Dreams of Fear by Hilary Bonner

Author:Hilary Bonner
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448303687
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2019-09-10T16:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

After leaving the Ferguson’s home for the second time that day, Vogel and Saslow decided that a visit to the North Devon Yacht Club should be their next move.

‘Motive and opportunity, that’s what you look for in a murderer, is it not, Saslow?’ Vogel murmured as they turned into Instow’s Marine Parade. ‘We have yet to find a motive as far as Felix is concerned, and at first sight it seems he didn’t even have the opportunity, either. So at least let’s check that out, shall we?’

They arrived at the yacht club shortly before six p.m.

The NDYC occupies a couple of acres of seafront land on the site of Instow’s former railway station, bounded on one side by the tidal River Torridge, and on the other by what had once been the railway line between Barnstaple and Bideford and is now a coastal path, part of the famous Tarka Trail.

Its premises even include the original signal box, still standing proud on the site of the old level crossing. The changing rooms are housed in the wooden clad building which had once been the station waiting room.

The club, founded in 1905 as the Taw and Torridge Sailing Club, moved into its intriguing current home after the infamous Beeching cuts in the early sixties destroyed local railway networks throughout Britain, digging up railway lines nationwide.

Vogel had Googled most of this on the short drive from Northam. Whilst not always impressed by the beauty of nature in the way that most people are, Vogel was fascinated by unusual architecture and the history of buildings. However, whilst he had at least acquired a halfway decent raincoat since moving to the West of England, Vogel the city boy remained inadequately clad to dally outside in the proper North Devon gale which was now blowing in from the estuary. He hoped he might have opportunity to take a longer look around another time, but meanwhile he and Saslow hurried inside.

The club steward, Ronnie, was just opening up the bar, at the rear of the function room where the commodore’s dinner had been held the previous evening.

He seemed friendly and helpful enough, at first.

‘I am sure you know about the tragic death of Mrs Jane Ferguson,’ Vogel began.

Ronnie, a sharp-featured neat little man of a certain age with silver hair so precisely arranged that it looked as if it might have been parted by a geometric instrument rather than a comb, agreed that he did.

‘Terrible business,’ he said. ‘You wonder what could possibly drive a young woman like that to do what she did. I mean, she had those lovely children and everything.’

‘Do I gather from what you have just said that you are assuming that Mrs Ferguson committed suicide?’

Ronnie looked surprised.

‘Well, yes, of course,’ he said. ‘She was found hanged, wasn’t she? By her poor little daughter, I heard.’

‘That much is true,’ said Vogel. ‘But you should know that we have reason to believe that Mrs Ferguson did not take her own life. We believe she was murdered.

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