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

by D. E. White

  Steve knocked on the smart glass-panelled front door and they waited. He rang the bell. “Maybe he’s gone out?”

  “He knew we were coming,” Dove said, pulling her sunglasses back on. “Let’s try round the back. Perhaps he’s in the garden?”

  Although they rang the doorbell numerous times, peered through the neatly cut shrubbery at the lounge window, tramped round the back and leaned over the fence, and called the number they had been given, Aileen’s husband was definitely not at home.

  Dove called Lindsey. “How was Billy Jackson when you saw him?”

  “Took it quite well, considering he was clearly blindsided by whatever she had been up to. He works nights stacking shelves at Tesco’s, and as far as he was concerned they were quite happy and she was at home all evening. No kids . . . He was staying at home and he was going to call his neighbour to come over and be with him. Devastated, but coping, I’d say. Why?” Her voice was sharp.

  “We think he might have done a bunk,” Dove told her. “Did he have a car on the drive?”

  “Red Vauxhall Astra . . .”

  “Well it’s not there now.”

  “Shit. Well, there was no sign of him about to pull a fast one when I left him. Sorry, mate.”

  “Yeah, okay, we’ll call it in. Thanks, Lindsey. Oh, hang on, there’s a car pulling into the driveway now. Looks like him.” Dove hastily rang off and she and Steve went to greet the man, who was now slowly getting out of his car.

  Aileen Jackson’s husband was small and round. His receding grey hairline and lined face suggested a man far older than his fifty-odd years, Dove thought. Despite the hot weather, Billy Jackson was dressed in grey trousers, a pink shirt and a long beige cardigan. The clothes were all carefully ironed and the creases sharp.

  “Sorry, I went to get some shopping but I forgot my list . . .” he said vaguely, without asking who they were. He was waving an empty shopping bag. “Aileen always likes to do the grocery shopping in the morning . . .”

  “Mr Jackson? We’re with the Major Crimes Team — DS Steve Parker and DC Dove Milson,” Steve explained. “Can we talk inside?”

  “Call me Billy, and of course, come this way.” He walked very slowly to the front door, fumbled with his key for a few minutes and finally led them into an immaculate house. Dove, greeted by a waft of lemon-scented disinfectant, coughed, feeling her eyes water. She could smell bleach and furniture polish so strongly she could almost taste them.

  Billy Jackson’s eyes were faded grey and bloodshot, and his glasses kept slipping down his large nose. He kept pushing them back up with a quick nervous flick of his hand. Within minutes in his company, Dove was desperate to rip the glasses off his face and get him a new pair that fitted.

  “We are so sorry for your loss,” she told him.

  “Thank you,” Billy said, smiling weakly. “It’s all been such a shock. I came home this morning to find Aileen not here, and then got a visit from your colleagues telling me Aileen was dead. It was . . .” Tears started sliding down his cheeks and he gulped, fumbling in his cardigan pocket and pulling out a piece of carefully folded kitchen roll. “It was a terrible shock, and we were so happy. Everything was going right for once.”

  “Billy, I’m sorry, but we are doing everything we can to find out what happened,” Steve told him. “Can you tell us where you were last night?”

  “I was working the night shift at Tesco’s. I generally do nights. It’s far more peaceful . . . Around 1 a.m. I received a call from the nursing home, informing me my mother had had another fall and was asking for me.” He sighed. “She has dementia and sometimes nothing will calm her except a visit. I’m always happy to do that, of course, and my manager is good about it. I sent Aileen a text, because I knew she would be asleep and I didn’t want to wake her, and drove down to East Dean.”

  “That’s about an hour’s drive?” Dove queried.

  “It is.” Billy nodded. “I was able to calm my mother down. She didn’t have any injuries, and once she was asleep the staff offered me a bed for the remainder of the night.”

  “When did you drive home?”

  “I was back here by seven. Why?” His face was suddenly flushed, cheeks and the tip of his rather bulbous nose turning red. “You can’t possibly think any of this was down to me? Her own husband? I would never . . .” He caught himself, almost choking on the words.

  “We just need to eliminate people from our enquiries,” Dove told him soothingly. “It’s standard protocol and nobody is accusing you of any wrongdoing.”

  Billy dried his eyes and sat staring owlishly at them from behind his thick lenses. “But I thought you knew what happened? It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” Dove was taken aback by his sudden intensity.

  “Aileen was obviously forced to take part in something against her will. She may even have been kidnapped, and these others she was with were obviously criminals. My poor wife was murdered by a gang!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “There is no evidence of that at the moment,” Steve replied gently. “Unless you have anything to tell us? Is there something in Aileen’s background that might suggest she has links to organised crime?”

  Billy sat back, lips pursed, clearly confused. “Oh . . . well I don’t have details but I know she . . .” He broke off, pressing his fingers to his thin lips. “But what else could possibly have happened? Do you mean it might have been an accident after all?” His voice was tinged with doubt, and possibly hope.

  “This is a complex investigation, as I’m sure you will appreciate,” Steve told him, “and anything you can tell us may help us to find out what really happened.”

  Billy switched off the kettle before it boiled, caught himself and switched it back on again, before dropping teabags into three mugs. “We were very happy. As least I thought we were. Aileen was working part time in a charity shop when we first met.” He turned to them, and Dove saw the colour had completely washed away, leaving his cheeks deathly pale. “We met online, and we married four months later.”

  “How long have you been married?” Dove asked, glancing at the two framed photographs on the wall in the living room. Both were wedding shots. Aileen had been very pretty, with curly dark hair framing a round face, and sparkling brown eyes with a hint of mischief. Billy didn’t look any younger, Dove thought, and was a little shorter than his bride, but was looking at her with such an expression of love and pride it made him almost handsome.

  “Three years. I was able to buy this house with some inheritance. Aileen was a quiet soul, she just liked to sit reading books on her laptop in the garden, do some crochet, and she loved baking too.” He stopped, pouring far too much milk into the mugs, and stirred them all slowly with a teaspoon. When he passed them over, Dove saw the teabags were still floating in the top.

  “Aileen told me she had a troubled past.” Billy sat with his mug of tea in his hands, shaking slightly, not drinking, but staring down at the liquid as though it might reveal the answers to his wife’s murder. “She said she had been with an abusive partner, and done things she shouldn’t have done.”

  “Like what?” Dove made another note to dig into Aileen Jackson’s background.

  “Well I never pushed her to talk about it but she said she was a party girl when she was younger and got into a bad crowd.” He put his mug down, and slopped hot liquid over the glass coffee table, without appearing to notice. “Aileen said with me it was a fresh start and the only true romance she had ever had. She was happy; we both were.”

  Wincing, Dove asked about the pregnancy, and Billy Jackson, surprisingly, after the initial shock had crossed his face, smiled. “Don’t be silly. Your police doctors would have got that wrong. Aileen couldn’t have children, and I had a vasectomy for health reasons many years ago. It was another reason we were meant to be together, I always thought.” His absolute certainty was almost eerie, and his eyes were wide and vacant now as he nodded at them both. “It will be a mistake. Everyone m
akes mistakes sometimes, don’t they?”

  “All right, thank you.” Steve paused, and then smiled reassuringly. “Can we get you anything before we leave?”

  Billy was shaking his head as he carefully gathered up the teacups, spilling more on to the table. “No, thank you. I’m honestly better on my own. I just want to sit and remember the good times. I do have a friend popping over later. She’s my neighbour Caroline, and she’s always been so kind to both of us since we moved in.”

  “Thank you, Billy. You’ve been very helpful, and do call us if there is anything else you think of.” Dove stashed the signed statement in her folder and smiled kindly at the devastated man.

  He smiled weakly back. “I don’t think I’ve really taken it in . . . I keep expecting her to be in the house, or reading in the garden. She loved to read, did I tell you? Oh, I did, didn’t I? Sorry . . .” His eyes were wet and he blew his nose loudly on the piece of kitchen roll.

  “Was your neighbour going to come over?” Dove asked, lingering at the door, thinking he really shouldn’t be alone.

  “Oh, yes. Caroline is going to make us both some lunch. I must go shopping . . .” He stood up, and picked up his bags again. “I might get some cheese and ham, but where did I put my list?” He began to look frantically around the small downstairs area, dropping his wallet.

  “Billy?” Dove exchanged glances with Steve, went back inside and laid a gentle hand on the man’s arm. The cardigan was thick and woolly under her fingers, but his arm was thin and frail. He stopped his searching and just stared at her. “Billy, would you like us to wait until Caroline arrives? Or is there someone else we could call?”

  “No, thank you.” He smiled bravely at them, but his gaze was still far away, almost trancelike. “Caroline will come. She had to take her cat to the vet, but she’ll be back soon. It’s all arranged. Everything is arranged as it should be.”

  * * *

  Dove glanced nervously at Steve as they slid into the car. “What do you think? I reckon we should see if Lindsey could come back over here.”

  “Assuming the alibi checks out, I guess he is in the clear. He’s certainly not what I was expecting,” Steve said, pulling out his sunglasses. “But he and Aileen have only been together three years, so how much does he know about her? He may have a bit of a Cinderella complex, and feel like he rescued Aileen, but I don’t see anything else.”

  “I don’t think he should be on his own,” Dove reiterated, and Steve agreed.

  “Let’s just hang around for ten minutes. He said he was going shopping, so if he makes it out of the house at least we know he’s okay.”

  Dove rang DI Blackman to update him, but his phone was off, so she left a succinct voicemail instead, and followed it up with a quick text to Lindsey.

  “Billy Jackson seems hardly capable of making a cup of tea,” she added, turning back to Steve. “And certainly there’s nothing to suggest he’s capable of killing four people including his own wife. He clearly had no idea what she was up to last night.” She unscrewed her water bottle and took a swig. The contents were warm and tasted faintly metallic but she was so thirsty she didn’t care. “Interesting, his comments about her links with organised crime, though, and worth checking out. He also said she didn’t drink or take drugs, but perhaps she has in the past?”

  “It’s a lead,” Steve admitted. “I can see the workload getting bigger by the minute, with four backgrounds to dig into and a whole load of skeletons probably poised to fall out of the closet. Amazing the secrets that come out after people die.”

  She sighed, winding down the window, letting the breeze cool her hot skin and tease strands of her long dark hair. “I don’t think anyone would discover any dark secrets after my death. My caffeine and sugar addiction are fairly well known.”

  DI Blackman called back as she and Steve were still waiting in the car, watching Billy Jackson emerge from his house and walk slowly up the hill, inevitable shopping bags dangling from his right hand. Dove felt another pang of concern.

  He was on the edge, she could tell, but you couldn’t force people to stay at home after they had lost a loved one, even though her instinct was always to tell them to stay on home territory, to surround themselves with friends and family. But it seemed the Jacksons had nobody but themselves.

  The DI sounded brisk and efficient as ever. “Good work. Okay, change of plan. Can you go and get a statement from Ellis Bravery’s girlfriend? Pete’s got a bloody car problem and they’re waiting for the tow truck now on Camber Road.”

  * * *

  “Let’s go back through Abberley, past the market square,” Dove suggested as she started the engine. “We could also pay a quick visit to Pearce and Partners, the solicitors Dionne Radley cleaned for last night.”

  “Done,” Steve agreed. “I think the connection between Dionne Radley and your Claw Beach victim must be a coincidence, though. This town isn’t that big.”

  “Mmmm . . .” Dove slowed the car down to a crawl and edged past a big crowd of families and toddlers who were gathered on the picturesque cobbled bridge, spilling over the narrow pavement, chucking sticks into the river. “Do you think they’ve forgotten they’re on a road or what?”

  “On holiday,” Steve said, who was checking his phone, fiddling with the charging lead. “Hey, more reports from the lab . . .”

  “Go on then!” Dove said impatiently.

  “I’m reading. Blah . . . blah . . . all four drowned, and there’s saltwater present in their lungs, so either in the escape room, or maybe in the sea itself? Oscar Wilding and Dionne Radley both have facial bruising consistent with a punch or a slap. Her nose was actually broken.”

  Dove nodded, listening intently.

  “Oh, this is interesting — Aileen Jackson has a number of historical injuries . . . fractures to ribs, left tibia, fingers on her right hand, right fibula. Bloody hell, that’s a list! Pathologist, not surprisingly, has queried possible historical abuse.”

  “Would that fit with what her husband told us? Suddenly Billy doesn’t seem quite so way out after all,” Dove said softly. “What if Aileen was running away from her past and somehow it’s caught up with her?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  I tried to kill him once before, when I was a skinny seventeen-year-old.

  I saw him outside his house when I came back late after an evening out. He was standing there, texting, as I walked along the road towards him. The estate was quiet and nobody else was around.

  I could hear music from radios, the murmurs of TV shows through the soft summer darkness.

  In my hand, I was swinging an empty beer bottle, and in my mind, I could see her dancing. He was startled when I appeared round the hedge, the recognition bright in his face. There was fear in his eyes which made my heart sing and my breath come in sharp bursts.

  But I was too pissed, too angry and I missed when I swung the empty bottle at him. My fist connected with his face, and the satisfying thump of bone and skin, the subsequent trickle of blood from his nose, sated me for all of twenty-four hours.

  He never reported me, never reproached me, just carried on with his life. To me, that was proof of guilt, and in my head over the next few years, I killed him a million times.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Steve was flicking through the documents on his iPad. “Perhaps Billy Jackson found out his wife was having an affair, or at least on a night out without him? Ellis Bravery, victim number four, whose girlfriend we are supposed to be visiting now, was the eldest, and he had scratch marks down his back, but no other injuries. All in good health. Oh, and signs of sexual activity. Trace evidence of semen present inside the vagina of both women. I’m amazed it didn’t get washed away.”

  “Harry’s pulled it out of the bag to get preliminaries so quickly, especially considering so much evidence must have literally been washed away.” Dove admired Dr Harry Iziah, the lead pathologist, even though she was also slightly intimidated by the cool, sour-smelling morgue. “Anythin
g from Jess?”

  “Nope, and waiting on all the tech stuff from the lab. I reckon that will shed a whole load of light on our foursome. They must have communicated about the meet-up last night . . . I wonder how they all met in the first place? They seem like they were from very different backgrounds, and the only common denominator is geographical at the moment.”

  “You think they were having some kind of orgy in the escape room?” Dove pulled a face. She was no prude, but she couldn’t imagine how it would be fun being locked in a glass room with three other people to have sex.

  “Takes all sorts,” Steve said, as Dove finally escaped the holiday traffic and pulled up outside the imposing stone building that housed the solicitors. His phone rang just as they were about to get out. “It’s the wife. I’ll just quickly take this, if you don’t mind. She’s picked up some bug and been feeling sick on and off for a couple of weeks now. Not serious, but she had a doctor’s appointment booked in . . .”

  Dove waved in agreement and left him leaning against the car in the shade, while she ran lightly up the stone steps and into the blessed cool interior of the building. It smelled of paper and whatever rather strong scent was in the reed diffuser on the reception desk. Roses and lavender, she thought, politely approaching the desk. It was more like the foyer of a luxury hotel.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. Can I help you?” The immaculate young man had such perfect polished teeth and shiny blonde hair that Dove felt sure he was judging her sweaty, slightly bedraggled appearance. She squared her shoulders. At times like this she blessed the fact that she was tall, and could look rather imposing when she felt like it.

  “Yes, please,” she peered at his name badge, “Donald. Nice to meet you. I’m DC Dove Milson. I just have a few questions, if you have a moment?” She flashed her ID but he reached out and studied it closely, before pushing it back across the desk to her.