Free Broken Fall: A D.I. Harland novella by Fergus McNeill

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