Хилари Боннер - Dreams of Fear

Phil nodded. His eyes were riveted on the dead woman now, with a kind of morbid fascination.

He and Docherty had been dealing with a domestic in nearby Fremington when control diverted them to Instow, following Gerry Barham’s 999 call.

So they already knew that Jane Ferguson’s body had been discovered by her six-year-old daughter, Joanna. And that the little girl’s brother, Stevie, had also seen the body hanging dead from a rope; shocking and upsetting for any adult, devastating beyond belief, surely, for children. And children horribly aware that the dead woman was their mother.

Phil found the very thought profoundly upsetting. He had a much younger half-sister whom he adored, seven-year-old Lillian, from his father’s second marriage, and he could only imagine the terrible effect any such discovery would have on her.

From what he and Docherty had been told it seemed that both children must somehow have slept through the actual act of suicide, assuming for a moment that is what it was. But they couldn’t be sure. Could they? He wondered what had disturbed the little girl. Had there been some sort of commotion which awakened her? He had no idea how long Jane Ferguson had been dead. Maybe the child heard something at the moment her mother fell from the upper landing. Maybe Jane Ferguson cried out, regretting too late what she had done. Maybe, even, the six-year-old had seen her mother jump. That thought sent a shiver down PC Lake’s spine.

He made himself continue to consider the scene of the crime. The landing light had been on when he and Docherty arrived. The Barhams may have switched it on. But it was quite likely that the light had been on throughout. Lots of families left at least some sort of night light on when they had young children. Had Joanna Ferguson seen a shadow move outside her bedroom door? Perhaps some trick of the light had led her to see the silhouette of her dead or dying mother.

Phil Lake had no way of knowing.

He shuddered and turned away. It was probable that neither he nor anyone else would ever know the effect this terrible sight had had on the little girl. He did know the effect it had had on him. Docherty was still studying the body, in her usual cool way, standing close but being careful to touch nothing. And Phil was trying desperately not to show how totally uncool he felt.

‘I don’t think there’s anything to stop us going upstairs and having a shifty round, do you, Constable Lake?’ Docherty enquired with false formality.

‘I can’t think of anything at all, PC Docherty,’ replied Phil, in exactly the same tone.

The two officers were halfway up the stairs when Docherty’s radio bleeped. It was the return call from HQ.

‘Right then,’ he heard her say. ‘Of course, I understand. OK, yes. We’ll just tape everything up and stand guard until they arrive then. Over.’

The disappointment was clear in Docherty’s voice. She switched off her radio with an irritated flick of one finger.

‘We must do nothing except protect the crime scene, if that’s what it is, and wait,’ she muttered. ‘The new head of CID is sending in some crack team from outside division, and God knows how long they’ll take to arrive. Seems this is considered too hot a potato for a couple of lowly plods like you and me, Phil. Apparently HQ have just realized who we have hanging here before us. The daughter-in-law of the mayor of Bideford, no less.’

Phil looked blank.

‘You don’t really get local politics yet, do you?’ Docherty continued.

Phil shook his head.

‘You soon will in this neck of the woods,’ said Docherty, in a resigned sort of way.

Detective Inspector David Vogel was in bed and asleep at his home on the outskirts of Bristol when he got the call from Detective Superintendent Reg Hemmings, his immediate superior in the Major Crime Investigations Team of Avon and Somerset Police.

‘You and Saslow have been co-opted over to the Devon and Cornwall,’ said Hemmings without prevarication. ‘Woman found hanged in her home. At first sight looks like a suicide, but they’re now considering treating it as a suspicious death, and one they’d rather have someone from outside handling. Plus, they’re chronically short of personnel at the moment, even more than the rest of us apparently.’

‘W-what? When? Where?’

The monosyllables were all Vogel could manage. He had propped himself up on one elbow to answer his mobile, and not even put a light on yet. But the electric clock on the bedside table — an old-fashioned radio alarm clock, Vogel was that sort of man — had illuminated hands. It was just after three a.m. He groaned silently.

Hemmings started to speak again.

‘I’ve just told you what,’ he said. ‘Right now. And you have to go to a little seaside resort called Instow.’

‘Instow?’ Vogel repeated. He was very nearly in shock. Where the hell was Instow anyway?

Hemmings was ahead of him.

‘The North Devon coast,’ he said.

Vogel’s West Country geography was still pretty shaky, but he had a fair idea he could get to London more quickly from Bristol than to almost anywhere on the North Devon coast.

‘How far away is that?’ he asked.

‘About two hours’ drive if you’re lucky,’ Hemmings replied. ‘So just get on with it, will you.’

‘What?’ queried Vogel again. ‘But I’ve got a lot on, boss. There’s that historic abuse case for a start. We’re beginning to untangle a right can of worms there—’

‘Look Vogel, do you really think I like this any more than you do?’ interrupted Hemmings. ‘This was chief constable to chief constable. None of us have any choice.’

‘It’s another police force,’ Vogel continued. ‘What is it exactly that makes their need greater than ours, anyway?’

‘Vogel, do you always have to argue?’ responded Hemmings. ‘The D and C covers the largest geographical police area in England, extending over 180 miles from the county borders with Dorset and Somerset, right down to the tip of Cornwall and beyond. Would you believe its territory even includes the Isles of Scilly?’

‘I believe everything you tell me, boss,’ said Vogel, who was beginning to clear his head but wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to.

‘I should bloody well think so,’ countered Hemmings. ‘Right well, the D and C’s Major Crimes Team is stretched to breaking point at the moment, an ongoing double murder enquiry in Penzance and that missing child in Dorset that’s all over the press. So we’re helping out, Vogel, whether you like it or not.’

‘All right,’ muttered Vogel resignedly. ‘Do I not even get a proper briefing?’

‘I’ll email you all that I have. Full name and address of the deceased obviously. And the preliminary report from the two uniforms who were first on the scene. They were the ones who alerted the brass to the fact that this might not be the domestic tragedy it first seemed.’

‘All right,’ said Vogel again. ‘I’ll call Saslow then. Get her to come and pick me up on the way—’

‘Leave Saslow to me,’ interrupted Hemmings. ‘I’ll alert her and make sure she gets her skates on. All the D and C people have instructions not to touch anything until you get there, so you can see the scene for yourself, Vogel.’

‘I can hardly wait,’ said Vogel.

‘I do hope you’re not being sarcastic, detective inspector?’ Hemmings enquired.

‘What me, sir?’ asked Vogel.

‘Just behave, Vogel,’ he said. ‘This is a tricky one. If the woman has been murdered, the number one suspect would seem to be her husband who may well have gone missing.’

‘Well that’s not unusual,’ replied Vogel. ‘Some sort of domestic then? So why on earth have we got to get involved? Why don’t the Devon and Cornwall brass just put it in the hands of local CID?’