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

an atrium and showed their identity at reception. Andy asked to see the manager as he was keen to speak to him without Ryerson knowing he was there. He and Jenkins were directed down a corridor and were met at the door of an office by a woman of about forty dressed in a smartly tailored trouser suit and heels. She held out her hand.

‘I’m Annette Brown, manager of Alpha UK. Please come in.’

Andy introduced them both, and they followed her into a large modern office and sat on easy chairs. Brown, looking a little puzzled and apprehensive, sat opposite on a similar chair.

‘How can I help you?’ she asked.

‘You have an employee called Jack Ryerson.’

‘Yes. He should be in today; I’ll just check if you want to speak to him.’ She made to get up from her chair.

‘No,’ said Andy. ‘I want to talk to you about him, please.’ Brown sat back in her chair looking more concerned. ‘Are you aware he’s been in Whitby for a few days with a group of his friends?’

‘No. I knew he’d taken a few days leave, but I didn’t know he’d gone there.’

‘One of his group of friends was murdered and another seems to have committed suicide.’

Brown put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God!’

‘I’m sorry, I know it’s a shock. Can I ask you what he’s like as an employee?’

She stumbled a little for words. ‘Excellent. No problems. Good team worker.’

‘Did he have any enemies? Did he ever get angry or react violently to anything?’

‘No. Are you saying that Jack is a suspect for something?’

‘Not exactly at this stage. The case seems fairly clear but let’s say there are some loose ends we need to tie up. I want to check his movements with you. He didn’t actually witness the murder, which was last Wednesday afternoon, because he didn’t arrive until the next day. He says this was because he was tied up here at work until fairly late.’

Brown looked puzzled again. ‘Wait, that’s not right. He didn’t come in at all on Wednesday, which was the first day of his leave. I remember because there was a meeting of his team and he wasn’t there.’

Andy looked at her gravely. ‘I see. In that case we will need to speak to him now and I would be grateful if we can use this office.’

‘Of course.’ Brown got up looking alarmed and went to get Ryerson. Andy felt a little frisson. Maybe he would have something for Oldroyd.

Vicar Lane and the streets near Kirkgate Market were bustling with people as Steph walked through Leeds city centre. A number of shops had window displays with witches, cobwebs, black cats and pumpkins, reflecting the nearness of Halloween. There seems to be no escape from the dark side, thought Steph, who had arrived back from gothic Whitby.

She made her way to a street behind Vicar Lane where there were a number of jewellers’ businesses and gold dealers. She reached one shop on the detective’s list, which was old and rather darkly lit with a fusty smell that reminded her of an old library. There was a dusty and faded window display, which looked as if it hadn’t been changed for some time. Inside, the shop seemed empty until an elderly, portly and bespectacled man appeared through a door that presumably led to a small workshop. His eye was still clutching a lens, but he removed it as he came to the counter. She presented her ID and explained her business.

The man’s lip curled when he heard Withington’s name. ‘Oh, that rogue! We were glad to see the back of him.’

‘Why?’

‘He gave us a bad name with his carrying on. A lot of the public are suspicious of us as it is; they think we’re out to cheat them, especially when it comes to buying and selling second-hand stuff.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He was devious. He told lies. He sold stuff that wasn’t genuine: rubies and emeralds; pretended there was more gold in something than there was. He was always one step ahead of the law. We knew what he was but it was difficult to prove it. If we’d had any hard evidence we would have gone to the police.’

Steph looked at the rings and other jewellery in the cabinet beneath the counter. On top of the counter was an eye glass and some old-fashioned brass jeweller’s scales. This was a long-standing and proud profession, which was reliant on trust. Cheating of the kind Withington indulged in was hugely damaging.

‘That son of his was no better,’ continued the jeweller.

‘I understand he was the one who might have procured the things his father sold.’

‘Probably. I also saw a woman there once or twice.’

‘A woman. Do you know who she was?’

‘Someone said it was his niece. She was a student, I think, but she came up here in the holidays. I don’t know whether she was involved in the dodgy dealings, but you know students; they’re always short of money, aren’t they?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you after him for something? I’d like to see him get what he deserves.’

‘Not exactly. Unfortunately, his niece has been murdered over in Whitby and we’re investigating his connection with her.’

The old man’s jaw dropped. ‘Good Lord! Well, I never thought of him as someone who would be violent, though I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had gone for him.’

‘No, but where money’s concerned things can turn nasty, can’t they?’

‘Oh yes. Is that where he is? In Whitby?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’ll be into that Whitby jet, I imagine. Well, anyone who buys any from him wants to make sure it’s real.’

‘I think you’re right.’

Steph thanked the old proprietor and left, feeling that he’d been very helpful in a number of ways.

DC Hampton had difficulty finding the narrow back-street house where Elaine Pesku rented a room. He eventually reached the address, which was down a cramped alleyway filled with overflowing grey wheelie bins. He knocked on the door, which was