Again Bill Mildmay struggled to compose himself. Vogel remained silent, waiting for the other man to speak.
‘His mother was driving,’ Mildmay continued eventually. ‘Charlie’s mother drove her car, with her husband and son inside, into the River Torridge at high tide. We knew that the police always suspected she did it deliberately, but they couldn’t prove it. You see, Charlie’s mother was schizophrenic, Mr Vogel. Seriously so. She’d been in and out of hospitals all her life. And we never told Charlie. My wife and I now think he must have been ill. How else could he have done what he did? We think he inherited his mother’s schizophrenia, Mr Vogel. And we never told him about it, never told him he might be at risk, never gave him the opportunity to be medically checked, to be given the right medication. Looking back, we ignored all sorts of signs. Charlie was always so changeable. Look at his life: one minute he was a hippie leftie, the next he was part of the establishment, a successful businessman. We told ourselves it was all just Charlie. Our loveable Charlie. We wanted everything to be all right, so we told ourselves that it was, and we told Charlie nothing. That, Detective Inspector, is why we blame ourselves for the death or our grandchildren.’
Vogel was thoughtful when he ended the call. It didn’t make any difference now whether or not Charlie Mildmay had been suffering from schizophrenia, but what Bill Mildmay had told him made terrible sense. It explained why Charlie had become so vulnerable. And if Vogel’s assessment of the sequence of events leading to this dreadful night was correct, it explained why he’d proved so susceptible to the manipulative trickery of Stephen Hardcastle.
‘I’m damned sure that bastard is the real villain, boss, and we have to make sure he doesn’t get away with it,’ he told Nobby Clarke after he had filled her in on his telephone conversation with Bill Mildmay.
At the same time another lead was being explored by the technical department. Henry Tanner had called Stephen Hardcastle on his mobile shortly before being shot. The tech boys had now been able to pinpoint where Hardcastle had been when he took that call.
He had not been in his home overlooking the harbour, as he had maintained when questioned following the shooting. Stephen had either been in Traders’ Court or adjacent to it. Vogel was of the opinion that his precise location had been on top of one of the buildings overlooking Traders’ Court.
This evidence established that Hardcastle had lied, and that he had been at the scene of the crime shortly before Henry Tanner was shot.
‘We’ve got enough to arrest him now, surely, boss,’ said Vogel excitedly.
DCI Clarke agreed.
At 4.30 a.m., Vogel, Clarke, Bolton, and a team of uniforms, including an armed response unit, arrived at Stephen Hardcastle’s Bristol waterside apartment. Given the close association with firearms Hardcastle was now known to have, Vogel and Clarke were taking no chances.
They were admitted into Conqueror House by prior arrangement with the caretaker. Hardcastle’s flat was on the first floor.
‘Go on, Vogel, you take the honours. It’s your collar,’ said Clarke.
Vogel led the way, taking two stairs at a time. This wasn’t something he would usually do, but he couldn’t wait to arrest Stephen Hardcastle. He thought the man was despicable. And arrogant with it.
Vogel hammered on the door of number 15. There were two armed response men right alongside him. They told him to stand to one side of the door. Behind them lurked a team carrying an enforcer, the heavy steel battering ram used by UK police to force entry if necessary.
It wasn’t necessary. Although, it did seem a long time before Vogel heard Hardcastle unlocking the door from the inside. He had been on the verge of ordering the two PCs carrying the enforcer to break it down.
The door opened slowly. Hardcastle was standing in the hallway looking bleary-eyed. But if he had been taken by surprise, as surely he must have been, he made a pretty good fist of concealing it.
‘Can I help you, Detective Inspector Vogel?’ he asked pleasantly.
Hardcastle was wearing only a pair of white boxer shorts, which, contrasting with his ebony skin, helped show off his muscular physique. He made no attempt to cover himself.
‘My my, both of you,’ he remarked in his Etonian drawl, registering the arrival of DCI Clarke. ‘And you’ve brought some of your friends too. How lovely. But I’m afraid you’re a little early for breakfast.’
This was some cool customer, thought Vogel. But he too kept his cool as, stony-faced, he began the customary caution.
‘Stephen Hardcastle, I am arresting you on suspicion of having perverted the course of justice, theft, and the attempted murder of Henry Tanner,’ Vogel declared. ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Hardcastle remained smiling. If a little stiffly.
‘Prove it,’ he said.
Epilogue
Vogel and Clarke proceeded to do just that. It took time. There were a number of fruitless interviews with Hardcastle, who barely gave an inch at any stage.
And during this period, whilst on police bail, Stephen Hardcastle finally achieved his ambition. Henry Mildmay, now unable to remain in charge himself, made Hardcastle a partner in Tanner-Max, or what remained of it, and handed over the running of the company to him.
This incensed Vogel, who became more determined than ever that Hardcastle be brought to justice.
The weapon used to shoot Henry Tanner was never found. Neither were any computers carrying information pertaining to illicit gun dealing, other than the laptop owned by Charlie Mildmay. However, records were found of Hardcastle having purchased through Amazon the previous year a laptop which could not be accounted for. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The laptop was still under its manufacturer’s guarantee. Hardcastle claimed he’d lost it. He’d left it on a train. It hadn’t been insured.
The IT boys did their wizardry on Charlie’s laptop. Using advanced techniques now available, they were able to ascertain, from pressure on the keys, that Hardcastle had frequently used it. The problem was, he had never denied doing so. Both he and Henry had admitted to hacking into the laptop in order to check up on Charlie after his disappearance.
The police had more luck with the powerboat. They now knew that Hardcastle’s Goldfish had left Instow on the night that Charlie had set off on his supposedly fatal voyage the previous November, thanks to the emergence of a witness who had initially been reluctant to come forward. Once given assurances that his wife need not hear about his extra-marital adventures at the marina on the night in question, he had given a statement.
And it was already known that Hardcastle had taken the vessel out hours after Henry had been shot.
Forensics were able to prove that the envelope containing Charlie Mildmay’s fateful letter to his wife had been opened before she received it. Both the letter and its envelope bore the fingerprints of Stephen Hardcastle and Henry Tanner.
Most of the evidence was circumstantial, but eventually the CPS made the decision to charge Stephen Hardcastle with all the offences for which he had been arrested, namely: perverting the course of justice, theft and attempted murder.