Хилари Боннер - Dreams of Fear

Mrs Barham’s voice tailed off.

‘Go on,’ prompted Vogel.

‘Well, I jumped out of the car and went to find her. She was in a dreadful state, wet through and sobbing. She could barely speak. Just about all she said was “Mummy, Mummy” really. And she was calling for her daddy, too.’

Mrs Barham paused again.

‘So, what did you do next?’ prompted Saslow gently.

‘I told Joanna I would take her home to Mummy, and I just picked her up in my arms. She tried to tell me about her mother, I think, but she couldn’t get the words out. I didn’t understand. When we got to the house the front door was ajar, and there were lights on. I just walked straight in, with Joanna in my arms. Jane was hanging there right in front of us. Dead that’s for sure. Strangled. What little Joanna had been trying to say made sense then. Terrible sense. But until I saw it before my very eyes... well, I mean, it hadn’t occurred to me.

‘Her face... Oh my God. It was the most awful thing I have seen in the whole of my life. I know I cried out. I couldn’t help myself. Then Joanna started wailing again, bless her. I’d taken her back into the house. To see her mother like that again. Poor little thing. I just wanted to be anywhere else but where I was. And get Joanna out of there. But I was rooted to the spot at first. It was as if my feet were nailed down. I couldn’t move. Then little Stevie suddenly appeared on the top landing, looking down at that awful sight. I knew I really must get them both away, and I simply had to pull myself together. We were just at the bottom of the drive when Gerry arrived. He’d been parking the car, you see. I mean, we thought Jane was asleep or something—’

‘But, obviously, it was all very odd,’ Gerry interrupted. ‘And as I was parking up I started to really worry, so I hightailed it next door as quick as I could.’

‘Yes, and thank God,’ said Anne. ‘I’d never been more glad to see him, that’s for sure.’

Mrs Barham turned towards her husband, before continuing.

‘We got the children back here as quick as we could, didn’t we? It was still raining. We were all wet, particularly Joanna and I. I found the night things we keep here for our grandson, he’s only five, but he’s a big boy, and the twins could just get into them. I put theirs in the dryer. Then we just tried to comfort them, until their father and their grandparents got here. It was terrible, really terrible.’

‘I’m sure it was, Mrs Barham,’ Vogel commiserated. ‘I don’t want to upset you further, but I do need to ask you one or two more questions. How well do you know the Fergusons?’

‘Well, we moved here just under seven years ago now, before the twins were born,’ said Anne. ‘So that’s how long we’ve known them. We’ve even babysat occasionally. Not for quite a while though. And we’ve never been friends exactly, but always friendly. I’d say we know them reasonably well, or I would have said so anyway. They always seemed like very nice people. I can’t imagine why Jane would have done what she did. Although, well... ’

She stopped abruptly, as if unsure whether or not she should continue.

‘Although, when you met her out shopping last week, you did say she wasn’t looking well, didn’t you?’ encouraged Gerry. ‘You thought something might be wrong.’

Anne nodded.

‘Well yes, that’s quite true,’ she continued. ‘I bumped into her shopping in Barnstaple. She had bags under her eyes, and her hair needed doing. She was wearing an old track suit. Not at all like the Jane we knew. She was a good-looking young woman, you see, and we were used to always seeing her immaculately turned out. I was a bit shocked, actually. I asked her if she was all right. She said she was, but she just hadn’t been sleeping well. I understood that, of course. It’s terrible, you know, when you can’t sleep. I suffered like that after our Angela was born, didn’t I, Gerry?’

Her husband agreed that she did.

‘Yes. She was a good baby, slept all night most nights. But that was more than I could. I used to lie awake worrying if she didn’t stir at all, and I’d worry myself even more if she did wake up and start to cry.’

‘Was there anything else about Jane Ferguson which concerned you that day?’ Vogel asked, in a bid to get Anne Barham back on track.

‘Well, yes, there was something. I told myself it was nothing, but... Jane had a fresh bruise on one cheek, and a small cut. It looked quite nasty. I asked her about it and she said she’d had a fight with her car door. Then she laughed.’

‘Was that the last time you saw Mrs Ferguson?’ asked Vogel.

‘Yes, to speak to, that is. We’ve waved at each other a couple of times since, like you do, when I was tying back our daffs the other day and she was getting into her car. That sort of thing.’

‘And what about Mr Ferguson?’

‘Only yesterday, just to pass the time of day with. I haven’t seen him to talk to for weeks. Actually, maybe months.’

‘And did you notice anything amiss?’

‘No, everything seemed normal.’

‘I saw Felix at the yacht club last Sunday lunchtime,’ interjected Gerry.

‘I see. He’s the commodore, is he not?’

Gerry agreed that he was.

‘And so he is presumably a pretty frequent visitor.’

‘Well yes.’ Gerry agreed again. ‘But I’m not. I mean I like the place, and I had these romantic ideas when we moved down here. Bought a boat. Just a little motor cruiser with an outboard, you understand. But I don’t seem to get round to taking it out much. Nice bar overlooking the bay, though.’

‘Did you speak to Mr Ferguson at all, last Sunday?’

‘Ummm, yes.’

Gerry Barham seemed hesitant.

‘Can you recall your conversation?’

‘Oh, you know. Just the usual stuff. The weather. It was a terrible day. I sometimes wonder if the weather changes faster anywhere in the world than it does on the North Devon coast. Already looks like it’s going to be a beauty today, after all that rain in the night.’

‘Did you discuss anything else?’

‘Bit of sport. He likes his rugby, does Felix, same as me. And golf. Only... ’

Gerry seemed reluctant to continue.

‘Only what, Mr Ferguson?’ prompted Vogel.

‘Well, shall we just say Felix wasn’t at his most coherent.’

Vogel knew he was blinking rapidly behind his thick-rimmed spectacles. It was pretty obvious what Gerry Ferguson was getting at, but he was too experienced a police officer to put words into the mouth of a potential witness.

‘What exactly do you mean by that, Mr Barham?’ the acting DCI asked levelly.

‘OK. He was pretty drunk.’

As he had apparently been when he returned to his home in the early hours of that morning to find a police presence there, and his wife hanging dead in the hallway; if he hadn’t known about that already, thought Vogel.

‘Do you by any chance know if this is a regular occurrence?’ Vogel asked in a neutral tone of voice. ‘Is Felix Ferguson a particularly heavy drinker?’

‘I don’t really know the answer to that,’ responded Gerry. ‘But he certainly likes a drink—’

‘Yes, and perhaps a bit more than he used to, we’ve been thinking, haven’t we, Gerry?’ interjected Anne Barham. ‘We’ve seen him walking home a bit unsteady on his feet a few times lately.’

‘We have, yes,’ agreed Gerry. ‘But not that often. He is a successful businessman. And he wouldn’t be commodore of the yacht club if he weren’t a capable young man.’

‘So just a social drinker who overdoes it a bit occasionally, is that what you are saying?’ enquired Saslow.

‘I would think so, yes,’ responded Gerry. ‘Always seems to be a very nice chap. Felix. And a devoted family man. We’ve never had any doubt about that, have we, Anne? Well, not really.’