Authors: Hilary Bonner
Tanner didn’t move.
‘Look, if there is any way I can help you, Mr Vogel, please tell me,’ he said. ‘My grandson is missing. If it will help you find him, you can ask any questions you like. I want you to. Please. Even if I find it offensive, I will try to answer. Anything to get Fred back.’
The man was a picture of honest perplexity, a worried grandfather in great distress but still eager to assist.
Vogel was unimpressed. ‘You may leave, Mr Tanner,’ he repeated coldly.
‘We will let you know if and when we need to speak to you again, sir,’ added DC Lowe.
Henry shot her a derisory glance. Then, without another word, he rose from his armchair and left the room.
Vogel asked for Hardcastle to be brought to the video room immediately, before he and Tanner had time to exchange notes.
Hardcastle entered the room without speaking. Vogel gestured for him to sit on the armchair Henry Tanner had vacated. The DI allowed DC Lowe to declare who was present, the time and so on, for the benefit of the recording equipment.
He then began the interview much as he had with Tanner, asking Hardcastle for an outline of that morning’s events.
When he approached the topic of the letter, it was as if a shutter came down. Neither Tanner nor Hardcastle could have known before their respective interviews that Joyce had
informed the police about the letter. Vogel wondered if they had speculated about that before leaving their office, if they had guessed that she would, and if they had in any way colluded in their stories. Or indeed, if they needed to do so. It was possible that Henry Tanner had been telling the truth. Vogel didn’t like the man, but that was no reason to assume that he was guilty of involvement in the disappearance of his own grandson.
Asked when he first learned of the existence of the letter, Hardcastle responded cockily, ‘When Charlie gave it to me, of course. His instruction that it was to be opened by Joyce in the event of his death was written on the envelope.’
‘I see. And when was that?’
‘I’m not sure exactly,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Though I probably have a record of it somewhere. It was about two or three months before his death.’
‘Did Mr Mildmay indicate why he felt it necessary to write such a letter?’
‘No.’
‘Was he ill, or did he suspect that he might have some condition that would shorten his life?’ interjected DI Lowe.
‘No. Charlie was in robust good health, as far as I knew anyway. Liked his sport, and his sailing in particular. Didn’t smoke or drink to excess – well, not often.’ Hardcastle smiled.
‘And he was only forty-three,’ commented Vogel. ‘Didn’t it strike you as rather morbid for a fit and relatively young man to write a letter with such an instruction?’
‘Well, actually, no,’ replied Hardcastle. ‘It’s not as unusual as you might think. A lot of people do it when they write their wills, just in case, as it were. Come to think of it, Charlie and I had been clarifying one or two minor points in
his will, and he wrote the letter at around the same time. So it seemed natural enough to me, and certainly not morbid. Like an insurance policy.’
‘What points were you clarifying in Mr Mildmay’s will?’ asked Vogel.
‘I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you Detective Inspector,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I have to respect client confidentiality.’
‘Mr Hardcastle, your client is dead, and his son has disappeared. I think there are more important matters to consider here than your concept of ethics within the legal profession, don’t you?’
Hardcastle was silent for a few seconds, as if considering what Vogel had said. Finally he appeared to relent.
‘It wasn’t anything major. His financial situation had changed in that Henry was in the process of handing over far more of the running of the company to Charlie, and his income and stake in the company had increased as a result. The majority of Charlie’s estate was always to pass to Joyce, and that is tax exempt, but there were certain bequests to his children that we needed to review for tax purposes. Mark was to inherit his father’s share of the business and Charlie wanted assurance that the inheritance process would run smoothly.’
Vogel felt his antennae waggle. He thought about the nervous young man he had met earlier. The young man his instincts had told him could be afraid of something more than the possibility that his little brother might have gone for good.
‘Mark inherited that?’ Vogel enquired. ‘Not Joyce?’
‘Yes, Mark,’ agreed Hardcastle. ‘Or he will, once Charlie has been officially declared dead and a death certificate
issued. But that’s only a formality. And there’s no surprise there: father to son has been the tradition with Tanner-Max since the outset.’
‘I see,’ said Vogel. ‘And your instruction was to forward that letter to Joyce immediately in the event of his death, was it not?’
‘Well, yes.’ Stephen Hardcastle sounded less sure of himself now.
‘Well, yes,’ Vogel repeated. ‘But in fact the letter was not forwarded to Mrs Mildmay until earlier this week. Can you tell me why that was?’
‘It was filed in the wrong place,’ replied Hardcastle. ‘In my personal file, in fact.’
‘And you weren’t aware of that?’
‘No, of course not. Not until a few days ago when Janet told me she’d found it there.’
‘You didn’t notice that the letter was missing at the time of Charlie’s death, Mr Hardcastle?’ asked DI Lowe.
‘No, I didn’t, and I can’t explain that except to say I was in a state of total shock,’ replied Hardcastle.
‘So you didn’t notice that it wasn’t in Charlie’s file along with his will, and you didn’t think to look for it?’ persisted Angela Lowe.
‘No, I didn’t. You have to understand, it was a dreadful time for everyone connected with Charlie. There were all sorts of papers concerning the business that had to be sent to Joyce for her to sign – Joyce had power of attorney for Charlie, thank God. And Janet dealt with the mechanics of most of that. I suppose I assumed that Janet would have sent the letter to Joyce along with everything else. To tell the truth, I don’t remember much about that period immediately after Charlie’s death. He was my closest friend. It was all I could
do to function. I did my best to fulfil my professional obligations, but I know full well I wasn’t up to speed. So it’s hardly surprising I didn’t give the letter a second thought until Janet told me she’d found it.’
‘And when was that, Mr Hardcastle?’ asked Vogel.
‘Don’t you know, Mr Vogel?’ snapped Hardcastle. ‘On Monday of this week. Janet left messages on my phone when I was in London with Henry. I was busy and didn’t get back to her. Quite correctly, she acted on her own initiative and posted the letter without further delay.’
‘Who would have been responsible for wrongly filing that letter, Mr Hardcastle?’ asked Vogel. ‘Who put it in your personal file rather than Mr Mildmay’s?’
‘Well, I don’t know for certain, but presumably Janet. She does most of the filing. I rather assumed that was why she was so keen to get the letter off to Joyce when she did find it.’
‘Janet says she didn’t place the letter in your personal file either by intention or otherwise, nor in any other file.’ Vogel paused to let his words sink in. ‘She is adamant that she had never seen the letter before finding it in your file earlier this week.’
Hardcastle shrugged. ‘Janet is one of our most trusted employees. But none of us like to admit our mistakes, do we?’
‘I see. Are you absolutely sure, then, that you didn’t file that letter yourself, Mr Hardcastle? In your own personal file, either by mistake or deliberately.’
‘Of course I’m sure. Why on earth would I have misfiled it deliberately?’
‘And what about Mr Tanner?’ Vogel asked. ‘Did he know about the letter?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ replied Hardcastle, guarded now.
‘This is what I really need to know, Mr Hardcastle. Did you tell your employer about Charlie Mildmay’s letter, and if so when did you tell him?’
Vogel could almost see the wheels turning inside Hardcastle’s head as he tried to second-guess what Henry Tanner may or may not have told Vogel. He allowed the silence to drag on for an uncomfortably long time before chivvying him for an answer.
‘Come on, Mr Hardcastle, it’s a simple enough question. Did you tell Henry Tanner about the letter, and if so when did you tell him?’
Hardcastle shifted in his seat and was finally opening his mouth to reply when the door to the video room opened. Hardcastle closed his mouth again.
Vogel swivelled in his armchair to see a young uniformed constable standing in the doorway looking embarrassed. As well he might, thought Vogel irritably. Hardcastle’s next words could have been crucial. Thanks to the interruption, he’d now been given extra thinking time.
‘What is it?’ the DI barked.
‘Your boss wants to talk to you right away, sir,’ said the constable, colouring slightly. ‘He’s on the phone in our super’s office.’
‘Can’t you see I’m conducting an interview?’ snapped Vogel. ‘Tell your super I’ll be there as soon as I’ve finished.’
The constable stood his ground. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I was told to tell you straight away, and that you were to stop whatever you were doing and go to the super’s office at once.’
Vogel turned back to Hardcastle. Was it his imagination or was the man smirking? There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had an inkling it was no accident that this interview had been interrupted.
‘Wait here,’ said Vogel. It was all he could do to restrain himself from pointing an admonishing finger at Stephen Hardcastle. Turning to DC Lowe, he added: ‘And you stay with him.’
Hardcastle shrugged, then leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs to make himself more comfortable. Complacent bastard, thought Vogel as, with rising misgivings, he allowed himself to be led to the office of Lockleaze police station’s chief officer. The superintendent was on the phone to Reg Hemmings; with only the briefest of preliminaries he handed the phone to Vogel and left the room.
Hemmings came straight to the point: ‘I am afraid I have to ask you to cease questioning Henry Tanner and Stephen Hardcastle, at least for the time being,’ said the DCI.
Vogel was stunned. Reg Hemmings was a senior officer he had come to respect, even to like. He had a feeling this telephone conversation might change that. Although he’d realized something serious was afoot the moment the young copper interrupted the video interview, he hadn’t been expecting anything like this. It was, in Vogel’s experience, unprecedented.
‘Can I ask why, boss?’ he asked, fighting to keep his voice level.
‘You can ask, but I can’t tell you,’ replied Hemmings. ‘This is an order from on high. Even I don’t know what’s going on. Neither of us have the clearance, old boy.’
‘Boss, a child is missing,’ persisted Vogel. ‘You’re the SIO and I’m your deputy. Your hands-on man. I must have the freedom to pursue my enquiries as I see fit.’
‘Under normal circumstances that would be absolutely the case,’ responded Hemmings. ‘But these, apparently, are not normal circumstances. We are wallowing in murky waters, I was told, whatever the heck that means.’
‘So I can’t speak to either of these two men in the pursuance of my enquiries into an extremely serious and possibly life-threatening incident involving an eleven-year-old child,’ Vogel continued. ‘Is that what you’re telling me, boss?’
‘I’m afraid I am, Vogel. For now, anyway.’
‘But that’s outrageous, sir. The child’s life may be at a stake—’
‘Hold on, Vogel, hold on,’ Hemmings interrupted. ‘The brass are aware of that. They’re sending somebody from London who does have the necessary “clearance” to deal with these people.’
‘Well, isn’t that good of them!’
‘Sarcasm is not going to help, Vogel,’ said Hemmings.
Vogel ignored that. ‘So are you still SIO on the case?’
‘Only until the brass from London arrives.’
‘And what about me? Am I no longer deputy SIO?’
‘That depends on London,’ responded Hemmings. ‘I’m surprised at you, Vogel. I didn’t have you down as the type to be paranoid about his own rank and standing.’
Vogel glowered at the telephone receiver in his hand.
‘I do need to know where I stand, sir,’ he said. ‘I mean, am I still on the case? Or isn’t there any case any more? Are we backing off and leaving this little lad to his fate, whatever that is, because we don’t have the “clearance” to find him?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Vogel,’ said Hemmings. ‘This force will continue to make every effort possible to find the missing boy and bring to justice whoever might be responsible for his disappearance. We will both continue to work the case until London arrives. We just have to lay off Tanner, that’s all. What’s more you will work with whoever arrives from London in whatever capacity is required. Is that clear, Detective Inspector Vogel?’
Hemmings didn’t often raise his voice. Vogel was therefore taken aback when his superior officer bellowed the last sentence down the phone. Involuntarily moving the telephone an inch or two from his ear, he replied, ‘Yes, sir, absolutely clear, sir.’
Then he left the superintendent’s office, inwardly seething but trying desperately to maintain the appearance of being unperturbed.
Twelve
The moment his video interview was over, Henry Tanner had left the police station and ducked into the limited privacy offered by a doorway down the road to make a series of calls on his mobile. One was to his personal driver, Geoff Brooking, asking him to bring the Bentley as fast as he could.
The nature of the other calls was such that Henry did not anticipate having to wait long for Stephen Hardcastle to join him. So when Geoff arrived he ordered him to park illegally across the road from the station. Sure enough, Hardcastle emerged moments later.
‘In the nick of time,’ he said, as he climbed into the back seat alongside Henry. ‘If you’ll excuse the pun.’
Henry Tanner ignored the remark, regarding Stephen with neither interest nor enthusiasm. ‘Detective Inspector David Vogel was always going to be the least of our problems,’ he said. ‘The man’s a minnow.’
‘You saw him off, anyway, Henry,’ said Stephen.