‘Is that all you can say?’
‘I’m sorry but a signature really is a very small sample to base any useful conclusions on. The signatures look similar, but whether or not they were written by the same hand is impossible to say. Honestly, I’d be guessing. And my guess is as good as yours.’
‘You must be able to deduce something from all this?’
Sandra gave a reluctant smile. ‘I wish I could be more helpful. It’s a pity the note was typed, but who handwrites these days? The fact that the suicide note is typed suggests a certain degree of self-control, as though the decision to kill himself wasn’t a sudden whim but something that was carefully worked out in advance. Does that fit in with what you know?’
‘Absolutely. The suicide had been carefully planned, and the note was printed out a week before he died.’
Sandra nodded. ‘Yes, that fits the impression the note gives. It’s quite factual and detached, isn’t it? Almost businesslike. But everything’s printed out these days, and it’s becoming impossible to establish any individual’s handwriting with certainty. There just aren’t sufficient samples for comparison, even where notes are handwritten. If this was an official enquiry and you were asking me to write a detailed report, citing the statistical likelihood of it being a forgery which might be of some use as corroborating evidence, what I could tell you would really boil down to informed speculation. If I’m honest, by itself my opinion really isn’t much use to you.’
‘If you had to give a view, would you be inclined to say it’s genuine or not? What are the chances?’
‘It really isn’t possible to be conclusive with such a small sample. I’m sorry.’
Geraldine thanked her and packed her samples away carefully through force of habit, even though they were of no use to her. The suicide note might be authentic, but if it was a fake, the killer was clever enough to know that the forgery would be impossible to detect.
10
It was hard to believe that two weeks had passed since her husband’s suicide. She still expected to see the hump of his body in bed, and found it difficult to fall asleep without hearing him snoring beside her. Although she used to find the noise irritating, the unfamiliar silence disturbed her. In spite of her shock, somehow the funeral had kept her going. With so much to do, she had barely had time to stop and think. Her stepson had done his best to assist her in making the arrangements, and the funeral director had been very helpful. Now everything was in the hands of the lawyers, and there was nothing for her to do but wait for them to sort out the probate. Her solicitor had assured her that it was a straightforward case, Mark having left everything to her in his will. Even so it seemed that his affairs were going to take a while to settle. Eddy had offered to lend her some cash in the meantime, but Charlotte knew he didn’t have much money and whatever he could afford to lend her would be insignificant.
Now that several days had passed since they had buried her husband, the reality of her situation was beginning to sink in. She tried not to think about what had happened. Dwelling on it only upset her. She couldn’t talk to Eddy, who had his own grief to deal with. The truth was, Mark’s death hadn’t made it easy for either of them. When she thought about him now, her overriding emotion was not sadness, but anger. She knew she ought not to blame her husband, but if he had been unhappy, he had also been dreadfully selfish.
‘I don’t understand. How could it happen? How did things end up like this?’ she asked her doctor. It was a relief to be able to admit her feelings freely. ‘I’m so angry with him. And when I’m not feeling angry, I can’t stop crying. Why did this have to happen? What have I done? What have I done?’
The GP prescribed her some pills to get her through the next couple of weeks but she resisted taking them, even though Eddy advised her to follow the doctor’s advice. The pills came with a list of alarming potential side effects. Eddy assured her the pharmaceutical companies issued similar warnings for every medicine on the market, to cover themselves against any possible complaint.
‘It says you shouldn’t drive if they make you feel sleepy,’ Charlotte objected. ‘That doesn’t sound very safe. They can’t be good for you. How am I supposed to do anything if these pills are going to knock me out?’
She turned down her son’s offer to drive her to Sainsbury’s. It was kind of him, but now she was on her own, she had to get used to managing without help from other people. Besides, if he took her shopping, she would end up paying for his purchases as well as her own. During the day she managed to occupy herself, cleaning the house and watching a lot of television. Nights were the worst. Her guilt and loneliness grew so sharp it was like a physical pain in her chest. Meanwhile the police had concluded their investigation and were satisfied that Mark had committed suicide. As far as they were concerned, that was the end of the matter. But Charlotte knew that she was responsible for what had happened. She should have stopped it.
Determined to pull herself together, on Sunday evening she went to the supermarket and tried to pretend, for a short time at least, that her life had returned to normal. It was easier when she was out of the house where everything reminded her of Mark. The traffic was relatively light. She wasn’t unhappy that she had to drive around the car park looking for a space, or that it took her a while to make her way along the busy aisles. She was in no hurry to return to her empty house. It felt strange, shopping for one. For the first time in her adult life she didn’t have to take anyone else’s preferences into consideration. The freedom was baffling. It had taken her a while to adjust to shopping only for herself and Mark when Eddy had left home. Now a couple of times she had to return items to the shelves because, without thinking, she had picked up things for Mark. Returning the toothpaste he liked, she walked slowly along the shelves of hair products and selected a new shampoo and conditioner. Pausing by the dyes she studied the different shades, wondering which might suit her if she decided to change her hair. She didn’t mind the wasted time. Eddy had just finished decorating the hall, but she still experienced a strange cold feeling on stepping through the front door. It was her front door now. The whole house was hers. She should have been pleased. Instead she was beginning to hate the house because, wherever she went, Mark’s presence seemed to linger, malevolent and accusing. She spent a long time making very few purchases but eventually she had to go home.
As she drove, she noticed a black van following her from the supermarket all the way along Wigginton Road, past the hospital, and out to Clifton where it turned behind her into her own side street. When she reached her house the black van drove straight past. It must have been guilt that was making her paranoid, but she felt uneasy. Dismissing her anxiety as foolish, she unpacked her shopping and put the kettle on. She would feel better after a cup of tea and something to eat. She felt unexpectedly tired after going to the supermarket, even though she had only bought a small proportion of her usual trolley load. Taking her cup of tea into the front room she sat down, glanced out of the window and paused, tea in hand. A black van was parked across the road. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she recognised it as the one that had followed her home earlier. She leaped up and closed the curtains. Her hands were shaking as she picked up her cup again. Sinking back into an armchair, she put her tea down, covered her face with her hands, and began to cry. Without Mark the world seemed hostile.
She had hardly slept for weeks and her head was aching. Not feeling hungry, she went upstairs. Buying a new bed was one of the first things she was going to do as soon as she got her hands on the money Mark had left. After what had happened, it sickened her to think she was sleeping in the bed she had shared with him for over thirty years. As she was cleaning her teeth, she saw that her eyes were swollen from crying. Anyone seeing her would think she had been crying from grief for her dead husband, but her feelings were more complex than that. More than anything, her fury and disappointment were becoming hard to control. Somehow she had to get a grip on herself. Returning to the bedroom, she peere
d outside through a gap in the curtains and drew back in alarm. The black van was still parked across the road. She was almost certain it was the van she had seen following her home from the supermarket. Hurriedly she closed the curtains. A new emotion had taken over from her anger: fear.
11
Geraldine would have liked to take a train to Kent to visit her adopted sister, but there wasn’t time to see Helena in London and then go and visit Celia as well, all in one day; so having seen Celia and her new baby the previous weekend she had, somewhat reluctantly, given Helena priority this time. It wouldn’t have been her preferred choice, but she felt it was her duty to take care of her twin, who was clearly incapable of looking after herself. Having taken Helena out for lunch and met up with Sandra, she would have liked to meet her friend, Sam, for a drink but Sam was busy so Geraldine set off back to York. It had been an unsatisfactory day from start to finish and she was feeling thoroughly fed up.
Anticipating a quiet evening alone, she was pleased to receive a text from Ian naming a gastro pub in the city centre near the Jorvik Museum, and suggesting a time to meet that evening, if she was free. Not only was she always happy to spend time with Ian, but he was the only friend she had in York who knew about Helena’s problems. Having a recovering addict for a twin sister wasn’t something she wanted to share with all her new colleagues. She had known Ian for years and found him easy to talk to, and more importantly, she trusted him to be discreet. Looking forward to telling him how Helena was getting on and discussing what he thought she should do to support her twin, she accepted his invitation at once. She would just have time to return to her flat and shower and change before going to meet him. In an instant her dejection vanished. Somehow Ian affected her in a way that no one else did, probably because they had known one another for such a long time and she was able to relax in his company.
Arriving in York, she took a taxi from the station to her flat to save time, and got ready as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to be late for Ian. She tried to suppress her excitement, telling herself this was merely two colleagues going out for a bite to eat, and not a date. She might as well have been going out to see Ariadne for all the romance the evening promised. But she applied her make-up with extra care, and dithered stupidly over what to wear, as though it mattered, changing her clothes twice, before returning to her original choice. She checked her outfit in her long mirror one last time: smart black trousers with a black and white shirt that fitted her snugly enough to show off her slim build, but wasn’t so tight that she would be uncomfortable if she ate a heavy meal. With a nervous fluttering in her stomach, she set off. It was a long time since she had felt this excited about going out with a man. Ambiguity about Ian’s intentions only increased her nerves.
Entering the restaurant, Geraldine was surprised to see a small crowd of familiar faces. Ariadne was there, as were Naomi and Eileen and several other colleagues, all bunched together at the bar. A few more were sitting at a long table in the dining area. Thinking this was coincidence, she felt a tremor of disappointment that her evening alone with Ian was ruined. It was unlucky, but unless they wanted to appear unsociable – and probably set off unwelcome rumours – they would have to join the group.
Catching her eye, Ariadne came forward to greet her, beaming a welcome. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be here this evening. It was supposed to be a surprise, but of course he got wind of it –’
‘He did?’ Geraldine asked, catching sight of Ian talking to Naomi at the bar. She shook her head, perplexed. ‘Who told him?’
‘Oh, you know Ted. I think he knew about it before most of us did.’
Understanding what was happening, Geraldine forced a weak smile. Ian hadn’t been inviting her out for an intimate evening; he had been passing on the details of Ted’s retirement do. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with her concerns over Helena, and her suspicions about Mark’s alleged suicide, she would have realised what was going on.
Naomi came over and joined them. ‘I didn’t realise you were so friendly with Ted,’ she said, as though Geraldine was some kind of gatecrasher. ‘I mean, you haven’t been with us very long.’
Geraldine forced herself to smile. ‘I thought everyone was friends with Ted.’
‘It’s only an informal get together,’ Ariadne said. ‘The official farewell party’s not until next Friday. It was supposed to be just for a few friends but, like you say, everyone’s friends with Ted. I’m going to miss him.’
Geraldine nodded. ‘Me too. This is a nice idea.’
It had been a long day and all at once she felt tired. The gathering was not at all how she had envisaged spending her evening, but she could hardly leave. Stifling a sigh, she made the best of it and listened to a few colleagues discussing their holiday plans.
‘I’m thinking of Norway,’ Ariadne said, ‘but it might be too cold.’
‘It can be lovely there,’ someone else replied. ‘You can be lucky with the weather.’
‘The weather these days is unreliable everywhere,’ someone else said. ’You have to be lucky wherever you go.’
Thinking about her ruined evening, Geraldine murmured in agreement. She could have been at home, rereading the reports on Mark’s death. Ian joined them, and offered to buy a round.
‘Come on,’ he said to Geraldine, ‘you can make yourself useful and help me carry the glasses.’ Taking her gently by the elbow he steered her towards the bar.
‘You’re looking down in the dumps,’ he said quietly when they were out of hearing of their colleagues. ‘Is it Helena?’
She shook her head. ‘Well, yes, a bit, I suppose. It’s everything, really.’
Glancing up at his concerned blue eyes, she wished they were alone and could talk properly, but they were surrounded by colleagues, any one of whom might interrupt them at any moment. As they were ferrying drinks to the others, Ted arrived and went through the motions of feigning surprise at seeing so many of his colleagues gathered to greet him.
‘I’ll have to retire more often if it means you’re all buying me a drink,’ he laughed.
If her expectations hadn’t been disappointed, Geraldine would have enjoyed the evening. As it was, she left as early as she could and was glad to get home and go to bed, too tired even to work.
12
‘What do you mean, someone was following you?’ Eddy demanded, frowning.
Charlotte was surprised to see how lined her stepson’s forehead was. He seemed to have aged twenty years in a couple of weeks. His hair was greying at the temples, and pouches under his eyes gave him a worried look. He repeated his question. Feeling slightly embarrassed, she explained about the van she had noticed following her home from the supermarket. Far from sharing his stepmother’s concern, Eddy scoffed at her.
‘That’s ridiculous. You’re imagining things.’
‘I know. That’s what I thought at first.’
‘At first? What do you mean? How long has this been going on?’
Charlotte explained that she had seen the van parked opposite her house.
‘Did it follow you here?’
‘No. I checked.’
‘How can you be sure it was the same van?’
‘Well, I think it was. It was a black van anyway.’
‘A black van? Did you get the registration number?’
‘Well, no. But it looked like the same van…’
Eddy was clearly irritated, but he spoke gently. ‘Mum, there are vans everywhere, black vans, white vans. It doesn’t mean they’re interested in you.’
Charlotte bristled at his patronising tone. He sounded just like his father.
‘I’m not an idiot,’ she snapped. ‘I know there are a lot of vans around. But I’m telling you, there’s one that’s following me, and you should take it seriously.’
‘I think you’re being paranoid, suspecting it was the same one. Why don’t you talk to the doctor?’
Charlotte sighed. She might be in a vulnerable state of mind, but
she knew what she had seen. There was nothing the doctor could do about that.
‘You think I’m imagining it, don’t you?’
As she spoke, Luciana came in and joined them.
‘Who’s imagining what?’ she asked as she sat down.
‘Mum’s having a bad time of it,’ Eddy replied. ‘I mean, she’s been coping really well, but she’s having a bit of a reaction. It’s understandable.’ He gave Charlotte a sympathetic smile. ‘You know, if there’s anything we can do, you’ve only got to ask.’
She nodded gratefully, but they could no more protect her from her fears than they could restore Mark to life.
‘She thinks she’s being followed,’ Eddy added.
Luciana looked startled. ‘What do you mean, followed?’
With a sigh, Charlotte recounted her story. She expected Luciana to dismiss the account as fanciful, exactly as Eddy had done, but to her surprise Luciana leaned forward in her chair and questioned her earnestly.
‘Are you sure it was the same van?’
‘Well, no, I can’t be sure, but it looked like the same one.’
‘See,’ Eddy cried. ‘I told you, she’s imagining it. Listen, mum, you’re bound to be in a state. It’s hardly surprising after –’ he broke off and drew in a sharp breath. ‘You just need to give yourself time to get used to it,’ he added lamely.
He gazed anxiously at Charlotte, while Luciana questioned her further about what she had seen, asking for details Charlotte was unable to supply.
‘If you spot that van outside your house again, you must go to the police,’ Luciana concluded at last.
‘You don’t think I’m imagining it then?’
‘Well, if you want my opinion, I think you’re just nervous about living on your own,’ Luciana answered. ‘It’s understandable. But you’ll get used to it. And in the meantime, the police will be able to reassure you that you’re quite safe.’
Death Rope Page 5