The Whitby Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery) J. Ellis (distant reading TXT) 📖

it yet. I’m going to swap you and him to keep DCS Walker happy. I don’t think he’ll want to lend out two of his detective sergeants to a Whitby police investigation. This is where Andy’s London experience will come in handy. I’ll be coming back here to help Inspector Granger.’ He saw a brief look of disappointment on Steph’s face, but she was too professional to express it. He knew she enjoyed working with him.

‘Good plan, sir. I’m sure he’ll be keen to help.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve also got some jobs for you too: looking into that jeweller’s past and keeping an eye on Louise. She’s going to be in Leeds for a while so you could call in on your way home sometimes and see how she’s doing.’

Steph smiled. That was much better.

Jack smiled to himself as he sped round the Malton bypass on his way to York, before heading south on the A1. The car was handling very well. He loved it; it so fitted in with his image: the debonair man about town conducting a high-octane social life.

It had been a difficult few days in Whitby, not at all what he was used to. But he had acquitted himself effectively and managed to conceal certain things which he wished to remain secret. Now that Dom’s body had been found he didn’t expect any more trouble from the police. Once he got back to London he would be able to resume his normal life.

He was glad that he’d not been there to witness the murder; that would have been very traumatic. And then Dom’s suicide. To lose friends was always a bad thing, but, hey, let’s move on, he thought to himself. He was sure the group would carry on without Dom and Andrea. There were lots of things to look forward to. He pressed his foot down and the car surged forward. The further he travelled south and away from Whitby, the better he felt.

Mark and Maggie were proceeding at a more sedate pace in the Citroen and had reached the market town of Pickering.

‘This is a lovely little place,’ said Maggie. ‘I sometimes think I’d like to live in a little country town like this someday, where you could walk to things like shops and stuff and get to know a lot of people.’

‘Who then get to find out about everything you’re doing,’ replied Mark. ‘I think I might find it a bit claustrophobic. Anyway, forget it in the south – houses in places like this would be right out of our range.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘You’re sounding a bit middle-aged today.’ He laughed. ‘Is it time to settle down? Am I the lucky man?’

Maggie kept looking at the pretty old streets, the shoppers and the little parks. ‘You might be.’ She turned to him. ‘I feel different about things, you know, life and stuff after all this.’

‘How?’

‘Well, you never know what’s going to happen, do you? You’ve got to get on with life and do the things you want to do. I’ve drifted a bit since Oxford and my travels. I think I’m going to look at doing an MA. In London somewhere. Louise has inspired me. I’ve got the money saved up and I can carry on part time in the café.’

‘What will you do it in?’

‘Maybe something to do with social work. I enjoyed working in the refuge. Don’t worry, I’ll stay in London.’

They’d left Pickering and were now crossing the vale named after the town towards Malton. Cows and sheep grazed in the flat fields divided by hedgerows.

‘It’s been nice to see the countryside as well as the sea,’ said Maggie, enjoying the views.

Mark looked around without enthusiasm. ‘Yeah, but you can’t have everything. You’d get bored out here after a while and where would you practise your social work?’

‘You’d be surprised. Don’t think that all the social problems are in the inner cities. There’s a lot of rural poverty too.’

‘You wouldn’t think so around here judging by the gorgeous-looking villages we’ve passed through and the number of Range Rovers on the road.’

She looked at him and realised he was teasing her. ‘Get lost,’ she said, and leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘Louise’s dad was right, by the way,’ she said after a while. ‘You did the right thing to tell him about Dom’s plagiarism.’

Mark shifted in his seat. ‘Yeah, maybe. It’s probably made me a suspect though.’

She raised her head and looked at him. ‘A suspect? You weren’t even there when it happened.’

‘No, but I could have orchestrated it from a distance,’ he said in a mockingly sinister voice.

‘Rubbish,’ replied Maggie, putting her head back against his shoulder. ‘Anyway, you explained to him that it didn’t bother you that much. You’re hardly going to murder someone about a stolen essay from years ago, are you?’

‘No,’ replied Mark tersely; there was an angry glint in his eye. ‘I think Louise’s dad isn’t happy with what seem to be the facts of the case.’

‘Oh, I suppose he’s just humouring her. She still won’t give up the idea that somehow it didn’t happen the way we saw it. I think she’s in denial. I told her as much before we left. I expect her dad’ll go along with it for a while until she realises it’s nonsense.’

‘Maybe,’ said Mark. ‘But I don’t think we’ve heard the last of it or of him.’

It was a circuitous route to Manchester by rail from Whitby, involving a slow train to Middlesbrough, a change for York and then another change at Yorkshire’s old capital to the slightly faster Trans Pennine service across the hills to Lancashire. But Ben was glad he wasn’t driving. He was still feeling utterly exhausted after all that had happened. He hoped he would never have to go through anything like that again.

A couple of days with his parents would be very refreshing, he thought, as he relaxed in his seat and watched