Out of the Night by Dan Latus

turning into the gateway at Meridion House. The memory nagged at me. Could it have been the same one, the car that had been here a couple of days ago? Surely not? Not going into an art centre.
    The make and colour were right, but there must bemillions of dark blue VW saloons running around. Passat. That was the model. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t think of any distinguishing feature on the tough guys’ car.
    Meridion House, though? I hadn’t noticed a sign to say it was an art centre but Ellen wouldn’t be wrong about that. She worked there, after all. They probably just hadn’t got round to putting a sign up yet.
    All I could recall about the place was that it had been built as the summer home for a Middlesbrough ironmaster, a place where he could let the wind blow the dust and fumes out of his lungs. In that sense, it was similar to Port Holland itself, which had been built by a Tyneside industrialist. Perhaps the two men had been buddies, as well as competitors? Ironmasters against the world!
    The microwave pinged. I took the bread out and cut a couple of hefty slices. I buttered them. Then I couldn’t find the cheese, the big chunk of yellow cheddar I liked so much. Instead, I had to open a tin of pork luncheon meat. Real gourmet stuff! I made a mug of tea to go with it and sat down to eat.
    So Meridion House was an art centre now? Well, it made sense. Runswick Bay, not far away, was a popular spot with painters. So was Whitby, a little further south. In fact, almost anywhere on this stretch of coast was worth painting.
    But an art centre? I wondered what they did there. Exhibitions? Holidays for painters? I would have to go and have a look round sometime. I’d never been.
    That brought Jac Picknett to mind, and the fact that I had promised to check out her gallery. Events of the last couple of days had rather driven her out of mind. I wondered if she had heard anything about Meridion House. I’d have to ask her.
    Right now, though, I needed to get over to see Jimmy Mack. Visiting him in hospital was the least I could do for him.

12
    J immy was in James Cook University Hospital, in Middlesbrough. I felt wretchedly guilty about what had happened to him, but the sight of him relieved some of that. He was enjoying himself, and he grinned when he saw me.
    ‘It’s all right, here,’ he told me straight away.
    ‘Considering?’
    ‘Aye, considering.’ He held up the arm that was in plaster for my inspection. ‘But they’ve been looking after me.’
    ‘That’s good. I’m really sorry, Jimmy. This shouldn’t have come down on you.’
    ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll see that you pay for it.’
    ‘Endless cups of coffee?’
    ‘At least.’ He peered at me suspiciously. ‘Where’s my grapes? And my flowers? Don’t tell me you haven’t brought any?’
    ‘Sorry, Jim,’ I said helplessly.
    ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s no more than I expected. Some neighbour!’
    A nurse bustled up to us. ‘Five minutes,’ she said to me. ‘Don’t you go tiring him.’
    Jimmy winked at me after she had left. ‘See how they look after me?’
    I grinned. ‘I’d better get on with it, then.’
    ‘That policeman friend of yours has been to see me.’
    ‘Bill Peart? Has he now?’
    I was surprised, and pleased.
    ‘What did he have to say?’
    ‘Nothing, really. He was mostly interested in asking questions, but there wasn’t much I could tell him.’
    ‘He knows what happened, by the way. After this,’ I said with a shrug, ‘I had to tell him.’
    ‘About the girl, as well?’
    I nodded. ‘But he doesn’t think she’s connected to the bodies on the beach.’
    ‘Maybe she isn’t.’
    ‘Something I was going to ask you, Jim. If you dumped something in one of them deep, kelp pools up around Boulby, somewhere like Boulby Gully, would it stay there, do you think?’
    ‘Something like a body?’ he said craftily.
    I nodded.
    He considered the question and said, ‘Maybe not. There’s strong currents