‘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 shook 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.