Henry made himself appear to be as calm as ever, although he felt a rare burst of emotion bubbling up inside him.
‘You don’t want me here, Joyce, I know that,’ he said quietly. ‘I can feel it. I think it’s better that I go to the office. You know where I am if anything, uh, changes.’
‘Glad you can feel something, Dad,’ snapped Joyce.
Henry winced. ‘If only you knew, darling,’ he muttered.
He checked his phone again. He was still waiting for a call he had been half hoping for and half dreading. Perhaps he had missed it? Of course he hadn’t. His phone had been glued to him all morning. He’d held it in his hand for most of the time and was still clutching it as he left the house and climbed into the back of the Bentley. Perhaps there was never going to be any such phone call.
He told Geoff to run him back to the Corner House. There were still press outside The Firs, but two uniformed security guards were at last in attendance and were remonstrating with them. That gave Henry some satisfaction. His bidding had been reasonably swiftly done. He still couldn’t understand how the reporters and cameramen had been allowed into Tarrant Park in the first place.
It took Henry less than half an hour to shower, shave, dress in a business suit, and also to make a quick call to Stephen on his mobile to tell him he was on his way. Stephen sounded surprised.
‘Uh, I didn’t think you’d be in today, Henry,’ he said.
‘And why not?’ enquired Henry crustily.
‘Well, I thought you’d be with the family.’
Henry grunted. He had no intention of commenting on this.
‘And where are you?’ he asked.
‘Um, I’m at home. Wasn’t sure what to do... or where I’d be most needed.’
Stephen stumbled over his words. He sounded unsure of himself, Henry thought. After all, the younger man knew all about Henry Tanner’s work ethic. Had it honestly not occurred to Stephen Hardcastle that he would be expected to go into the office as usual that day, and that Henry would be sure to do the same?
‘Where you’re always most needed, old boy,’ said Henry sharply. ‘In the office. Where I pay you to be.’
‘Sure,’ Stephen replied easily enough. ‘I’ll get myself there straight away. But... are you all right, Henry?’ Stephen continued. ‘I mean, it’s so terrible about Fred. Awful for the whole family. You’re the one everyone always relies on, though. How are you?’
‘When I want you to know how I am, old boy, I’ll tell you,’ said Henry.
It was vintage Tanner. The kind of put-down that rolled automatically off Henry’s tongue.
‘I’ll see you at the office,’ he continued. ‘I’m about to leave home.’
Henry almost managed a smile then. His intention to carry on with business as usual had surprised Stephen. And Henry liked to surprise people, keep them on their toes, even people who had worked with him for many years, people such as Stephen whom he regarded as a friend as well as a member of his staff in spite of being aware that he seldom treated Stephen that way.
All he had to do now was to find a way to surprise the mystery caller whose number was withheld and who had so far only left a text message on the pay-as-you-go mobile very few people knew that Henry had. Henry had a fair idea who the texter was, or at least who he represented. As soon as he’d been told that Fred was missing Henry had sent an email. An innocuous enough email, he hoped. And he was pretty sure it was the email recipient who had texted him. If he could wrong-foot the bastard then maybe he could sort this mess out. The police were no help; that DI Vogel probably thought he was a clever bugger, but he wasn’t nearly clever enough to sort out this situation. There was only one person with a hope in hell of doing that, and that was Henry Tanner himself.
Yet, for once in his life, Henry had no idea how he was going to do that.
However, when he left the Corner House, Henry would have appeared to any observer to be setting off for a normal day at work with nothing more pressing on his mind than dealing with a spreadsheet or two before breaking for a spot of lunch. Which was Henry’s intention. He always behaved as if he were being watched. And quite often, not merely at this moment of crisis, he suspected that he was being watched. He was dressed in one of his immaculately tailored suits, his silk tie carefully knotted, his handmade shoes gleaming.
And so, as he climbed into the Bentley, also gleaming in the morning sun, Henry looked the same as he always did. Nobody watching him would have guessed his inner turmoil. Something Henry had made absolutely sure of.
Henry always had to be the man in charge. He felt that he had no choice. There had never been anyone else, not since his father, and sometimes Henry thought there never would be. But that morning he was battling terrible uncertainties. Henry so wished he had someone to turn to, someone to confide in. Someone who might help him. But that was not the way he had structured his life. He never cried for help. And he wouldn’t now. Not least because there was no one to answer his cry.
Geoff drove through Tarrant Park and along the leafy country lanes in an almost leisurely fashion. Henry didn’t hurry his driver. The truth was that Henry was only going to the office out of habit and because he had nowhere else to go. Nor, until the next call came, anything better to do. It was an attempt to numb the pain, and to keep himself occupied until he did have something constructive to do. His house was empty and would be no kind of home for as long as Felicity was staying at The Firs with her daughter. And he was clearly not welcome there.
Tanner-Max had its own parking area in Traders’ Court, a cobbled courtyard at the rear of the building. The name dated back to the murky heyday of the port of Bristol when the old courtyard had been used by traders bartering slaves shipped in from Africa and the West Indies. Henry always used the rear entrance; he was a creature of habit. As Geoff turned into Traders’ Court, Henry’s mind was all over the place. He was barely aware that they had arrived at their destination.
Absentmindedly, out of habit again, Henry checked his watch. It was five minutes past ten. Two hours later than he usually started work. Even Henry had to admit that this was not a usual day.
Geoff pulled to a halt and climbed out of the vehicle to open the rear door for his employer. Only then did Henry hoist himself off the back seat and out of the car in a manner he had perfected that did not, he hoped, draw attention to his creaking joints in general and his stiff right knee in particular. He stood up straight as quickly as he could, using one hand pressed against the roof of the car to give himself extra support.
He muttered a thank you to Geoff and took a step away from the Bentley.
Then, suddenly the world went mad. There was a single loud crack.
Henry fell to the ground as if he had been shot. He had been shot. But as he lapsed into unconsciousness he was not even aware of what had happened. He neither heard the gun being fired nor felt the bullet which entered his body. He just went down. Like a felled animal.
The shot had come from above. There had only been the one. So far.
Geoff was slow to register what had happened, but when he did he sprang into action. It could have been instinctive, but was actually something he had been trained to do long ago yet had almost forgotten about. He threw his body forward and flung himself on top of Henry Tanner, completely covering the fallen man and protecting him from any further gunfire. But Geoff Brooking was already too late. There was no need for any further gunfire. Henry Tanner was down.
On the rooftop of the building next to Tanner-Max a black-clad hooded figure carrying a sniper’s rifle melted away into the murky skies of yet another damp Bristol morning. He had not attempted to fire a second time. One shot was all that had been required.