‘You do?’
Vogel was not entirely surprised, all the evidence pointed that way, and it was pretty much the result he had expected when first on the case. Or it would have been had it not been for Nobby Clarke herself suggesting that there could be some sort of mysterious conspiracy, and putting all kinds of doubts in his mind.
He moved away from DC Perkins and Saslow, turning his back on them and lowering his voice. He didn’t want Perkins to overhear the next part of his conversation with Clarke.
‘I thought you didn’t believe this was a standard domestic, Nobby,’ he said. ‘I thought that was why you had Saslow and me drafted in, to delve deeper.’
‘That’s quite right, Vogel, but I do believe in evidence, and it’s pretty hard to argue against the weight of evidence we now have.’
‘You’re under pressure to do this, aren’t you, boss?’ Vogel whispered into the phone. He didn’t even want Saslow to hear him saying that.
‘Of course, I’m under bloody pressure, Vogel,’ responded Clarke vigorously. ‘The brass want this all sorted ASAP. I told you that yesterday. And if I hadn’t told you what I did yesterday, this morning’s new information — the forensics report and a witness placing a prime suspect at the scene of the crime at the right time — would have led you to arrest Ferguson without any hesitation at all, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose it would, boss, yes,’ Vogel admitted reluctantly.
‘Yes, and the suspect is the husband of the victim, which we would normally regard as the clincher, would we not?’
‘Yes, boss,’ agreed Vogel.
‘So bloody get on with it then. Arrest the bloody man.’
‘Yes, boss,’ said Vogel again.
‘For God’s sake, Vogel, you know I can’t stand you calling me “boss”. And it’s particularly damned annoying because I know perfectly well you always do it when you’re pissed off with me.’
‘Sorry, boss,’ said Vogel.
Vogel and Saslow reached the Ferguson home in Bay View Road just before one p.m. The DCI was confident that Felix Ferguson would still be there. Where else would he be? He had two children, and his home was still a crime scene. And unlike his father he wasn’t the sort who would rush back to work regardless.
Vogel was about to make an arrest for an extremely serious crime. The most serious of all. Murder. So he’d brought DC Perkins along, and the three detectives were accompanied by four uniformed officers travelling at considerable speed in two patrol cars, which were rather dramatically pulled to a halt with a screech of brakes and a squeal of tyre rubber outside All Seasons.
Vogel knocked on the door considerably more loudly and aggressively than he would if he were making a routine call.
Mrs Ferguson senior answered the door at once. Vogel suspected she had already been alerted by the commotion of the patrol cars outside.
‘Is your son at home, Mrs Ferguson?’ he demanded, at the same time pushing past her into the house without waiting to be invited in. This was an arrest. He didn’t think Felix Ferguson was the type to try to do a runner, but he knew better than to take any chances.
‘He’s in the s-sitting room,’ stammered Amelia Ferguson. ‘W-whatever is going on?’
Vogel didn’t bother to answer. He just kept on walking. Saslow and Perkins were right behind him, closely followed by two of the uniforms. The other two remained outside the house on watch.
Vogel paused at the sitting-room door and turned back towards Amelia Ferguson. A thought had just occurred to him. He really didn’t want to add to the horrors Felix and Jane’s children had experienced over the last thirty-six hours.
‘Are the twins with your son?’ he asked.
Amelia shook her head.
‘No, we sent them to school as usual, we thought that was for the best,’ she said.
Vogel was relieved. Although, even in the heat of the moment, it crossed his mind that not many people would think it ‘for the best’ to send two six-year-olds to school on the day after they had seen their mother hanging dead with a rope around her neck.
He pushed the door open without making any comment. Felix was slumped on the big chair by the window. The TV was on and a football match filled the screen. Felix was drinking already, it seemed. He had a glass in his hand which looked as if it contained whisky.
When he saw Vogel, accompanied by his small entourage, his face took on an expression first of surprise and then of dismay.
He rose to his feet at once, still clutching the glass in his left hand, and took a couple of steps towards the police officers.
‘Wh-what’s going on?’ he asked. ‘What do you want now?’
‘Felix Ferguson, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of your wife, Jane Ferguson,’ Vogel announced.
Felix’s lower jaw dropped. Other than that he barely moved a muscle.
The two uniformed officers in the room stepped forward and were quickly at Felix’s side, one removing the glass and grasping Felix’s left hand, the other grasping his right.
Felix let them do so without making any protest. He seemed to have been quite literally struck dumb, remaining in stunned silence as Vogel recited the formal caution.
‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
However, Felix’s mother made up for her son’s involuntary silence.
‘How dare you, how dare you arrest my boy,’ she yelled. ‘Are you all mad? You must all be mad.’
As the two uniforms began to lead a still unprotesting, but now whimpering, Felix from the room, Amelia lurched towards them.
‘Let him go, let my boy go,’ she cried hysterically, her voice at screaming pitch.
DC Perkins took a step towards her. Saslow was quicker. She half threw herself in front of Amelia, grabbing the older woman in an arm lock in order to prevent her reaching either her son or the two officers escorting him.
Felix spoke then, for the first time since his arrest.
‘Just stop it, Mother,’ he hissed at her. ‘Stop it. You’re only making matters worse. As usual.’
Amelia Ferguson had been struggling, albeit hopelessly, in Saslow’s practiced grasp. She stopped at once. Her face fell. She looked almost as if she had been hit. Then she started to weep.
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.’