‘Your wife had old scars on her lower arms which our pathologist says are consistent with self-harming,’ Vogel remarked. ‘Do you know what happened?’
‘Not exactly. It was well before I knew Jane. She used to just say that she was in a bad place at the time.’
‘Jane also had old bruising on one side of her face, and a partially heeled cut on her cheek, unrelated to the manner in which she died,’ the DCI continued. ‘Can you tell us how that was caused?’
‘She fell in the garden,’ Felix answered quickly. ‘She was playing with the twins, stepped on a toy car with wheels and went flying.’
Vogel was not entirely convinced. Nonetheless he was about to tell Felix that he was free to go, when he heard the front door slam and into the sitting room walked a man who was quite clearly Felix’s father. Samuel Ferguson, the mayor of Bideford, was an older version of his son. Still handsome and with a full head of wavy hair, albeit totally white. The two men were strikingly alike. The only difference was that there was no hint of any sort of weakness in Sam Ferguson’s features. The eyes were clear and level. The mouth was set straight and strong.
As his son had done earlier, Sam walked right up to Vogel offering an outstretched hand. Vogel took it.
‘You must be DCI Vogel, from what my wife has told me, the man in charge,’ he said with a small but confident smile. ‘Sam Ferguson. Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I just had to put one or two things in place, explain to the staff, people at the council, that sort of thing. Such a dreadful business. So very sad.’
‘Indeed, sir,’ said Vogel, as he introduced Saslow.
‘They’re all at work on a Sunday, are they?’ the detective continued, with only the slightest inflection in his voice.
‘Uh, some of them came in, and I did a bit of a phone-round,’ Sam Ferguson replied vaguely.
‘Now, how can I help you?’ he asked in a much more brusque fashion, as he lowered himself into what Vogel suspected was his usual armchair.
This was a man used to taking control, thought the DCI. He would, of course, learn, sooner rather than later that, in a police investigation of this nature, only the senior investigating officer was in charge of anything.
‘Well, I have already interviewed your wife and your son, sir, but I do need to ask you some questions, in particular where you were last night when you daughter-in-law died?’ Vogel enquired mildly.
‘I see. Yes. Amelia told me on the phone you were treating Jane’s death as suspicious. I don’t suppose you can tell me why?’
‘No sir, I’m afraid I can’t. Just that we have reason to believe that suicide might not be the only possibility. Now, will you please answer the question.’
‘Yes, of course. I was here with my wife, all evening. We went to bed about midnight. And we were woken when the police came around about three a.m., I think it was, to break the news. Didn’t my wife tell you that?’
‘Yes, she did, sir. But I needed to hear it from you. And your son told me he believed you were going out last night.’
‘Oh yes, we were. To dinner with friends. An anniversary party actually. But Amelia had a tummy bug or something. So we stayed home.’
Vogel turned to Felix.
‘I meant to say, sir, if you would like to go to your children now you are quite free to do so,’ he told him.
Felix thanked the DCI and left the room. Which was what Vogel wanted. He thought he already knew the answers to the further questions he was about to ask Sam Ferguson, because he had more or less covered the same ground with Felix and his mother. But he wanted to see if Sam Ferguson told the same story.
By and large the man did so. Down to when he had last seen his daughter-in-law. He claimed to know little about Jane’s dreams, saying he always took that sort of thing with a pinch of salt. Whatever that meant, thought Vogel.
The DCI found Sam Ferguson an intriguing character. The epitome of a tough businessman probably, but with an easy manner and a natural charm. Even under these circumstances.
Once he had exhausted every current line of questioning, Vogel stood up to say goodbye.
As he shook hands again with the mayor he held on for just a second or two longer than normal, thus giving the other man every opportunity to try, or at least indicate, a Freemasons’ handshake. Ferguson’s handshake remained normal, without any indication of the tell-tale thumb pressure on knuckle which Masons use to recognize each other. Vogel didn’t like Freemasonry. He’d seen too much of it in the police force at the most senior level, where officers had been known to favour their fellow Masons and sometimes protect them when they should not have been protected. Vogel had half expected Ferguson to be a Mason, and he considered it in the older man’s favour that it now seemed likely that he wasn’t. He could just be being cagey, of course. But Vogel didn’t think so. The man was too content in his own skin. He was unlikely ever to hide what he was. Too pleased with himself, even on a day like this.
‘May I just say, sir, you don’t seem unduly upset by your daughter-in-law’s death,’ Vogel remarked. ‘Would that be a fair comment?’
‘Mr Vogel, I am used to holding things together in this family. My son is a broken man this morning, and I have two very vulnerable little grandchildren who have been through a quite terrible experience. I cannot afford to indulge my emotions.’
‘Is that all there is to it, sir?’ asked Vogel politely.
The other man sighed.
‘Look, I suspect my wife wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet about this, there has never been any love lost between either of us and Jane. We didn’t think she was right for Felix when he married her, and nothing that has happened since has led us to change our minds. She was the mother of his children, two beautiful children, so we tolerated her. But we never grew to like her, nor her us. I am, actually, deeply upset by what has happened, and the affect it will have on all of us; Amelia, Felix, the two little ones, and yes, myself, and indeed the position I hold in the community. I will confess to being concerned about that too. But I am not upset by the loss of my daughter-in-law. And I will certainly not miss her in any way.’
Vogel was thoughtful as he and Saslow left All Seasons.
‘Well, that was blunt, Saslow, wasn’t it?’ he said.
‘He obviously prides himself on being a plain-speaking sort of man, boss,’ commented Saslow ambiguously.
‘Maybe. A tough one, that’s for sure. Of course, it is still possible that we won’t ultimately have anything to investigate. And the fact that both her in-laws clearly hated Jane Ferguson’s guts will prove to be none of our business.’
‘You don’t believe that, though, do you, boss?’
‘I’m not entirely sure yet, Saslow,’ responded Vogel. ‘Maybe Felix’s words will prove to be prophetic. Maybe Jane was driven mad by the nightmares that plagued her. Mad enough to take her own life. And maybe the post-mortem examination won’t reveal anything to disprove that.’
‘But what about the stuff that has already led us to suspect third party involvement?’ asked Saslow. ‘The door that had surely not been locked, the immediately visible injuries to Jane Ferguson’s body, some old and some new, and the unlikelihood of any mother allowing even the chance of her little children finding her dead hanged body.’
‘There could still prove to be logical explanations for all of that,’ said Vogel. ‘This could be a simple straightforward case into which you and me, Saslow, Nobby Clarke, and all, have been reading far too much.
‘Perhaps Jane Ferguson ultimately became unable to cope any longer with the madness raging inside her. Perhaps she really did become crazy enough to hang herself regardless of any considerations about her children or anything else. Perhaps her death is just another domestic tragedy. Suicide while the balance of her mind was disturbed.’