncaring, but in the end she has to deal with her situation herself, and she has to sort out her own life. You can’t do it for her. It’s not fair of her to expect so much of you. It’s not as if she’s even your real mother.’

  ‘She’s been my mother for thirty years.’

  ‘And what about you? You lost your mother, and now you’ve lost your father, but she isn’t thinking about you, is she? She only ever thinks about herself.’

  ‘You never liked my stepmother.’

  ‘That’s not true, and you know it. She was the one who resented me.’

  ‘You could have made more of an effort.’

  Luciana scowled. ‘Yes, yes, I know. We could all be better people than we are. Listen, I know it’s a cliché, but the truth is she hated me from the first time she met me. And I don’t think she likes you much either.’

  ‘She doesn’t hate you.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t exactly welcome me into the family, so if I don’t feel inclined to rush to support her now, it’s hardly my fault. Don’t blame me, is all I’m saying. She brought it on herself.’

  Eddy shook his head. He hated feeling torn like this. In a way, Luciana was right. His stepmother had been distant with her right from the start. All the same, with his stepmother so recently widowed, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed by Luciana’s reaction. Apart from anything else, it would have helped him if his wife had been willing to shoulder some of the burden, but she had made it clear that she wasn’t prepared to spend any more time with her mother-in-law than she had to. And Luciana didn’t know the half of how his stepmother had been behaving, expecting him to help her in all sorts of ways, without any thanks or acknowledgement.

  Organising the funeral had proved far more time-consuming than it should have been because his stepmother had kept changing her mind. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have a job to hold down, but she had expected him to do everything, and he would be the first to admit that he was hardly the most organised of people. His boss had been very understanding, but it wasn’t really fair, considering that his stepmother didn’t even work. He didn’t mind being involved. He owed that much to his father, at least. But his stepmother had insisted on him accompanying her wherever she went. He had been pushed into making decisions, most of which she had overturned. She was an infuriating woman. He had even offered to lend her some cash until the probate was settled, when she knew he was hard up. It would have been reassuring to know she was going to give him his share, once she had her hands on the considerable estate his father had left. But so far she hadn’t offered to pass any of it on to him. All he knew was that his father seemed to have left everything to her. Still, he wished she got on better with his wife. It would have made his life easier.

  He spoke cautiously, wary of upsetting Luciana. ‘I just think we should spend more time with her, at least until she comes to terms with what’s happened.’

  Luciana sighed. ‘You’re right, but be careful, Eddy. With some people, the more you give them, the more they demand. If you keep going round there every day, she’ll come to expect it. She’s one of those people who have an overblown sense of entitlement. I don’t want you to get yourself into a situation where she relies on you to do everything for her.’

  ‘I’ve only been going there to help her with the funeral, and then with sorting out the house.’

  Luciana snorted, as though to say he couldn’t sort out his own affairs, let alone his mother’s.

  ‘I get that you’re trying to help her, but you can’t carry on like this. It’s unrealistic.’

  He nodded. ‘I know. But we ought to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘She’s not a child.’

  ‘No, but she’s on her own.’

  They bickered for a while, finally arriving at an uneasy compromise. Eddy would visit his stepmother once a week, and he or Luciana would phone her every day for the first month. After that, they would review the situation.

  ‘With any luck, she’ll meet someone else, and then she won’t be on her own any more, and we can stop worrying about her,’ Eddy said. ‘She’s only fifty-six, young enough to start a new life with someone else. Lots of people do. It might be the best thing for her, after what’s happened. She might meet a nice widower, or someone who’s divorced.’ He frowned. ‘As long as she meets someone who doesn’t spend all her money, and who hasn’t got any children. My dad’s left her a fortune. Once she’s gone it should all come to me, every penny of it. He was my father. He wouldn’t want his money going to some stranger.’

  It was a sore point with him that the entire estate had been left to his stepmother. As a man in his early thirties, with a wife and a mortgage, Eddy was the one who needed money, not his stepmother. If her mortgage hadn’t already been paid off, it would be now. Unlike Eddy, she didn’t need money. If his father had only thought to mention his son in his will, Eddy could have sorted out his debts and Luciana would have been none the wiser. All he needed was one large windfall to free him of his problems. It wasn’t an unrealistic expectation. Meanwhile, he was slowly getting himself in deeper and deeper. So while he mourned for his father, his grief was soured by resentment. His father could so easily have saved him.

  Luciana shrugged. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your mother probably won’t meet anyone. And in any case, she might decide to spend it all. You can’t rely on anyone but yourself. But at least you’re in with a chance of inheriting something,’ she added bitterly.

  No doubt she was recalling her own circumstances, and her vain attempt to claim compensation after a fire had killed her parents.

  Eddy didn’t answer.

  5

  Geraldine
hesitated over whether to pursue her suspicions concerning Mark Abbott’s death. She was going to have to proceed discreetly, if at all, because there was no obvious crime to investigate. All the same, Eileen had told her she was free to look into the incident in her own time. Keen to take some initiative in her work, Geraldine was excited at the prospect of following a lead of her own. If it turned out, as seemed likely, that the verdict of suicide was correct, it could do no harm if Geraldine had gone around asking a few questions. Nothing but her professional pride would suffer, and since she was acting on her own, no one else need even know about it. Although she was fairly busy during the day processing reports of local crimes, the task was mundane compared to her work on murder investigations in London, and didn’t occupy her mind in the evenings. She missed the challenge of a more serious investigation. So that evening she drove out to Charlotte Abbott’s house in Clifton, reminding herself that this was not an official enquiry but a hunch she was following briefly. She drew up outside a well-maintained detached brick house. The front garden had been paved over, the only sign of life a couple of pots of wilting flowers that hung from brackets on either side of the front door.

  The widow responded to the bell straight away. She looked surprised to see Geraldine on the doorstep, and glanced around as though she had been expecting to see someone else.

  ‘Yes? Can I help you?’ She listened with a puzzled frown as Geraldine introduced herself. ‘What’s this about?’