Death Comes First

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:

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.’

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.