The Midnight Hour by Elly Griffiths

Author:Elly Griffiths
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780358419198
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2021-12-07T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

‘Why did you ask her if she’d been in show business?’ asked Meg, as they left the Gillespies’ flat, their feet ringing on the iron walkway. On the floor above Meg could hear two women arguing about a cat. Either that or a car.

Emma gave a funny, crooked smile. ‘When she talked about Barbara’s mother, she said that she was “in the business too”. I thought it was worth a guess.’

‘It was a good guess,’ said Meg.

The boys were still playing football outside. The game seemed more intense now and the players didn’t have time for more than a few half-hearted wolf whistles in their direction. Heads held high, Meg and Emma made their way through the alleyway that led to Scotland Road.

‘Do you know what we should do now?’ said Emma.

‘No,’ said Meg. ‘What?’ Don’t let Emma take charge, the DI had said, but how could you help it?

‘We should go to Whitby,’ said Emma. ‘Confront Max before he has a chance to get his story straight.’

‘He tried to kill him once before,’ that’s what Sandra had said about Max and Bert Billington. According to Mrs Gillespie the affair between Max and Verity had been going on a long time, ‘since before the war’. There had been an occasion when a part of a stage set—a ‘flat’—had fallen down, narrowly missing Bert. Later it was discovered that the guy ropes had been cut; also that the flat was part of Max’s act. ‘Ever so good at scenery, he was. They say that, in the war, he painted fake airfields that looked just like the real thing.’ Nothing had been proved but Max had, apparently, left town in a hurry. Then the war came and Max joined the army. ‘He must have met up with Verity in the late forties and the whole thing started up again.’

‘Where is Whitby?’ asked Meg, feeling as if things were suddenly moving very fast. And, once again, she regretted not looking at a map.

‘It’s on the other side of England,’ admitted Emma, ‘but it’s where England’s at its narrowest. I don’t think it would take more than three hours in a car.’

‘But we haven’t got a car,’ said Meg.

Emma pointed at a sign hanging outside a depressed-looking building opposite. ‘Jimmy’s Motors: Repairs and Car Hire’.

‘It’s meant,’ said Emma, with that smile again.

Meg looked doubtfully at the garage. It was really just a wooden shack between two derelict houses. The concrete forecourt smelled pleasantly of petrol and the only car visible was a Vauxhall Viva raised up on wooden blocks. Meg’s father and brother were both motor mechanics but she thought that even they would give Jimmy’s a wide berth.

But Emma marched straight up to the open door. ‘Excuse me,’ Meg heard her say to a burly man in overalls. ‘Are you Jimmy?’ Meg sighed and made her way across the oily courtyard.

‘You want to hire a car?’ Jimmy had a high voice which made his Liverpudlian accent sound even more pronounced. ‘Have you got a licence?’

Emma held out her driving licence.

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