by David Blake
‘Right, that’s it,’ Tanner concluded, clasping his hands together. ‘Please tell me the moment you find out anything, whether you think it’s important or not, and a reminder once again – no talking to anyone; friends and family included.’
As the room broke into a cacophony of noise, Tanner saw Cooper skulk out through the dispersing crowd towards him, a disgruntled look of wounded resentment etched out over his face.
‘What about me?’ he asked as he approached, unable to look Tanner directly in the eye.
Realising he’d managed to forget that he was even there, Tanner took a hesitant moment to clear his throat. At the end of the day, despite having been cleared by Professional Standards, he still didn’t trust him. However, he also knew that he didn’t wish to spend the entire investigation having to fight him at every turn. ‘With Forrester’s permission,’ Tanner began, taking a diplomatic stance, ‘I’d like you to head-up an investigation into the blackmail attempt.’
‘Oh, right!’ Cooper replied, a hesitant look of indecisive gratitude creasing the corners of his eyes.
‘Until we’re told otherwise, I can’t help but think that the two must be separate, so it only makes sense for us to treat them as such. I’ll ask DC Townsend to assist you. I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone else to cover his work.’
CHAPTER NINE
AFTER A BRIEF conversation with Forrester, outlining the thought process behind giving Cooper the lead on the blackmail side of the investigation, Tanner and Vicky made their way out in search of the first of the two men Sir Michael’s housekeeper had mentioned, Mr Iain Sanders.
With nobody answering the door at his registered address, they turned to the only other place they thought he might be, the boat the Broads Authority had listed under his name. According to their records, it was supposedly moored up somewhere along Acle Dyke, just off one of the River Bure’s many sweeping bends.
‘What was it called again?’ Tanner queried, climbing out of his car to stare down a long line of boats, each moored aft-end to the purpose built grass-lined hardstanding.
‘Medusa,’ Vicky replied, slamming the XJS’s car door to leave Tanner casting his eyes over it in a state of cautious anxiety.
‘Sorry, Vicky. May I ask if you could close the door a little more gently in the future?’
‘Why’s that?’ she asked, sending a mischievous smirk at him over the Jag’s sloping low roof. ‘Do you think something will fall off?’
‘To be honest, I’d rather not take that chance.’
Vicky nodded to offer him a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll be more careful next time.’
‘It would be appreciated,’ Tanner replied, peeling his eyes off the car to begin leading the way down the dyke.
Seeking out each boat’s name, it didn’t take them long to find the one they were looking for, for no other reason than it was by far the largest boat there.
With nobody in view, either within its wide rectangular cockpit or through its open glass sliding door, Tanner stood back to call out, ‘Hello! Is anyone home?’
A scuffling sound from the flybridge at the top of the boat had them both glancing up to find the shaved suntanned head of a thin middle-aged man, staring down at them over a highly polished chrome railing.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Are you Mr Iain Sanders of 14, Lulworth Avenue?’
‘That probably depends on who’s asking.’
Tanner held aloft his ID. ‘Detective Inspector Tanner, and my colleague, Detective Inspector Gilbert. Norfolk Police.’
The man stood up straight, his eyes shifting between the two of them. ‘What’s this about?’
‘It’s concerning someone we believe to be a close friend of yours, Sir Michael Blackwell.’
‘Yes, and… what about him?’
‘Does that mean you are Iain Sanders?’
‘OK, yes, but you still haven’t told me why you’re here.’
Tanner sucked in a fortifying breath. ‘I’m afraid I may have some rather distressing news for you. Sir Michael’s body was found inside his home yesterday evening.’
‘His body?’
‘Due to the nature of his death,’ Tanner continued, ‘we’re going to have to ask you where you were on Thursday night from around eight o’clock to twelve?’
‘You mean someone…killed him?’ Sanders questioned, his eyes widening in shock.
‘We’re not in a position to say how he died, only that his death wasn’t from natural causes.’
Tanner and Vicky watched as the man’s narrow bony face visibly paled, disappearing a moment later to be replaced by a pair of long gangly legs tumbling down a series of moulded plastic steps.
‘Do you have any idea who killed him?’ they heard him demand, his head re-appearing through the opening in the cockpit’s ceiling.
‘Not yet.’
‘But you must have some idea?’
‘Naturally,’ Tanner said, offering Sanders a thin detached smile, ‘which is why we’re keen to find out where you were the night before last.’
‘You can’t possibly think that I had anything to do with it?’
‘We don’t have any particular reason to think that you did, but it would certainly be useful if we could eliminate you from our enquiries, hence the question.’
The man stopped to stare vacantly down at the cockpit’s dark wooden table. ‘I was here, with another friend. It was our poker night. We were waiting for Mike, but he never showed.’
‘Your other friend wasn’t Mr Toby Wallace, by any chance?’
Sanders nodded to sink slowly down into a black folding chair.
‘Will he be able to confirm that?’
‘Of course.’
‘Would anyone else?’
The man glanced up, as if being woken from a dream. ‘Huh?’
‘Would anyone else be able to confirm that you were here on Thursday night other than your friend, Mr Toby Wallace?’
‘Well, no, I mean…I - I don’t know,’ he stuttered, turning his head to glance around at the boats moored up on either side. ‘You can ask our neighbours, I suppose. They probably heard us. We do seem to make more noise than perhaps we should.’
‘Am I to assume that this was a regular occurrence?’
‘Pretty much. Every Thursday.’
‘May I ask how long you’d known each other?’
‘Me and Michael? Oh…years! We went to Cambridge together.’
‘And Mr Wallace?’
‘Not quite so long. Michael introduced me to him a while back. The three of us turned out to be looking to buy at boat at the same time, so after a few drinks we came up with the idea of picking one up together.’
‘I don’t suppose you know how Mr Wallace knew Sir Michael?’
Sanders nodded. ‘They’re in business together.’
Tanner raised an intrigued eyebrow over at Vicky. ‘Are they still?’
‘Not if Michael’s dead, they aren’t!’
Tanner offered the man a contemptuous smile. ‘Before Sir Michael died.’
Sanders eyes drifted away. ‘As far as I know.’
‘Do you have any idea as to what sort of business they were in?’
‘They owned the Phantom Exchange.’
‘Sorry – the what?’ Tanner questioned, shooting a glance back at Vicky.
‘It’s the largest nightclub in Norwich,’ she replied. ‘Actually, I think it’s the only nightclub in Norwich.’
Having never heard of it before, probably because he’d not stepped inside one since dating his ex-wife at university, as he turned his attention back to Sanders, Tanner suddenly felt rather old. ‘And Sir Michael was into that sort of thing, was he?’
‘He did seem to be.’
‘As I assume is your other friend, Mr Wallace?’
‘It was he who approached Michael, looking for finance.’
‘How about you?’
‘He asked me as well, but it’s not my thing. Too loud for my liking.’
Tanner took a moment to run his eyes over the smooth elegant lines of the luxury yacht they were standing beside. ‘May I ask what you do for money?’
‘If you mean my profession, I used to work in banking. Risk Management, to be precise.’
‘Not anymore?’
‘I retired a few years ago. The riskiest thing I do these days is to take this out sea fishing,’ he laughed, the grin evaporating a moment later.
Tanner studied his face. ‘When was the last time you saw Sir Michael?’
‘It was, er…’ the man started, his head turning to the cockpit’s floor. ‘It must have been last Saturday.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘What we always did. Took the boat out to see what we could catch, or as was more normally the case, what we couldn’t.’
‘The three of you?’
The man looked up to hold Tanner’s gaze. ‘That’s right.’
‘How did he seem?’
‘Sorry, I’m not with you?’
Tanner shrugged. ‘Did he appear worried about anything?’
‘Who, Michael?’ the man snorted. ‘He wasn’t exactly the type to spend his life worrying about things. I’m not sure it’s something the British Aristocracy are even capable of.’
‘He didn’t have money troubles, or anything?’
‘He never seemed to be short of cash; if that’s what you mean.’
‘But he couldn’t afford to buy his own boat.’
‘Oh, right. To be honest, I’d never thought about it like that before. I suppose it’s possible that he wasn’t as wealthy as he liked to make out. He did talk about selling Thorndike Manor when his father died, but only because he said it was too big for him to live in on his own.’
‘Do you know if he was in a relationship with anyone?’
‘Not that I know of. His wife died a while back. Horse riding accident.’
‘Yes, we heard.’
‘He made out that it didn’t bother him all that much, but I suspect in reality it hit him pretty hard. Anyway, after that, he swore an oath to remain single.’
‘You’re saying that he wasn’t interested in woman?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ Sanders smirked. ‘He just wasn’t interested in being with any one in particular.’
‘Any idea why?’
Sanders shrugged. ‘Personally, I think he had trust issues. When you’re born into the British aristocracy, I can imagine it being difficult to know if a woman is interested in either you or your title.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tanner mused. ‘How about you?’
‘Was I born into the British aristocracy, or do I have trust issues?’
Tanner folded his arms over his chest in an attempt to display his lack of amusement. ‘Are you in a relationship, Mr Sanders?’
‘I am, thank you very much. Happily married with three teenage children, none of whom I probably deserve.’
‘Going back to these girls you say Sir Michael would hang out with. Any idea who they all were?’
‘Nope!’
‘You never met them?’
‘He didn’t exactly bring them round for dinner.’
‘You didn’t see one in particular he’d be hanging around with?’
‘I thought I just told you!’ Sanders exclaimed, glaring out at Tanner. ‘He was never with one woman more than once.’
‘You did, yes, but how would you know,’ Tanner continued, a sagacious frown weaving its way over his forehead, ‘if, as you said, you never met any of them?’
Sanders rubbed hard at his eyes before staring back. ‘Look, why all the interest in his bloody girlfriends, anyway?’
Tanner offered the man a seemingly indifferent shrug. ‘No particular reason. At the moment, we’re simply endeavouring to find out as much about Sir Michael’s life as possible.’
‘Do you think one of them could have killed him?’
‘It’s possible, but then again, it’s also possible that his murderer was one of his friends, someone he used to go sea fishing with, for example.’
‘I’ve already told you where I was.’
‘So you did. Anyway, going back to the subject of his various girlfriends. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he’d meet them all?’
‘Not a clue, sorry,’ Sanders replied, his gaze falling to the cockpit’s floor.
CHAPTER TEN
ARRANGING TO HAVE Sanders’ fingerprints and DNA collected, they began making their way back to the car when Tanner noticed somebody moving about inside one of the other much smaller boats.
Stealing a glance back down the dyke to see Sanders’ head duck down inside his yacht’s luxurious main cabin, Tanner stepped lightly onto the boat they’d stopped besides to rap his knuckles gently against one of its thick glass windows.
‘Excuse me,’ he called, fishing out his ID as a mop of ginger hair appeared through the doors at the back. ‘DI Tanner, Norfolk Police. You wouldn’t happen to live on board, by any chance?’
‘Only during the summer,’ the woman replied, offering him an affable enough smile.
‘I don’t suppose you would have been here on Thursday evening?’ Tanner continued, watching a well-fed tortoiseshell cat weave its way between the woman’s legs.
‘I’m not sure where else I’d have been,’ she replied, scooping the cat up into her arms.
Tanner tilted his head to glance surreptitiously back down the line of boats. ‘You wouldn’t be able to verify if there was anyone on board the large motor yacht at the end of the dyke?’
‘If you mean the over-sized Fairline, then unfortunately, yes.’
‘Why unfortunately?’
‘Because of the constant bloody noise they make. I’ve made countless complaints to the guy who owns the moorings, but he’s never bothered to do anything about it.’
‘And that was the case on Thursday?’
‘Well…maybe not quite as much as normal, but I suspect that was because there were only two of them that time.’
‘I don’t suppose you know which two they were?’
‘The tall skinny one and the short fat one. It was the posh good-looking one with the fetish for wearing horrendous pink shirts who wasn’t.’
Tanner glanced around at Vicky, busily taking notes behind him.
‘But what they get up to during the week is nothing compared to the weekends,’ the woman continued.