‘I don’t know anything more than I’ve told you. We made an agreement and I stuck to it. Any information I have, you have.’
‘I don’t have any information, Gerry. You’ve given me nothing. And neither have you told me what any of this is about, and what you’ve really been up to.’
‘Just a little retirement job, Sam. I’ve explained all I can... ’
‘It’s something far more sinister than that, I suspect, Gerry.’
‘Really. Didn’t stop you getting me on board to do your dirty work though, did it? To do some snooping on your behalf.’
‘That woman was ruining my son’s life, she was a danger to her children, my grandchildren. What did you expect me to do? I just took the opportunity to find out what was happening. So that I could maybe sort the whole damned mess out.’
‘And is that what you’ve done, Sam. Sorted out the mess by killing Jane. Is it?’
‘No. I promise you. It isn’t.’
‘Your son, then?’
‘Felix? You know him. I love my boy. But, quite frankly, apart from any other considerations, he wouldn’t have the gumption. He wouldn’t be able to do it, he couldn’t kill anybody, let alone his wife. You must see that.’
‘Then who, Sam, who?’
‘That’s why I wanted to see you. I thought if anybody knew, it would be you.’
‘I know no more than you do. Unlike you, I was at the Waltons last night, as I was supposed to be... ’
‘So I hear. And I’ve checked that. Otherwise, well otherwise, I’d be quite prepared to believe you killed our Jane.’
‘Our Jane, is it now? That’s not how you thought of her when she was alive, is it? Look Sam, the first I knew anything was wrong was when little Joanna ran plumb in front of our car.’
‘I don’t trust you, Gerry,’ said Sam, spitting the words out. ‘I don’t trust you as far as I can see you.’
‘Well then, that’s at least something we have in common, Sam. Because I sure as hell don’t trust you either!’
‘Look, whether or not we trust each other, we need to work together here,’ said Sam. ‘I need to get the heat off Felix, and put my family back on track. You don’t want anything to upset your cosy little life. So, let’s make sure we both get what we want, shall we? The police clearly don’t have a clue what’s going on here. But you do, don’t you, Gerry?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam.’
‘Really. You know what I caught you doing that night at number eleven. The only surprise is that the police haven’t yet discovered what you were up to. They will, though, surely. It must only be a matter of time. And if you don’t come clean with me I will make sure they find out. And I will destroy you. I promise you that. All I have to do is drop a word in the right ear and the whole of the Devon and Cornwall police force will come down on you like a ton of bricks.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Come down on me like a ton of bricks for what?’
‘Are you being deliberately stupid? You were doing something not only highly questionable but totally illegal... ’
‘And you went along with it, you became a-a conspirator.’
‘Really? You just try proving that, Gerry boy. I shall deny all knowledge. And there’s more, obviously. The little question of historic sex abuse.’
‘For goodness sake, Sam. What are you talking about?’
‘Oh, those unfortunate little incidents in your past life that might pop up at any moment.’
‘We both know you’re making that up.’
‘And what if I am? In the present climate even the merest suggestion of historic sexual abuse has to be fully investigated. And it will be. Believe me. Even more so than the allegations might otherwise merit, probably, because I shall be behind the scenes pulling the strings like some extremely able puppet master.’
‘You evil bastard.’
Gerry had been on tenterhooks ever since the discovery of Jane Ferguson’s body. Sam Ferguson’s words sent a shiver of pure fear through his entire body. But not entirely for the reasons Sam might expect. Gerry made one last attempt to mediate with him.
‘Look Sam, you don’t know what you’re getting into here, really you don’t—’ he began.
‘Maybe not,’ Sam interrupted. ‘But if you don’t start talking, I will destroy the life you’ve built for yourself down here in no time at all. The parish council, the yacht club, the golf club, it will all be over for you. And as for your marriage... I think you can say goodbye to that once the press and social media come alive with stories of all your nasty little sexual shenanigans, don’t you? It won’t matter whether they’re true or not, will it?’
‘I’m telling you, Sam, you are meddling with matters you don’t understand.’
‘So make me understand then. That’s all I’m asking. Tell me everything you know. Everything you have learned about Jane’s past, and about the people you are working for.’
Gerry sighed. He reckoned he had no choice. In any case, he could do with confiding in someone. He feared he was out of his depth. Perhaps Sam might prove to be an ally. Someone to lean on.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I will tell you all I know. I just hope we don’t both come to regret it.’
Fourteen
After leaving the Ferguson’s home for the second time that day, Vogel and Saslow decided that a visit to the North Devon Yacht Club should be their next move.
‘Motive and opportunity, that’s what you look for in a murderer, is it not, Saslow?’ Vogel murmured as they turned into Instow’s Marine Parade. ‘We have yet to find a motive as far as Felix is concerned, and at first sight it seems he didn’t even have the opportunity, either. So at least let’s check that out, shall we?’
They arrived at the yacht club shortly before six p.m.
The NDYC occupies a couple of acres of seafront land on the site of Instow’s former railway station, bounded on one side by the tidal River Torridge, and on the other by what had once been the railway line between Barnstaple and Bideford and is now a coastal path, part of the famous Tarka Trail.
Its premises even include the original signal box, still standing proud on the site of the old level crossing. The changing rooms are housed in the wooden clad building which had once been the station waiting room.
The club, founded in 1905 as the Taw and Torridge Sailing Club, moved into its intriguing current home after the infamous Beeching cuts in the early sixties destroyed local railway networks throughout Britain, digging up railway lines nationwide.
Vogel had Googled most of this on the short drive from Northam. Whilst not always impressed by the beauty of nature in the way that most people are, Vogel was fascinated by unusual architecture and the history of buildings. However, whilst he had at least acquired a halfway decent raincoat since moving to the West of England, Vogel the city boy remained inadequately clad to dally outside in the proper North Devon gale which was now blowing in from the estuary. He hoped he might have opportunity to take a longer look around another time, but meanwhile he and Saslow hurried inside.
The club steward, Ronnie, was just opening up the bar, at the rear of the function room where the commodore’s dinner had been held the previous evening.
He seemed friendly and helpful enough, at first.
‘I am sure you know about the tragic death of Mrs Jane Ferguson,’ Vogel began.
Ronnie, a sharp-featured neat little man of a certain age with silver hair so precisely arranged that it looked as if it might have been parted by a geometric instrument rather than a comb, agreed that he did.