Vogel gestured to the two uniforms to carry on escorting Felix from the room. In the doorway Felix looked back over his shoulder, and spoke again.
‘Just look after my kids, Mum,’ he said, as if, in spite of the circumstances, he was issuing an order, rather than making a request.
Amelia nodded, and mumbled something incomprehensible through her tears. She made no further attempt to obstruct proceedings. Vogel didn’t like the woman, but he very nearly felt sorry for her. He could see that all the fight had gone from her. It had been bad enough for Amelia Ferguson to witness her son’s arrest, but for him to speak to her in the way that he had was clearly the final blow. She looked broken. Vogel was 100 per cent sure she would cause no more trouble.
‘I think you can let Mrs Ferguson go now, Saslow,’ he said.
With just a small show of reluctance, Saslow did so. For a moment it almost looked as if, without the DS’s support, Amelia might collapse. She reached out for a chair behind her, and leaned shakily against it.
‘Are you now on your own in the house, Mrs Ferguson?’ Vogel asked.
The woman nodded.
‘Where’s your husband?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
And then, with just a touch of what Vogel already considered to be her more normal spirited attitude, added angrily, ‘How the hell would I know where Sam is? I think Jane’s death has done something to his head. I haven’t known where he’s been or what he’s been up to half the time ever since … ever since she died. He’s supposed to be on his way home now, but God knows whether he is or not.’
‘Well, perhaps you should call him,’ suggested Vogel. ‘I don’t think you should be here alone at the moment.’
He became aware then of some sort of commotion outside. Sam Ferguson burst into the room. His hair was tousled, and his jacket was hanging off one shoulder. He looked dishevelled, as if he had been in a tussle.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Vogel?’ he stormed.
The two uniformed officers who had been on sentry duty outside were hard on his heels.
‘Sorry, boss,’ said the taller and younger one. ‘We tried to hold him back. He gave us the slip. Suddenly took off, like. To be honest, we didn’t expect him to be that fleet on his feet …’
Vogel held up a hand to stem the flow.
‘It’s all right, PC Verity,’ he said.
Then he turned to face Sam Ferguson.
‘I have arrested your son, Mr Ferguson,’ Vogel told him, ‘on suspicion of the murder of his wife. And if you don’t calm down and behave yourself, I shall probably arrest you too.’
‘I am calm,’ replied Ferguson, with the slightly manic certainty of someone who was anything but. ‘I just want to know why you are arresting my son, and why I wasn’t told. I should have been told.’
‘We are not in the habit of announcing in advance an impending arrest—’ Vogel began, only to be interrupted by a clearly still angry Amelia.
‘Nobody could tell you anything today, Sam, because nobody knew where the heck you were,’ she said edgily. ‘What were you doing, Sam?’
Sam stared at his wife, then glanced towards Vogel, and back again.
‘I was working, Amelia, like I always am, I told you that, you knew that,’ he said pointedly. ‘And I hope you told the police that.’
‘No, I didn’t, Sam, because it’s not true. You admitted that on the phone. Things to do, you said. You were gone for six damned hours, the day after … after … that dreadful thing happened. And I have no idea where you were, do I? I know where you should have been. Here, with your family. You may even have been able to stop this … this … ridiculous arrest …’
Vogel had no time for this. It was turning into a domestic which did not seem to be of any interest to him. Perhaps Sam Ferguson was having an affair. Vogel didn’t care. Felix would be taken to the nearest police station with a custody suite and holding cells, which was Barnstaple, eight or nine miles away. Vogel wanted to get there himself as fast as possible in order to begin the interviewing process whilst the young man was still reeling from the shock of his arrest.
‘Mrs Ferguson, the arrest of your son is a police matter over which your husband could not possibly have any control,’ he interjected. ‘However, I am glad that Mr Ferguson has now returned, and hopefully you will be able to give each other some mutual support. We will keep you informed on further developments.’
TWENTY-ONE
Ultimately Vogel and Saslow began the first formal interview with Felix Ferguson just over an hour after his arrest. DC Perkins was charged with the task of liaising with DI Peters in the Major Incident Room at Bideford in case of any further developments.
Felix had volunteered nothing on the journey from Northam, nor whilst he had been processed through the custody suite, not as lengthy a process as usual as his fingerprints had already been taken and DNA extracted, as a matter of routine, for the purposes of elimination if nothing more. But he appeared, to Vogel’s relief, to be reasonably sober and perfectly lucid, in spite of having clearly already started drinking before his arrest. Vogel had on more than one occasion been forced to attempt to conduct interviews with subjects under the influence of drink and drugs. It was not normally a successful process.
Felix turned down the opportunity of having a solicitor present, which allowed the interview to proceed more quickly than might otherwise have been the case.
‘I don’t need a solicitor because I didn’t do it,’ he said.
Vogel ensured that the video equipment was activated, and recited the names of those present and the time and date, as is standard.
For just a few seconds he studied the man sitting opposite him across the simple table. As always, he asked himself if he really thought this was a human being capable of taking the life of another; not a scientific approach, but something he could never help doing.
In this case his gut instinct told him that Felix Ferguson was probably not a murderer. But there was now significant evidence to the contrary, which couldn’t be ignored. Also, everything about Felix, from his appearance through to his behaviour since his wife was killed, suggested that he was a weak man. And Vogel’s many years of police experience had taught him that weak people were inclined to be the most dangerous.
‘Mr Ferguson, we have arrested you on suspicion of the murder of your wife because, since we last spoke to you, fresh evidence has come to our attention which incriminates you,’ said Vogel stiffly. ‘Do you understand?’
Felix nodded.
‘I understand. But I don’t know what this evidence can be, because I’m innocent. I didn’t kill my wife. I loved my wife.’
‘Well, let me explain.’
Vogel glanced towards the uniformed woman constable standing by the door.
‘Could you bring in the evidence bag, please,’ he asked.
The PC was gone for less than a minute during which nobody spoke in the small interview room. When she returned she was dragging behind her a large clear plastic evidence bag and its clearly heavy contents.
‘Do you recognize the contents of this bag?’ asked Vogel.
Felix leaned towards the bag.
‘Well, it’s a rope, probably a boat line.’
He paused.
‘Oh my God, is that the rope which hanged Jane?’
‘Yes, it is, Mr Ferguson. And you were also correct when you said that it is a rope which has been used as a line on a boat. Do you recognize it?’
‘Recognize it? What do you mean. One boat line is pretty much like another. It looks like it’s quite new, hasn’t been used a lot. There’s no fraying …’
He stopped in his tracks.
‘I had new lines fitted to the Stevie-Jo this season. Are you saying that is my rope?’
‘We have reason to believe so, Mr Ferguson. The rope is covered in your fingerprints.’
‘Well, that’s absurd nonsense,’ blustered Felix.
‘I’m afraid it’s the truth.’
‘Well, someone must have taken it off the boat. You can’t make them secure, you know. Not on a river mooring.’
‘When did you last take your boat out?’
‘About a week ago.’
‘And did you notice anything missing then?’
‘Well no, but if someone had nicked a line, I wouldn’t necessarily. There’s one at the stern and two aft, port and starboard, and I keep another couple in a locker. There’s no key or anything. Anyway, I suppose it could have been taken after that.’
‘So, you didn’t remove that line from your boat yourself, and take it to your home?’
‘No, of course I didn’t. Why on earth would I?’
It was apparent that Felix was not thinking clearly, or he wouldn’t have needed to ask that question. Vogel did not wish to state the obvious. Nor to lead the interviewee. He made no response.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ continued Felix, as grim realisation slowly dawned. ‘You think I took the rope home in order to use it to hang my Jane, don’t you? Well it’s nonsense, I tell you. I still believe she committed suicide. I’ve always believed that. Look, it makes sense. If she was planning to hang herself, she would certainly know where to find a suitable rope. On my boat. It’s obvious, isn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Ferguson. There are other fingerprints on the rope, which we would expect to have been handled by people other than yourself, people who may have crewed for you presumably, or the chandler you bought it from, and we are currently running the appropriate tests.’
He took a sip from the glass of water before him, hoping to increase the dramatic effect of what he was about to say by making Felix wait.
‘There was one set of fingerprints highly significant in their absence. Your wife’s, Mr Ferguson. There was not a single fingerprint from Jane. And she most certainly was not wearing gloves when her body was found!’
‘Oh, my God,’ said Felix again.
‘Indeed. Therefore, your wife had never touched that rope. So, could you explain to me, please, how she could have used it to hang herself?’
‘I can’t. I just know I didn’t do anything to her. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I mean – I wouldn’t even know how to go about it.’
In different circumstances, and if it wasn’t for the weight of evidence, and the lack of any other suspects, Vogel would have been inclined to believe Felix. How many people would know how to set about hanging another human being, in the way that Jane Ferguson had been hanged, and be physically able to do it. Felix was a tall man and looked strong enough. But there was a tad more to it than that. And in this case, it seemed almost certain that the victim had been strangled even before the rope was put around her neck. Something rather easier said than done, unless the victim had been knocked unconscious first of course.
‘All right, Mr Ferguson, let’s move on. You told us you were at the yacht club on the night your wife was killed, is that not so?’
‘Yes, I was. Everyone will vouch for me. Ronnie. Any of the other members. Of course, I was there.’
‘All night?’
‘Yes. Until nearly three in the morning. But you know this.’
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Ferguson. A witness has come forward who can place you near your house, near the scene of the crime, at around the time your wife died. Can you explain that, please?’
‘What? No. That’s not true. I was at the club all night. Whoever’s said that has got it wrong. Made a mistake. That must be it.’
Vogel told Felix about John Willis the dog walker, and how sure he had been, both of seeing Felix and the time that he did so.
Felix didn’t respond at first.
‘Look, Mr Ferguson, John Willis is a neighbour of yours, he knows you,’ persisted Vogel. ‘He could even accurately describe what you were wearing. A dinner suit. And I presume you know him, do you not?’
‘I know who he is, yes,’ muttered Felix with some reluctance.
‘So, would you recognize him?’
‘Yes, I suppose so …’
A thought seemed suddenly to strike Felix.
‘But it’s dark at ten thirty, pitch black in the close, the houses are set too far back for their lights to shine into the street,’ he said, sounding suddenly hopeful. ‘How could John Willis have recognized me, or anyone else, for that matter?’
Vogel explained exactly where Felix had been when John Willis said that he had seen him.
‘There’s street lighting there, as you know,’ he pointed out.
‘I-it’s not very good lighting though,’ stumbled Felix, not even sounding as if he was convincing himself.
‘Good enough for Mr Willis to be able to see what you were wearing,’ the DCI remarked levelly.
‘W-well, I just can’t explain it, that’s all, it d-doesn’t make any sense …’
‘I think it does, Mr Ferguson, and I think you can explain it perfectly well if you choose too,’ interjected Vogel. ‘Come on. What were you doing returning to your home in the middle of a dinner in your honour? Were you going back to kill your wife? Is that what you were doing?’
‘No, no, it wasn’t.’
For the first time Ferguson raised his voice, and Vogel could see desperation in his eyes. The DCI continued to apply all the pressure he could muster.
‘I think you were,’ he persisted. ‘And I think you planned it all along. I think you slipped away from the dinner at the yacht club, which gave you an apparently cast-iron alibi, went home, strangled your wife and then did your best to make it look as if she had committed suicide. That’s what you did, isn’t it?’
‘No. It isn’t. Really it isn’t. I didn’t touch Jane. She was alive when I left, when I went back to the club. I swear it.’
Vogel felt the familiar frisson of excitement run down his spine. Was this it? Was this the breakthrough he had been seeking?
‘She was alive when you left?’ he queried. ‘So are you now admitting that you returned to your home on the night of your wife’s death whilst she was still alive, at around the time our witness reported?’
Felix nodded. Then he lowered his head into his hands.
‘Mr Ferguson, don’t you the think it’s time you started telling us the truth?’
Felix raised his head and nodded again. Almost imperceptibly.
‘OK, so can you first of all tell me what time you left the club in order to return to your home?’ Vogel continued.
‘Well, y-yes, I suppose so,’ Felix responded hesitantly. ‘Uh, the speeches, the awards and all the formal stuff, ended about a quarter past ten, I think, and I slipped away just after, when everyone was using the toilets, that sort of thing, or making their way to the bar, when I thought I probably wouldn’t be missed. Most people had had a few drinks by then, too …’
‘I see, and how long were you gone?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, it’s a good ten-minute walk, about thirty-five minutes, I suppose, I’m not sure.’
‘So how long were you in your house with Jane?’
‘No more than fifteen minutes, I’m certain of it. Maybe a minute or two less. Not nearly long enough to kill someone and string them up over the bannisters, for God’s sake. Even if I’d wanted to, which, you have to believe me, Mr Vogel, I didn’t. It had never crossed my mind to harm Jane, and never would have done.’
‘All right, Mr Ferguson, so why did you return to your home in the middle of this so important dinner?’
‘I, uh, wanted to make sure that Jane and the twins were all right. That’s all.’
‘Did you have some reason to think they wouldn’t be all right?’
‘No. No. Of course not. I just wanted to check.’
‘Couldn’t you have done that by phone? And, indeed, if your wife had any sort of problem, wouldn’t she have phoned you?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so. But, um, I’m a worrier …’
‘You don’t look like the sort of man who worries unnecessarily,’ commented Vogel.
‘Maybe not, but appear
ances can be deceptive, Mr Vogel. I have always worried about Jane. She was … could be, fragile. I told you about her dreams.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, she’d been going through a bad patch. I hadn’t left her alone with the children for weeks. Not in the evening, I mean. She urged me to go to the commodore’s dinner, said it was my dinner, and I really shouldn’t miss it on her account. That she would be fine. But I knew how tired she was. She was worn out. I just wanted to see with my own eyes that everything was all right.’
‘Mr Ferguson, you just said you hadn’t left your wife alone with the children for weeks. Were you worried that she might not look after them properly, or even harm them?’
‘No, certainly not.’
Felix answered quickly. Vogel wasn’t quite sure whether he was looking directly at him or not. Because of the other man’s slightly wonky eye it was sometimes difficult to tell. He thought he saw a flicker of something he could not quite define in Felix’s facial expression. Nervousness perhaps? Fear even? Or just distress?
‘I still see no reason why you couldn’t merely have phoned your wife,’ Vogel continued. ‘I don’t understand why you felt it necessary to rush home.’
‘I didn’t rush,’ replied Felix pedantically. ‘You never knew Jane. She would have fibbed. She would have told me she was all right, even if she wasn’t. I told you. I needed to see for myself.’
‘All right, so you say you were in your house with Jane for about fifteen minutes. What did you do during that time?’
‘Do? Well, I asked her how she was. She said she was fine and wanted to know what I was doing there. She said I had nothing to worry about. The children were in bed, sound asleep. But she would stay up until I got home.’
‘Why wouldn’t she go to bed?’
‘Well, she didn’t want to have a bad dream without me there to comfort her. Neither of us wanted that.’
‘And so, after about fifteen minutes you headed back for the club.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you meet anyone on the way, see anyone at all?’
‘No. I don’t think so. There was nobody about on the hill, I don’t think. I crossed the main road and then cut through Bridge Lane to get down to the parade, like I always do. There may have been cars on the main drag, I didn’t see anyone on foot though. But then, I didn’t see John Willis and his bloody dog on the way up, either.’
Dreams of Fear Page 20
