Nonetheless, he persisted a little further.
‘I apologize again, Mrs Barham, but unexplained absences and mysterious phone calls are often indicative of some kind of extra-marital liaison,’ he said. ‘I am sure you realize that. You say, however, that you had never been aware of that sort of behaviour in your husband before yesterday?’
‘No. Never. We have always been very close, and since Gerry retired, well, we are hardly ever apart. I mean, don’t misunderstand me. We don’t live in each other’s pockets. He has his interests, things he does without me. But we’re not apart a lot. Once a year he goes up to London for a reunion dinner with old work colleagues. Only the once, you understand. And it would be a pretty understanding mistress who put up with meeting her lover at an annual event, wouldn’t it?’
Anne Barham smiled a tight strained little smile. Saslow was no longer holding her hand. Instead Anne Barham was twiddling her fingers, literally, around damp strands of paper tissue.
‘Then there’s the yacht club, his drinking pals there and in The Boathouse, not that he’s a heavy drinker, you understand,’ she continued. ‘And he’s on the parish council and the Bideford regatta committee. He’s good at that sort of thing. He plays golf occasionally. And I have my interests too. I’m a collector, Mr Vogel. Rare books and unusual clocks, in particular.’
She gestured towards a bookcase packed with intriguing looking volumes and a glass cabinet containing a selection of specimen clocks.
‘I have a little group of friends I go browsing antique fairs with. We occasionally meet for coffee or lunch. That sort of thing. But, quite frankly, Mr Vogel, I don’t see how my Gerry would have time for a bit on the side without me knowing, even if he had the inclination.’
The strained smile fleeted across her face once more.
‘You mentioned your husband’s work,’ commented Vogel. ‘I think you said earlier that he was a civil servant?’
‘That’s right, yes. Went into it right after university. Only job he ever had. In the civil service for nearly thirty-five years. Then they offered him an early retirement deal he couldn’t refuse. He’d had enough by then, so he took it like a shot. And we came here. Never regretted it for a second.’ Anne Barham paused. ‘Until now, maybe,’ she murmured.
‘What branch of the civil service was he in?’ enquired Vogel.
Anne Barham frowned.
‘Mr Vogel, I really don’t see why you’re asking all these questions. That’s all in the past. I want to know what’s happened to my husband today? I am worried sick about him. I want him found.’
Vogel nodded sympathetically.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And believe me, every possible effort is being made to find him and bring him home. I am just trying to build a picture of Gerry, so that maybe I can understand what has caused him to behave in this out-of-character way.’
‘Well, if you can understand it, I take my hat off to you, Mr Vogel,’ replied Anne Barham. ‘Because I don’t understand any of it. But of course, if you think it will help in any way, I will answer any questions you have. Gerry worked in a number of different departments over the years, he was a—’
Anne Barham was interrupted by the strident ring of Vogel’s phone. He’d meant to put it on vibrate, but he would in any case have to check who was calling, as he now not only had Felix under arrest for murder, but also a missing person case upon which there could be news at any moment.
He took his phone from his pocket and studied the screen. The caller was young DC Perkins.
‘I’m sorry Mrs Barham, you will have to excuse me, I need to take this call,’ said Vogel, stopping Anne Barham in mid-sentence.
He stood up and left the room.
‘You were saying, Mrs Barham?’ said Saslow, continuing the conversation more out of courtesy than anything else. She thought it likely Vogel might at that very second be receiving significant news. Certainly, he would not have left the room if he hadn’t half expected that.
Anne looked as if she was already thinking what Saslow was thinking.
‘Uh, what? Um, yes, Gerry worked in various different departments, commuting in and out of central London every day, he’d certainly had enough of it in the end and... ’
She stopped abruptly. This time of her own accord.
‘Look, detective sergeant, I’m sorry, I can’t concentrate. Can we wait until Mr Vogel returns? I need to know if he has any news.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Saslow.
Anne got up from her chair and walked to the window where she stood looking out. The weather more or less blotted out the view, but Saslow doubted Anne Barham was taking much notice of that. The acting DS didn’t even attempt to make any further conversation.
Vogel didn’t keep them waiting long. He returned to the room within less than five minutes. Saslow was sitting opposite the door. It was she who saw Vogel’s face first. And she knew at once that he had news, all right. And it wasn’t good.
As soon as she heard the door open Anne Barham turned around. She too seemed aware just from looking at Vogel of what he was about to tell her. Or the crux of it, anyway.
She didn’t speak, just stood stock still, staring at the DCI. Her face was already ashen.
‘Mrs Barham, I am afraid I have some very grave news,’ said Vogel.
Anne still didn’t move a muscle. She continued to stare at the detective.
‘Perhaps you would like to sit down, Mrs Barham,’ he suggested.
Anne responded with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, still staring at him.
‘As you wish,’ Vogel continued. ‘I am afraid the wreckage of a boat has been found off Hartland Point. We have reason to believe that the boat was your husband’s.’
Anne Barham remained silent and quite still. Fleetingly Vogel wondered if she had grasped the import of what he was saying. Then her knees began to buckle, although she seemed to be quite unaware of it.
Saslow was at her side in a thrice. The young DS was small but strong. She wrapped a supportive arm around the other woman and half coaxed, half pushed and pulled her into the nearest armchair.
Anne gave the impression of being in a kind of trance. Vogel wondered if he should give her a moment or two to compose herself before continuing. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. Her eyes blazing.
‘Just tell me,’ she yelled. ‘For heaven’s sake, just tell me. Is Gerry dead?’
Vogel kept his voice level and unemotional. Over the years he had found that was the best way. If there ever was a best way.
‘Mrs Barham, the body of a man has been found on the rocks at Hartland, near some of the wreckage from the boat, almost certainly washed in on the incoming spring tide. I am afraid we have reason to believe that it is the body of your husband.’
Anne Barham lowered her head into her hands and groaned. It was more than a groan. It was a long low exhalation of breath, an expression of total dismay. It started quietly, low and slow, and grew louder and higher until it developed into an animal howl.
Every death call was different. In Vogel’s not inconsiderable experience every human being confronted with the sudden violent death of a loved one deals with it differently. He had, however, never seen a reaction which moved him more than this one.
It was as if Anne Barham’s entire world had suddenly ended. As indeed, at that moment, she no doubt believed that it had.
Saslow was still at her side, with a comforting arm around a shoulder. Anne gave no sign that she even knew the DS was there. Certainly, Saslow could clearly now do nothing to give her even an iota of comfort.
Eventually the strange agonized noise, which seemed to come from the very core of Anne Barham’s being and fill the room with her anguish, stopped. As suddenly as it had started.