‘I heard a car leave,’ she began.
‘Yes, DI Vogel asked your husband and Mr Hardcastle to accompany him to a police station for a video interview,’ explained PC Bolton.
Felicity looked alarmed.
‘Have they been arrested?’ she asked, her eyes wide with shock.
‘No, they are helping us with our enquiries, that’s all,’ responded Bolton.
‘Please don’t worry,’ interjected PC Saslow. ‘This is routine procedure. As your FLO, I will remain with the family and talk you through anything that is worrying you.’
Joyce looked up. ‘My son is missing, that’s what’s worrying me,’ she snapped.
Dawn Saslow flushed and mumbled an apology.
Felicity felt sorry for the young PC, but even more concerned about her daughter. She tried to put an arm around her. Joyce pulled away.
When Charlie died, Felicity had been the person Joyce turned to for comfort. She wished she could do the same now, and just couldn’t understand why Joyce had been so prickly of late, and why, even now, she was rejecting her parents instead of welcoming their support.
Felicity was also well aware, in spite of PC Saslow’s bland reassurances, of the significance of asking someone to attend a police station instead of interviewing them at home. She read crime novels and watched detective series on TV. They were her diversion from real life, particularly on the days when Henry’s perpetual lack of communication got her down. Which it frequently did, though she was careful never to let on.
She had taken Henry aside that morning, when he’d arrived at their daughter’s house after being told that Fred had disappeared.
‘I know something’s going on,’ she’d told him. ‘Both you and Joyce have been behaving peculiarly the last few days. What is it, Henry? What’s happened?’
Henry had given his standard blandly reassuring and yet non-communicative response: ‘Nothing’s happened, Felicity. You’re imagining things. Please, don’t upset yourself.’
Undeterred, Felicity tried a different tack: ‘Henry, I want you to promise that you know of nothing that could have led to Fred going missing,’ she said. ‘Will you do that? Can you promise me that?’
‘Felicity, have you taken leave of your senses?’ Henry countered. ‘What sort of question is that?’
‘Promise me,’ Felicity persisted.
‘I promise you,’ replied Henry, a note of irritation apparent in his normally implacable manner. ‘I’m hurt that I should need to, but I promise you. How could you possibly believe such a thing? If I were in possession of information that might help us to find Fred, I would tell you. And the police. Straight away.’
He had taken hold of her then, gently but firmly, and looked straight into her eyes. His were the clearest blue eyes she had ever known. And whenever he looked at his wife they were invariably full of love. Today was no exception.
Felicity had found herself apologizing. Apologizing for allowing herself to question his devotion to his family.
‘I’m just so desperately worried,’ she said, by way of explanation. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying.’
Henry had pulled her close to him. ‘It’s all right, my darling,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘It’s going to be all right. We will find our boy. Soon. I will make sure of that. Don’t I always look after my family?’
Felicity had merely nodded. It was true: Henry Tanner always looked after his family.
But as the hours passed with no news of her youngest grandchild, Felicity’s anxiety grew. Henry liked to promote an image of himself as all-powerful, but much as he might try to look after his family he hadn’t been able to prevent the loss of their only son, William. Only last year their son-in-law had drowned in a sailing accident. And now Fred...
It was as if her family was cursed. But the thought had also occurred to Felicity that it might not have been fate singling them out for tragedy. The driver who ran William down had never been identified. Charlie had been an experienced sailor who never went without a safety harness. What if their deaths were not random? What if Fred’s disappearance was the latest in a series of cruel acts targeting her family?
And if that was the case, Henry must have some idea who was responsible or at least why they were being targeted.
For the first time in her long marriage, Felicity was beginning to doubt her husband. The total and unshakeable faith in Henry that had carried her through the loss of her son had been shattered.
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.’