Broken Fall: A D.I. Harland novella (8 page)

‘Yes,’ Linwood answered. ‘Why?’

Harland frowned.
Why hadn’t they seen her? Then again, they hadn’t known what they were looking for. Maybe if they went through it a second time …

He shook his head unhappily.

‘No reason.’ He turned towards the door. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Once again, the landscape was shifting beneath his feet, taking him by surprise. He really hadn’t expected it to be Tracey.

Harland flung the car around the Bedminster Bridge Roundabout, accelerating from the inside to cut across the other lanes and swerve on to Coronation Road. A chorus of horns blared out angrily behind him.

‘No answer from her phone,’ Linwood said, holding the grab handle above the door as he pressed the handset to his ear. His eyes were locked on the road, limbs taut as he swayed in his seat.

‘Keep trying,’ Harland told him.

The little man nodded, ending the call and dialling again.

‘Any guesses as to why she did it?’ he asked, as the traffic thinned out again.

‘No.’

That was the problem. As far as he knew, there was no reason for Tracey to have killed Albie. And yet, they now had a witness statement that implicated her.

‘Who’s the witness?’ he asked, powering through the traffic lights near Asda, just as they were going red.

‘One of the neighbours,’ Linwood replied, swallowing as he stared out at the oncoming cars. ‘Well, I
say
neighbour; they’re not on Granby Hill itself, which is why it’s taken a while to get round to—’

‘What are you on about?’ Harland interrupted him.

‘Sorry. It’s a guy from Freeland Place, one of those terraces on the right as you go down? Anyway, the houses overlook Granby Hill, and this guy’s out on his balcony, smoking a cigarette. He says he saw a woman in a blue tunic, “like the kind nurses wear”, some time around midnight.’

Harland shook his head unhappily.

‘Any answer yet?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing. Just keeps going straight to voicemail.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter now.’ He indicated left and braked hard, slowing to turn off on to a narrow side road. ‘We’re here.’

Little Cross House rose up before them, a dark edifice against the pale sky. Parking near the road, Harland got out and strode quickly along the line of residents’ spaces.

‘Does Tracey have a car?’ he asked. Working with different care clients, she probably did. But unless he had the make or registration, he wouldn’t know what to look for.

Walking beside him, Linwood shrugged.

‘Not sure, sir,’ he replied. ‘Want me to check?’

‘In a minute,’ Harland scowled. ‘We might as well try the bell first.’

They made their way down the concrete steps to the main entrance and stood under the broad porch. Harland squinted at the metal panel and pressed the 73 button several times but there was no answer.

‘Damn it!’ He turned on his heel. ‘Where the hell is she?’

Linwood glanced at his watch.

‘What time did the agency say her last appointment finished?’ he asked.

‘An hour ago,’ Harland snapped. ‘Call her again, will you?’

Linwood dialled the number once more, and stood, listening to the phone. Harland paced back and forth for a moment, wandering out from under the porch so that he could gaze up at the building, noting an England shirt fluttering among the washing left out to dry on one of the small upper balconies. A static CCTV camera gazed down at him, the metal housing pockmarked and spattered with paint.

‘Still got doubts, sir?’

He turned to Linwood and nodded slightly.

‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘I have.’

‘No alibi,’ the little man reminded him.

‘No motive,’ Harland countered. ‘Any joy?’

‘Sorry, still going to voicemail.’

‘Never mind. Look.’ He pointed up at the camera. ‘I want to see the footage from that. If Tracey
is
our killer, we might get lucky and see the moment when she came home after the main event.’

‘Okay.’ Linwood nodded eagerly. ‘I think the council runs this place. You want me to contact them? Maybe I can track down someone who deals with maintenance and security.’

Harland glanced at his watch, then shook his head.

‘We’re already here,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if we can find a building supervisor.’

The supervisor was a heavy-set man, with thinning black hair and a stubbled face. Wearing grey jeans and a faded red sweatshirt, he appeared from the back of the foyer and approached the main door with an unhurried pace.

‘You the ones who buzzed me?’ His voice was muffled through the glass.

Harland nodded. ‘Police,’ he explained, holding up his ID.

The man peered at it for a moment, then grudgingly pulled the door open.

‘Gotta be careful,’ he muttered. ‘Get all sorts coming round here.’

‘Very sensible,’ Harland told him. ‘We’d like to take a look at your CCTV set-up if you don’t mind?’

The supervisor shrugged at them.

‘Why should I mind?’ Reaching behind Linwood, he rattled the front door to make sure it was closed then turned towards the back of the foyer. ‘Follow me.’

Leading them past the lifts, he stopped by a plain doorway near the fire exit, drew out a large bunch of keys, and unlocked it. ‘Through there,’ he said, indicating that they should go ahead of him. Linwood went first, then Harland, followed by the supervisor, who methodically locked the door behind them.

‘Can’t have kids in here,’ he explained. ‘Little bastards would nick everything.’

He led them down a narrow corridor that smelled of damp and into a small room with breeze-block walls, lit by a bare bulb. Exposed pipes ran from floor to ceiling and thick cable trunking connected a line of sturdy metal fuse boxes. In the far corner of the room was a battered old desk with a pair of small monitor screens.

‘Right then …’ The supervisor eased himself down on to the single office chair and wheeled himself closer to the desk. He retrieved the mouse and keyboard from where they’d been tucked away between the screens, positioning them neatly before turning around again. ‘So what did you want to see?’

‘I want to look at the CCTV footage for Monday night,’ Harland told him. ‘Ten p.m. onwards.’

The supervisor nodded. Turning back to the desk, he began accessing the system.

‘If we could start with the camera above the main entrance?’ Linwood suggested.

The man paused, then swivelled his chair round to face them.

‘That camera isn’t working,’ he growled. ‘Bastard kids, always messing with things … been broken for a month now.’

Harland clenched his fists, but managed to keep his voice calm.

‘What footage
do
you have then?’ he asked. ‘Entrance foyer? Lifts? Seventh floor corridor?’

The supervisor shook his head.

‘Nothing much inside the building,’ he grumbled. ‘Got the fire exits, rear doorway, and a couple of views of the car park.’

‘Let’s take a look at the car park,’ Harland sighed. He turned to Linwood. ‘You never know … she might walk through it on her way back to the entrance.’

Linwood did his best to look optimistic.

‘Here you go …’ The supervisor clicked the mouse and nodded towards an image that appeared on the screen. ‘Car park.’

The picture quality was poor – grainy, washed-out black and white – but they leaned in closer to see. There were several cars visible, and a swathe of open concrete. A couple of youths wandered through the frame but it was difficult to make out any detail until they passed very close to the camera.

‘Want me to speed it up a bit?’ the man asked them.

‘I suppose so,’ Harland frowned.

Crowded round the screen, they studied the footage for a while, watching the time code racing forward, waiting for individual figures to come scurrying into the frame. Every now and then they’d slow the playback, peering closely –
Was that her? No.
– then speed things up again and carry on.

Harland’s shoulder began to ache, and he stood up straight, reaching back to try and massage it a little. Blinking away the after images, he stared down at the picture on the screen once more – the now-familiar metal railings, the lamp posts with their ‘No Ball Games’ signs, the cars …

He frowned.

‘Just a moment,’ he murmured. ‘You said there was another view of the car park?’

The supervisor nodded.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Not so close to the building entrance though.’

‘I’m not worried about that.’ Harland leaned forward and tapped the screen. ‘I want a better angle on those cars there.’

The supervisor shrugged, paused the playback, and clicked the mouse a couple of times. The monitor flickered to show a different view.

Harland stiffened.

‘Jack, get a licence check. Right now.’ He tapped the screen to indicate the front grille of a parked Audi. ‘I think I’ve seen that car before.’

Harland stalked across the car park with renewed purpose. Hurrying alongside him, Linwood glanced across, his phone pressed to his ear.

‘You were right, sir.’

‘Richard Errington?’

Linwood nodded.

‘None other.’

Harland allowed himself a grim smile, but there was no humour in it.

‘Then I think we’ve got the whole thing,’ he said, softly.

Linwood looked puzzled. ‘Sir?’

‘Come on,’ Harland told him. ‘I only have one question left to answer.’

‘But where are we going?’

Harland reached for the fob in his pocket and unlocked the car.

‘You’ll see,’ he murmured. ‘We’re almost there.’

Richard answered the door, his jowly face immediately darkening when he saw Harland and Linwood.

‘What do you want now?’ he scowled. ‘More questions, is it?’

Harland glared back at him, but kept his voice calm and quiet.

‘Do you mind if we come in, Mr Errington?’

Richard huffed and turned away. Harland and Linwood stepped inside, pulling the door closed before following the larger man along the hallway.

‘Inspector?’ Amanda looked up in surprise as they entered the living room, flickering an enquiring glance towards her husband as she got to her feet. ‘What can we do for you?’

Harland paused, then wordlessly moved across and took a seat, gesturing for Richard and Amanda to do likewise. Somewhat confused by proceedings, Linwood had held back and was standing in the doorway, but that was fine. It helped create the atmosphere that Harland wanted.

‘I don’t know why people think they can
lie
to me,’ he said softly, gazing down at his plain gold wedding ring. ‘They think they can lie, and get away with it, because they think they’re smarter than everyone else …’

He paused, noting the absolute hush that had fallen over the room.

‘… but they’re not.’ He looked up, eyes locking with Richard’s. ‘
You’re
not.’

Richard’s mouth opened, but he was at a loss.

Good.

‘It’s a terrible thing to take an innocent life,’ Harland told him. ‘And you can never outrun it. Sooner or later, it catches up with you.’

‘What?’ Richard was finding his voice at last. ‘What the bloody hell …’

‘Lies.’ Harland leaned forward, his voice cold. ‘They trip you up.’

‘But you can’t seriously think
I
would do anything to him …’ Richard blinked. ‘He’s my
father
.’

‘It’s not unheard of.’ Harland shook his head sadly. ‘A parent, murdered by their own child … especially when there’s money involved.’

‘Money?’ Richard exploded. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t get
anything
out of his death. The house goes to Jenny.’

Amanda’s impassive demeanour faltered, only for a second. Harland leaned back, settling into the corner of the sofa, a faint smile spreading across his face.

‘Thank you,’ he said to Richard. ‘I wanted to be sure that you knew. Did your father tell you himself?’

‘Oh yes. The old bastard always had it in for Amanda and me,’ Richard grumbled. ‘He’d been threatening to cut me off ever since he first met her.’

‘Is that why you fell out?’

‘I suppose so. I mean, it was up to him what he did with his money, but I wasn’t going to be told who I could or couldn’t marry.’ Richard shook his head, a shadow of regret passing across his face, before he stiffened and looked up angrily. ‘So there you are; I had no reason to kill him.’

‘Exactly,’ Harland said, looking at them across the coffee table. ‘Neither of you had any motive to kill Albert …’

Amanda nodded slowly, her face unreadable.

‘…but one of you
thought
you did.’

It took Richard a moment.

‘What the bloody hell are you …?’ he began, then trailed off, his expression changing as he turned to look at his wife. ‘Amanda?’

Ignoring him, Amanda stared at Harland – a long, level stare, trying to gauge how much he knew, how sure he was.

‘You didn’t know, did you?’ Harland met her gaze, and held it until she eventually sighed and turned towards the window.

‘Amanda?’ Richard’s voice sounded loud, scared. ‘What have you done?’

Grabbing her arm, he shook her, desperate to elicit a response.

‘What the bloody hell have you
done
, you stupid woman?’

‘IDIOT!’ She whirled round, eyes flashing, teeth bared. ‘Why the
hell
didn’t you tell me?’

Richard shrank away from her, stunned into silence.

‘
Well
?’ she hissed, leaning forward and making him flinch. ‘You never bloody stop your incessant talking but you didn’t think to mention
this
?’

Harland watched Richard floundering. Why
hadn’t
he told her? Pride at first, perhaps … then later, when his business faltered, the dawning fear that she would leave him. Without the prospect of some financial reward on the horizon, she’d have no more reason to stay.

‘I … oh God!’ Richard sagged against the arm of the sofa, his shoulders twitching as the first sobs escaped him. ‘But why?
Why
?’

Amanda glared at her husband, then appeared to remember herself, glancing over at the others.

‘You may as well,’ Harland told her. ‘We know where Richard really was. You’re the only one without an alibi now.’