Wheel of Fire

Twenty-Eight

The next day, or technically later that same day, Vogel interviewed Freddie Fairbrother at Bristol’s Lockleaze police station.

There remained a lot of unanswered questions, and Freddie was now probably the only person able or likely to provide answers to any of them.

Vogel had promised Freddie, before the formal interview began, that he almost certainly would face no charges if he told the truth and revealed all that he knew about his father’s extraordinary plan of deception. Freddie had, after all, been out of the country until less than forty-eight hours previously, and his direct involvement was slight. Vogel told Freddie that he was confident he would be free to leave the UK within a few days and return to Australia, which was now all he wanted to do.

In return, Freddie — to use a phrase which had been a favourite of Vogel’s first sergeant — had begun singing like a bird.

‘My father knew that Fairbrother International was close to collapse, and that because of his irregular business practices he would probably end up in jail, possibly, at his age, for the rest of his life,’ Freddie began. ‘He had attracted the attention of fraud investigators more than once over the years, but nothing had ever been proven. If he failed to keep Fairbrother’s afloat, and he knew that he was about to fail, there would be an investigation on a whole new level. He feared that not only was he going to lose the bank, but his reputation, and that of the family, would be ruined for ever. Which to him was of massive importance, overshadowing even the probability of a jail sentence.’

‘And so, in your own words, Mr Fairbrother, will you please tell me the details of this plan your father concocted which was supposed to save the bank and keep his reputation intact?’ asked Vogel.

‘Well, I don’t know it all...’

‘Just everything you do know, Mr Fairbrother.’

‘Well, as you would be aware, Mr Vogel, the bank is a family affair, a family business, and it has survived many centuries of trading. One of the reasons for this is that continuity has always been maintained, largely by a unique system of trust funds, and other investments, which can only be released back into the bank following the death of the incumbent chairman, which is an appointment for life, you understand. Like being a monarch.’

Freddie managed a small smile. ‘A despot monarch, usually, and certainly in my father’s case,’ he continued. ‘The chairman traditionally retires from active participation at a certain age, if he lives that long, and appoints a chief executive to actually run the company, but he remains chairman until his death. These moneys are then realised when the next chair, always another Fairbrother, takes office, ensuring a fresh influx of funds with every generation, and more or less copper bottoming the future of the bank even if the previous chair has left it with problems. My father, I suppose, wanted to have his cake and eat it, as they say.

‘By faking his own death he could maintain his reputation, and at the same time ensure the future of the bank. That’s what he thought anyway. He also thought he could carry on running things from behind the scenes. The bank, in particular, had always been his toy after all. Crazy really. Now you come to think of it.’

Yes, thought Vogel. Beyond crazy.

Aloud he said, ‘Your father actually found someone to, in effect, die in his place. Do you know how he managed to do that? Why would anybody agree to that?’

Fairbrother shrugged. ‘Well, Pa didn’t actually seek someone out to do that. It happened by chance. He told me he was coming out of a restaurant in Covent Garden, with friends, when he damned near fell over this homeless guy lying on the pavement. The two of them just stared at each other. Pa said the man was his double, a slightly smaller, weaker, version of himself — even the same thick white hair — and about the same age. He could also see that this man was ill. The idea came to him that night, and he went back to Covent Garden the next day to try to find the man, which he did quite easily, and learned that he had Parkinson’s and a very limited life expectancy. So, basically, Pa offered him care for the rest of his days, a luxurious home, all the medical attention he needed and so on, if he would take Father’s place. The man wouldn’t have to do anything, he would be protected from difficult contact with outsiders, anything he wanted would be provided for him without question, and so on.’

Vogel tried not to show too much astonishment. He supposed he shouldn’t be that amazed. Sir John Fairbrother had clearly thought he was near immortal and could get away with anything. He also, equally clearly, had immense powers of persuasion.

‘And the homeless man agreed to all of this, just like that?’

Fairbrother shrugged. ‘You’re living rough, out in the cold, drinking meths and cider. Somebody offers you warmth and comfort, champagne and fine brandy. Bit of a no brainer, some might say.’

Vogel supposed Freddie Fairbrother had a point.

‘When did your father tell you all this?’ he asked.

‘He came to see me about seven or eight months ago. Just turned up in Brisbane, complete with beard and bald head. A simple but excellent disguise. I almost didn’t recognise him at first. But, of course, I hadn’t seen him in eighteen years.

‘The substitute Sir John was already installed at Blackdown. Bella knew all about it from the beginning. She and my father had staged their fall-out, you’ve probably guessed that, and she quit the board of Fairbrother’s so that she would be able to disassociate herself from the mess the company was in. Pa told me he wanted me back in the fold because he was afraid the board still wouldn’t accept Bella without the presence of a male Fairbrother. I was going to be the prodigal son. The thing is, Mr Vogel, I found that I rather wanted my birthright back. I really did. And it seemed like the perfect plan, in which everyone would be a winner.

‘The bank would be saved. As far as the world was concerned my father would die with his blessed reputation still intact, but actually he would be living on this exotic island he secretly owned in the Middle East, under the protection of his chum Sheik Abdul whose family fortune has been greatly enhanced by many years of involvement in Pa’s dubious international financial dealings. Pa was totally confident he would never be found there, and that he would be able to continue pulling the strings at Fairbrother International. Bella and I would each get exactly what we wanted, the top job at Fairbrother’s, or more or less, for her; all the trappings that come with being head of the Fairbrother clan for me, without doing the work, and the homeless man got a standard of living and a level of care he could never have dreamed of.’

‘But then it all went wrong. What happened, Freddie?’

‘Well, Pa’s poor sap responded rather too well to the care he was receiving. Pa had told me in Brisbane that he would be dead in weeks. Eight months later he was still going strong. Or reasonably strong. Meanwhile the affairs of the bank were becoming more desperate, critical in fact. My father realised something had to be done, things had to be speeded up or the whole plan would fail.’

‘And your father told you that, did he? That he had decided to speed up his impersonator’s death?’

Fairbrother looked furtive, as if realising he may have inadvertently revealed rather too much about his own involvement. ‘Uh no, he didn’t tell me anything like that,’ he said quickly. ‘I thought the fire was an accident. I still thought that when I arrived in the UK. I knew it was being investigated, but I was confident that no evidence of arson would be found.’

I’ll bet you were, thought Vogel, who already realised that Freddie’s capacity for self-deception was probably greater than his capacity for deceiving others. Unlike his father.

‘Do you know who this man was, the man who, in effect, died in your father’s place?’

‘No idea,’ said Freddie casually.

‘Do you not even know his name?’

‘No, why would I? He was just some homeless jerk. Pa used to refer to him as Johnny Two.’

Freddie laughed humourlessly.

‘I see,’ said Vogel, who was fighting an almost overwhelming urge to slap Freddie Fairbrother across the face. Instead he stood up, keeping his hands loose at his sides, and asked Freddie to do the same.

‘Frederick John Fairbrother, I am charging you with conspiracy to murder your sister, Christabella Ann Fairbrother, and also conspiracy to fraud. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence...’

Freddie did not seem to hear the caution. He stood with his mouth slightly open and an expression of disbelief on his face. He’d heard the first bit all right.

‘You’re charging me?’ he asked ingenuously. ‘But you told me you weren’t going to. You told me I could go home. Home to Australia...’ His voice tailed away.

‘I have absolutely no recollection of that,’ responded Vogel deadpan.

‘But I’ve only been in the country for forty-eight hours,’ Freddie continued.

‘Yes, and look what you’ve achieved,’ said Vogel, equally deadpan.

‘And you said yourself, I’m barely involved, never have been, not with any of it,’ Freddie continued. ‘These charges are nonsense. No court will convict me.’

‘Mr Fairbrother, I feel confident we shall be able to prove that you phoned your father yesterday morning, straight after Bella had undoubtedly told you she had arranged to meet me at her home. You knowingly sent your sister to her death. Oh, and you have just confessed that you were fully aware of your father’s fraudulent attempt to fake his own death for both personal and professional gain. I am quite confident that we will gain convictions against you.’

‘You’ve tricked me, you bastard,’ said Freddie.

‘Not at all, Mr Fairbrother,’ said Vogel.

A small satisfied smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.