Death Comes First

by Hilary Bonner

  He thanked Janet Porter, reminding her that she should not discuss the letter or anything pertaining to it with anyone else, then told her she could go back and join the others, or was free to leave the house if she wished.

  As Janet headed back to the kitchen, Vogel made his way to the sitting room, where he found Tanner and Hardcastle sitting at either end of one of the two big settees. PC Bolton was standing by the door, and Vogel hoped that this uniformed presence might have given the two men cause to feel a little less self-assured than they had been earlier.

  Tanner and Hardcastle stood up almost in unison as soon as Vogel entered, and looked at him expectantly. The DI kept his expression stern and tried to sound as officious as he hoped he looked.

  ‘Gentlemen, I am afraid I need to interview you both on record,’ he announced. ‘I must ask you to accompany me now to Lockleaze police station.’

  Tanner’s face was expressionless. This was a big-game player, thought Vogel. No doubt about that.

  Hardcastle, the lawyer, was the first to speak: ‘Mr Vogel, are you arresting us?’ he asked.

  ‘No, sir, merely asking for your cooperation. I am sure you are both as eager as I am to find young Fred, and as I believe you have information which could be extremely helpful, I feel it would be beneficial to all concerned to conduct our interviews in a more formal situation where everything that you tell us will be digitally recorded and can therefore be properly assimilated.’

  Vogel was replying to Stephen Hardcastle’s question. But he stared straight at Tanner. The older man returned the stare without so much as a flicker.

  Hardcastle began to speak again. ‘Well, I’m not sure about that, Detective Inspector,’ he said. ‘As I told you, I am the family solicitor, as well as an old friend, and as such I feel I should advise my client that neither of us are under any legal obligation at this stage to—’

  Tanner held up one hand, effectively silencing Hardcastle. ‘It’s OK, Stephen,’ he said, still staring unblinkingly at Vogel. ‘You are absolutely right, Detective Inspector. I am more than willing, indeed I am eager, to cooperate in any way that might bring about the speedy return of my grandson. And I am sure that Stephen, whilst correct as my lawyer to point out our rights, feels the same way. So if you believe that it would help to interview us at a police station, then I am happy to accompany you there. As Stephen will be.’

  The last sentence was not even an instruction, more a statement of fact.

  Stephen Hardcastle merely nodded his agreement.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Vogel. Then he turned to Bolton: ‘I want you to drive us, Constable Bolton,’ he said. ‘PC Saslow has been appointed FLO, so she will stay here and continue with her duties. PC Yardley, I’d like you to stay here with her, please.’

  Turning his back on Hardcastle and Tanner, he leaned towards Yardley and added in a whisper, ‘You’re both on a watching brief, OK?’

  Yardley nodded.

  Vogel led the way out of the house, with Hardcastle and Tanner immediately behind him and PC Bolton bringing up the rear, and all four men climbed into the squad car parked outside.

  No one spoke during the journey. There was considerable tension within the small Ford. And that suited Vogel perfectly. The more unnerved these two men were, the better his chances of getting answers.

  Ten

  Felicity Tanner heard an engine start and the sound of a vehicle pulling away. Neither the paved drive nor the gravelled area at the front of the house could be seen from the kitchen window. She glanced enquiringly at her daughter, who stared blankly back at her.

  Joyce was not her normal self at the moment. Felicity realized that you could not expect a mother whose child had gone missing to behave in a manner that could, by any standards, be described as normal. However, something had been bothering Joyce even before Fred’s disappearance. And when she’d told Henry, he’d been concerned enough to immediately get on the phone to her. But he hadn’t been surprised. In fact Felicity could have sworn he’d been half expecting it.

  ‘Joyce?’ she asked. ‘Who was that just leaving? Has the Detective Inspector interviewed your father and Stephen yet? What’s going on?’

  Joyce shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. Felicity Tanner was about to question her further when PC Bolton entered the kitchen. Instead she turned her attention to him.

  ‘I heard a car leave,’ she began.

  ‘Yes, DI Vogel asked your husband and Mr Hardcastle to accompany him to a police station for a video interview,’ explained PC Bolton.

  Felicity looked alarmed.

  ‘Have they been arrested?’ she asked, her eyes wide with shock.

  ‘No, they are helping us with our enquiries, that’s all,’ responded Bolton.

  ‘Please don’t worry,’ interjected PC Saslow. ‘This is routine procedure. As your FLO, I will remain with the family and talk you through anything that is worrying you.’

  Joyce looked up. ‘My son is missing, that’s what’s worrying me,’ she snapped.

  Dawn Saslow flushed and mumbled an apology.

  Felicity felt sorry for the young PC, but even more concerned about her daughter. She tried to put an arm around her. Joyce pulled away.

  When Charlie died, Felicity had been the person Joyce turned to for comfort. She wished she could do the same now, and just couldn’t understand why Joyce had been so prickly of late, and why, even now, she was rejecting her parents instead of welcoming their support.

  Felicity was also well aware, in spite of PC Saslow’s bland reassurances, of the significance of asking someone to attend a police station instead of interviewing them at home. She read crime novels and watched detective series on TV. They were her diversion from real life, particularly on the days when Henry’s perpetual lack of communication got her down. Which it frequently did, though she was careful never to let on.

  She had taken Henry aside that morning, when he’d arrived at their daughter’s house after being told that Fred had disappeared.

  ‘I know something’s going on,’ she’d told him. ‘Both you and Joyce have been behaving peculiarly the last few days. What is it, Henry? What’s happened?’

  Henry had given his standard blandly reassuring and yet non-communicative response: ‘Nothing’s happened, Felicity. You’re imagining things. Please, don’t upset yourself.’

  Undeterred, Felicity tried a different tack: ‘Henry, I want you to promise that you know of nothing that could have led to Fred going missing,’ she said. ‘Will you do that? Can you promise me that?’

  ‘Felicity, have you taken leave of your senses?’ Henry countered. ‘What sort of question is that?’

  ‘Promise me,’ Felicity persisted.

  ‘I promise you,’ replied Henry, a note of irritation apparent in his normally implacable manner. ‘I’m hurt that I should need to, but I promise you. How could you possibly believe such a thing? If I were in possession of information that might help us to find Fred, I would tell you. And the police. Straight away.’

  He had taken hold of her then, gently but firmly, and looked straight into her eyes. His were the clearest blue eyes she had ever known. And whenever he looked at his wife they were invariably full of love. Today was no exception.

  Felicity had found herself apologizing. Apologizing for allowing herself to question his devotion to his family.

  ‘I’m just so desperately worried,’ she said, by way of explanation. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying.’

  Henry had pulled her close to him. ‘It’s all right, my darling,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘It’s going to be all right. We will find our boy. Soon. I will make sure of that. Don’t I always look after my family?’

  Felicity had merely nodded. It was true: Henry Tanner always looked after his family.

  But as the hours passed with no news of her youngest grandchild, Felicity’s anxiety grew. Henry liked to promote an image of himself as all-powerful, but much as he might try to look after his family he hadn’t been able to prev
ent the loss of their only son, William. Only last year their son-in-law had drowned in a sailing accident. And now Fred . . .

  It was as if her family was cursed. But the thought had also occurred to Felicity that it might not have been fate singling them out for tragedy. The driver who ran William down had never been identified. Charlie had been an experienced sailor who never went without a safety harness. What if their deaths were not random? What if Fred’s disappearance was the latest in a series of cruel acts targeting her family?

  And if that was the case, Henry must have some idea who was responsible or at least why they were being targeted.

  For the first time in her long marriage, Felicity was beginning to doubt her husband. The total and unshakeable faith in Henry that had carried her through the loss of her son had been shattered.

  Eleven

  At Lockleaze, Vogel was joined by DC Angela Lowe, a bright young officer trained in the techniques of audio-video interviewing. Vogel himself had undergone similar training when he’d been a detective sergeant in the Met.

  Henry Tanner and Stephen Hardcastle were to be interviewed separately. They would speak to Tanner first, leaving the lawyer, who’d struck Vogel as overly protective of his employer and client, until later.

  The video room at Lockleaze took most interviewees by surprise. Instead of upright chairs separated by a table, there were armchairs arranged in an apparently casual fashion. The set-up had been designed to give an impression of informality, the intention being to lull interviewees into a false sense of security.

  Henry Tanner, however, was unlikely to be tempted to let down his guard. This was a strong and powerful man, accustomed to being in control. Although concerned about the welfare of his grandson and professing himself willing to cooperate, Henry showed no sign of being prepared to relinquish command.

  Vogel began by covering the obvious details, such as when did Henry last see his grandson, which had apparently been the previous Sunday. The day before that fateful letter had been posted.

  ‘He was playing cricket,’ said Henry. ‘Local youth team. Useful little batsman he’s going to be, too, our Fred. I took him. Windy old day, and rain stopped play a couple of times. But I do that stuff for Fred because he’s not got a dad any more. I’m the one who takes him to sports things now. So I stayed to watch, and afterwards I took him back to our house for a bite to eat. Felicity’s an excellent cook and she loves to spoil him. She’d laid on lots of his favourite things. We kept him until it was almost his bedtime to give his mother a bit of a break. She needs that occasionally, has done ever since Charlie died.’

  Vogel then asked about the sequence of events that morning: when Henry had heard about Fred being missing, the details of the call from his daughter, his arrival at the house, and so on.

  Henry had answered readily and in detail. It was only when Vogel strayed into other areas that he began to clam up. Particularly when it came to Charlie Mildmay’s letter to his wife.

  When asked if he knew about the letter, Henry paused before replying. His words were cautious, measured.

  ‘I do, yes,’ he said. ‘But I only learned of its existence yesterday.’

  ‘I see, and how did you learn of it? Did your daughter tell you?’

  Henry shook his head. ‘No. Stephen told me. He wanted me to know what had happened. You see the letter should have gone to Joyce right after Charlie died. That was Charlie’s wish. But it was delayed – a clerical error, Stephen said. Very embarrassing for him. For any lawyer. But all the more so because Stephen and Charlie had been best friends. Stephen was mortified. And the whole thing was extremely distressing for Joyce.’

  ‘You had no idea the letter existed before then?’

  ‘No. Why would I? It was a personal letter from my son-in-law to his wife, to be delivered to her in the event of his death. And to be opened only by her. Charlie had entrusted it to Stephen in his capacity as the family’s lawyer. There was no reason for either of them to confide in me.’

  Vogel studied the older man carefully.

  ‘Mr Tanner, I am under the impression that nothing, nothing whatsoever, occurs within your company or concerning your family without your being informed about it. I therefore find it surprising that you would be unaware of the letter’s existence.’

  Tanner’s eyes narrowed. Vogel could see he was struggling to contain his anger, but when he spoke his tone betrayed no sign of it.

  ‘Well, I was unaware of it. Stephen didn’t inform me until he felt he had to. Not until Joyce confronted him about the letter, and it became clear how upset she was. Even then he did so reluctantly, because it meant betraying the trust of his client, technically anyway.’

  Vogel knew he was blinking rapidly behind his horn-rimmed spectacles. It was a nervous tic that he’d tried without success to master, all too aware that, when interviewing suspects, it could be interpreted as a sign of weakness, a chink in his armour. He took his spectacles off and turned away from Henry Tanner, wiping the back of one hand across his eyes.

  Tanner had a script, the detective reckoned, a script he had prepared and would not stray from, despite the fact that the purpose of this interview was to find his missing grandson. Nevertheless, Vogel persisted.

  ‘So did Mr Hardcastle confide in you the content of Mr Mildmay’s letter?’ Vogel enquired, barely in hope let alone expectation.

  Tanner’s blue eyes opened disingenuously wide. ‘Stephen doesn’t know what was in the letter. Joyce decided to keep it to herself. Surely you can understand that? A letter from a deceased spouse is a very personal thing. She didn’t even tell me or her mother that she’d received it, let alone the content, and I thought it best not to mention to her that I knew about it.’

  Vogel managed to stop blinking and replaced his spectacles.

  ‘So neither you nor Mr Hardcastle opened the letter before it was sent to Joyce?’

  ‘Mr Vogel, I take considerable exception to that question. I am Joyce’s father and Stephen is her solicitor. I regarded Charlie as my second son and he was Stephen’s closest friend. Neither of us would dream of doing such a thing. In any case, I believe I have already told you more than once that I didn’t know that the letter existed until yesterday.’

  ‘Mr Tanner, there is no need for you to take exception to anything,’ interjected Angela Lowe in a neutral tone of voice. ‘The purpose of this interview is merely to clarify every detail and put that clarification on record.’

  Vogel understood exactly what the bright young DC was doing, but he carried on with his questioning as if she had not spoken.

  ‘So, Mr Tanner, you continue to maintain that you have no idea of the letter’s contents?’

  ‘What do you mean, “continue to maintain”? I find your insinuations insulting, and what’s more I cannot see what you hope to achieve by this line of questioning. What possible connection can there be between Charlie’s letter and Fred’s disappearance?’

  Vogel let the question hang in the air for several seconds before replying: ‘I am afraid I am not at liberty to discuss that with you, sir.’

  Tanner leaned back in his chair, spread his arms wide, his body language speaking volumes. ‘So what do you want from me?’ he asked.

  ‘The truth, Mr Tanner,’ replied Vogel.

  ‘I assure you, Detective Inspector, that I have told you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’

  Tanner half smiled. Then he shifted in his chair so that his upper body leaned closer to Vogel. His manner was both resigned and conciliatory.

  ‘I want to help, Mr Vogel,’ he said. ‘How could you doubt that? My grandson is missing. I would never do or say anything that might hinder your investigation – never.’

  Vogel, while keeping his eyes on Tanner, opened a folder on his desk and removed a handwritten letter. He could tell from the flicker in Tanner’s eyes that the older man recognized it for what it was. Then again, the topic of conversation would inevitably have led Henry Tanner to conclude that th
is was Charlie’s letter, whether he had seen it before or not.

  ‘I’m going to read you part of this letter, Mr Tanner,’ Vogel said, adding with as much sarcasm as he dared: ‘Since you are unaware of its content, perhaps I should make you so.’

  Tanner shrugged and waited.

  Vogel then began to read:

  ‘My biggest mistake was to allow myself to become immersed in your father’s world. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy your illusions, so I kept things from you, thinking I was sheltering you, but I see now that what I was really doing was living in denial, dodging my responsibility to protect my family. Now that I am gone, I’m afraid that responsibility falls to you.

  ‘It is probably already too late for Mark. But you must protect Fred. Whatever you do, please don’t let your father get his hands on Fred . . .’

  Vogel broke off and glanced enquiringly at Tanner. ‘So what do you think your son-in-law meant by that?’

  If Tanner did have previous knowledge of the contents of the letter, as Vogel suspected, then his performance was impressive. But then, Vogel reckoned the older man was quite a player in his field, whatever that field might be.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Tanner. ‘I am shocked. Shocked to the core. I love my grandchildren, all my family. I would never do anything to hurt Fred. And I can’t believe that Charlie would suggest that I might.’

  Vogel adjusted his spectacles and looked down again at the letter.

  ‘It is probably already too late for Mark. But you must protect Fred. Whatever you do, please don’t let your father get his hands on Fred,’ he repeated. ‘Come on, Mr Tanner, you must have some idea what Charlie was getting at.’

  Tanner shook his head again. ‘No, absolutely not . . . Unless he wanted Fred to break free, to do something other than come into the business like all the rest of the men in our family. Maybe that’s what he meant. But he’d only have had to tell me that. I would never force Fred to do anything he didn’t want to.’