Broken Fall: A D.I. Harland novella (7 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘When did you say the stairlift was installed again?’

‘Early last year,’ Jenny told him. Her brow furrowed. ‘I think it was in April, or it could have been May … Dad said he didn’t want workmen traipsing in and out of the house until the weather was warmer.’

‘Of course. And he installed it because he was getting …’
What was a polite way of saying wobbly?
‘… unsteady on his feet?’

‘Not really unsteady; it was just that he found the stairs so tiring.’ Jenny leaned back into her seat, one hand straying up to absently touch her ear. ‘I remember he was grumbling that he needed to sit down when he got to the top of the stairs, and I said wouldn’t it be easier if he could sit down
while
he got to the top of the stairs?’ She smiled sadly to herself. ‘Silly, really, but we had a good laugh over that.’

‘And he got the Help Line installed around the same time?’

‘I think so.’ Jenny nodded. ‘It was the care agency who suggested that. They spoke to Dad and persuaded him … eventually.’

‘He didn’t like the idea of it?’

‘He just thought it was expensive,’ Jenny explained. ‘Said he’d rather get Sky Sports,
and
it would cost him less money.’

Harland grinned despite himself.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘He was always saying things like that.’

‘Good for him.’ Harland smiled. He stretched, then started putting his notebook and pen away, doing it very deliberately so that she would notice and assume the interview was at an end. He wanted his last questions to appear as though they were an afterthought. If she was innocent, it would be less upsetting for her. If she wasn’t, there was more chance he would catch her off guard.

‘Oh …’ He looked up, as though he’d just remembered. ‘I meant to ask you, do you know if your father had made a will?’

‘Of course.’ Jenny nodded. ‘He was always very organised about things like that.’

‘Did he ever speak to you about it?’

‘He told me when he changed it.’

‘Changed it?’ Harland asked.

‘Yes.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Ages ago, now.’

Harland paused. He had to ask carefully, make sure he understood how much she really knew.

‘Were you aware of how his estate was to be divided up? The house, money, that sort of thing?’

‘Oh yes, Dad was very clear about all that.’ She answered without hesitation, an expression of regret on her face. ‘He said he was leaving the house to me, not Richie. And I didn’t think that was fair at all.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Richie’s as much his son as I am his daughter.’ Jenny pursed her lips in thought, then sighed. ‘I really wasn’t comfortable with it, but Dad was always so …
stubborn
.’

Harland wondered what had come between Albie and his son.

‘You tried to talk to him about it?’

‘Of course I did, but he wouldn’t listen.’ She slumped back into her chair, gazing into the distance. ‘Honestly, Dad and Richie are as bad as each other.’

Her lower lip pouted slightly, and Harland found himself staring. There was something oddly attractive about her – not just physically, it was more than that. A smile to look forward to after hours apart, a hand to hold at the end of the evening, and the first voice after waking …

But he couldn’t allow himself to think that way, not about a suspect. And anyway, she was married, and that was a line he
wouldn’t
cross.

‘I suppose it must have been awkward for you,’ he continued. ‘And you wouldn’t want anything to cause a rift between you and your brother.’

‘Exactly!’ She pointed an emphatic finger at him in agreement. ‘That’s
just
what I said to Dad. Of course, it wasn’t so bad at that time, when Richie still had his place in Clifton. But then … I don’t know, everything changed. I feel rather guilty about it now.’

Harland frowned. What was she referring to? He thought back over his conversations with Richard and decided to try a guess.

‘You mean with the business?’ he hazarded.

‘Yes,’ Jenny reflected sadly. ‘I think he’s done very well to keep the company going, but I know there were setbacks, and they couldn’t have happened at a worse time, with house prices so low.’

Harland nodded, not wishing to betray his ignorance. She would be less guarded about what she said if she thought he already knew everything.

‘What did Richard say about it all?’ he asked.

‘He refused to discuss it. Nobody wants to talk about anything important in this family.’

She glanced down at her wristwatch, subtly, but Harland noticed.

‘What time is your husband back?’ he asked.

‘Half past six.’ Jenny’s face brightened. ‘I’m picking him up from the station.’

Harland felt a momentary stab of jealousy, followed by the dull ache of guilt. His thumb moved involuntarily to touch his wedding ring.

‘Well, I won’t delay you any longer,’ he told her, getting stiffly to his feet. ‘Thanks for giving me your time.’

‘No, no it’s fine.’ She got up too, smiling bravely through her loss. ‘It’s odd, but it feels
right
to be talking about him, important somehow …’

Harland nodded, his own thoughts slipping back to the past. He understood what she meant only too well.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he murmured.

He believed her. At least, he
wanted
to believe her. She seemed to be such a kind and genuine person, and as he said his goodbyes the warmth of her smile touched him.

But it was an awful lot of money.

Back in the car, he started the engine and drove to the end of Wetlands Lane, then pulled over and took out his phone. He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb as he listened to the ringtone. After a moment, there was a click.

‘DS Linwood speaking.’

‘Hello, Jack.’

‘Oh hello, sir. How did you get on with the daughter?’

Harland sighed.

‘She’s either very genuine or very devious,’ he replied. ‘Listen, are you almost done with Albie’s accounts?’

‘I’ve gone through what’s here,’ Linwood replied. ‘Most of it, anyway.’

‘Any surprises?’

‘Nothing significant, no.’

‘In that case, box everything up and get back over to CID. I want you to do some digging on Richard – finances, business, that sort of thing.’

‘But he didn’t stand to inherit,’ Linwood pointed out.

‘I know.’ Harland rubbed his eyes, wearily. ‘It’d be so much simpler if he did.’

‘All right. Well, I’ll see what I can turn up then. Are you coming back in?’

Harland glanced at the dashboard clock.

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll carry on down to Weston, take a look through the restaurant CCTV footage.’

‘You think Jenny’s alibi might have a few holes in it?’

Harland shook his head, even though Linwood couldn’t see him.

‘I think she had an awful lot to gain,’ he said.

Harland put the phone down and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.
Another dead end.
He stared at the image on the screen in front of him, then swivelled in his chair, gazing blankly across the desks in the open-plan office. Bristol CID was quiet just now. He got up and walked across to the window to stare out at the trains crawling in and out of Temple Meads station.

There was a noise behind him and he turned to see the corridor door swinging open. Linwood appeared, walking briskly towards their cluster of desks.

‘Hi Jack,’ Harland greeted him. ‘How did you get on?’

‘Well, you were right about Richard.’ Linwood took his jacket off and draped it over the back of a chair. ‘He’s not nearly as flush as he makes out.’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s gonna take time to work up a full financial profile, but the numbers paint a pretty grim picture.’ Linwood sat down and leaned back, hands behind his head. ‘I dug out the accounts for his company and it looks like things have been bad for the last few years.’

‘The staff agency is in trouble?’

‘He seems to be keeping it afloat, but only just.’

‘Interesting,’ Harland mused. ‘What about that posh waterfront apartment?’

‘Rented,’ Linwood replied. ‘And that must be a pretty hefty outgoing every month.’

‘Definitely.’ He’d seen similar properties being advertised in the paper and wondered how anyone could ever afford them. ‘So when things got bad, Richard sold his place in Clifton, used some of the proceeds to prop up the business, and now he’s living on the rest … but he can’t do that forever.’

‘What about the wife?’ Linwood suggested. ‘Maybe her income helps balance things out a bit?’

Harland shook his head as he settled down to perch on the edge of his desk.

‘No, she does voluntary work, remember?’

‘Oh yeah, you said. Opera society or something?’

‘Choral society,’ Harland corrected him, then paused. ‘They’re not bad, actually. There was a young composer there yesterday and his stuff was really stunning.’

‘Fair enough.’ Linwood shrugged. ‘So she’s a music lover.’

Harland smiled to himself.

‘I think her interest in him may not be entirely musical,’ he murmured.

‘What?’ Linwood looked up, then grinned. ‘Ah, you think they’re doing the old Durex duet?’

‘Something like that.’ He thought back to the man’s scruffy clothing. ‘He certainly didn’t seem like a member of her social circle.’

‘Maybe she doesn’t want to share him.’ Linwood winked, lecherously.

‘You’re disgusting.’ Harland smiled.

‘The heart wants what the heart wants,’ the little man chuckled.

Harland paused and looked at him. It was a good point. What
did
everyone want?

‘
Anyway
,’ he continued, ‘unpaid work wouldn’t bail the Erringtons out of their financial hole.’

Linwood nodded. ‘So. Richard could use some money, but he wasn’t going to inherit much.’

‘Yes, Jenny was quite open about it,’ Harland explained. ‘Albie’s decision must have caused a fair bit of family tension.’

‘I’ll bet it did!’ Linwood grinned. ‘So we’re back to Jenny then?’

‘She’s the one with the financial motive,’ Harland conceded, toying with the notepad and pen on his desk. ‘But I just don’t see how she could have done it …’

He honestly couldn’t believe that she
would
have done it. She wasn’t the type – too kind, too caring … or was that wishful thinking on his part?

‘You went through the CCTV at the restaurant?’ Linwood asked.

‘Oh yes.’ Harland nodded towards the image on his screen, a grainy video grab showing a group of people sat around a large table. He pointed at one of the figures. ‘That’s her in Weston-Super-Mare, out with her colleagues, just as she said.’

‘She was there until late?’

‘She was.’ Harland rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘I’ve spent the morning tracking down her friends, including the woman who gave her a lift back to Portishead. She was never alone, the whole bloody evening.’ He tapped his pen angrily on the notepad, then tossed it down on the desk in frustration. ‘We’re missing something, Jack. But I don’t know what the hell it is.’

Linwood turned his face towards the light of the windows, then shrugged.

‘Tracey?’ he asked. ‘She’s the only one without an alibi.’

‘Where’s her motive?’

‘True.’

They sat in silence for a moment, until Harland sighed and got to his feet. Picking up his jacket, he checked that his cigarettes were in the pocket, then he paused.

‘Have we heard back from the door-to-door yet?’ he asked.

‘I can find out.’

‘Thanks.’ He pulled the jacket on. ‘Want anything from the canteen?’

Linwood shook his head. ‘I’m okay.’

Harland nodded and made his way towards the stairs.

A light wind squalled across the car park, whipping around the corner of the building where he stopped to light up. Exhaling a breath of smoke, Harland propped himself up – knee bent, one foot flat against the wall behind him – so he could lean back without getting his jacket dirty.

What were they missing?

He could feel the initiative slipping away from him, like sand draining from the hourglass, the gnawing doubt that he might have got it wrong. He’d been so sure that Albie’s murder was financially motivated, but the only person to benefit –
really
benefit – had a solid alibi. Jenny
couldn’t
have done it … and her husband
had
been out of the country – they’d checked.

He sighed, listening to the endless rumble of traffic from the nearby flyover.

It wasn’t Jenny. His gut told him she was a good person, and he didn’t want to believe he was wrong, not about her. Was he just blinded by his own loneliness? No. He was a good judge of character … for the most part, anyway. True, things hadn’t worked out with his last relationship, but that had been inevitable, the wrong person at the wrong time. He’d rushed into things with Kim, the first woman since his wife had died, and deep down he’d known it couldn’t last. There was no surprise when he’d come home and found her gone.

No surprise …

He considered each of the main suspects in turn – Richard, Jenny, Tracey – trying to imagine each of them as the killer. Who would
surprise
him if they turned out to be guilty? And who wouldn’t?

Frowning, he stubbed out his cigarette and went back inside.

Upstairs, he pushed through the door and made his way across the open-plan office.

‘Sir?’ Linwood was waving, beckoning him over.

‘What is it?’ Harland asked, walking around the cluster of desks.

‘I’ve just been on to the team doing the door-to-door.’ The little man’s eyes were bright, excited. ‘Uniform spoke to someone who reckons they saw a woman walking down Granby Hill, close to midnight, the night Albert was killed.’

‘So?’

‘According to the witness, this woman was wearing a blue carer’s tunic.’

‘Really?’ Harland hesitated.
Down the hill, away from the city centre but towards the water … and the bridge that led to Little Cross House.
‘We lifted the CCTV from the bridges didn’t we?’