Authors: Hilary Bonner
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 prevent 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 this 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.’
Vogel thought that was probably true. But he had met
powerful, dominant men like Tanner before. They weren’t necessarily bad people, but they were people who had to be in control. Tanner struck him as an expert in manipulation. No doubt he was adept at persuading his family and those who came under his influence to believe that they were following their own destinies, as opposed to one laid down for them by Tanner.
Vogel decided against reading out the remainder of the letter. In light of Fred’s disappearance, it could be of considerable significance that Charlie Mildmay had urged his wife to run away with her two youngest children to prevent Henry Tanner ‘
getting his hands on Fred
’. Had Tanner snatched the boy to pre-empt that possibility?
‘Your son-in-law also indicated to your wife that she needn’t worry about Molly, you wouldn’t be interested in Molly, it would only be Fred you were interested in. Have you any idea what Charlie may have meant by that, Mr Tanner?’
Tanner went pale. His lips were a tight line. He clenched his fists. Then he asked: ‘I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you may be, Detective Inspector?’
‘I am not insinuating anything,’ replied Vogel, deadpan. ‘I asked you a question, Mr Tanner, and I would be most grateful if you would answer it. Have you any idea what Charlie meant by this comment?’
There was fury in Tanner’s eyes, but he replied in the same steady tone of voice: ‘I have absolutely no idea what Charlie might have meant by that, Detective Inspector.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am sure,’ Tanner replied, fighting to control his anger.
‘I see.’
Vogel stared at Henry Tanner long and hard, wishing he
could read the other man’s mind. He was beginning to fear he might end up giving away more information than he was getting from this man.
‘Right, Mr Tanner,’ he said eventually, his manner brisk. ‘Thank you for your cooperation. I have no further questions – for the moment. You may leave.’