Хилари Боннер - Death Comes First

Hadn’t Charlie Mildmay died six months ago? Yet, according to his wife, he had been the driver of the Range Rover. Had Charlie Mildmay deliberately caused the death of his own children? And had he then also deliberately attempted to cause the death of his wife?

The whole thing could have been a tragic accident, of course. Joyce may have got it all wrong. But she didn’t appear to think so.

‘He drove us into the water,’ she had said.

And the one eyewitness Vogel had spoken to so far seemed to back that up.

Vogel’s thoughts were interrupted.

‘We’ve got a pulse!’ shouted one of the paramedics crouching over the prone body of Charlie Mildmay. ‘Keep up the CPR.’

Predictably Nobby Clarke refused to be taken to hospital to be checked out. Wet and shivering, she sat slumped on the quayside, coughing and spluttering, but still giving orders.

‘Will somebody find me a blanket? I’m bloody freezing,’ she said.

Vogel was at her side filling her in on the information he had so far gleaned.

‘Whilst you’ve been playing hero, boss,’ he said with a ghost of a smile.

She grunted.

‘Right man, we have work to do,’ she said, when he’d finished. ‘I need to get back to the Marriott for a change of clothes, then we should get ourselves to Southmead to talk to Joyce Mildmay as soon as possible. And her husband, if he survives. And somebody has to make the death call. Think it had better be us. I reckon Henry Tanner might be a little more forthcoming now, don’t you? And we have to see him tonight, regardless of his condition.’

Vogel agreed. Telling people of the death of loved ones was one of the worst jobs in policing. Vogel dreaded giving the news to Henry Tanner’s wife. But the man himself was somehow a different proposition. Vogel remained convinced Henry was at the heart of it all. There seemed a sort of cruel justice in his being made to suffer. The dreadful news he and Clarke were about to deliver might lead to them learning whatever Henry Tanner knew that they did not. And both police officers believed that might be a considerable amount.

Clarke commandeered a uniform to rescue the CID car she had earlier abandoned in the middle of the road, and told the PC he would be driving her and Vogel to the hotel and on to Southmead.

To Vogel’s surprise, she seemed to recognize that it might be unwise for her to attempt to drive for a bit. She was shaking from head to toe. And Vogel didn’t think that it was simply because she was cold.

‘Think I may have to take a quick shower,’ she muttered to Vogel through chattering teeth.

Nobby Clarke was in her room at the Marriott for less than ten minutes. Then she reappeared looking the same as she always did, and wearing another of her sharp suits. Vogel was impressed. He couldn’t stop looking at her as they were driven to Southmead. She seemed as in control as ever. Her wet hair was about the only visual indication of what she had been through.

At Southmead the two detectives were told they could not yet see Joyce Mildmay, which Clarke accepted. And Charlie Mildmay remained unconscious. But the DCI would not be put off making the necessary visit to Henry Tanner by anyone. At the very least the man and his wife had to be told the tragic news.

Henry Tanner was asleep. Or looked to be. He had been given another dose of morphine following his earlier seizure. Both for the pain, and to keep him calm. It was by now getting on for 11 p.m., way past hospital bedding-down time.

Felicity was sitting by her husband’s bedside. PC Dawn Saslow, who had earlier been re-directed to the hospital as she remained the family liaison officer and there was little or no family to liaise with anywhere else, was also in the room, sitting over by the balcony windows.

Felicity wished the young woman would go. But Saslow had said she was under orders to remain, as, apparently, was the young uniformed PC on sentry duty in the corridor. Felicity did not have the energy to protest about the presence of either officer. She wished she too could sink into a morphine-induced sleep. Indeed she wished that she could sleep for ever.

Instead her mind was racing, trying to come up with some explanation for the disappearance of her daughter and granddaughter. She dreaded to think what might be preventing them from answering her calls, or making contact to let everyone know that they were all right. Had they been abducted, like Fred? But by whom? And why?

Felicity picked up her phone again and dialled Vogel’s mobile. She had no intention of using PC Saslow as a go-between, although she suspected that was what she was expected to do. Presumably, if the detective inspector had any news, he would have called her. But she had to do something.

There was no reply.

Felicity sat for a few minutes more, watching and envying her sleeping husband, then tried Vogel’s number again. There was still no reply. PC Saslow continued to sit quietly by the window.

A minute or two later, the door to Henry’s room opened softly. DI Vogel, DCI Clarke and a ward sister entered.

Felicity had only to look at their faces to know that they were the bearers of bad news. Very bad news, she feared.

Clarke’s face was grey and her mouth was set in a grim line. Her hair seemed to be wet. Felicity wondered vaguely why. Vogel also looked pale. But perhaps he always looked pale? She thought he probably did. This was something else though. Clarke’s hands were trembling. So, Felicity thought, were Vogel’s hands. His eyes were red-rimmed. Felicity wondered if he had been crying. Surely not, she thought. Policemen don’t cry, do they? No, it was just stress and weariness, she supposed.

The two officers approached Henry’s bed. The nursing sister hovered behind them, unsure what to do.

PC Saslow stood up. She looked questioningly at the two detectives. They both ignored her. She seemed to know better than to speak. Felicity wondered obliquely whether learning when to stay silent was part of the training for police liaison officers.

Henry remained in his drug-induced sleep.

‘Mrs Tanner,’ said Clarke, ‘you’d better wake your husband, if you can.’

Felicity felt the icy fingers of foreboding run down her spine. She didn’t argue. She didn’t even utter a cursory why. Instead she reached out and shook her husband’s good arm.

‘Henry, Henry,’ she called to him, her voice loud and unnaturally high-pitched.

Her husband took a while to stir. Then he opened his eyes suddenly. Vogel and Clarke were standing at the foot of his bed, directly in his line of vision. They were the first people he saw as he began to re-enter consciousness, a state from which he might soon wish he could escape. Like his wife. For ever.

Henry’s drug-affected eyes opened wider. He glanced to his right, looking for and at Felicity.

She looked away from him, at Vogel and Clarke, who were standing in silence as if waiting for the right moment.

‘Tell us,’ commanded Felicity. ‘Just tell us what you came to say. Is it Fred?’

‘Perhaps — we’re not sure,’ Vogel fumbled.

He glanced at Clarke. It was a glance that said, go on, you’re in charge. Anyway, you’re the woman, women are best at this sort of thing. This is down to you. Not me. You’re the senior officer. You do it.

Felicity followed his glance. She focused her gaze on Clarke.

‘Please, just say what you’ve come to say,’ she repeated.

DCI Clarke took a deep breath and began.

‘Mr and Mrs Tanner, I am afraid I bring some serious news,’ she said.

Henry stretched out his good arm, seeking to hold his wife’s hand.

Felicity ignored him and kept both her hands firmly in her lap. Henry had been her husband for almost fifty years, the patriarch of her family. She could not imagine she would ever stop loving him. But she felt sure that he was in some way involved in this bad news that she was about to hear. That he would be the one who should bear the ultimate responsibility. And if that were to prove to be the case, she suspected she would never be able to forgive him.