Death Comes First

by Hilary Bonner

  ‘Let’s go grab a coffee,’ she said, steering Vogel out of the ward and along the corridor in the direction of the coffee shop.

  ‘We need to work out what we’re going to do next to clear up this mess,’ she continued, as they walked. ‘If what Joyce told us is the truth, and we have no reason to doubt her, then both Charlie Mildmay and Henry Tanner have claimed that they believed the other was involved in selling arms to criminals.’

  Vogel didn’t reply. Clarke glanced towards him.

  ‘Vogel, I can see the wheels turning. What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking maybe there was no illicit arms dealing. Maybe neither Mildmay nor Tanner were involved in any such thing.’

  ‘Vogel, you’re talking in riddles,’ said Clarke.

  Vogel stopped in his tracks. ‘Look, boss, there’s one more question I want to ask Henry Tanner. Forget the coffee. Let’s go back and see him.’

  Clarke stopped too, and turned to face the DI. She raised that quizzical eyebrow again.

  ‘I don’t reckon we’ll get much more out of him tonight, nor his wife come to that,’ she said. ‘He’s not superman, you know. Looked in total shock to me. Wiped out, I’d say.’

  ‘Let’s try, boss, please,’ said Vogel.

  But he wasn’t really asking for her permission, or even her approval. Before he’d finished the sentence he had already turned on his heel and was heading back towards Henry Tanner’s room.

  DCI Nobby Clarke, shaking her head in resignation, followed.

  Twenty-nine

  Henry lay still. He looked wiped out, as Clarke had predicted. Dawn Saslow remained with him. She was sitting, as she had been earlier, on an uncomfortable-looking hard chair by the balcony windows. Uncomfortable or not, Vogel thought she may have been asleep when he opened the door; she had the look about her of a woman who had just woken up. Apart from the police officer, Henry was alone. Felicity Mildmay had left the hospital. Vogel wasn’t altogether surprised. Felicity had made it pretty clear she wanted little more to do with her husband. That might change. But not for some time, Vogel didn’t think.

  Henry’s eyes focused blearily on Vogel. He made no attempt, at first, to speak.

  ‘Mr Tanner, we don’t wish to intrude further at this time, nor to add to your distress, but I’m afraid there is one point I must ask you to clarify,’ Vogel began. ‘Whose idea was it that you check out Charlie’s email after he disappeared from his yacht?’

  Henry looked blank. His mind was somewhere else. Probably reflecting not only on his terrible loss but also on the ruin of his whole carefully constructed existence, thought Vogel.

  ‘Please, Mr Tanner, this is important. Whose idea was it that you check out your son-in-law’s email?’

  With tremendous effort Henry hauled himself, at least partially, back to the here and now.

  ‘I told you, Stephen Hardcastle and I thought it might throw some light on things . . .’ Henry’s voice drifted off.

  ‘But which of you first suggested it?’ Vogel continued doggedly.

  Tanner looked bewildered. ‘Does it matter?’ he asked, just as his daughter had whenever Vogel persisted in any line of questioning.

  ‘We are trying to find out what, and who, was behind the chain of events which have engulfed your family,’ Vogel persevered. ‘And, however you feel at the moment, there will probably come a time when you will want to know that too. When it might matter.’

  Tanner shook his head slightly. Vogel assumed that the other man could not imagine anything ever mattering again. Like his daughter. But Henry did answer the question.

  ‘It was Stephen,’ he said. ‘It had to be Stephen. I didn’t even know Charlie had a new laptop, let alone that his old one was in the safe.’

  Vogel was aware of that familiar tingling sensation at the back of his neck that told him he was nearing a breakthrough on a case.

  ‘You didn’t know the laptop even existed,’ he murmured, almost to himself.

  ‘No,’ responded Henry.

  ‘Mr Tanner, do you remember if the email exchanges you presumed were between Charlie and his gangland connections were online, or stored on the laptop itself?’ Vogel continued.

  Henry looked as if he didn’t understand a word Vogel was saying.

  ‘I mean, did Charlie use Outlook Express, or similar software, which actually takes emails off the net and downloads them onto a specific computer?’

  ‘Yes, we both did. Outlook Express.’

  ‘So those emails weren’t online in his server mail? They were in his Outlook Express?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Henry. ‘Look, I neither know nor care. If you think any of this is important, why don’t you check out the damned laptop? It’s still in Charlie’s safe, as far as I know.’

  ‘As we speak, that should be happening. I was just hoping—’

  ‘It’s too late,’ Henry moaned. ‘It’s too damned late now.’

  There were tears in Henry’s eyes. Vogel was embarrassed. He so much preferred his interviewees to be feisty. Although he neither liked nor respected Henry Tanner, it gave Vogel no pleasure to see him reduced to this state. Nevertheless he was determined to persevere with his questions until he had the answers he needed.

  ‘You have told us that you believed Charlie was supplying arms to criminals, Mr Tanner. But are you absolutely sure he did so? Are you sure arms were diverted from their destinations, that they actually went missing whilst in the possession of Tanner-Max, from your bonded warehouses or elsewhere?’

  Henry moaned more loudly. The tears were now rolling down his cheeks. However, through those tears he still managed to shoot Vogel what could only be described as a withering look.

  ‘Of course I am sure. After we found those email exchanges I checked and double-checked everything. Didn’t I make that clear when you asked me about it before? I went back over all the records and contacted our sources overseas. Because of the nature of our transactions, sometimes those sources are not clear on the precise quantity of items they will receive. Nobody had raised the alarm because the paperwork had been altered and everything matched up. But once I knew what I was looking for, I was able to see discrepancies. Over a period of about a year there were several instances. Nothing much – some small arms, a few rifles. Not whole cases of weapons, or anything like that. That would have shown up. This was more at the level of pilfering, except the nature of the goods being pilfered made it a serious matter.’

  ‘Any specific make of rifle?’

  ‘The Dragunov SVU – Soviet-developed, widely regarded as the best lightweight sniper rifle in the world. Three of those went astray from three different consignments, one at a time . . .’

  Henry Tanner stopped in mid sentence. He remained a quick-witted man, even in his present condition.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me I was shot by a Dragunov, are you?’ he enquired.

  ‘Quite possibly,’ agreed Vogel.

  He and Clarke had both received an email a little earlier giving a preliminary list of weapons the bullet removed from Henry Tanner’s shoulder could have come from. The Dragunov was top of the list.

  ‘Did Charlie shoot me?’ asked Henry.

  ‘We don’t think so.’

  ‘His bloody gangster pals then, as I thought all along. Charlie has wiped out half my family though. And my wife holds me responsible. I expect my daughter does too.’ He raised his voice. ‘It’s not my bloody fault! None of it is my fault. I only ever did what I thought was best for my family.’

  He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked directly at Vogel. ‘Will you just go,’ he said.

  ‘One last thing,’ persisted Vogel. ‘It is likely that the third person trapped in the car, now confirmed as drowned, was Monika, the young woman who was working for both you and your wife and your daughter. Joyce has told us that your son-in-law was having an affair with Monika, and that he lived with her following his staged death. Do you know anything about that?’

  Henry s
hook his head. He looked stunned.

  ‘Of course I don’t,’ he shouted. ‘I don’t know anything about any of that. Look, I have nothing more to say. You must go. And I don’t need your damned nursemaid, either. You can’t insist she stays, can you? I haven’t been accused of anything. I’m not a bloody criminal. Leave me alone will you, all of you.’

  The outburst seemed to weaken him.

  ‘OK, Mr Tanner, we will all leave you alone,’ said DCI Clarke. ‘We may need to speak to you again soon, but for the moment that’s it, and thank you for your help.’

  The DCI put her hand on Vogel’s shoulder. ‘C’mon,’ she hissed at him as she turned and headed for the door.

  This time it was Vogel’s turn to follow, along with Saslow, whom Clarke instructed to take up sentry duty outside Henry’s room. Just in case.

  The young woman PC did not look particularly enthusiastic. She was tired, thought Vogel. They were all tired. And he was also frustrated.

  ‘Boss, I think you’re going soft,’ he said, once he and Clarke were both outside the room and out of earshot of PC Saslow.

  ‘That’s as maybe,’ muttered the DCI. ‘At risk of sounding sanctimonious, Vogel, that old bastard in there is as near as you’re going to get to a bloody patriot nowadays, and I doubt any of this stuff would have happened if he hadn’t spent his life doing what he has for our bloody government.’

  Vogel wasn’t impressed.

  ‘Feathered his own nest too, from what I’ve seen,’ he said.

  ‘It’s none of your dammed business, Vogel. Just tell me what’s going on in that devious mind of yours.’ She fixed him with a shrewd gaze. ‘You think there’s been a set-up, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s the only thing that makes any sense, boss.’

  ‘And who, might I ask, do you think is behind this setup?’

  ‘There’s only one person, as far as I can make out, in a position to play Henry Tanner and Charlie Mildmay against each other. One person with the knowledge of both the business and the men. And the motive.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘The motive? Why, money and power of course.’

  ‘And the guilty one?’

  ‘Who do you think, boss?’

  Clarke smiled. ‘I think, Vogel, that you reckon Stephen Hardcastle’s our man. He’s the one who suggested to Tanner that they check out Charlie Mildmay’s email account, where they conveniently found so much incriminating information. The one who was best placed to manipulate the family – including Tanner, who probably thought nobody would ever dare take him on at his own game. The one Charlie Mildmay thought was his best friend. Yep, it’s Hardcastle, isn’t it? That’s what you think.’

  ‘I sure do, boss,’ said Vogel.

  Thirty

  Stephen Hardcastle arrived at Henry Tanner’s bedside minutes after Vogel and Clarke had left.

  PC Saslow had not been instructed to apprehend any visitors, merely to monitor them. She called DCI Clarke at once.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Clarke. ‘But do nothing except keep an eye and an ear out, and call again when Hardcastle leaves. Don’t suppose you can hear anything, can you?’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am. I did try to have a listen, but the door’s shut tight.’

  Inside the room Henry stared at Hardcastle through bloodshot eyes. He uttered no greeting.

  ‘I am so, so sorry, Henry,’ said Stephen.

  Henry merely nodded, almost imperceptibly.

  ‘I came as soon as I heard. Janet called me. She’s with Felicity now. And Mark. At the house.’

  So they were together then, his wife and his grandson. Mark hadn’t returned to the hospital to see his father or grandfather. Henry was not surprised. Felicity had made her feelings clear to him. She would no doubt have made them clear to her grandson too. And he felt pretty sure that Mark would take his grandmother’s side. No doubt the boy felt the same way. Henry was even more bereft. It seemed he had lost his entire family.

  Stephen moved close to the bed, pulling up a chair. He sat down and leaned forward, so that his face was only a foot or so from Henry’s.

  ‘I don’t think they’re coming in,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

  Henry didn’t react. He’d already come to that conclusion.

  ‘Not tonight. Probably not tomorrow. Who knows when? If ever.’ Stephen’s voice was light. Inappropriately light. He paused, looking down at his injured employer. Henry still did not speak.

  ‘But I am here, Henry,’ Hardcastle continued. ‘I am with you. I will always be with you. You needn’t worry. I will take care of the business. I will take care of everything. Like always. That is all I have ever wanted to do.’

  At last Henry met Stephen’s gaze. He had suffered a terrible tragedy from which he would never recover. A tragedy for which, it seemed, he might never be forgiven by his remaining family, the wife, daughter and grandson he truly loved. They held him responsible, even though he did not see how they could. He had merely conducted the business as he saw best, and for the greater profit of everyone concerned, as he’d always done. It seemed to Henry that he was being betrayed. He was in pain still. He felt old and bereft.

  But none of this had turned Henry Tanner into a fool. He’d realized exactly what David Vogel had been getting at as soon as the detective had started questioning him about Stephen’s involvement. And he’d thought of little else since. It made sense. It made terrible sense. Stephen was behind so much of it. Stephen had known that Charlie was still alive, that was for sure; he’d probably helped him, and that little bitch he’d been shagging, stage his death. Perhaps it was Stephen who had put the fear of God into Charlie. Perhaps it was Stephen who had pushed him to the brink, pushed Charlie so far that he ran from it all, abandoning his old life. And perhaps Stephen had planned and executed all of it. Stephen had presumably wanted Charlie out of the way for his own ends. Even though Charlie was his alleged best friend.

  As he lay nursing his wounds in his hospital bed, Henry hated Stephen Hardcastle more than he’d ever hated anyone in his life, except perhaps Charlie, because of what he had done that day. And before. But he understood Stephen. Stephen wanted the business. Stephen wanted the power that came with it. The extraordinary power and kudos that came courtesy of its covert activities.

  Henry wondered what fate Stephen had planned for the only remaining adult male, his grandson Mark. And indeed for Henry himself. He still didn’t know who had shot him. That was the biggest question that remained unanswered. He would have thought it more likely that Charlie would have wanted rid of him than Stephen. But he couldn’t imagine that either man was capable of handling a precision sniper rifle like the Dragunov SVU. Unless of course he had been the victim of a lucky shot. Or an unlucky one, for the shooter, depending on how you looked at it.

  Henry stared hard at the lawyer. Stephen was more like him than any member of his own family, he reflected grimly. Henry knew exactly what made the younger man tick. For some time now he’d been observing the way the handsome Zimbabwean looked at Joyce before and after Charlie’s ‘death’. The prospect of Stephen taking his involvement with the family to another level had not worried him. Not then. But that was before the cataclysmic events of the last few days. Now it worried him. Or it would have done, if he thought his daughter would ever again be capable of having a relationship with anyone.

  ‘I’m here, Henry. I will always be here,’ repeated Stephen softly.

  Henry remained silent. Hardcastle appeared to be building up to something; Henry was curious to find out what it was.

  ‘It’s been hard for me over the years, you know,’ Stephen remarked conversationally. ‘You’ve never let me into the fold, have you? Despite the fact I have done everything you ever required of me, given my all – to you, to the business, to the family. You were the family I always wanted. You were the father I always wanted – you must know that. I never had a father. My mother took me away from my father and brought me to England. The man she married here
had no time for me. Oh, he sent me to Eton, he provided for me after my mother died, but he barely came near me. I thought with you I had found a father. But I was doomed to be forever the outsider, wasn’t I? You would never fully accept me. After all, how could you?’

  Henry was goaded into speaking. ‘You’d better not be trying to say that I wouldn’t accept you because you’re black! Is that it, Stephen? Are you playing the race card, you damned fool?’

  ‘Still hurling abuse at me, eh, Henry? I just suck it up, don’t I?’ Stephen Hardcastle gave a hollow laugh. ‘No, not that, Henry. I don’t think you take much notice of colour, any more than you worry about caste or creed. Not if people are useful to you. For you, Henry, the world is divided into family and non-family. Throughout my many years of service I have always remained non-family, an outsider. And that hurt. You promised to make me a partner in the business, but year after year you invariably came up with a reason for putting it off. Charlie – weak, pathetic Charlie – was a partner right from the start. Then last year you made that spoiled brat of a grandson of yours a junior partner as soon as he joined the firm. Only then did you admit to me that, although you valued me, I would never be a partner. Not in your family business. And you had the nerve to try to fob me off with a rise in salary to make up for it! How could you, Henry?’

  Henry narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Did you shoot me, Stephen?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘No,’ replied Stephen quickly. ‘Why would I do that? Why would I want to hurt you?’

  Henry didn’t know the answer to that. But he reckoned he had answers to some of the other questions that had been bothering him over the past few days:

  ‘You did all the rest of it, though. Staging Charlie’s death – he could never have pulled off that charade without help. You knew damn well he was still alive, shacked up with that little slut Monika.’

  ‘Monika?’ queried Stephen.

  ‘Yes, Monika. You must have known about that.’

  ‘No, actually, I didn’t know about Monika. Well, not specifically. I was aware there was someone Charlie wanted to start a new life with. And I thought he’d have the sense to leave the country and begin afresh with his new woman, never to be seen again. I had no idea he’d come back here, to Bristol.