Dreams of Fear

by Hilary Bonner

  ‘Mr Ferguson, you clearly accepted straightaway, when you heard of your wife’s death, that she had killed herself,’ Vogel continued. ‘That indicates to me that you must, at the very least, have been concerned about her in some way. Isn’t that the case? Would you mind telling me if there was something wrong with your wife in the weeks and months leading up to her death?’

  ‘Wrong with her? There was nothing wrong with Jane. She was fine. I wasn’t concerned about her at all. I accepted that she’d committed suicide because of the manner of her death. The officers last night, they told me she’d hanged herself. I’m sure they did.’

  ‘I doubt they would have put it quite like that, sir.’

  ‘Well, they certainly told me Joanna found her mother hanging … I mean, what else would you expect me to think?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. That’s why I need you to answer my questions. You just told me that when you went out last night you had no concerns about your wife. Yet a few hours later she was dead, and now you say it was obvious that she took her own life. Regardless of the circumstances, you must see that doesn’t quite add up, don’t you?’

  ‘Doesn’t it? I don’t see why not. And I’m damned if I’m going to answer any more of your questions, not now. Absolutely not now.’

  Felix jumped to his feet. He glowered at Vogel. His expression and his voice were both angry.

  ‘Look. This is a family tragedy. And you are intruding on our grief. I need to be with my children. I am going to my children.’

  He turned his back on Vogel and began to walk to the door leading to the hallway.

  ‘Mr Ferguson, I need you to sit down and continue to answer my questions,’ Vogel called after him. ‘I am sorry to be insistent at this time, but this is officially an investigation into a suspicious death and we shall be enquiring into the circumstances accordingly. You should know that if you will not cooperate here and now, I shall have you taken to the nearest police station.’

  Vogel was at his most authoritative. He did not excessively raise his voice. He did not need to.

  Ferguson turned to look again at the policeman. Vogel’s gaze was level.

  ‘Please sit down, Mr Ferguson,’ he said again.

  ‘But … but, my children. Of course, I’ll cooperate. I just should be with my children. Can’t this wait?’

  ‘No, Mr Ferguson, it cannot.’

  There was a definite warning note in Vogel’s voice now.

  Felix Ferguson sat.

  ‘Joanna found her mother hanging, there was no one else in the house,’ he said, his voice quiet again. ‘Why on earth would you suspect anything other than suicide?’

  ‘I’m not able to go into that, at the moment, sir,’ said Vogel.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ said Ferguson.

  Then he fell silent as if struggling to come to terms with a whole new scenario.

  ‘You think someone killed my Jane. You clearly do. And you must have good reason for that. I want to know why you think it. That’s all.’

  ‘I’m not able to discuss it, sir. Not yet, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But I’m her husband. I have a right to know …’

  Vogel remained silent. He could almost see the light switching on behind Felix Ferguson’s eyes.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he said again. ‘You think I did it, don’t you? You think I killed my Jane?’

  ‘I don’t think anything of the sort, sir,’ responded Vogel mildly. ‘We are treating your wife’s death as suspicious, yes, but it may well prove that we ultimately conclude that she did take her own life. Meanwhile, of course, as the husband of the deceased, you are a person of interest. And this may well be only the first in a series of interviews with you to be conducted during the course of our enquiries. But no assumptions of any sort will be made until we have assimilated and evaluated all possible evidence.’

  ‘A person of interest? What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I’m sure you understand what that means, sir. As I explained, you are the husband of the deceased. In addition, you are most probably the last person to have seen your wife alive, excluding, possibly, your children. And, also, I have reason to believe you are not being entirely honest with me about Jane. I will ask you again, was there nothing at all in her behaviour to cause you concern last night?’

  ‘Of course, I am being honest,’ Ferguson responded quickly. ‘There was nothing that caused me concern last night. Jane seemed perfectly normal when I left the house. Really, she did.’

  ‘I see, sir,’ said Vogel. ‘And what do you mean by normal, exactly?’

  ‘Well, normal’s normal, isn’t it. She got the twins’ tea. I left as soon as we’d put them to bed. She seemed fine. Really.’

  ‘Are you quite sure of that?’

  ‘Yes, yes …’

  Ferguson paused abruptly.

  ‘You’ve been talking to Mother, haven’t you?’ he blurted out. ‘What’s she said? What’s she said about Jane?’

  Vogel had absolutely no intention of sharing anything Amelia Ferguson had said about her daughter-in-law.

  ‘Mr Ferguson, for the umpteenth time, if there was anything about your wife which was giving you or any of your family cause for concern I need to hear it. Now. From you.’

  Felix sighed, in a resigned sort of way.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘There were the dreams, of course.’

  ‘The dreams, sir?’ Vogel queried, again experiencing that small frisson of excitement he always did when he felt that he might be about to learn something highly significant to a major investigation.

  He gave no indication that he already knew at least something of Jane Ferguson’s history of bad dreams. Even if Felix did already suspect his mother of some sort of indiscretion. He wanted to hear this man’s version uninfluenced by anything he may already have learned.

  ‘Well, yes. Jane had been having bad dreams. Full blown nightmares, really. Sometimes they were worse than others. She would have periods of them not being too bad, nor all that frequent. But, well, she’d been going through a bad patch these last few weeks. She would wake screaming and hysterical. It had got so bad that she was afraid to go to sleep half the time. And, uh, that’s another reason she was quite happy to stay home with the twins last night. She’d barely been sleeping, you see. She was tired, terribly tired.’

  ‘But that didn’t give you cause for concern?’

  ‘Well no, not in the way you mean. You asked what I meant by normal. Well, I suppose it had become normal. A part of our life. Jane would have these dreams. Either not be able to sleep, or not allow herself to sleep. Then, as a consequence of that, she was always tired. Dead tired.’

  He paused, as if suddenly realising the nature of the words he had used.

  ‘I didn’t mean to say that,’ he murmured.

  ‘Of course not, sir,’ said Vogel.

  ‘She was still a good wife, though, I need to tell you that,’ Ferguson continued. ‘In spite of everything. And a wonderful mother.’

  Vogel studied the other man carefully. He reckoned Felix Ferguson’s last remark was just a tad trite.

  ‘I’m sure she was, sir,’ the detective remarked mildly, at the same time changing tack a little. ‘And her death must be an enormous loss to you.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Just terrible. I can’t quite believe she’s gone. That we will never see her again …’

  Ferguson looked and sounded vaguely surprised by the DCI’s sympathetic tone. As well he might, thought Vogel, in view of the somewhat aggressive nature of his previous questioning.

  ‘I’m sure, sir,’ he continued as gently as possible. ‘The nightmares must have disrupted both your lives though, didn’t they?’

  ‘Well yes. But we didn’t think about it that way; I didn’t anyway. I just wanted Jane to get better. She was an incredible woman you know, just incredible …’

  ‘I’m sure, sir,’ said Vogel again. ‘May I ask, were you doing anything about these dreams? Was your wife having any trea
tment at all?’

  ‘Yes, of course. We had to try to do something. I guess you kind of deny these things at first. We did for years. But eventually, well, Jane first went to her GP about it around two years ago. She’d had bad dreams occasionally ever since we were married, and before, I think. But they got progressively worse after the twins were born. Even then we managed to cope most of the time. It was very stressful, obviously. The GP tried to help, mainly by putting Jane on various courses of medication. But things just continued to get worse. Ultimately, he referred Jane for psychiatric help. He tried to arrange for her to see a consultant who specialized in sleep disorders. There was a three-month waiting list, would you believe?’

  ‘So, had she actually seen a psychiatrist at all?’

  ‘Oh yes. We decided to arrange something privately.’

  ‘I see. Could you tell me the name of this psychiatrist, and how often your wife saw him or her?’

  ‘Yes. Dr Miriam Thorpe. She’s in Exeter. Jane saw her every week.’

  ‘Did the therapy seem to be doing any good?’

  ‘I’m not so sure now. It would seem not, wouldn’t it? But I thought it was. We both thought it was. The nightmares had become not quite so bad and seemed to be getting less frequent. Until, like I said, a few weeks ago when she went into a really bad patch.’

  ‘Was this bad patch still going on?’

  ‘Actually, I don’t think Jane had had a nightmare for more than a week before … before she …’

  Ferguson seemed unable to complete his sentence.

  ‘So she was feeling better, again, was she?’ Vogel encouraged him.

  Felix shook his head.

  ‘It wasn’t like that really. Not right after a bad patch anyway. The tiredness alone was terrible for her. But we were used to it, Mr Vogel. And I swear to you, on my children’s life, that there was nothing about Jane when I last saw her that made me think for one second that … that … something like this would happen.’

  ‘Did you or your wife have any idea what caused these nightmares?’ asked Vogel.

  ‘No. Neither of us did. We hoped Dr Thorpe might be able to shed some light on that. But she was as puzzled as the rest of us, apparently.’

  ‘Could Jane ever remember her nightmares when she woke up?’

  ‘No, Mr Vogel. She always said she had no idea what they were about.’

  ‘And yet they frightened her to the extent that she would scream out loud and become quite hysterical?’ interjected Saslow.

  ‘I’m afraid so. The worst ones anyway. She said it was as if there was something there in front of her, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. She said she felt as if her brain was being torn apart, that one half of her wanted to confront her dreams and the other half was holding her back.’

  ‘Presumably these dreams were violent in some way?’ Saslow continued. ‘Did she know where they took place?’

  ‘I don’t know about violent. But it was terrible to see the state she got in. As for where they took place, we never really talked about that. I don’t think she knew, though, or she would have mentioned it.’

  ‘Did she know if they were dreams about people, or events, disturbing and frightening happenings, maybe a disaster, like a plane crash, or something natural, like an avalanche or a tsunami, or perhaps something smaller and more personal?’ asked Vogel.

  ‘She had absolutely no idea, Mr Vogel. That was the worst of it. She didn’t know what these terrible dreams were about and she didn’t know why she had them, nor when they were going to strike. It used to drive her mad …’

  Felix stopped abruptly. Once again, thought Vogel, he had inadvertently chosen words which were chillingly appropriate.

  Felix Ferguson was clearly under great strain, and had not really had time to fully absorb the grim reality of what had occurred. Sometimes that was of advantage to a police interviewer. In this case, Vogel thought it was probably a mixed blessing, and that he’d leave Felix Ferguson to cogitate a little before interviewing him further.

  He had one last line of questioning.

  ‘Your wife had old scars on her lower arms which our pathologist says are consistent with self-harming,’ Vogel remarked. ‘Do you know what happened?’

  ‘Not exactly. It was well before I knew Jane. She used to just say that she was in a bad place at the time.’

  ‘Jane also had old bruising on one side of her face, and a partially heeled cut on her cheek, unrelated to the manner in which she died,’ the DCI continued. ‘Can you tell us how that was caused?’

  ‘She fell in the garden,’ Felix answered quickly. ‘She was playing with the twins, stepped on a toy car with wheels and went flying.’

  Vogel was not entirely convinced. Nonetheless he was about to tell Felix that he was free to go, when he heard the front door slam and into the sitting room walked a man who was quite clearly Felix’s father. Samuel Ferguson, the mayor of Bideford, was an older version of his son. Still handsome and with a full head of wavy hair, albeit totally white. The two men were strikingly alike. The only difference was that there was no hint of any sort of weakness in Sam Ferguson’s features. The eyes were clear and level. The mouth was set straight and strong.

  As his son had done earlier, Sam walked right up to Vogel offering an outstretched hand. Vogel took it.

  ‘You must be DCI Vogel, from what my wife has told me, the man in charge,’ he said with a small but confident smile. ‘Sam Ferguson. Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I just had to put one or two things in place, explain to the staff, people at the council, that sort of thing. Such a dreadful business. So very sad.’

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ said Vogel, as he introduced Saslow.

  ‘They’re all at work on a Sunday, are they?’ the detective continued, with only the slightest inflection in his voice.

  ‘Uh, some of them came in, and I did a bit of a phone-round,’ Sam Ferguson replied vaguely.

  ‘Now, how can I help you?’ he asked in a much more brusque fashion, as he lowered himself into what Vogel suspected was his usual armchair.

  This was a man used to taking control, thought the DCI. He would, of course, learn, sooner rather than later that, in a police investigation of this nature, only the senior investigating officer was in charge of anything.

  ‘Well, I have already interviewed your wife and your son, sir, but I do need to ask you some questions, in particular where you were last night when you daughter-in-law died?’ Vogel enquired mildly.

  ‘I see. Yes. Amelia told me on the phone you were treating Jane’s death as suspicious. I don’t suppose you can tell me why?’

  ‘No sir, I’m afraid I can’t. Just that we have reason to believe that suicide might not be the only possibility. Now, will you please answer the question.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I was here with my wife, all evening. We went to bed about midnight. And we were woken when the police came around about three a.m., I think it was, to break the news. Didn’t my wife tell you that?’

  ‘Yes, she did, sir. But I needed to hear it from you. And your son told me he believed you were going out last night.’

  ‘Oh yes, we were. To dinner with friends. An anniversary party actually. But Amelia had a tummy bug or something. So we stayed home.’

  Vogel turned to Felix.

  ‘I meant to say, sir, if you would like to go to your children now you are quite free to do so,’ he told him.

  Felix thanked the DCI and left the room. Which was what Vogel wanted. He thought he already knew the answers to the further questions he was about to ask Sam Ferguson, because he had more or less covered the same ground with Felix and his mother. But he wanted to see if Sam Ferguson told the same story.

  By and large the man did so. Down to when he had last seen his daughter-in-law. He claimed to know little about Jane’s dreams, saying he always took that sort of thing with a pinch of salt. Whatever that meant, thought Vogel.

  The DCI found Sam Ferguson an intriguing character. The epitome of a tough busine
ssman probably, but with an easy manner and a natural charm. Even under these circumstances.

  Once he had exhausted every current line of questioning, Vogel stood up to say goodbye.

  As he shook hands again with the mayor he held on for just a second or two longer than normal, thus giving the other man every opportunity to try, or at least indicate, a Freemasons’ handshake. Ferguson’s handshake remained normal, without any indication of the tell-tale thumb pressure on knuckle which Masons use to recognize each other. Vogel didn’t like Freemasonry. He’d seen too much of it in the police force at the most senior level, where officers had been known to favour their fellow Masons and sometimes protect them when they should not have been protected. Vogel had half expected Ferguson to be a Mason, and he considered it in the older man’s favour that it now seemed likely that he wasn’t. He could just be being cagey, of course. But Vogel didn’t think so. The man was too content in his own skin. He was unlikely ever to hide what he was. Too pleased with himself, even on a day like this.

  ‘May I just say, sir, you don’t seem unduly upset by your daughter-in-law’s death,’ Vogel remarked. ‘Would that be a fair comment?’

  ‘Mr Vogel, I am used to holding things together in this family. My son is a broken man this morning, and I have two very vulnerable little grandchildren who have been through a quite terrible experience. I cannot afford to indulge my emotions.’

  ‘Is that all there is to it, sir?’ asked Vogel politely.

  The other man sighed.

  ‘Look, I suspect my wife wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet about this, there has never been any love lost between either of us and Jane. We didn’t think she was right for Felix when he married her, and nothing that has happened since has led us to change our minds. She was the mother of his children, two beautiful children, so we tolerated her. But we never grew to like her, nor her us. I am, actually, deeply upset by what has happened, and the affect it will have on all of us; Amelia, Felix, the two little ones, and yes, myself, and indeed the position I hold in the community. I will confess to being concerned about that too. But I am not upset by the loss of my daughter-in-law. And I will certainly not miss her in any way.’