The Whitby Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery) by J. Ellis (motivational books for students TXT) 📕

Mark came in. ‘What’s going on? I heard shouting.’

‘Oh, nothing, forget it,’ said Jack with a wave of his hand. ‘Sorry, I lost my temper. We’re all on edge. I just can’t wait to get away from this damned place,’ he repeated and then stalked out of the room. His footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

‘Hi, Louise,’ said Mark, looking at the door as though to make sure Jack had gone. ‘Wow! What was all that about?’

‘Nothing,’ said Maggie wearily. ‘Have you packed your stuff?’

‘Just about.’

‘Where’s Ben?’ asked Louise.

‘In his room as well. Packing, I think.’

‘I’m worried about him.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yeah. He’s had the worst time of any of us: he tried to save Andrea and he was holding her when she died. Then he volunteered to identify Dom’s body. Sights and experiences like that can make a big impression. He seems to be by himself a lot. I hope he’s not dwelling on those images and getting depressed.’

‘He seemed okay earlier. I’ll call him.’ Maggie went across to Ben’s room and knocked on the door. ‘Ben, are you okay in there? Louise is back.’

‘Okay,’ came a voice from within, before Ben finally appeared, looking bleary-eyed.

‘Hi, Louise.’ He gave her a hug. ‘I was asleep. I can’t stay awake at the moment. I suppose it’s the stress and I’m not sleeping well at night.’ He yawned.

‘Me neither,’ said Maggie also yawning.

‘Are you leaving now as well?’ Louise asked Ben.

‘Yeah, I don’t think there’s any point in hanging around. I’m needed at work too. I’ve got some teaching lined up starting in a couple of days and I need to prepare for it.’

‘Right.’ Louise sounded a little sad.

At that moment Jack came back into the room still looking shamefaced. ‘Look, why don’t we all go down to that café and get a bite to eat before we leave. It’s brightening up outside. It would be a nice way to end all this instead of us arguing and then just sloping off by ourselves.’

They all agreed and soon they were walking down the hill past the park together for the last time.

‘Well, sir, it’s all kicked off here over the weekend and no mistake. I’ve got lots to report . . . and now my daughter’s involved in this, too.’

It was lunchtime, and Oldroyd and Steph were in Inspector Granger’s office at the Whitby station. She had called them straight in following the dramatic events of Saturday evening and the discovery on Sunday morning. She explained to a puzzled Oldroyd how her daughter had been at the pub where the incident had happened.

‘Oh dear,’ said Oldroyd smiling. ‘I know the feeling. As a police officer you’re always hyper-vigilant about your own kids doing anything wrong and coming into contact with the police. It’s not fair, though. Why should we be held to higher standards of parenting?’

‘You’re right, sir, but that’s the way it is. She’s been very quiet since Saturday so I’m hoping this quells her desire for going out on the town. We’ll see.’

‘Don’t count on it.’

Granger laughed. ‘I won’t. Anyway, I’ll just run through the details and confirm everything that’s happened.’ She referred to a summary on her screen. ‘First off, the body of Dominic Holgate, wanted in connection with the murder of Andrea Barnes, was found in the harbour area yesterday by a fisherman. Holgate had a bullet wound to the temple and was also submerged in the water. It appears that he shot himself at the harbour edge at the end of a wooden jetty and then fell into the water. His body was identified by Ben Morton.’

A belt and braces suicide, thought Oldroyd.

‘We’ve got divers looking for the gun, and I’m waiting for the report from forensics,’ continued Granger. ‘We assume death was from the bullet wound and not drowning. The police were called out to an incident on Saturday evening at a pub in Church Street. A person answering the description of the dead person walked up to the Old Ship Inn, fired two shots towards the inn and then ran down an alley towards the sea. Witnesses said the person seemed to be very upset: shouting things out and crying. Then another shot was heard. Police were called but found nothing.’

‘Did the onlookers get a good look at the face?’ asked Oldroyd.

‘No. It was dark. The figure was wearing a hood and maybe a mask, which he presumably removed before he shot himself. None of the witnesses said they would be able to confirm that the dead person was the figure they saw, but the circumstantial evidence is very strong, don’t you think, sir? Especially as we have evidence from another text message sent to Maggie Hinton.’

Oldroyd sat back, frowning. ‘Yes, my daughter told me about that. Maggie did the right thing this time, informing you. Was anything else found on the body?’

‘Just the usual in his pockets: money, wallet with cards and so on. No phone though.’

Oldroyd raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? That was the phone from which he sent the text messages. I’m surprised he didn’t have it with him. It’s unusual for a person of that age not to be carrying their phone.’

‘We assume it must have dropped into the water. We’re searching for it, though if it has been in the water it won’t be able to tell us very much.’

Oldroyd thought for a moment. ‘Well. It seems that Holgate couldn’t live with what he’d done and was losing his rationality. He turned up in an agitated state, fired the gun he’d brought to Whitby at random, shot himself and his body was found next day. And so ends this unhappy story: a terrible murder committed in a fit of rage or something and then the tormented, unstable perpetrator commits suicide. At least that’s what we’re expected to think.’

‘I see you’re still sceptical, sir.’ Granger smiled, remembering how Oldroyd doggedly pursued every loose end in a case until he was