Dreams of Fear

Three

And so began the chain of events which led, two weeks and five days later, to little Joanna Ferguson finding her mother hanged in the hallway of the family home.

A stunned Gerry Barham dialled 999 as soon as his wife told him what she had found at number eleven.

PCs Phil Lake and Morag Docherty of Devon and Cornwall Police were the first officers on the scene. Phil was a new boy, recently qualified from Hendon. Not only had he not encountered a dead body since joining the police force, he had never actually seen a dead body in the whole of his life.

But he didn’t want anyone to know that. Least of all Morag Docherty, who was not only one of the most experienced officers at his nick, but was also cool. Real cool.

Phil tried to look as if this were just another day at the office. Nonetheless he could feel his stomach heaving. He so hoped he could control it. He had heard about police officers throwing up all over crime scenes. That was not how he wanted to start his career.

In the background he could hear Docherty speaking. She’d stepped forward until she was just a couple of feet or so away from the hanging body, the position of which was such that the dead woman’s face was on the same level as their own.

Phil gulped.

‘They told us suicide, suspected suicide to be precise, which is what anyone would think at first, but you know I’m not entirely sure about this one,’ Docherty remarked thoughtfully. ‘This woman may well have previously been the victim of a violent assault by a third party, regardless of whatever happened tonight. Look at that old bruising on the side of her face. And there’s a freshly healed scar there, too.’

Phil made himself study the corpse, still hoping that he wouldn’t disgrace himself and foul the scene.

‘Yes, so there is,’ he said, trying to sound matter of fact.

‘Ummm, and do you see the way her right arm is hanging?’ Docherty enquired.

To Phil’s relief she continued before he was forced to come up with some sort of answer.

‘It’s either broken or dislocated at the shoulder, if you ask me.’

Phil struggled to concentrate and to find something intelligent to say.

‘But couldn’t that have happened even if she did throw herself off the landing?’ he queried. ‘I mean she probably swung on the rope when it tightened. Couldn’t her arm have been broken just by smashing against the wall or the bannisters?’

‘Ummm,’ murmured Docherty again. ‘You may well be right. But combined with the old bruising and the scar on her cheek... I dunno. Then there’s the matter of the children being alone in the house with their mother, certainly after her death if not before. Would she really hang herself from the bannisters of her own home, with her children there? Also, she has a husband, apparently, but no sign of him. One way and another, quite enough to get my antennae waggling.’

Phil wished he had antennae and wondered if he would ever develop any, and what it would feel like when they waggled.

Docherty was still talking.

‘Certainly not cut and dried, is it? I don’t think so, anyway. I reckon we’ve at least got a suspicious death on our hands. ‘Course, we won’t know for sure until CSI and pathology have done their stuff.’

She turned to face Phil.

‘Do you want to call it in, or shall I?’ she asked.

‘Oh, you do it,’ replied Phil.

With only the hint of a smile Docherty proceeded to do so. Phil fleetingly wished he had volunteered himself for the task, rather than deferring to the more experienced PC, as she had clearly expected him to.

It remained a good decision however. Docherty was professionally lucid as she reported what they had found at number eleven Estuary Vista Close, and relayed her suspicions that all might not be what it had at first seemed.

When she ended the call, she turned to Phil.

‘They’re going to contact CID and get back to us,’ she said.

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.