‘Thought there might be a few other sufferers here,’ he remarked.
Ronnie offered briefly that there had been a few in at lunchtime, as he’d told Vogel, but he certainly didn’t expect many that evening.
The tall man, who had almost startlingly blue eyes, studied Saslow and Vogel for a brief moment, then stepped towards them, hand outstretched.
‘Don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,’ he said. ‘Jimmy Granger, pleased to meet you.’
‘Mr Granger is one of our newer members,’ volunteered Ronnie.
‘Yes,’ said Granger. ‘Moved into a flat in Marine Court just over a month ago. Relocating after a divorce. Goodbye family home, hallo bachelor pad. You know the sort of thing, I’m sure.’
Vogel did not. And he had no intention of ever finding out. But he chose not to remark on that.
Instead he took Jimmy Granger’s outstretched hand in his, and introduced himself and Saslow.
‘Police, eh,’ said Granger. ‘All right, officer. I give in. It’s a fair cop. I was drunk as a skunk last night.’
He laughed loudly at his own joke. If indeed it was a joke. To make matters worse his voice, with a hint of Midland twang about it, was a little too loud, and his whole personae a tad too hearty.
Vogel managed a weak smile.
‘Do I take it you were at the commodore’s dinner, sir?’ he queried.
‘Yes, I was. As far as I remember.’
Granger again laughed loudly.
‘But you would remember seeing Mr Ferguson here, I presume?’
‘Felix? Of course. He’s the new commodore, for goodness sake. Gave a speech. Played host. What are you asking about Felix for? Nothing’s happened to him, I hope.’
‘Uh, are you unaware, then, sir, of a certain tragic incident in the village which occurred in the early hours of this morning?’
‘Tragic event? What tragic event? I have no idea what you are talking about. Got off to a late start. Hangover and all of that. And I’ve been chained to my desk ever since, catching up on work. Graphic designer me. Self-employed. One good thing about it, I can do it anywhere. That’s why I thought to myself, Jimmy my boy, you’re on your own again, why not go to live at the seaside, buy yourself a boat... ’
Granger paused.
‘Sorry. I’m rambling, aren’t I? Has something happened I should know about?’
‘Mr Ferguson’s wife was found dead in the early hours, sir,’ said Vogel.
‘Oh my God. I’m so sorry. How? I mean, she was a young woman, wasn’t she? Why’s it a police matter?’
Vogel explained as briefly as possible.
‘A murder enquiry?’ Jimmy Granger queried. ‘Jesus. When I moved into Instow they told me nothing ever happened here. And you’re asking about Felix? Surely you don’t suspect him, do you?’
‘I can’t comment on that, sir,’ said Vogel. ‘I am just enquiring about Mr Ferguson’s whereabouts last night, and anyone else who may have been nearby at the time of the incident. Can I ask you if you were here for the entire evening, sir?’
‘Yes. Yes, I was. From just after seven.’
‘And when did you leave, sir?’
‘Oh, about twelve thirty. Maybe one a.m.’
‘So you weren’t one of the group I understand were drinking with Felix Ferguson in the back room.’
‘You’re joking? I’m just a new boy. Be a while before I graduate to a lock-in with the commodore.’
‘I see, sir, well, thank you very much.’
Granger ordered a pint of lager and a whisky chaser and took his drinks to a table by the window.
Vogel watched him idly, wondering if he always drank like that. But maybe it really was just a hair of the dog after an unusually heavy night’s drinking, as Granger had said. The man was fit looking and lightly tanned. He didn’t have the appearance of a habitual boozer.
After he finished serving Granger, Ronnie moved back along the bar to re-join Vogel and Saslow. In spite of his earlier comments, he couldn’t quite leave them alone, thought Vogel.
He suspected that Ronnie was the sort of man who always wanted to appear to know more than others did, particularly about something as juicy as the sudden violent death of a young woman, even whilst so volubly expressing shock and concern.
‘Lovely woman, Mrs Ferguson, and those two lovely children,’ he remarked for the second time, clearly trying to draw Vogel and Saslow into conversation again, regardless of his professed intention not to provide them with any more information. ‘A tragedy, that’s what it is... ’
‘Yes indeed, Ronnie,’ interjected Vogel mildly. ‘The sudden death of a young woman is always a tragedy. Particularly when she has been murdered—’
‘I just can’t believe it,’ interrupted Ronnie. ‘Who would want to murder Mrs Ferguson?’
‘That is what I am trying to find out,’ remarked Vogel patiently. ‘Clearly you knew and liked Mrs Ferguson. Did you see her often in the club then?’
Ronnie seemed to have yet again forgotten that he was answering no further questions.
‘Not often, no. There are the two young children, aren’t there? But in the summer, particularly at weekends, the members often bring their children with them. His little ones are too young for proper sailing, of course, but Mr Ferguson takes them on the river sometimes, motoring upstream to Bideford at high tide, that sort of thing. And they seem to enjoy being here. As did Mrs Ferguson, I’m sure. Though we haven’t seen her here in a while.’
‘Can you remember when you last saw her in the club?’
‘Not really. Not this year. I’m pretty certain.’
‘I see. And she wasn’t here last night, was she? Wouldn’t you have expected the commodore’s wife to be with him on such an important occasion?’
Ronnie looked blank for a moment. Then his face clouded over, and he scowled at Vogel. It seemed he’d remembered his earlier pledge.
‘I’m saying nothing more,’ he said. ‘I told you that, and I mean it.’
Vogel smiled at him, which he hoped Ronnie found as annoying as he meant it to be. He didn’t think the man was hiding anything deliberately, although it was possible that he knew something significant without realising it. But Ronnie was the sort of irritation the DCI could do without.
‘C’mon, Saslow,’ he said heading for the door.
‘Do you ever long for the days when a copper could just give an irritating little bugger like that a slap, sir?’ Saslow asked conversationally as she followed him out of the club.
‘Not worth the effort, Dawn,’ said Vogel, smiling more genuinely. ‘And we’ve got better things to do. Like heading back to our gaff and getting some sleep before we both fall over. Early night and an early start tomorrow, when I think we should spend a few hours at the Bideford incident room, make sure we’re abreast of everything. Meanwhile, I’ll call Nobby and keep her up to speed. I want you to phone that former commodore fella, pick his brains about last night first, then tell him exactly what we want from the NDYC. Starting with a list of all the members who were at the dinner last night, and their contact details. Then we’ll get a team onto checking ’em out.’
‘Quite a job, boss.’
‘Yep. The glamour of policing, Dawn. But all we need is one person, just one person, who saw Felix Ferguson slip away from the dinner — after all his home is only just up the hill — or even someone with a reasonable suggestion of how he might have been able to do that, and we have our opportunity.’
‘But still no motive, boss.’
‘Early doors, Saslow. Give it time. Give it time.’
Fifteen
In Estuary Vista Close the forensic examination of number eleven had continued throughout the day. Crime scene investigators arrived and left, moving in and out of the house, sometimes carrying boxes.