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

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.’

Chapter 11
    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