THE ABBERLEY BEACH MURDERS an addictive crime thriller with a fiendish twist (Detective Dove Milson Book 3)

by D. E. White

  Behind them, white tents numbered one to four had been erected over the wooden boards of the pier to protect the four bodies within, and the vital evidence they contained. The bodies had been laid on their backs on to plastic sheeting, which was stretched in a large square. Dove and Steve took turns to edge into the tents and peer carefully at the victims, avoiding the photographers and evidence collectors.

  “Two men, two women,” Dove commented, taking in the attire. “Dressed for a night out?” One of the women was wearing a short black dress, the other a long, fitted, floral number, and the two men were in shirts and trousers. Their shoes were lined up neatly next to the bodies, awaiting the bagging and tagging procedure. High heels and shiny lace-ups, Dove noted.

  “Looks like a broken nose and bruising on the male in tent three,” Steve commented, as they backed out of the tents and walked towards the main office to get to Room Six, careful to tread on the metal plates that had been laid across the pier, following the yellow arrowed route.

  “No obvious fatal injuries,” Dove said. “I think there are scratch marks to the face on the woman in tent one.”

  “Do you want to see the footage?” One of the first responders stepped forward and offered his iPad.

  “Thanks, that would be good.” Everything was always carefully documented, and with so many teams responding to a shout like this one, it was almost always possible to take photographic and video evidence of the immediate scene as it was initially presented.

  The footage had been taken using a long shot from above, before slowly panning down one side of the escape room. It was brief, showing only the rescue operation, but Steve asked the officer to pause the video on the initial scene.

  Two men and two women. They bobbed gently in their watery tomb, giving a macabre illusion of life. The water was a little over three-quarters of the way to the roof of the escape room. Dove frowned at her watch. High tide would have been about four hours before they started fishing the bodies out. But why then had the water not emptied by then, draining out of the escape room with the tidal flow?

  The water was grey-green and discoloured with sand, sediment, small pieces of seaweed and bits of debris. Dove could also see a couple of food wrappers and a juice carton.

  “Can you rewind just a bit? Looks like the woman on the far left, with the long dark hair and black dress, has cuts on her face.” Steve was peering intently, shoving his sunglasses on to the top of his head in an attempt to aid his vision. “She was in tent one, wasn’t she? You thought she had scratches.”

  “Maybe they got into a fight? Or possibly even self-inflicted?” Dove narrowed her own eyes, squinting at the video, trying to see through the glass and seawater. Flotsam and jetsam from the escape room bobbed in the water, obscuring the view. She reached over and pressed play, watching as the video footage showed a difficult extraction made to look smooth and swift. The victims were passed up out of the flooded room through the escape hatch, laid out on to the hard surface of the pier and assessed by the medical teams.

  “The water could have almost filled the room completely, then, at high tide?” Steve checked, as the video finished.

  “From the marks on the walls, yes, taking into account tides and air pressure inside the room,” the uniformed officer agreed. “The metal ladder you would use to climb down into the room was laid on the roof outside, and the air vents you can see over there were closed, but if they could swim, there would have been enough of a gap between water and roof to get some breathing space.”

  “I suppose it depends how long they were in there,” Dove commented, thinking how easy it was to get exhausted even treading water if you weren’t an experienced swimmer. “Although the question for me is, even supposing the water somehow almost filled the room, which is weird because I know from my niece it fills to around a foot high or less, why has it not drained away with the tide?”

  The officer nodded in agreement. “There must be a safety mechanism on these rooms. Maybe it was faulty?” He looked over his shoulder towards the sea. “Tide’s well out now, and the other escape rooms at sea level are all empty, as you would expect them to be.

  “Thanks, we’ll take a look at the room now,” Steve said thoughtfully.

  They moved on, Dove taking in the details of the other escape rooms, impressed by the solid, almost futuristic glass pod-like structures. The lower rooms were accessed via roof hatches and ladders, while the two rooms on the same level as the pier had normal doors. There wasn’t as much litter down this end of the pier either. Even the wooden boards of the pier looked freshly scrubbed. She mentioned this to Steve, who nodded.

  “It does all look practically sterilised. Either the owners are clean freaks, or someone has done a good job of getting rid of any evidence.” He paused and looked out to sea, where a coastguard vessel was slowly tacking back and forth, searching in a wide radius of the crime scene. “I’m guessing there was no sign of any other victims, or anyone doing a runner from the scene.”

  Dove pushed her sunglasses back down on her nose to shield her eyes from the brilliant mirror-flash of sun and sea. “Perhaps the victims were already dead when they went in. It would take a lot of manpower, but you could bring a boat in, tie up and drop them down the hatch.”

  “The main gate showed signs of a break-in, though,” her partner reminded her.

  “Could have been faked?”

  “True,” Steve said soberly, gaze still fixed on the gentle swell and dip of the waves. “Just because it looks like they drowned, doesn’t mean to say they drowned here.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Seeing him has brought it all back — the pain, the loss and that agonising tearing feeling in my chest.

  In times of stress there is only one place to go, one person to visit. Nobody tries to stop me, and after I dropped the conversational bombshell, I know they would rather discuss things alone.

  Before I pick up my car keys, I check the baby one last time, even though I know my mum will sit watching her until she wakes. She won’t let this one go; she’s already told me many times.

  It doesn’t help, hearing her say that, but I know she thinks she has failed one child already. My dad too. As the years have gone by, he has retreated into his shell, smoking and drinking too much, losing weight until his arms are half the width of mine. In a way I completely agree that they did fail, but I keep this thought locked deep inside my heart.

  The baby is asleep, her tiny face oblivious to the confusion in the world around her. The hurt and the hate, it doesn’t touch her world, and my heart fills with something that could be love. I’m wary of emotions, because they can hurt you, betray you, when you least expect it.

  But she is mine and she is perfect. I drop a kiss on her brow, because I know it is expected of me, and my mum beams. The baby has made my parents a little happier, given them some hope, and time away from their grief.

  I drive slowly, shock making my reflexes slow, my mind sluggish. Almost against my will I find myself remembering eighteen years ago, and another birth. I remember so clearly the time when she was born. She came home from the hospital so small and helpless and I was fascinated, the bond forming almost instantly as I held her, felt her warmth and stared deep into her innocent eyes. A tiny brand-new living person. Light-headed and almost giddy, I laughed. The sun was shining and I felt like the luckiest person ever to be given such a gift.

  When I arrive, I get out of my car slowly, like an old person, almost struggling for breath. Am I having a panic attack, or is this it, and my heart is finally giving up? I’m too young to die, surely, at twenty-five? Ironic, a voice in my head chides, you can die any time. It only takes one person to push you over the edge and life is over.

  My heart rate accelerates painfully and my chest is tight, like someone is pulling a band around my ribcage, squeezing my life away. For a few moments I teeter, before my shoulders sag and my breathing begins to slow.

  I’m okay, I really am. In fact, I’ve been more than ok
ay for years, but now one man is ruining my new life, kicking my legs from under me and trying to destroy it once again. I can’t allow that to happen.

  The door is closed, and as I push it open I inhale the smell of her, her room, her life. It is cooler in here, bright and peaceful without the distractions of real life. It is a room for meditation or contemplation.

  Her face is so serene, so different from the film reel in my head, and when I take her hand it feels both warm and cool at the same time. But my usual contentment eludes me.

  She’s alive, but she is not, imprisoned in this room, this bed . . . in her own body.

  And it is all his fault.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Because it was on the lowest level, the access route to Escape Room Six was down a flight of metal steps, which clung tightly to the struts of the pier. Dove and Steve climbed carefully down and edged on to the wooden platform that ran around the perimeter of the room, presumably for maintenance purposes. Towering above, just behind them on pier level and in no danger from the tides, was Room Two. The water level in Escape Room Six was still high, it had fallen to just a little less than three-quarters full.

  Dove could now see how the video footage so easily encompassed the whole scene from above. From where she stood, she could look down into the room. She glanced to her right. To access the room, customers had to climb through the large square hatch and down the metal ladder. The hatch was currently open and the ladder in place, reaching solidly right down to the glass floor of the room. Although the escape rooms looked enormous from a distance, close-up she could imagine it would be fairly claustrophobic once you were shut inside. Perhaps five or six large adults could fit comfortably in the room, but with precious little space between them.

  Steve was studying the inside of the room. “Looks a bit sci-fi, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s not as tacky as I imagined.”

  “I told you, Delta said it was great, and she’s normally very condescending about the entertainment around here,” Dove said, also absorbing the complexities and slick design features. “It must have cost a hell of a lot to set this all up, though.”

  Set along the glass wall on the pier side was a complex-looking control panel with various dials, screens and coloured buttons. A large red sticker above this read Game on . . . Are you ready?

  The wooden platform was easily big enough to accommodate ten or so people spaced around the edge, but it was clearly not built for teams of emergency services, plus all the usual paraphernalia that accompanied them. Steve, who wasn’t keen on heights, held on to the metal handrail, affecting a casual stance while his fingers gripped so tightly his knuckles showed white.

  “Shall we walk round the edge, along the platform?” Dove suggested, noticing her partner’s discomfort. She squinted at the glass chamber. “We might get a better view?” The four bodies had been floating near the ceiling, face down, and she pictured the scene again.

  It was the most bizarre set-up. Short of being murdered in some kind of crazy futuristic theme park, she couldn’t think of any comparisons. The only way in and out was via the escape hatch in the roof, with a metal ladder. The ladder had been moved out of the way to allow the rescue team to retrieve the bodies and must have been put back into position after the initial photographs, to allow easier access to the room.

  It would have been physically possible, following her earlier theory, for someone to have dropped each body down through the roof hatch, but that would have taken time, even with several perpetrators. She considered this.

  It would be more for display and effect than an actual way of committing the murder — a revoltingly sensational way of showing off the four victims, and ensuring maximum press coverage. Sometimes these points were important to a perpetrator.

  A police officer was leaning into the tank, dipping a long rod-and-bottle contraption in, carefully taking water samples, plastic gloves and boots squeaking on the hot metal and glass. “Jeez, it must be like an oven in here on a hot day, even with the air-conditioning system,” he commented. “And why would you pay to get locked in a glass box under the water?” The man raised his eyebrows, sweat dripping down his nose. “What’s wrong with going to a bar, for God’s sake?”

  “A bar would be my choice too. I wouldn’t personally enjoy this kind of thing, but seems like the business does well. Every time I’ve driven past in the daytime, there’ve been queues at the gates,” Steve said. Having examined the hatch, he inched reluctantly off the platform and stepped on to the walkway. “I kind of like the escape-room idea in theory — it’s basically puzzle-solving, isn’t it? But when you get wet, that’s where it would end for me. You might as well just go swimming. ”

  Dove was leaning over the platform, one latex-gloved hand resting lightly on the glass wall to steady herself, peering inside at the murky water. “There should be plenty of prints, with all this glass and metal around . . . Anyway, Delta said it was cool. And you don’t get completely submerged, that’s the whole point. If you go into one of these undersea chambers, Room Six and Room Three, the water only rises to your knees inside, and you get loads of klaxons and alarms going off . . . But it’s a game, so there isn’t any real danger. Or there shouldn’t be anyway. There are probably videos on the website on how it’s supposed to work.”

  Steve jabbed a thumb towards the pier, where the tents covering the four bodies lay, stark and alien in the bright morning sunlight. “Tell them it only goes up to your knees. Did someone forget to turn the tap off?”

  Dove stared at the scene, committing each detail to memory. From the video, the escape room had been almost completely full of water. Now the water level had dropped a little, probably from displacement when the bodies were removed. And yet the majority of the water had stayed in the room, looking grey and sluggish, and out of place among the other five pristine escape rooms.

  Dove swung her gaze out to sea, before dropping it to her watch. Just over an hour and a half until low tide. “Is the roof hatch damaged?” she asked the officer taking water samples.

  He nodded, squinting as he checked glass tubes of water before adding stoppers and placing them carefully in a plastic rack. “There’s a simple bolt mechanism that shuts each one, and they are then secured by a padlock. Same MO as the main gate, and it looks like the bolt cutters were used to get inside.”

  “But if this was a break-in and they all went down into the escape room for a laugh, why didn’t they just climb out when the water started rising? Even without the ladder surely you could float on top of the water, swim to the hatch and push it open. It wouldn’t be easy, but surely possible . . .” She tried to imagine the sequence of events leading to the deaths. “Unless they couldn’t swim? The escape rooms close at eleven. The opening hours are listed on the sign. We might get some CCTV on the victims’ arrival if we’re lucky.”

  “Perhaps the victims were incapacitated in some way before the water started to rise?” her colleague suggested. He snapped his case shut and transferred the racks of samples to a plastic box. “In theory, the escape route, the roof hatch, was there all the time, so I would say it’s more a question of why didn’t they take it?” He nodded at them both, and headed back up from the escape-room platform on to the main pier.

  Dove and Steve followed him, and while Steve added to his notes, Dove watched the man walk briskly towards Jess, pause briefly to speak to her, and move onwards down the pier. Jess was standing near the far end of the pier now, next to the wooden ladder that led to the sea. She was talking urgently to a couple of police divers, who were pulling on fins and checking their equipment. “Who knows what the hell happened, but the DI’s right, this is going to be a nightmare of a scene to get evidence from. I wonder if the coastguard has found something worth diving for?”

  Dove glanced at her watch. “I suppose there might be evidence under the pier, or maybe they’re going into Room Six now to collect any evidence, before it’s drained.”

  “Perhaps. Bloody hell, we’ll have to pinch
more than just some FLOs for this one. This is going to be overtime for a month,” Steve said as they clambered back on to the main pier structure.

  “I’m sure I can see two mobile phones at the bottom of the tank, some loose change and . . .” Dove was looking back down at Room Six. “It’s easier to see from this angle, without the sun in your eyes. A black wheel thing on the floor, and is that two panels on the pier-side wall? But they must already be in situ and part of the game, I guess. Nobody’s going to bring a steering wheel on a night out, are they?”

  “Beats a traffic cone,” Steve answered. “If they had phones, and they were initially conscious, why didn’t they call for help if something went wrong? And does that look like a possible emergency exit door to you?” He was pointing to the far corner of the nearest escape room, which was on a level with the pier and labelled ‘Room Two’.

  Dove followed his gaze, and saw one of the glass walls appeared to have push to break instructions on the inside, and the outline of a square door.

  “Maybe.” Dove walked over and tapped the glass with her gloved hand. “For fire regs and health and safety I suppose there has to be an alternative exit, although I didn’t see this in the wall of Room Six . . . Unless it’s fake and that’s part of the game too?”

  They began to walk slowly back towards the middle of the pier and the white-tented area, before heading towards the sea end. Dove gazed down again at the sand and shingle between the wooden boards of the pier which stretched until around a metre from the end, where she knew there was a steep drop from the sandbank at the low tidemark. The grey-green water swirled and sucked beneath, just audible over the thud of many boots, and the brisk conversation above.