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

‘Don’t worry, sir; you can rely on me. Just get over there and be with your daughter.’

‘Thank you,’ said Oldroyd, and he had to turn away again. Their loyalty and concern moved him a great deal in his present emotional state. He composed himself and handed the keys of his old Saab to Steph. ‘You drive. I’m afraid I might not be very good company.’

She smiled. ‘Not to worry, sir. You just try to relax on the journey. We’ll soon get to your place and mine, then we’ll be off. I know the way.’

Back in Whitby in a new detached house on the edge of the town, Alice Granger had discarded her light blue linen trouser suit, thinking it had a more weekend vibe, in favour of a grey, so-called ‘work suit’ from Next and was ready to leave for work.

Granger was a detective inspector at the Whitby Police HQ and was about to start work on the strange and shocking case of the murder of a young woman at the Dracula’s Lair escape room. She was a well-organised, energetic woman in her forties, and she needed to be. She’d moved from the West Riding police in Harrogate to Whitby for promotion some years before and she was one of the station’s few women inspectors. Although she fought against it, this situation made her feel that she constantly had to prove herself in the male-dominated force. In addition to this, she had two teenage children and a husband whose job involved regular travel to London and abroad. She was frequently in the role of single parent, as she was today with her husband in Paris. Okay for some, she thought as she tried to rally her fifteen-year-old son Ian and seventeen-year-old daughter Lesley and get them off to school.

Ian was eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table. He was usually reasonably well behaved. Lesley was the problem. She was surly, unkempt and kept company with a group of rather wild and unruly characters, some in her school sixth form and some, her mother suspected, of indeterminate age and from dubious parts of town. She was constantly being called into school over some disciplinary matter and Granger was afraid that Lesley might be expelled at the end of the lower sixth.

Granger was about to call her again when she slouched into the room yawning and dressed in a parody of the dress code they were supposed to follow. She’d often been sent home for infringements in her appearance. She was wearing a school skirt, but very short, with stockings full of holes; a white blouse beneath a leather jacket and a school tie wrapped contemptuously round her neck. Granger thought about advising her to change but decided she hadn’t time.

‘Look at you,’ said Ian. ‘I wish we could wear stuff like that.’

‘Wait your turn,’ replied Lesley. ‘Little year tens have to do as they’re told.’

‘Don’t forget to take your rings out,’ said her mother. Lesley and her friends were heavily into body piercings and tattoos, but the school insisted that rings be removed on the premises. Lesley ignored her.

‘It’s Goth Weekend starting tomorrow; we’re going down to the old town in the evening and again on Saturday.’

‘Who’s “we”?’ asked Granger, annoyed by Lesley’s blunt announcement. She never asked permission to do anything until it was all arranged and fait accompli. Even then it was usually a statement rather than a request. She was still underage to be wandering about the town at night and no doubt going into pubs. Granger doubted that pubs performed the normal ID checks in the busy chaos of Goth Weekend. She shared the police-parent nightmare of their offspring being arrested and the news being splashed across the papers.

‘Amelia, Mandy, Robin and some more; we’re all meeting up in our goth stuff. I hope it’s as good as last year.’

Granger winced at the memory of picking Lesley up by the harbour at nearly midnight and whisking her and one of her friends away from drunken men dressed as Dracula. That had led to her daughter being grounded for a good two months. But she was a year older now, and she might be more sensible.

Granger frowned at this thought; who was she kidding?

‘Well, I hope it doesn’t end up like last year, but we’ll talk about it later, I have to go now,’ she said. Lesley was putting bread into the toaster. ‘You’re going to be late, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t have anything till English at eleven.’

‘Yes, but I thought the rule was you had to be there for registration at nine and then do private study?’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t have time for this; see you both tonight.’ She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

‘Bye, Mum,’ called Ian.

‘Bye,’ grunted Lesley.

The Airbnb was eerily quiet. After she’d spoken to her father, Louise sat thinking for a while on the sofa in the large sitting room. It was still early and no one else was up. They were all shattered by the events of the previous day. She ought to speak to her mum soon before she learned snippets of information from the media and started to worry. Julia lived alone in Leeds. She and Oldroyd had been separated since Louise was a young teenager. Wearily she phoned her and explained what had happened. Julia had heard nothing and so was both shocked and reassured by what Louise had to say. She was just on her way to work at the college where she was a lecturer, so they planned to speak again in the evening.

Louise ended the call with a sigh. Everything seemed to be an enormous effort. She shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee and peeped into the bedroom she was sharing with Maggie to find her still asleep. There were two more bedrooms on the floor above: Ben was in one which he’d planned to share with Jack when the