Dreams of Fear

by Hilary Bonner

  ‘You said that your son never should have married Jane,’ Saslow remarked. ‘Why? Did she always show signs of these mental health issues you believed her to be suffering from?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that. Not at first, anyway. And she was a pretty girl. You can’t take that away from her. But she never fitted in. She just wasn’t one of us, if you know what I mean.’

  Vogel feared he very much knew what the woman meant. She really was one of the worst snobs he had ever met.

  ‘So what was Jane’s background, then?’ Saslow continued. ‘Was she a local girl?’

  ‘She most certainly was not local,’ said Mrs Ferguson, as if that in itself had been enough to cast doubt upon her daughter-in-law’s character. ‘And we know hardly anything of Jane’s background. Next to nothing about her family history. She admitted early on she didn’t even know who her father was. Can you believe that? Next to nothing about her medical history, either. I don’t think Felix ever knew much, either, although he wouldn’t admit it, of course. Besotted with her, he was. To begin with anyway. But Jane’s past was always a mystery as far as Sam and I were concerned. If you asked her anything she would clam up at once, or change the subject. I’ve always thought she was ashamed of her background. And I don’t like that sort of thing. It’s all in the breeding, you see, isn’t it? People. Dogs. Horses. If you know their breeding, you know what you’re getting, don’t you?’

  Neither Vogel nor Saslow passed any comment. Amelia Ferguson glanced down at her two Cavalier King Charles’, now lying at her feet, both of which were staring at her adoringly. Vogel had a vague memory of a scandal a few years previously concerning the in-breeding of these pretty little dogs. As a result the majority of them ended up with a severely painful condition causing malformation of the skull, plus heart, and other health problems. He suspected many of those responsible would be the same type of person as Mrs Amelia Ferguson.

  ‘Everything is down to breeding,’ she repeated, stroking the little dogs’ heads proprietorially.

  Vogel had an almost overwhelming urge to pick up the woman and shake her. Instead he concentrated on extracting from her as much information as possible.

  ‘Was your son aware of how strongly you had come to feel about his wife?’ Vogel asked.

  ‘Well, yes. I suppose so. There was no secret about it.’

  ‘And how did he react to that?’

  ‘He accepted it. He must have known himself that he’d made the wrong choice. But we didn’t talk about it.’

  ‘Yet you had no qualms about making your opinion known, Mrs Ferguson?’

  ‘No. I didn’t. What would you expect? She most certainly wasn’t what I’d wanted for my boy. But, look, if you want to know more you’re going to have to ask Felix. I don’t see how I can help you any further.’

  ‘I certainly intend to be asking Felix a number of questions,’ said Vogel.

  ‘I just said, he’s upstairs asleep. It’s been a terrible ordeal for him, so I told him just to stay in bed and get all the rest he can. He’s been extremely distressed by everything, you know.’

  Yes, and very drunk, from all accounts, Vogel thought. He was unimpressed. He considered how he would behave if, heaven forbid, anything happened to his beloved Mary. He would be in bits, but he would still be there for his daughter. Indeed, he would not leave Rosamund’s side.

  ‘His children are going through quite an ordeal, too, Mrs Ferguson,’ said Vogel. ‘I’m a bit surprised he isn’t up and looking after them, to tell the truth.’

  He glanced at his watch.

  ‘It is nearly nine thirty,’ he said.

  ‘My son has been up half the night, detective chief inspector,’ responded Mrs Ferguson defensively.

  ‘And so have his children,’ countered Vogel quickly.

  There was more he would like to say. He stopped himself. Baiting Amelia Ferguson was not going to get him anywhere. Tempting though it was. He changed tack. Made his voice gentler.

  ‘Look Mrs Ferguson, I do understand, everyone is upset and everyone has a different way of dealing with shock and grief. However, we will need to wake Felix and get him down here, I’m afraid. But I do have one last question for you. You say that you believe Jane committed suicide. Is there anything you know of that has happened, anything that has changed, possibly in the last weeks or even days, that might have induced your daughter-in-law to take her own life? Anything that might have pushed her over the edge?’

  Vogel’s conciliatory approach seemed to work. Mrs Ferguson looked as if she were genuinely considering how best to correctly answer his question.

  ‘Well, there were the dreams, of course,’ she said.

  Vogel felt a little frisson of excitement.

  ‘The dreams?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes. But she’s had them for years. From soon after they were married. Felix told us. Bad dreams. Nightmares. She’d be inconsolable, Felix said. But whether or not they’d been getting any worse, or anything like that, I don’t really know …’

  Her voice tailed off.

  ‘Did Jane talk to you about the dreams?’ asked Vogel.

  ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ muttered Mrs Ferguson. ‘No. I thought I’d made it clear. Jane never talked to me about anything. Barely spoke to me at all, actually. Which suited us both. We felt exactly the same way about each other. There was never much doubt about that. Felix told me, of course. He was worried about Jane, poor dear. Terribly worried. The dreams were pretty persistent, you see. Sometimes he’d say she was going through a bad patch, and another time he’d be pleased because she hadn’t had one in a while. He always hoped they would just stop. Ever the optimist, my Felix.’

  ‘I see,’ said Vogel. ‘OK Mrs Ferguson, thank you for your help. I think the time has come for you to go upstairs, wake up your son, if he really has managed to sleep, and fetch him down here to me.’

  Amelia Ferguson appeared to hesitate. She looked as if she might be about to argue. She really was a piece of work, thought Vogel.

  ‘At once, Mrs Ferguson,’ he commanded. ‘Oh, and by the way, where is your husband? We will need to speak to him too.’

  ‘He’s at the council. Went off very early.’

  ‘What, just hours after his daughter-in-law was found hanged? And today is a Sunday, unless I’m much mistaken.’

  ‘Sam doesn’t take any notice of weekends, he’s a very busy man, and he is the mayor, you know,’ responded Mrs Ferguson defensively. ‘This is all most difficult for him. He said he’d come home as soon as he could.’

  What a family this is, thought Vogel.

  ‘Right, Mrs Ferguson, while you are upstairs I want you to phone your husband and tell him to get back here straight away,’ he ordered.

  Again, Amelia Ferguson looked as if she might be able to argue. Ultimately, she seemed to think better of it, and left the room.

  EIGHT

  Within just a few minutes Felix Ferguson joined Vogel and Saslow in the sitting room. He was wearing a black velveteen dressing gown and apparently little else. Certainly a considerable expanse of bare chest was exposed where the gown gaped open to the waist in a wide V, and his lower legs, protruding from beneath the knee-length garment, were also bare.

  Vogel and Saslow stood up as he entered the sitting room. Felix walked straight up to them both, albeit with a somewhat uncertain gait, and offered his hand in greeting.

  He definitely had the dishevelled look of someone who had just been woken from a deep sleep. He seemed not to be functioning properly, although there may have been more than one reason for that. His wavy blonde hair was tousled. He was unshaven.

  Nonetheless Felix Ferguson was very nearly an extremely handsome man, albeit let down by a weak fleshy mouth and one eye which failed to precisely line up with the other.

  This made it difficult to ascertain exactly where he was looking, which Vogel found mildly unnerving.

  The DCI was intrigued. If he had just lost his wife, particularly in such dreadfu
l circumstances, he couldn’t imagine that he would ever be able to sleep properly again, let alone immediately afterwards.

  On the other hand, of course, Felix Ferguson may have taken sleeping pills or some kind of sedative. Vogel studied the other man carefully.

  Those unnerving eyes were bleary and red rimmed. Maybe he had shed a tear or two. If so it was possible that he at least had a little more heart than his mother had displayed so far.

  ‘Uh, I’m sorry I didn’t come down before,’ said Felix, clearly trying to stifle a yawn and not entirely succeeding. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, Mr Ferguson,’ said Vogel, once he’d formally introduced himself and Saslow. ‘I am sure you needed to rest.’

  Vogel’s tone was neutral, but a certain underlying criticism, or at least curiosity, had been intended. In spite of his dopey appearance, Felix Ferguson seemed to pick up on this.

  ‘Uh, yes, well, my mother thought so, anyway,’ he said. ‘Made me take a sleeping pill.’

  He shook his head as if trying to clear it. At that moment his mother returned.

  ‘I’ve called Sam, Mr Vogel—’ she began.

  Felix interrupted her, sounding angry.

  ‘For God’s sake, Mum, what the heck was that pill you gave me?’ he enquired loudly. ‘I went out like a light, and I still can’t wake myself up properly.’

  ‘Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a zolpidem. But, of course, you had been drinking, dear …’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ said Felix again.

  He glanced at his watch.

  ‘I can’t believe the time.’ He paused. ‘Where are the children?’ There was suddenly a note of panic in his voice. ‘Mum, where are the twins?’

  ‘They’re upstairs, playing in their room.’

  ‘I don’t believe it, Mum. You’ve left them up there? On their own? Today?’

  Felix began to move towards the door, presumably intending to go to his children.

  Vogel interceded at once.

  ‘Mr Ferguson, I really need to talk to you right now,’ he said. ‘Perhaps your mother could go up to your children.’

  Felix stopped in his tracks.

  ‘All right. Yes, of course. Mum, go up to them, will you? And don’t leave them again. Just call me. How could you leave them alone? Think what they must be going through.’

  ‘I didn’t think, dear,’ said Mrs Ferguson senior apologetically. ‘I’m so sorry. Of course. I’ll go at once. I’ll look after them. Don’t you worry.’

  She half ran from the room, almost embarrassingly eager to please. Vogel had seen this before, both in men and in women. A person who was strong and dominating with everyone in their life except just one person. Usually someone they hero-worshipped. It seemed clear that her much-adored son was Amelia Ferguson’s weak spot. Indeed, she had already indicated that in the way she’d talked to Vogel about him.

  Felix sat down again and addressed the detective chief inspector.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse me, I can’t get my head around anything right now,’ he said. ‘And that bloody pill of Mother’s hasn’t helped. Still, I suppose she meant well.’

  ‘I’m sure she did,’ responded Vogel, who supposed much the same thing about Amelia Ferguson in this instance, at least in regard to her son’s welfare, if nothing else.

  ‘So, I understand you have some questions for me?’ Felix continued. ‘I’m not sure that I’ll be able to help you much. I wasn’t even there when Jane … Jane …’

  Felix Ferguson stumbled to a halt. He seemed quite unable to get the words out. And, like his mother, he was obviously under the initial impression that nobody believed his wife’s death to be anything other than suicide.

  ‘I realize that, sir, and I know this must be a very difficult time for you,’ said Vogel. ‘I would also like to say how sorry we both are for your loss—’

  Felix interrupted, almost as if he hadn’t heard, or certainly not taken in what Vogel was saying.

  ‘It’s the twins, you see, they’re only six, seeing their mother like that. They told me it was little Jo who found Jane first. It’s just too much. I don’t know what to say to them. I really can’t bear it …’

  And then Felix began to cry, tears started to roll down his cheeks, his shoulders heaved. Soon his whole body was wracked with sobs.

  Vogel looked at Saslow. Saslow looked at Vogel. At least it seemed apparent that Felix had a heart, which remained questionable in his mother’s case. Either that or he deserved an Oscar, thought Vogel. But Felix’s grief appeared genuine enough, and Vogel would never criticize anyone for showing their emotions when they’d lost a loved one, particularly in circumstances like these. However, in his time he had seen many parents battling to cope with tragedy, even the death of a child, while somehow or other managing, on the surface at least, to hold themselves together for the sake of any siblings of that child.

  He couldn’t help questioning what use the weak-mouthed Felix Ferguson was likely to be to his traumatized children in this state. Maybe his mother had not been entirely wrong to keep him out of the way for a bit.

  The two police officers waited in mildly embarrassed silence until Felix’s sobbing finally abated.

  He took a handful of paper tissues from his dressing-gown pocket and blew his nose loudly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’m in shock. I don’t seem able to control myself. I keep breaking down.’

  He glanced at Vogel, or at least Vogel thought he was glancing at him, in a manner that suggested he was hoping for sympathy and reassurance. Like a little boy. The little boy he once was, who, Vogel thought, still formed a big part of his character. The DCI was not interested. He just wanted to get on with the job in hand.

  ‘Firstly, I would like to ask you to go through with me your movements yesterday evening and through the night, if you will, Mr Ferguson,’ he instructed, almost as if the man’s sobbing fit had not even taken place. ‘When you last saw your wife alive, where you were when she died, and so on.’

  ‘I see,’ said Felix.

  He sat down on a chair facing Vogel, making no attempt to volunteer any information.

  ‘Right, so let’s begin with you telling me when you last saw your wife then, shall we, Mr Ferguson?’ Vogel continued, his voice a little more forceful.

  ‘Uh, yes, of course. It was when I left to go to the yacht club. About seven yesterday evening. We put the twins to bed together. We always try to do that. I read them one chapter of a story, and then Jane read one …’

  Felix Ferguson looked as if he might burst into tears again. Vogel was not impressed.

  ‘Please continue, Mr Ferguson,’ he prompted sternly.

  ‘Sorry. Yes. Then I walked down to the village. To the yacht club. I knew I’d have a few drinks. It was a special night, you see. The inaugural dinner marking my appointment as commodore. Or maybe you know about that already?’

  Vogel nodded impatiently.

  ‘And how was your wife?’

  ‘How was she? She was fine. Absolutely fine. That’s what’s so crazy about this …’

  ‘So, there was nothing about her to give you any cause for concern?’

  ‘No. If there had been I wouldn’t have left her, would I?’

  ‘Well, you said yourself, Mr Ferguson, it was an important night at the club. Your formal inauguration as commodore.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have left my wife if I’d been worried about her in any way,’ Ferguson persisted, with more than a hint of stubbornness.

  Vogel wondered if this was a usual characteristic, or just something brought about by the tragic circumstances.

  ‘Might I ask, as this was such an important night, why your wife didn’t accompany you to the yacht club?’ he enquired.

  ‘She decided to stay home with the twins. We might have asked Mum and Dad to keep them another night, they’d actually been here the night before, Mum probably said. But they were going out.’

  ‘I
see. Was there nobody else?’

  ‘Well, not really. The Barhams have babysat for us before. But not lately. To be honest, Jane tolerated the twins going to my mum and dad, but she had come not to like leaving them with anyone, really. And to be honest, she wasn’t mad about yacht club events.’

  ‘Your mother told us that relations were strained between her and Jane,’ commented Vogel. ‘Your father too. She was quite frank about it …’

  ‘So what’s that got to do with anything?’ interjected Felix tetchily.

  ‘I am not at all sure yet,’ responded Vogel quickly. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me?’

  ‘My wife has died. Whether or not she got on with my parents is really not relevant.’

  ‘We are still looking into what is relevant, and what is not, in the events leading up to your wife’s death, Mr Ferguson, and that is why I need your help,’ recited Vogel with an exaggerated patience he did not feel. ‘You are clearly under the impression that your wife took her own life, and that might be so, but we are also investigating other possibilities—’

  ‘What do you mean, other possibilities?’ interrupted Ferguson.

  ‘As I have just explained to your mother, Mr Ferguson, there seems to be evidence indicating that foul play may have been involved in your wife’s death.’

  ‘For God’s sake, are you saying you think Jane may have been murdered?’

  ‘I would not go as far as that at this stage, but we are already treating her death as suspicious.’

  Felix Ferguson seemed to visibly pale before Vogel’s eyes.

  ‘Suspicious,’ he repeated. ‘What was suspicious about it? She hanged herself, didn’t she?’