‘Are we sure it was suicide?’ I’d been to a fascinating lecture on hanging and how pathologists and detectives could tell whether it was self-inflicted or not. At least, it had been fascinating when the bodies in question had not belonged to friends of people I was fond of. ‘I know what to look for,’ I added.
‘You are not going in there,’ Luc said. ‘A dead body – ’
‘We went to a morgue last time,’ I reminded him. ‘And those bodies weren’t fresh.’ I told him about the lecture. ‘We haven’t the resources now that they have in my time, but there are things I can check.’
The carriage swung around another corner and James leaned out of the window. ‘No sign of any activity, she can’t have called for the Constable, thank God.’ He rapped on the roof and the driver drew up.
The landlady must have been watching for us because she flung the door open almost immediately, making me jump as I studied the array of bell pulls. It was a sign of just how upset she was that she didn’t react at all at the sight of me, only thrust a key into James’s hand and burst into tears.
‘You go and sit down, Mrs Kentish.’ He gave her a little push towards an open parlour door. ‘Get your girl to make you s
ome strong sweet tea. We will look after Mr Coates.’
‘Does she know?’ I whispered as we climbed to the next floor.
‘I think she might and that is why she sent for someone she knew was his friend and not direct to the law. It could be that she pretended she didn’t know George’s preferences because she liked him. He was a good, quiet lodger and I can’t imagine he ever did anything to upset her.’
The main stairs were on the right-hand side against the party wall. The landing had a door off it to the left and presumably the floors above were the same. A large hot-water jug stood outside. James touched it with the back of his hand. ‘Barely warm.’ He turned the key in the door, visibly braced himself, and walked in. Luc put me firmly behind him and went next.
‘Stop right there and don’t touch anything,’ I ordered, transforming into Special Constable Lawrence on the spot. Admittedly, so far I hadn’t had to speak commandingly to anyone except a few gaggles of teenage boys who’d been drinking, some dog-walkers who’d failed to scoop poop and the occasional bike rider on the pavement, but I channelled the sergeant down at the cop shop and the men stopped dead.
I wriggled between them into what was clearly the living room and stopped too. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Dressed in trousers and shirt, bare-footed, George Coates dangled from a thin rope tied around the hook in the middle of the ceiling. The lamp that must have been suspended from the hook was placed carefully on a table. A chair was on its side beneath his feet. Like most houses of the time this first floor above ground level was the most prestigious, which meant the ceilings were high.
‘It’s a complete hanging,’ I said slowly, trying to recall the points in the lecture in a logical order. It made it easier if I thought of it like a training session. ‘He’s right off the ground. It’s a typical knot.’ I walked towards the body, looking at the carpet. ‘Nothing here. No drag marks.’ The chair, when I picked it up, was just the right height for him to have stood on it and then kicked it away. I pointed that out and looked up at the purpled face and protruding tongue. His hair was standing on end, I realised, an early sign of rigor mortis.
It was an effort to keep my voice steady. But this man was James’s friend and I had to do my best to find the truth for him. ‘He strangled, he didn’t break his neck. The drop wasn’t far enough for that.’ The head was tipped to the side away from the knot and I remembered a really important fact. ‘Look, there are the stains from saliva on his shirt front. They are in the right place for him to have died of hanging in that position. If someone put him up there to die he would have struggled and we’d see signs of that. But if he had been knocked out, or drugged unconscious first and had lain for any time on the floor while they set things up, the stains wouldn’t be in the same place.’
Luc circled wide around the body. ‘His hands are not tied and there is no sign of a struggle in here.’
‘I agree. Let him down and try not to touch his hands.’
I moved the lamp from the table to make room for them to place George there. There was a tumbled pile of clean sheets on the floor by the door – I guessed Mrs Kentish had been bringing them in when she found him. I spread one over the polished surface in time for James and Lucian, breathing heavily, to lay him down.
‘He’s very stiff,’ Luc said as he tried unsuccessfully to arrange the limbs in a dignified manner. ‘Almost rigid.’
‘Then he possibly died almost twelve hours ago,’ I calculated out loud, wishing I’d got a clinical thermometer. ‘Look at his hands.’
‘No signs of a fight, no signs that anything has tied his wrists and there are hemp fibres caught in the nails,’ Luc said after a moment.
‘Which means he probably put the rope up there himself. And the lamp was placed on the table carefully. If someone else had done this, would they have bothered?’
James ran his hands over his friend’s head, the touch gentle. ‘No bumps, no wounds I can feel.’
We took off the noose and could see evidence of no other means of strangulation, only the mark it had left. ‘I think it was suicide,’ I said. ‘Unless he was drugged and they were very clever.’
‘We must put the rope back around his neck,’ Luc said, doing just that. ‘James, cover him up, we’ll replace the chair where we found it for the constable to see. Now, we search.’
There was no note in any obvious place, then James, hunkered down by the side of the desk, stood up with an unfolded sheet in his hand. ‘It must have blown off in the draught from the door.’ He passed it across for us to read.
Oh, God. Philip – what have I done? George. The nib had torn through the paper at one point.
‘What the hell does that mean?’ James demanded as he folded it carefully and put it in his pocket book. ‘We’ll have to give it to Philip,’ he said. ‘Poor devil.’
‘What have I done?’ Luc repeated slowly. ‘I do not like the sound of that.’
‘You think this can get worse?’ James demanded.
‘Oh yes. Very easily indeed.’