Read Online Broken Fall: A D.I. Harland novella by Fergus McNeill - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Fergus McNeill
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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
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
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