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soon.’
    He didn’t look back as he reached the end of the path and turned on to the pavement. Richard was definitely more subdued today, perhaps a little more circumspect too. Maybe the death
had
hit him hard, as Amanda had said.
    He got into his car and started the engine.
    Or maybe he’d thought of some questions he didn’t want to be asked.
    Frowning to himself, Harland reversed out of the parking bay, then indicated right at the end of the street, making for the junction with the main road. There, right in front of him, was the rickety old footbridge that spanned the river, connecting Spike Island with Southville. He could see Little Cross House, the tower block where Tracey lived, standing tall above the trees on the other side of the water.
    Really not that far away at all.
    Frowning to himself, he put the car in gear, and drove home in silence.

WEDNESDAY

Chapter 6
    Morning sunlight streamed in through the long windows of the canteen, glaring up off the polished floor and tabletops. Sitting opposite him, Linwood lifted another forkful of scrambled eggs towards his mouth, then paused.
    ‘You were right about the key-safe,’ he said, brightly. ‘The only prints on it were Brian’s. Same for the door key; not even a smudge from Tracey, or anyone else.’
    Harland gave him a faint smile.
    ‘Meaning
someone
was careful enough to wipe everything clean,’ he mused. ‘Well, I suppose that removes any lingering doubts about what we’re dealing with here.’
    ‘Mm-hmm.’ Linwood chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. ‘So, we’ve got Richard and Amanda at home, Jenny out with friends in Weston-Super-Mare …’
    ‘… and Tracey the carer,’ Harland finished. ‘No obvious motive, but no alibi either.’
    He frowned and took a sip of his coffee.
    ‘Did you check up on her for me?’ he asked.
    ‘There’s nothing on the computer,’ Linwood replied. ‘I spoke with her agency and she’s been with them for six years now. The manager says you’re welcome to look over their records if you want to.’
    ‘Where are they based?’
    ‘Long Ashton, I think.’
    Harland considered this for a moment.
    ‘I’ll drop in on my way to Weston,’ he decided. With no alibi, he had to treat Tracey as a potential suspect, even if he couldn’t see why she might have done it. Currently, the only motive he could see was money. ‘You go over to Granby Hill and check through Albie’s things. I want you to track his solicitor down, so we can take a look at his will.’
    ‘No problem.’
    ‘Oh, and see if there’s any CCTV footage we can get covering the roads around his house,’ he added. ‘You never know, we might get lucky. Phone me if you find anything.’
    The offices of the Western Gold Care Agency were situated above a hair and nail salon in a terraced house on the Long Ashton Road. With no obvious street entrance, Harland was forced to enquire in the salon, where a woman with a dramatically coloured perm directed him down a side alley. There, he found a plain white door with an intercom buzzer labelled WGCA. Pushing the button, he was answered by a friendly sounding female voice with a Scottish accent.
    ‘Hang on, I’ll be right down.’
    There was a crackle and the intercom box fell silent.
    When the door opened a moment later, he found himself facing a bright-faced woman in her fifties, with short brown hair and spectacles. She wore a grey tracksuit top over her blue tunic.
    ‘Fiona McLean?’ he asked.
    ‘That’s right,’ she smiled. ‘Can I help you?’
    ‘I’m Detective Inspector Harland,’ he told her. ‘I believe you spoke to my colleague, Sergeant Linwood?’
    ‘Oh yes, the man who phoned about Tracey.’ She opened the door wider. ‘You’d better come up.’
    He followed her up a long straight stairway to the first floor, where she turned left into a large room lined with filing cabinets. The phone started ringing.
    ‘Sorry, just take a seat,’ she said, moving swiftly round the desk and