Dreams of Fear

Seventeen

Gerry Barham watched Sam Ferguson stride across the beach, his tall burly figure shrinking into the distance as he reached the pebble ridge, climbed it with surprising speed and agility for a man in his sixties, and disappeared over the top.

Gerry made no move to follow Sam. He wanted the other man well gone before he made his own way back to the car park. He already wished he hadn’t told Sam all that he had. But Sam hadn’t left him much choice.

Gerry picked up a piece of driftwood and threw it into the sea. Was it really only yesterday that his life in retirement, or very nearly retirement, had seemed so pleasant and carefree — his one extramural activity adding just the smallest pinch of spice to an existence which might otherwise have been almost humdrum.

Even as he threw the piece of wood he noticed that his hand was trembling. Just like Sam he wondered what he should do next. There were people he needed to speak to. One in particular. He had been waiting for her to call all day. That’s why he’d left the house right after lunch. To chase her up. He’d needed to get seriously to work on the phone, and he couldn’t do that at home with Anne. So far, he had only managed to speak to minions. And they’d been no help at all, that was for sure. Now he really ought to get back to Anne. He knew she was puzzled by his behaviour. He had tried to behave as normally as possible, in spite of all those hours at his laptop and the whispered phone calls. But he knew he hadn’t made a very good job of it. He just hoped Anne would put it down to the shock of discovering Jane Ferguson’s body. Even though she was the one who had actually made the discovery.

His mobile, switched to silent to prevent unwanted interruptions, was tucked into the top pocket of his leather jacket. Suddenly, for the umpteenth time that afternoon, he felt it vibrate against his heart. Or what was left of his heart, he thought wryly. He quickly removed the phone and checked the screen, willing for the call he both dreaded and longed for. It was Anne again. Still no word from the other woman who was so important to him. The other woman who might yet wreck everything. Not a mistress, or someone with whom he’d had a casual affair, or even a one-night stand. No. A woman whom he suddenly regarded as far more of a potential danger to his way of life than any manifestation of personal indiscretion might be.

He continued to study the screen for a few seconds. He knew he could no longer avoid speaking to his wife, or she was going to be quite frantic. He accepted the call.

‘Hello, darling,’ he said.

It was how he always answered a call from Anne. Ordinary words, and he tried desperately to make his voice sound ordinary.

‘Gerry, where on earth are you? Are you all right?’

Anne sounded both anxious and bewildered. As well she might, thought Gerry.

‘I’m on the beach beyond Northam Burrows, over by the estuary,’ he answered truthfully.

The sea breeze was whistling in his ears. He rather hoped Anne would have difficulty in hearing him. It seemed that she did.

‘What did you say, Gerry?’ she asked. ‘Where are you?’

‘On the beach,’ he repeated more loudly. ‘There’s a fair wind blowing. And it’s raining. I told you I was going for a walk, didn’t I?’

‘What? Gerry, this is impossible. I can’t hear you properly. You’ve been gone for hours. I’ve been worried sick.’

‘I’m sorry, I... uh... I suppose I didn’t realize the time... ’

‘Look, never mind, just come home will you?’

‘Yes. Yes. I’m on my way.’

Gerry began to walk towards the pebble ridge, as if to prove to himself, if not to Anne, that he was again telling the truth.

‘What?’ said Anne, clearly still unable to hear him properly and sounding frustrated.

‘I’m on my way,’ Gerry shouted. ‘I shan’t be long.’

He ended the call relieved that the poor reception had enabled him to avoid having to give Anne any sort of explanation. That would come of course, but hopefully he would by then have had time to think of a suitable one. And he may even have received the call he was waiting for from the other woman. Perhaps some reassuring news. Although he wasn’t holding his breath.

To his surprise, and somewhat to his discomfort, Sam Ferguson’s Range Rover was still in the car park, parked not far away from his Mercedes. He couldn’t see if Sam was still inside it, and he wasn’t going to approach any closer to check. It made no difference anyway. He suspected Sam was trying to think through all that had happened and what he should do, just as he was.

As he climbed into his own vehicle he shut the door as quietly as possible, before driving slowly along the track across the Burrows, and out over the cattle grid onto the Northam road.

He crossed the Torridge Bridge and had just reached Instow when his phone rang again. It was her. On his hands-free. Her voice was all too familiar even though he had only actually spoken to her a handful of times over the three years or so that she had been his contact. Her name was Martha. And he was as sure as he could be that wasn’t her real name. After all, Gerry had an ear for voices, and he was pretty sure this was the third Martha he had spoken to in total since he had entered into the agreement which had seemed such a good idea at the time. An agreement that had facilitated his retirement in a style and a manner he had not expected, allowing him and Anne to indulge in various luxuries, like their top-of-the-range Merc, and occasional exotic holidays.

He did not know Martha’s last name.

‘I’ve been wanting to speak to you, Gerry,’ she said. ‘I thought you might have some information for me.’

‘Really?’ responded Gerry, turning the word into a question. He wasn’t entirely a pushover. ‘I thought you might have some information for me. I’ve been waiting for you to call all day,’ he continued.

‘You are our man on the spot,’ said Martha, ignoring any criticism which may have been inferred by his last remark. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten that.’

She paused. Gerry thought she was waiting for him to speak again. He said nothing.

‘I understand our potential problem is no longer a problem,’ she continued eventually.

‘Is that some sort of riddle?’ asked Gerry, who found that he was suddenly more angry than anything else. He glanced at his hands on the steering wheel. His fingers were still trembling. And he couldn’t control it.

‘I think you know what I mean,’ said Martha in the same level tone.

‘If you mean that a young woman has died in violent circumstances, then yes, that is the case,’ Gerry continued, fighting to keep his voice level and give no hint of just how afraid he was beginning to feel. ‘As her death is being treated as murder and the police have launched a major investigation, then it could be that one “problem” has been replaced by another “problem”.’

‘Gerry, I would remind you we are speaking on an open phone line. Please be careful what you say.’

‘Bit late for being careful, isn’t it?’ snapped Gerry.

‘Look, you have been dealing with this situation for a long time now, you must have realized there were certain inherent dangers—’

‘I never in my wildest imaginings thought it would end like this,’ interrupted Gerry.

‘Gerry, you made an agreement with us for which you have been and continue to be extremely well rewarded. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, you know.’

‘Jesus,’ growled Gerry.

‘Look, you have to keep calm. We need to debrief you. Obviously.’

‘I am calm,’ Gerry lied. ‘I can’t get up to London. Anne would never stand for it. And the police would be all over me like a rash. I’m sure they’re suspicious already... ’

‘Maybe, or you could just be panicking. But I do agree it would be unwise for you to act in any way out of character right now, and you certainly aren’t in the habit of hopping on a train to London at short notice. So, we will get someone to you.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone who can give you all the assistance you need. Someone who will do your thinking for you for a bit, and ensure that you and your wife are kept safe. How does that sound?’

It sounded good, of course. Only he wasn’t sure he believed a word of it. He’d just had his sixty-fifth birthday. He was in reasonable health, able to enjoy life, his occasional games of golf, his even more occasional estuary forays on his boat, and so on. On that particular day he felt about 105.

‘I’m too old for all this, Martha,’ he said.

‘You weren’t too old for it when it wasn’t causing you any trouble,’ Martha reminded him.

‘Murder is a step too far,’ said Gerry, only vaguely aware that he had said something rather ridiculous. ‘One huge step too far. To be perfectly honest, Martha, I didn’t know today whether to call you or just to go to the police and tell them everything I know.’

‘Well, I’m very glad you decided to call me, Gerry,’ responded Martha. ‘That was definitely your best option. Now, you will get another call. Tonight. It will be from someone who will make an arrangement to meet you, and allow you to go back to your retirement. Full time.’

‘That’s what I want, Martha. I can’t do this anymore.’

‘You won’t have to.’ There was a pause. ‘Uh, Gerry, have you told anybody else about your part in all of this? Your wife. Anyone?’

Gerry remained silent for a few seconds, trying to think on his feet. What should he tell her? It would have to be the truth, or more or less. Lying to Martha would be far too dangerous. People like her had ways of finding things out. He had little choice but to trust her. And he so wanted all this to go away, just as she was promising.

‘Only somebody who half knew already,’ he said eventually.

‘What do you mean by that? Who?’

‘I told you at the time what happened. I was confronted by Sam Ferguson, Jane’s father-in-law, when... when I was... Look, I told you. He hated his daughter-in-law. He was happy, more than happy, to overlook everything in exchange for information. Don’t you remember?’

‘Of course, I remember. So why did you feel the need to share anything more with him?’

‘He was threatening to go to the police. He said he knew people in high places and if I didn’t tell him what was going on he would destroy my life and my marriage. My “cosy little retirement”, he called it. I’m now beginning to think I should have let him go to the police.’

‘Well, you were clearly put in a difficult position. Have you any idea what he is going to do now? Is he still planning to destroy your “cosy little life”?’

‘How the hell do I know? He just stomped off huffing and puffing. But he is an important man around these parts.’

‘I’m sure he is, Gerry. Just try to stop worrying, and wait to be contacted later. Once you have been properly debriefed everything will seem clearer, I promise you.’

‘I just never thought things would turn out like this, that’s all.’

‘Quite,’ said Martha, ending the call.