Out of the Night by Dan Latus Read Free Book Online Page A

evidence to the contrary. All I had was a gut feeling. That was enough for me, but not for him.
    ‘We’ll see if we can find any prints,’ Bill said in conclusion. ‘See if your house was turned over by anyone we know. Andwe’ll do the usual things. But my feeling is that they’re long gone, like the woman. They won’t any of them be back to Risky Point again.
    ‘Come on,’ he added. ‘Let’s get you back home. You’ve got a lot of clearing up to do.’
    ‘If you want to stay and help,’ I said hopefully, ‘there might be a fish supper in it for you?’
    ‘I’ve got a lot of work to do,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘And a home to go back to sometime.’
    I could empathize with him on that. His home probably wasn’t all smashed up either.

11
    I t took me a couple of days to clear up. My heart wasn’t in it to start with, but it had to be done. Even more than my own house, I wanted to get Jimmy’s place ready for when he came home. The advice that he would indeed be coming home, that he wasn’t on the way out, was a relief and helped fortify my resolve. I enlisted the help of a local woman who I knew cleaned holiday cottages in the area, and between us we got it done. Well, between us and a joiner to repair my door and a man who was good at mending sash windows.
    Before she left for the last time, Ellen, the cleaning lady, said, ‘The two of you could probably do with someone like me on a regular basis.’
    ‘That’s an idea,’ I admitted. ‘I’ll see what he says.’
    I had a quick look round before shutting Jimmy’s door and added, ‘It looks better in there than I’ve ever seen it.’
    She laughed, but she was pleased. I think she felt appreciated, which is always a good feeling to have.
    ‘It needed a woman’s touch,’ I added.
    ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t mind working here regularly. It’s nearer than where I usually work.’
    ‘Where’s that?’ I asked as I walked her to her car.
    ‘Port Holland. I do cottages there, and occasionally I work at the art centre.’
    ‘Art centre? I didn’t know there was one.’
    ‘Oh, yes. It’s been there about a year. Just outside the village, actually. Meridion House? It’s a big place.
    ‘To be honest,’ she added, ‘I’m not so keen on going down there at the moment, with all this trouble.’
    ‘Trouble?’
    She shuddered. ‘Since they started finding bodies on the beach.’
    I nodded. ‘It’s a nasty business.’
    ‘It is. So I’ve enjoyed being here for a couple of days. It’s taken my mind off it all.’
    I watched her drive away and gave her a last wave. Then I went inside to work out what I was going to do next.
     
    The next morning I set out early to do some more searching. I hadn’t forgotten my mysterious visitor. Maybe she was long gone but my head was full of unanswered questions. About dead bodies, as well as the one still alive when last seen. I needed to refresh my ideas.
    I drove north to Skinningrove, where once there had been a steelworks with its own harbour for shipping coal in and pig iron and steel out. Now there was a museum and a few streets of old terraced houses. But the jetty was there still, and much prized by anglers for the cod, whiting and bass they could catch from it. There was nothing there for me, in all honesty, but Skinningrove was a geographical benchmark. Nowhere north of there, I judged, would be relevant to my searches.
    I left the Land Rover down by the jetty and walked up onto the nearby cliffs to look down on Hummersea Old Harbour, where once alum shale was quarried, burned in the alum works and shipped to the textile industries. At low tide you could see two trenches in the flat expanse of shale rocks, the Hummersea Scars, where in the olden days men had hacked out channels for their boats and ships to come close inshore. From the beach you could fish now for codling and whiting, and for dab and flounder. And for mackerel in the summer. Jimmy Mack had told me. He knew a