The Whitby Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery) - J. Ellis (ebook reader with internet browser TXT) 📗

to go down to see Mum. I’ll stay with her. I’ll also see what Jason’s up to.’

Steph looked at him sharply. ‘You know what he’ll be up to . . . so be careful!’

Jason Harris was an old friend of Andy’s. He worked in the city, made huge amounts of money and spent it on a wild lifestyle. He seemed unable to progress beyond the hedonism of adolescence. He was a colourful and entertaining person to be with. Steph liked him but considered him a bad influence on Andy. ‘Wasn’t he supposed to be getting engaged at some point?’

Andy laughed. ‘That fell through. As predicted. Jason’s not one to make commitments.’

‘No, I can imagine.’

‘Fancy another?’ asked Andy, finishing his drink and getting up to go to the bar. ‘Then later on we can have a pizza at that Italian by Leeds Bridge.’

‘Sounds good,’ replied Steph. ‘But one more drink will be enough. I don’t want you putting in training for a boozy time with Jason.’

‘Don’t worry, you know me.’

‘I do,’ she replied, narrowing her eyes at him as she handed him her glass. ‘And that’s why I don’t trust you.’

Over in Whitby, there were fewer people around in the town’s old pubs in the harbour area now that the Goth Weekend was over, but there was still a lively scene for the locals in certain venues. Inside the Green Dragon, tucked away in a side street, there was a warm atmosphere, which was welcoming now that the nights were drawing in.

Philip Owen, the Dracula actor, was standing at the bar with some of his friends, describing what had happened at the escape room on that fateful day.

‘And there she was, on the floor . . . dead. You could see the knife sticking out of her chest, and the blood.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said one of the group, a tall man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket.

‘And the bloke who stabbed her was her boyfriend?’

‘So they say.’

‘Shit, that’s messed up big time.’

‘Yeah, well, I get sick of her sometimes,’ said another man with curly black hair, nodding towards the woman standing by him, ‘but I haven’t thought of stabbing her yet.’

‘Get lost!’ she said with a laugh and kicked him in the leg.

‘Then this bloke ran off?’ said the first man.

‘Yeah, then shot himself and ended up in the harbour. Haven’t you seen it all on the telly?’

‘Yeah, but it’s not the same as hearing it from someone who was there.’

The curly-headed man winked at his girlfriend. ‘From someone who knows all about it.’

Owen took a drink of his beer before replying. ‘What’re you getting at?’

‘Well, when the police find out about your past, Phil, they might start to wonder how much you really knew about what happened. They might think it was a bit of a coincidence that a man like you turned up at a murder scene.’

‘Bugger off. What do you mean, “a man like me”? That was years ago.’

The first man joined in the baiting. ‘It’s on your record though, Phil, the police will always be suspicious of your type. A leopard can’t change its spots.’

‘What do you mean, “my type”?’

‘A danger to the public,’ said the curly-haired man in a sanctimonious voice imitating a pompous judge. His girlfriend laughed.

Owen gave his friend two fingers. ‘As if,’ he said. ‘I’m not as much of a danger to the public as you when you get behind the wheel of that car.’ He looked at the woman. ‘I don’t know how you dare drive with him.’

The curly-haired man was a car mechanic and he ran a souped-up car that he’d driven in rallies. Most of the time he drove as if he was actually in a rally.

‘He goes slower when I’m with him,’ she said. ‘I make him.’

Owen laughed again and he took another drink of his beer. He tried to conceal the fact that their teasing had rattled him. He hoped the police wouldn’t look too closely at his past.

Four

It was brilliant moonlight and the soft effect of the light over sea and sky . . . was beautiful beyond words. Between me and the moonlight flitted a great bat, coming and going in great whirling circles.

From Mina Murray’s Journal in Dracula

‘I’ve got two very interesting bits of information for you, sir,’ said Inspector Granger.

‘Go on,’ replied Oldroyd. He was back in Whitby reviewing the case in Granger’s office. He and Deborah had checked into their hotel, which was near the Royal Hotel high up on the west side on the splendid white mid-Victorian east terrace. Deborah was having a leisurely stroll around the town while Oldroyd had come straight to Granger’s office.

‘We’ve discovered that the actor who played Dracula at the escape room, Philip Owen, has a conviction for assault. He attacked someone with a knife. So we’ll need to talk to him again.’

‘And?’

‘More important, I think: the tests have shown that the blood on the sarcophagus was Holgate’s.’

‘Have they? Well, that confirms what I suspected. Together with the fact that he was carrying the knife it supports the view that the attack was planned. He must have got a cut from the knife before he hid in the sarcophagus.’

‘But I still can’t see why he would do that instead of running out of the building? And did he know it was a trick sarcophagus with two compartments that turned round? And if he did, how did he know?’ asked Granger.

Oldroyd smiled. ‘I can see you’re also starting to question the orthodoxy. I think this confirms that we’re looking at something more complicated than what appears on the surface. Have you tracked down the owner of the Escape Room?’

‘No. Which is concerning. He would be able to tell us who else knew about the sarcophagus and so he could be in danger if there are other people involved in this. He supposedly has an office in Sheffield but the police there can’t trace it. Or him.’

Oldroyd shook his head. ‘I don’t like the sound of