‘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 appearances 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.’