Nobby Clarke had only a sketchy idea of what Tanner-Max’s defence brokerage actually involved. She didn’t know the details of the many countries they had dealt with over the years, or of the conflicts they had influenced and perhaps even indirectly instigated. She did not know the company history. She knew nothing of their initial dealings with Israel, including the heavy water transaction, which had so impressed Charlie Mildmay when Henry had revealed it to him all those years ago. She knew nothing of involvement in shipping chemical substances to be used in warfare contrary to international law. She knew of no dealings with criminal elements, as Charlie was at that moment alleging to Joyce. All she knew about Henry Tanner had been passed on to her by the government of the United Kingdom. By people who themselves may or may not have known all that they should about Tanner and Tanner-Max.
‘I’ve been told by the Foreign Office that Henry Tanner is a man of considerable importance to this country, and indeed to half the Western world,’ she informed Vogel.
And she went on to tell him, albeit only in the broadest of terms, without nearly as much detail, and without many of the salient points, much the same story as Charlie Mildmay’s.
‘Henry Tanner is an internationally known arms broker,’ Clarke related. ‘His front is his own legitimate import-and-export agency. He brokers arms deals with countries and organizations in the world where it is in the interest of the UK and her allies to place consignments of what are called defence materials. Some of these are manufactured in the UK, and it’s big business. There are 130-odd British arms manufacturers, who between them generate in excess of forty million quid a year for the exchequer. And I am sure you know that the West Country is where the majority of Britain’s arms-producing factories are located, and that is why the company was originally set up here. The majority of Tanner-Max’s undisclosed cargoes are, however, merely channelled from their countries of origin through our ports and air corridors, primarily here in Bristol where Tanner has a network of warehouses and loading bays at what remains of the docks and at the airport. It’s all highly political, obviously, and top secret. Tanner-Max is a family business and its cover is impeccable. Since the Second World War the company has been looking after British interests in parts of the world where we cannot be officially seen to have any kind of presence.’
Vogel was poleaxed. He had not expected anything like this, even when his hands had been tied behind his back by Reg Hemmings.
‘Think of it as a kind of money laundering,’ the DCI continued as she switched off the engine of the CID car. ‘Tanner makes sure vast quantities of arms and other defence products end up where our government wants them, without anybody knowing they came from us. And that, Vogel, is why we have to look after him. And why, if anything untoward happens to him or any of his family, it has to be investigated at a level above country plod.’
Clarke smiled then. A crooked challenging smile.
Vogel didn’t rise to the bait. He knew he was about as far removed from country plod as it was possible for a copper to be. And that DCI Nobby Clarke was more aware than most of that fact.
He was quiet as Clarke led the way to Henry Tanner’s private room. Vogel didn’t like this sort of thing. It got in the way of proper policing. He didn’t like the idea of a British citizen being given protection that might prevent them being brought to justice for their involvement in criminal activity. He didn’t like it one bit.
He looked at Henry Tanner with distaste, expecting him to try to take charge as on previous encounters. Tanner, however, was displaying none of his usual bravado. He seemed reasonably alert, but the bullet wound was obviously causing him pain. His wife looked worried sick.
When Clarke asked him if he now felt well enough to talk, Henry commanded his wife to leave the room so that he could speak to the police alone. Vogel was surprised any woman would tolerate such behaviour in this day and age.
To Henry’s obvious astonishment, it seemed Felicity had come round to Vogel’s way of thinking.
‘Those days are over, Henry,’ she said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. ‘I’m staying. I want to know exactly what is going on.’
Henry sighed but did not demur.
Felicity sat close to him by the bed. Clarke sat down next to her on the only other chair in the room. Vogel stood at the foot of the bed. He would have chosen to do so in any case; from his chosen position he could look down at Henry and straight at him.
‘Right, Mr Tanner, this case is growing more serious by the minute,’ began Clarke. ‘Obviously I know the, uh, job you and your company do, and I know how sensitive that is. Under normal circumstances I would not ask you to jeopardize the . . . uh, confidentiality of your work. But something is wrong here, dangerously wrong. If you have any information whatsoever that could even remotely pertain to the events of the last couple of days, the time has come for you to confide in us. In particular, if you have any idea where, or with whom, your daughter and grandchildren may be, you should tell us. If you don’t . . . I hate to say this, but you could come to regret not doing so.’
Tanner shrugged. It was ill advised. He winced as the pain from his injured shoulder coursed through his central nervous system.
‘I’ve told you all I know, Detective Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘You know who I am and what I do. Does Mr Vogel also know?’
Vogel confirmed that he did, adding: ‘That does not in any way put you above or beyond the law, Mr Tanner. I hope you are aware of that. If you have broken the law in any regard you will be dealt with exactly like anyone else. And that includes withholding information.’
Clarke frowned at Vogel as if she thought it unnecessary for him to have made that point in the way that he did. He didn’t care.
Henry Tanner seemed oblivious to the undercurrents between the two detectives.
‘You must appreciate, Mr Vogel, that there are people in the world who might like to harm me,’ he said. ‘People who blame me for certain events. People who could seek revenge.’
Vogel had no idea what he meant. It was Clarke who responded.
‘Neither DI Vogel nor I know nearly enough about your activities, business or personal, to be able to pass comment on that, Mr Tanner,’ she said. ‘I was sent here from London simply to lead the investigation into your grandson’s disappearance, whilst at the same time dealing sensitively with you and your family because of the work that you do. Since then there have been further disturbing developments: you have been shot, and two other members of your family are unaccounted for. I believe it is likely that you have information that would be of assistance to us in locating your missing grandchildren and their mother, and apprehending those responsible.’
Henry Tanner stared hard at Clarke through bloodshot eyes, but remained silent.
‘For God’s sake, Henry!’ interjected Felicity. ‘For years I’ve put up with your silly bloody games. You and your father, thinking you’re some sort of master spies. Now is the time to stop. Joyce and the children could be in terrible danger. Somebody took a shot at you and tried to kill you. Are these secrets you’re guarding worth losing your life over? Your daughter and your grandchildren’s lives? Please, tell the truth. Before something worse happens.’
Henry lifted himself up on his pillows, wincing with pain. He looked directly at his wife.
‘I know, darling, I do understand. I realize it may be time to put an end to all the secrecy . . .’ he began.
It seemed he had finally given in.
Then the door opened and in walked Stephen Hardcastle.
‘Henry,’ he exclaimed. ‘Felicity. I wanted to come before but the hospital wouldn’t let me. How are you, Henry? I’ve been so worried . . .’
He stopped, apparently noticing Vogel and Clarke for the first time.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Vogel.
‘No,’ said Henry Tanner.
‘Mr Hardcastle, it may be better if you come back lat
er,’ DCI Clarke told him.
‘Oh yes, of course.’
But Hardcastle looked uncertain. Perhaps out of habit, he immediately deferred to the man in the bed.
‘Henry?’
‘Makes no difference. I have nothing more to tell these officers. I am unable to give them any help.’
If Henry had been about to reveal all, the arrival of his visitor had caused him to change his mind. Or perhaps merely given him the time to do so.
‘Please leave us, Mr Hardcastle,’ DCI Clarke repeated.
‘Right,’ said Stephen. He turned and headed for the door, where he paused.
‘I’ll be outside if you need me, Henry,’ he said.
Clarke returned her attention to the man in the bed.
‘Mr Tanner, I have full clearance at the highest possible government level to deal with your family. I do not understand your reticence.’
She remonstrated with him in exactly the same way that Vogel had earlier remonstrated with her. Repeating her earlier warnings.
‘Your daughter and two of your grandchildren could be in grave danger,’ she said.
Henry tightened his lips. His one good arm lay at his side, fist tightly clenched.
‘I do not feel that I am at liberty to help you any further, DCI Clarke,’ he said stubbornly. ‘And I am no longer sure that you are the person to help me, to help any of us.’
Felicity sighed in exasperation. ‘What does that mean, Henry?
‘It means what it says. I need to make phone calls. I’m still waiting for a phone call . . .’
‘Mr Tanner, I understand that you may wish to make certain phone calls, but I would suggest you do so immediately. For the sake of your family. You could all be in great danger.’
Henry seemed to think again.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I can make no promises, but I will call Mr Smith. I can be guided only by Mr Smith.’
He reached for his phone on the bedside table.
In doing so he seemed to cause himself considerable pain again. He fell back against the pillows, dropping the phone on the bed. Then he started to shake. The blood had drained from his face. He was fighting to breathe. Just like before.
His wife made no move to help him. She didn’t seem to care.
‘Get a nurse,’ said Clarke to Vogel.
He did so. Even though he had a strong suspicion that Henry Tanner could be faking the whole thing. And that maybe he had done so the first time too.
Twenty-four
Joyce reckoned the journey from Landacre was going to seem much longer than the couple of hours it would actually take. Assuming Charlie was taking them home. At least he seemed to be heading in the right direction. He had turned on to the M5 and was driving steadily northwards, keeping to the speed limit – which was a relief; she’d been afraid he might drive faster. Then again, the last thing he’d have wanted was to attract attention by driving erratically.
Fred was, for him, strangely silent in the rear compartment of the vehicle. Then again, there was nothing strange about being silent in the face of such a terrible experience. Molly, too, was so traumatized she couldn’t speak; she huddled next to Monika, sobbing non-stop.
Joyce was exhausted. It had been a long day and she’d driven for several hours. The husband she had believed to be dead had suddenly turned up alive, albeit half out of his mind. His account of the events that had led to his staged death had been shocking and at the same time ludicrous. On top of that, she’d witnessed a brutal attack on a young woman who, it seemed, had been having an affair with her not-so-dead husband.
At least she had Fred back, that was the main thing. All she needed to do now was to get her children away from her husband. And then find a way to deliver him into the hands of the police. She had no doubt that was where he belonged.
As to how she was supposed to achieve her two aims, she hadn’t a clue.
Charlie had indicated that he was prepared to take Monika to hospital. It seemed Joyce had got through to him: rather than risk being accused of murder, he’d see to it the girl got the medical treatment she needed.
In addition to helping Monika, Joyce hoped that a stop at A & E would give her a better chance of freeing herself and her children from Charlie’s clutches than if they went straight home. At the hospital there would be people – doctors, security guards, people in authority. The Firs would most likely be empty; with the family absent, any police presence would surely have been withdrawn.
She noticed that they were approaching the Exeter turn-off.
‘Why don’t we come off the motorway here, Charlie, and take Monika to A & E at the Devon and Exeter,’ she suggested, more in hope than expectation. ‘The quicker she gets medical attention, the better for all of us.’
Charlie made no reply.
Right on cue, Monika, who’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, let out a horrible, incoherent cry.
Molly gasped through her sobs. Joyce rested her right hand lightly on her husband’s forearm.
‘We could just drop her off at A & E. We don’t even need to get out of the car,’ she said tentatively.
‘No!’ Charlie screamed at her. ‘I’m taking us home. Like you said.’
And he accelerated sharply so that they hurtled past the Exeter junction.
Joyce daren’t say more for fear of provoking him further. She was even more afraid now. All she could hope for was that he would have calmed down by the time they neared Bristol.
Eventually Charlie spoke again, reasonably calmly this time.
‘We’re going home, Joyce,’ he said. ‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You said let’s all go home and we can sort everything out there. Well, I’m doing what you wanted.’
‘Yes, but Monika does need to go to hospital, and soon,’ Joyce ventured.
Molly joined in from the back: ‘Monika seems worse, Mum,’ she said through her sobs. ‘She’s unconscious again. Her breathing’s shallow. I’m frightened, Mum.’
So am I, thought Joyce, but I mustn’t show it.
‘Can’t you hear your daughter, Charlie – your daughter who loves you so much,’ Joyce coaxed. ‘She’s frightened. Monika might be dying back there. And it was you who attacked her. She has to go to hospital. For your sake as much as hers.’
Charlie said nothing, just carried on driving as if he hadn’t heard. Joyce lapsed into silence, fearful of antagonizing him. They continued, no one saying a word, until they came to junction 22, the turn-off for Burnham-on-Sea, Weston-super-Mare, Bristol Airport and the A38 leading to Tarrant Park.
Charlie drove straight past it.
‘You’ve missed the turning, Charlie,’ Joyce said, hugely alarmed but trying to hide it.
He glanced at her sideways, then returned his eyes to the road.
‘You wanted us to take Monika straight to hospital, didn’t you?’
‘Well, yes,’ agreed Joyce.
‘And that’s what I’m going to do,’ said Charlie. ‘I know you’re right. I don’t want to be a murderer. We have to get Monika to hospital. Quickly. And I have to give myself up to the police. Then hope they will deal with me, with all of us, the way you seem to think they will.’
He touched her hand. Barely a touch. More of a brushing of flesh. But it seemed like a gesture both of affection and apology.
Relief washed over Joyce. Charlie appeared to be having a change of heart. Could it be that he was coming round to her way of thinking? She still felt uneasy, but she told herself that this was a good sign. He’d expressed some regret over what he had done. He retained at least some of the human decency she’d thought to be an integral part of him.
‘I’m so glad, Charlie,’ she told him. ‘I know you’re doing the right thing. The only thing.’
He smiled at her. Well nearly. It was more of a grimace.
At junction 18, the main Bristol turn-off, Charlie swung the Range Rover into the exit lane and on to the Portway towards the city centre.
So far so goo
d.
Then, after a couple of miles, he drove straight past the turning for Southmead, the hospital Joyce had assumed he was heading for.
‘W-where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Bristol Royal Infirmary,’ he replied. ‘Why? Where did you think I was taking you?’
‘Southmead,’ she said. ‘The main A & E department is there now. It’s just moved from Frenchay.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Charlie. ‘I knew the move was about to happen, but I wasn’t sure which of those hospitals was operational. So I thought it safest to go to the Royal Infirmary.’
‘Right,’ said Joyce.
‘It won’t take long,’ Charlie reassured her.
He sounded so reasonable. As if he wanted to end this thing as much as she did.
She stole a quick look at him. His expression gave nothing away. And what he’d said did make sense. You had to drive pretty much through the city centre to get to the Royal Infirmary, but it was nearly nine thirty at night. The traffic shouldn’t be too bad. She hoped not, anyway.
‘Thank you, Charlie,’ she said.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘We have a plan then. We will take Monika to A & E at the Bristol Infirmary and leave her there. We don’t have to go in. Nobody need see me. Then we’ll go home. To Tarrant Park. We’ll all be together. Like before. If I can’t have you and the kids with me in a new life, then I’ll settle for the old. Like you said, we can fix it. As long as I have you on my side, everything will be all right . . .’
Charlie had suddenly gone from morose silence to incessant talking. He was manic. Joyce felt she had no choice but to go along with him.
‘Yes, we’ll go home and be together, then we’ll be able to work things out,’ she said, praying she sounded more convincing than she felt.
Again Charlie lapsed into silence. He appeared to be deep in thought, as if weighing up his options.
To Joyce’s disappointment, even though it was late in the evening, there were still queues of traffic along the A4 Portway heading into the city centre. Possibly because of the terrible weather. She kept stealing glances at Charlie, who was sitting stiffly upright, grasping the steering wheel tightly, peering with considerable concentration through the windscreen in between the incessant swishing of the wipers.
Death Comes First Page 26
