Broken Fall: A D.I. Harland novella Read Free

still in there?’ Linwood asked.
    ‘Yes.’ Harland brightened. ‘Yes, let’s check it for prints; the key-safe too. We
ought
to find Brian’s and Tracey’s …’
    ‘And if we don’t …?’
    ‘Exactly.’
    They both turned to look down the hall, hearing raised voices from outside.
    ‘Back in a minute.’ Harland scowled, stalking towards the front door.
    There was a couple at the gate, with several onlookers behind them. The man was in his forties, jowly, with a wave of fair hair, and some sort of blazer flapping around his bulky frame as he gestured and blustered.
Well dressed and well fed
, Harland thought. The slender woman beside him – his wife, perhaps? – was pale and drawn, her straight blond hair shining under the light of the street lamp.
    ‘… but I still need you to stand back.’ Lawson’s voice rose above the clamour, his arms spread wide, as he positioned himself to block the gateway. ‘Please, sir! Stand back!’
    ‘What d’you think you’re playing at?’ the stocky man protested. ‘Who the hell’s in charge here?’
    Harland stepped directly into his path, his face impassive as he calmly folded his arms.
    ‘I’m Detective Inspector Harland.’ He spoke softly and stood his ground, forcing the other man to quieten down and back away. ‘Can I ask who
you
are?’
    The man looked at him, slightly deflated.
    ‘I’m Richard Errington, and this is my wife Amanda.’ He jabbed out a thick finger to point towards the house. ‘Now you listen, this is my father’s property, and I want to know …’
    The woman, who had been staring intently at Harland, seemed to read something in his face.
    ‘Richard,’ she tugged at her husband’s arm. ‘Let him speak.’
    ‘… what the bloody hell is—’
    ‘Richard!’
    The steel in her voice quietened everyone for a moment.
    Richard blinked at his wife, then lapsed into silence.
    Harland put a hand on Lawson’s shoulder, nodding for him to stand aside and let the couple through. There was no privacy on the street, so he led them a short way into the garden, halting on the cobbled drive, and turning to face them. Delivering a death message was always grim, but you could learn a lot from people’s reactions.
    ‘I’m sorry about this …’ He took a breath, looked the stout man in the eye. ‘It’s bad news, sir.’
    ‘Oh God, no …’ Amanda gripped her husband with one hand and raised the other to her mouth.
    ‘I’m afraid that Albert Errington …’ Harland paused, then changed his mind.
Too impersonal.
‘… that your father died earlier this evening.’
    ‘Eh?’ Richard gave him an incredulous look, before his jowly face twisted in distress. He turned towards the house. ‘Let me see him …’
    ‘Sir.’ Harland moved quickly, taking hold of the big man’s arm. ‘SIR!’
    ‘Get your bloody hands off me!’ Richard yanked himself free and stared at him, outraged. ‘He’s my father!’
    ‘And I’m very sorry,’ Harland spoke calmly, ‘but you can’t go in there just now.’
    ‘Why not?’ There was confusion on Richard’s face now, and it seemed genuine. ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘That’s what we’re trying to establish.’
    ‘But … how did he die?’
    Harland gave him a long steady look.
    ‘Your father was found at the foot of the stairs.’ He sighed. ‘We’ll know more soon.’
    Richard faltered, seeming to shrink slightly. ‘So … he fell downstairs?’
    ‘As I said, we’ll know more soon.’
    Amanda stepped forward to put her arm around her husband. He hunched over, indignation crumbling to sorrow as he raised a hand to rub his eyes.
    ‘No … no …’
    ‘I’m so sorry, Richard. But there’s nothing anyone could have done.’ Amanda placed her hands on either side of his face, gently lifting, forcing him to look into her eyes. ‘
Really
nothing.’
    Richard nodded slowly, then suddenly threw his arms around her with a strangled cry. She accepted his embrace somewhat stiffly, her eyes