by D. E. White
THE
ABBERLEY BEACH
MURDERS
An addictive crime thriller with a fiendish twist
D.E. WHITE
Detective Dove Milson Book 3
Joffe Books, London
www.joffebooks.com
First published in Great Britain in 2021
© D.E. White 2021
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this. The right of D.E. White to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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Cover art by Nebojša Zorić
ISBN: 978-1-78931-895-1
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
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PROLOGUE
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Did you notice me, from across the road?
I might have missed you if I hadn’t turned quickly to sidestep the little girl. She was skipping along beside her mother, long, curly red hair flying out behind her in the summer breeze, a yellow balloon dancing above her head, the ribbon clutched tightly in her hand.
I saw you then. I saw you looking at her from the dusty pavement, just as all those years ago I watched you hungering after the others. You wanted them but you couldn’t touch them. Something changed, and nobody could figure out why, certainly not the police. You’re smart, I respect that, but I think it’s true to say I’m smarter.
It was over in an instant, that moment of gut-tearing recognition. You were swallowed up by traffic, throngs of tourists and locals enjoying the sticky, throbbing heat of summer. I don’t think you saw me. Our eyes never met. My heart beat painfully fast. My head felt as if it was swelling, floating away like the balloon. Bloody sparks danced in front of my eyes and my chest rose and fell way too fast. I blinked hard. My vision cleared again. I was calmer.
Did I want you to see me? A part of me did. A part of me wanted you to register that I know what you did, that I know you’re walking around as though none of it ever happened. Another part of me knows I need to let it go — let you go, and get on with my life.
I stood there at the light, fixed, unmoving, and for a while it was almost as though I was the only person standing still in the entire universe. People jostled, pushed impatiently past, their hot bodies briefly touching mine. The smell of sweat and that sugar-sweet scent of summer mingled unpleasantly, hot and heavy, overpowering.
But I was almost afraid to break the spell, to step out from my memories, from the person I once was. When I did force one foot in front of the other, pushing my way across the road, you were long gone.
Perhaps you never existed at all.
CHAPTER ONE
It was almost dark when she finally jogged back up the beach, the fine shingle crunching under her bare feet, struggling a little with the weight of her board. Shadows steadily lengthened and merged as the sun dipped behind the headland, and a cool breeze lifting her long, damp hair was a welcome respite from the sticky heat of the day.
She had deliberately driven further west to the rockier, harder-to-access coastline. Claw Beach was for the surfers and adventurers, not the candyfloss-devourers and sun-worshippers who flocked to the sandy strips nearer the town centre.
Tonight, she was the only person here. It was perfect. The dying light, the loneliness, sharpened her senses. The taste of salt on her lips, the tiny movement and murmur of nesting seabirds in the cliffs to her left . . .
And the stealthy crunch of other footsteps. Light, hardly detectable, and moving slowly ahead of her, on the other side of the rocks in the car park.
Dove paused on the footpath that led to the car park, breathing hard after her exertions, listening harder, feeling her muscles tense. Her car key was in her right hand, her board under her left arm. She could see her car now, could see part of the car park even. To get to it, she needed to go ten metres up the narrow chalky path, which was cut deep in the dry turf and jumbled rocks.
Probably just another person in search of solitude, she told herself. But bitter experience had taught her always to react as though danger was present. It was hardwired into her soul, the instinctive muscle memory and the checklist flicking methodically through her brain.
Shadows moved across the ground as the moon slid out from behind the clouds, and her breathing slowed. Footsteps still ahead, soft and light, moving on the other side of the cut-through. Dove carefully placed her board on the ground, shifting her weight silently as she pulled her phone from its waterproof belt pouch.
She waited a heartbeat, holding her breath, straining her senses, but the only sound now was the waves behind her. Before she could take another step, a yell of fear and pain lashed through the night, like a whip-crack echoing across the beach, bouncing off the cliffs.
A car door slamming, raised voices, exclamations and the thump of flesh on flesh. A new yell of pain and fear . . . Dove punched out triple-nine, phone at her ear, and ran straight towards the sounds. She arrived in the car park in t
ime to see two shadowy figures fighting on the ground, and a third emerging from behind a green camper van, which was parked next to the black BMW she had noticed when she pulled in an hour ago.
Her call connected. “This is DC Dove Milson. I’m at Claw Beach,” she spoke quickly, “there’s a fight in progress. One person’s down. I need back-up and an ambulance immediately.”
Leaving the line open, phone in hand, she approached the three figures. The larger of the aggressors was kicking the one lying on the ground. The fallen seemed to have given up the fight, curled into a ball to deflect the blows, grunting with pain. The third person hovered uncertainly in the background, hunched into a dark-red hoodie as though afraid.
“Stop, I’m a police officer and I have back-up on the way!” she shouted. This was always a risk: disclosing you were a police officer could either make you an instant target or have a miraculous calming effect.
For a moment it seemed to be the latter. The fight now appeared to be over. The victim was lying on the ground moaning, and both attackers were backing quickly away towards their vehicle. They exchanged a few urgent words that Dove couldn’t catch.
Suddenly the main aggressor pushed his accomplice out of the way, and lurched towards Dove, shoulders hunched, breathing heavily. She checked the call was still open, then shoved her phone back in the pouch and faced him.
“Just calm down, okay?” she told him, palms facing out, showing him she had no intention of fighting.
The third person circled, moving behind Dove, out of her line of vision. Dove had just enough time to decide they were female, before the man bunched his fists in a boxing stance and came straight at her.
“I’m a police officer, don’t do anything stupid. I’ve got back-up on the way,” she repeated, dodging a punch, weaving on the balls of her feet. Clearly the de-escalation approach wasn’t working. She dodged another blow. “Look, cool it, this isn’t going to do any good.”
He was big, muscular, with his hood pulled down over his forehead. There was blood on his lip, a slick of wetness on his skin, his uneven teeth gleaming as he launched into his next attack in a rush.
Where the hell was the back-up? Dove sidestepped again, and twisted so that his grasping fingers slipped off her arm. He swore and grabbed for her again, this time successfully. With a rip her wetsuit came away at her shoulder, and a sudden coolness as her skin was exposed.
A quick elbow jab to his throat, a swift knee in the groin and she was free, just as a crashing blow came down behind her left ear, sending her spinning to the ground, tiny shards of light clouding her vision, the pain sharp and all-encompassing.
She tried to bunch and roll away, but she was kicked hard in the ribs. The larger attacker bent down beside her, his breathing ragged. She squinted at him, but his face was distorted, his eyes glittering black with menace.
The sound of the emergency dispatcher on the open line asking anxiously if she was okay came out in tinny bursts from her phone. The man cocked his head to one side, listening. He grinned, cracking his knuckles, clearly thinking he was the big man.
Sweat poured down his cheek now — his T-shirt, a flash of white under his unzipped hoody, was soaked with it. The heat from his body burned against hers, just for a second, as he leaned over her. The stench of his strong aftershave, mixed with the sourness of his sweat, made her want to gag. The thick knuckles, which were currently angled close to her face, were bloody. He touched a gold signet ring on his little finger to her cheek, then reared his hand back to resume the attack.
Suddenly the female figure scuttled forward and pulled Dove’s attacker away. Dove could hear them hissing something in the big man’s ear, then a quickly smothered bark of laughter, before they both came back and stared down at her.
Why were they just staring at her? Her past contained many people who might recognise her, want to hurt her . . . Perhaps this wasn’t a carjacking as she had assumed, but some kind of organised crime?
It was unnerving, like being a mouse waiting to see if the cat would keep it alive a little while longer to prolong the pleasure, or kill it quickly. Her vision was clearing, and to her left, Dove could sense the other victim lying motionless. She continued to play dead, eyes half-closed, head and ribs throbbing painfully, muscles tense, waiting for their next move, assessing her chances of escaping a further beating. If she had to, she would fight again.
Just as she was wondering how long this stalemate could continue, Dove finally heard the welcome wail of sirens in the distance. The two assailants reacted quickly enough now. Abandoning their victims, they ran towards their vehicle, gunning the engine as they slammed the doors, before lurching out of the car park, turning left down the coast road across the cliffs.
CHAPTER TWO
Clutching her head, Dove came to her knees, then staggered to her feet. She explored beneath her hair with shaking fingers, her left hand coming away sticky with blood. The flashing blue lights in the distance spun crazily like disco balls before her vision cleared.
She hauled out her phone, hands slippery with blood and sweat, and spoke again to the emergency dispatcher, updating her, trying to remember the registration number, reassuring her she was fine, that the cars were approaching, she could see them, they were less than half a mile away.
“All right, I’ll leave you now then. We’ve got an ambulance on the way too,” the dispatcher said.
Dove thanked her and ended the call. She took a couple of careful breaths, aware of a sharp pain in her side, hoping there was nothing broken.
Picking her way slowly and unsteadily across the stony surface, Dove approached the other victim. “Are you okay?”
He muttered something and spat out blood and a tooth, but she felt a flood of relief. He was at least breathing and conscious. Her own ribs were sore and the attacker had only delivered a few kicks. This man had been on the ground when she interrupted his attack, and the sickening sound of boots and fists on flesh was fresh in her mind. The smell of blood filled her nostrils. It was a scent she associated with violence, and with work. She could almost taste it. She coughed, which made her head spin again.
Dove put her hand to her injured side, pressing gently but firmly on her ribcage. No cracking, hopefully that meant it was just bruised. She focused on the victim again.
“Just stay still. Listen, I’ve got help on the way. What’s your name? Do you know who attacked you?”
He just grunted in response, and his outstretched fingers scrabbled on the stony ground as though he was looking for a handhold to push himself upright.
“It’s okay, stay still if you can.”
She was still kneeling beside the injured man when her uniformed colleagues arrived, shining powerful torches and illuminating the crime scene with their headlights. The man was still curled on the ground, his face turned to the right, a mess of blood, and what looked like a broken nose. He was still groaning, but Dove hadn’t been able to pick out any actual words.
He was a large, overweight man, with close-cropped brown hair and a bloody moustache. His navy suit was torn, tie askew, and his white shirt was stained with blood. One shoe was missing. Dove spotted it underneath his car. Shiny brown shoes. The foot without the shoe was misshapen and swollen, and she guessed from the sizable boot print that the attacker had stamped on it.
“DC Milson? PC Jack Goss. Can you tell me what happened?”
He was young and smart in his uniform, and he had a worried expression on his face. At least she thought he did. Her vision kept swimming in and out of focus and those damned bright lights weren’t helping. She mentally hauled herself together, and quickly repeated the description of the attackers, the van and the registration number she had relayed earlier.
“We’ve got two cars out on the road right now, so if the perps are still around, we’ll get them. How much of a head start would you say they had?”
“Taking into account the back roads across the downland, five, maybe eight minutes max. They took off when they
heard the sirens, but it’s wide-open country until you get to the river.”
“Ambulance is on the way.” Another uniformed officer shone a torch at the side of her head. “They should be here any minute now that we know the scene is safe.”
“I’m okay,” Dove told him, wincing as his torchlight hit her full in the face again. “Might need a few stitches but he’s in a far worse mess.” She waved an arm towards the man on the ground. He was making no effort get up, and she hoped his injuries weren’t even worse than she feared.
The remote clifftop car park was now alive with the static of radio calls, shouts from those securing the area, and engine noise from the approaching ambulance. A herd of sheep, which usually grazed the short turf along the downland, was huddled fearfully in their shelter, eyes gleaming brightly when the lights caught them.
The paramedics jumped down, hauling essential kit from their vehicle, as a fluorescent-coated senior officer briefed them.
Dove, who was by now sitting on one of the huge chalk rocks that lined the perimeter of the car park, recognised one of the paramedics as Sarah, a friend and colleague of her fiancé, Quinn.
Sarah stopped dead at the sight of Dove. “Dove! Shit, you look a mess. Garry, you start on the other patient.”
Her colleague nodded and walked over to the man on the ground.
“Come and sit over here so I can take a look at you.” Sarah led Dove to the ambulance. “What the hell happened?”
“I interrupted something. I’m okay. If you could just patch me up, I’ll get someone to drop me down at A&E for stitches or whatever.”
Dove sighed, furious at the complications this would cause. She would have to get one of her colleagues to bring her car home as well. What a pain in the arse. What had these three been up to in a remote car park? Drugs? A carjacking? A mugging perhaps . . .
Sarah’s colleague returned as Dove was being patched up. “We’ll need to get the stretcher for him and strap him up before we go. Query broken ankle on the left and a lot of bruising to his abdomen. Obs are fine but his face is a mess. He took a right beating, didn’t he?”