Less than ten minutes later his phone rang again. It was his senior officer at the Avon and Somerset, Detective Superintendent Reg Hemmings, head of MCIT.
‘Vogel, we need you back,’ he said. ‘You’re to wind up your part of the Ferguson investigation pronto and get on the way to Bristol. You and Saslow... ’
‘For God’s sake, boss, what is going on?’ asked Vogel. ‘A man whom I am quite sure has killed two people and tried to kill a third has been released from custody. I’m the SIO on the case and I wasn’t even officially told, let alone consulted. The whole thing stinks, boss.’
‘That’s not the information I’ve been given, Vogel,’ countered Hemmings. ‘Seems it’s all been a storm in a teacup, a suicide and an accident at sea. My instructions are that we should get out, and leave the local boys and girls to clean it up.’
‘It wasn’t a storm in a teacup for Gerry Barham, that’s for sure,’ said Vogel, who was mildly surprised to find that his policeman’s black humour remained intact. ‘And Jane Ferguson did not commit suicide. Karen Crow made that pretty clear.’
‘Not entirely clear, apparently, Vogel. In any case, I’ve been told that the Crown Prosecution Service would not be confident of a prosecution. Your mate Nobby didn’t reckon there was enough evidence to charge this Jimmy Granger. You must realize that.’
‘It’s a cover-up, boss,’ said Vogel.
‘Oh, get down off your high horse, man,’ responded Hemmings. ‘And get your arse back to Bristol. You did all you could.’
Vogel could think of little more to say. And barely had the will to say anything. He was despondent.
He made one more attempt to call Nobby Clarke. This time she picked up. And she spoke first, before he had the chance to.
‘I wouldn’t have let this happen without a damned good reason, Vogel,’ she began, sounding as feisty and confident as ever. ‘You should know that.’
‘I don’t know any such thing because you have told me zilch,’ countered Vogel. ‘I have been trying to speak to you since yesterday evening, as you are well aware. You appointed me SIO of a murder investigation. You asked for me, you brought me here. Now you have ordered the release of a man who I’m darned sure has killed twice and attempted to kill a third time. And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me yourself. I had to learn it from a DC. What on earth is going on, boss?’
‘Look Vogel, there’s always been doubt in this case. A woman, known to be neurotic, hanged, and a man who was barely an amateur sailor took a boat out in a storm. Suicide and an accident at sea. Those are the obvious conclusions. We were making too much of it. Then there was an incident on premises which are clearly a health and safety nightmare.’
‘For fuck’s sake, boss, don’t give me that shite,’ Vogel stormed.
The DCI rarely swore, and was known for his calmness in a crisis. He had never felt less calm. A cold fury was consuming his entire being.
‘I cannot believe this is you talking. Have you been fucking got at or something?’ he continued.
‘Remember who you are speaking to,’ responded Nobby quickly.
Vogel was having none of it.
‘Don’t even think about pulling rank with me,’ he said. ‘And, since you brought the subject up, I don’t think I know who I’m speaking to anymore.’
‘Oh, Vogel, I just told you, this operation has been scaled down for a very good reason—’
‘It hasn’t been scaled down, it’s been as near as damn closed down,’ interrupted Vogel. ‘And, if there is a good reason, then tell me what it is. Just tell me, boss.’
‘I can’t do that, Vogel. I’m sorry. You are just going to have to trust me on this.’
‘Trust you, Detective Superintendent Clarke?’ queried Vogel, with cold formality. ‘I will never trust you again as long as I live. And I never ever want to work with you again. In fact, right now, I don’t even want to stay in the same police force as you.’
Vogel and Saslow had arranged to meet for an early breakfast. He greeted her with the news that they had both been recalled to Bristol.
Saslow didn’t think she had ever seen her boss look so severe.
He then told her about the release of Jimmy Granger and the closing down of the MCT incident room in Bideford, and the conclusions which had been officially drawn concerning the deaths of Jane Ferguson and Gerry Granger, and the attack on Sam Ferguson.
‘Christ,’ Saslow blurted out. ‘Surely Nobby hasn’t gone along with that.’
‘The detective superintendent has been the one issuing the orders,’ said Vogel grimly.
‘What?’
Saslow was shocked to the core.
‘She wouldn’t. I mean, why? She must have a good reason. Surely?’
Vogel laughed humourlessly.
‘So she says, however, she hasn’t chosen to share that reason with me.’
‘But you two are so close, you speak the same language—’
‘We were, and we did,’ interrupted Vogel. ‘It’s over now. And so is this job. Get your stuff together. I’d like to make a last visit to the Bideford MIR, then it’s back to Bristol for us.’
Saslow could hardly believe her ears. This wasn’t her governor. He sounded totally defeated.
‘Boss, if there’s anything you’d like to do, you know, under the radar, well I’m up for it, really I am,’ she said.
Vogel smiled sadly.
‘Thank you for that, Saslow,’ he replied. ‘But I am afraid there is nothing either of us can do. Not this time, not with this one. The plug has been pulled.’
The MCT team were already packing up at Bideford police station when Saslow and Vogel arrived.
DI Peters looked flustered. Saslow wasn’t surprised. No sooner had she got to grips with the behind the scenes management of a major murder enquiry, than the whole investigation had been pushed to one side.
There seemed to be cardboard boxes everywhere. Laptops, printers, and stacks of paper were being packed away, or fed through a shredder.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you, boss,’ she said. ‘The guvnor told me you were on your way back to Bristol.’
‘I am,’ said Vogel. ‘This is a farewell visit. And to say thank you.’
‘For what?’ asked Peters. ‘We’d barely got started. We certainly hadn’t anything like finished.’
It was obvious to Saslow that the DI shared Vogel’s frustration.
‘As you know, boss, I’ve been ordered to leave everything to local CID and shut our operation down as quickly as possible, and unfortunately that includes the tracking of Jimmy Granger’s car,’ Peters continued. ‘Traffic reported an early spotting of the Defender heading north on the M5 by Taunton, but, I’m sorry, boss, I’ve had to call off the hounds. Oh, and whilst two of the keys Granger was carrying when you arrested him were to his flat, CSI never did get around to checking if any of the others belonged to the Ferguson home. They were his personal property, of course, and had to be handed back to him as soon as we knew he was going to be released.’
Vogel looked as if this was only the news that he had expected.
He had been almost entirely silent on the short drive from Appledore to Bideford. And he remained largely uncommunicative throughout the much longer journey from Bideford to Bristol.
His phone rang several times. Each time he glanced at the screen but did not pick up. Saslow would have cheerfully bet a month’s salary that the calls, or at least most of them, were from Nobby Clarke.