Felix sat back in his chair, letting his head fall backwards in a gesture of exasperation.
‘I didn’t even see John Willis, for goodness sake,’ he said again.
‘So, there was nothing that gave you any cause for concern, nothing at all that wasn’t quite as it should be?’
‘No. Nothing... ’
Ferguson paused abruptly, raising one hand to his mouth, frowning in concentration.
‘Well, there was just one thing, our gate at the end of the driveway is electric and operated by a remote control, as you know. You can use a key to open and shut it, but we keep it locked all the time because of the children. Well, when I went back to the house I noticed that the gate wasn’t closed properly, it was very slightly ajar. Certainly not locked.’
‘And you’d locked it when you’d left to go to the club? Are you sure?’
‘Well, yes. Or I certainly thought I had. I pointed the gizmo at it as soon as I’d gone through, like I always do. It’s happened before that it’s got stuck, usually if there’s been something jamming it, a stone or something. But not very often.’
‘And you assumed you’d been the last person through the gate?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Did you ask your wife if she had opened the gate for some reason?’
‘No. I mean, she wouldn’t have done. Anyway, I didn’t think much of it. Not at the time. Just reckoned it was one of those things... ’
‘When you left the second time to return to the club, did you lock the gates again?’
‘Of course, I did. And I looked around to see if there was any obvious obstruction. There wasn’t. They seemed to close OK.’
‘Are you aware that when Anne Barham took Joanna back to your house and found Jane’s body, the security gate was open and the front door was ajar?’
‘Uh, no, I don’t think I was.’
‘Also, there was no sign of a break-in. That indicates that it is reasonable to assume that anyone who entered your house had a set of keys, don’t you agree?’
‘I suppose so, yes.’
‘And who has keys to your house, apart from you and your wife?’
‘My parents.’
‘Nobody else?’
‘No.’
‘Well, your parents have alibied each other. But, in any case, I don’t expect you think either of them killed Jane, do you, Felix?’
‘No, I don’t. Of course not.’
‘You see, then, that there really is nobody else in the frame. I must warn you, Mr Ferguson, I am now on the verge of formally charging you.’
‘Do what you like,’ said Felix in a resigned sort of way.
Twenty-Two
It seemed to Amelia Ferguson that her entire life had fallen apart. The daughter-in-law she’d never liked had died a horrible violent death. Her beloved only son had been arrested for her murder. And the husband who had always been her rock was behaving more like a piece of drifting flotsam.
She stood for a moment in the doorway of her home, watching the little convoy of police cars disappear up Bay View Road. Two or three neighbours had stepped out of their houses to see what was going on. Amelia was the sort of woman who put considerable importance on appearances, and would normally have been horrified to think that her neighbours had seen the police take her son away in a squad car.
Today she did not even notice.
Sam was standing right behind her. She turned to him, looking for, and still half expecting, the comfort and support he had always given her.
She took a step towards him, reaching out to him. He just turned around and walked back into the house. She knew he must be in shock, as she was. But ever since the previous afternoon he had been behaving so strangely.
She followed him slowly indoors, aware that tears were falling down her cheeks, and into the kitchen. Sam was over by the window, with his back to her, and seemed to be gazing out to sea. Then she noticed his shoulders start to heave. He, too, was weeping.
She went to him at once. And to her immense relief he wrapped his arms around her. For a little while they clung to each other in silence.
‘Oh Melia, Melia,’ he eventually whispered through his tears. ‘What is happening to us? I thought we had everything. Suddenly we have nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘I know, I know,’ she murmured as soothingly as she could manage. ‘But we will get through it, won’t we? We can get through everything as long as we have each other. And we know Felix is innocent, we know that, don’t we?’
‘Of course, of course.’
Amelia stood back from him then.
‘Come on, Sam,’ she said. ‘You are always the strong one. You always know what to do. We have to help our boy.’
Sam wiped the tears from his eyes with one trembling hand.
‘You’re right, of course, you’re right,’ he said. ‘Look, first thing, we must get Felix a solicitor. Trevor Hardwick is the best round here. I’ll get on to him straight away.’
‘That’s better, Sam,’ said Amelia. ‘You see, you always know what to do, and you always know the right person to do it.’
‘If anyone can get Felix home it will be Trevor,’ said Sam, sounding just a little more like his old self.
Amelia thought she had read somewhere that people arrested for murder in the UK were remanded in custody as a matter of course, and only got bail in very rare and exceptional circumstances.
Nonetheless she tried to muster an encouraging smile.
Sam left the kitchen and made his way to his home office, telling his wife that he didn’t have Trevor Hardwick’s number in his phone. Which wasn’t actually true. But he desperately needed time alone to think. He was aware that he should also be phoning DCI Vogel. The detective had given him his mobile number. Now that Felix had been arrested, he really should tell Vogel what he had learned from Gerry Barham the previous afternoon.
But he could not quite bring himself to do so.
He sat for a few minutes struggling to compose himself before finally phoning Hardwick.
The solicitor sounded stunned when Sam told him about his son’s arrest. As well he might, thought Sam. Hardwick recovered quickly though, asked Sam a number of salient questions, and then said he would make his way at once to Barnstaple police station and offer his services to Felix.
Sam thanked him and ended the call. He supposed Hardwick was bound by some kind of code of confidentiality concerning his clients, but he could only imagine the tsunami of gossip which was about to wash over the North Devon peninsular. He was the mayor of Bideford. He was a highly successful businessman. He thought he was a respected local figure. He hoped he was, anyway. But not for much longer, in any case, he suspected.
Amelia had no idea what was going to hit them. If Felix was brought to trial it would all come out. It would have to. And what would it do to the children? Sam couldn’t bear to think.
He would like to share his burden with his wife. She would at least understand his behaviour then, understand why ‘her rock’, as she called him, was finding it difficult to hold himself together. But Amelia wasn’t as strong as she made out, and he wondered if either of them was strong enough to survive this.
He knew he should go back to the kitchen, or find his wife wherever she may have gone in the house, try to reassure her. But how could he, when he feared the worst in every direction?
Almost on cue, the office door opened and in walked Amelia. She had dried her tears, styled her hair and put on fresh make-up. At least she was behaving according to type, thought Sam. She always gave optimum importance to how things appeared.