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

by D. E. White

  Neat, thought Dove. He had dodged the next question about cameras. They had combed all the footage in the area, and there were no cameras covering the route he had described.

  * * *

  “So what time did you eventually get home?” Dove continued.

  “I don’t know, maybe around quarter to two?” Jamie drained his water, playing with the empty plastic cup with slightly shaking fingers.

  “So what do you think happened to your Fantasy Play customers?” Steve queried.

  “I can only assume from the evidence they came back, broke in, and went back into Room Six for another round,” Jamie said blandly.

  “Your personal bank records show cash deposits of fifteen hundred pounds for March, April, June and July. Can you confirm these are all from your Fantasy Play clients?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you never had any trouble with them before? Nobody tried to get back in? Oscar paid up when they arrived?” Steve asked.

  “No trouble,” Jamie admitted. “But this time they were all hammered. One of the women, the one in the black lace dress with the long brown hair, she dropped an empty bottle of vodka into the bin over there. I bet your investigation team have got that somewhere, as they seem to have bagged up every cigarette end and piece of fluff in the place.”

  “Which seems rather unlikely,” Dove told him. Dionne had managed to get drunk very quickly, considering she had come straight from work, and evidence on the timeline showed she’d met Ellis just after she changed. And the thought of Jamie confronting the man who was basically his worst nightmare and literally saying nothing but ‘Good evening’ still wasn’t ringing true either. “So they had their fun, paid you, walked out and then somehow got hold of a pair of bolt cutters, which enabled them to return to Room Six. For what purpose?”

  Jamie blinked, his cool hazel eyes now fixed on Dove’s face. Nervous energy all used up now, he was back to sitting straight with his hands clasped on the table in front of him. “I have no idea.”

  * * *

  When Steve and Dove reported back upstairs, DI Blackman agreed Jamie Delaney should be held in custody for thirty-six hours pending further questioning. “He lied. She lied. And he has the motive and the means.” The DI ran a hand over his shaven head thoughtfully. “We need to talk to Caz next. Let’s go through the forensics again first.”

  Dove headed outside to grab some food, but Steve insisted he would rather eat chocolate at his computer. His short-lived attempt at a healthy lifestyle had ground to a halt as summer arrived.

  Dove went outside to join the queue for the food van, stretching her aching arms and back in the cloudy sunshine. The thunder clouds were still stacking up over the sea, and the heat was sticky and uncomfortable. Her head was aching, but she couldn’t tell if it was from her recent injury or just a response to the imminent break in the weather.

  “What do you want, love?” The man behind the counter of the food van was scarlet in the face, sweat beading his bald head.

  She ordered a Coke and a bacon sandwich, stacking her glass with ice from the rapidly melting bucket on the counter.

  “Not going for a fruit salad today?” Lindsey appeared behind her and reached for a pre-made prawn and pasta box.

  Dove grinned. “Enjoy your healthy food and I’ll enjoy mine. Do you still want a coffee later? Four sugars, isn’t it?”

  “Whatever, Milson.” Lindsey stuck a middle finger up at Dove and paid. They carried their food back to the office together.

  “You got anything worth talking about?” Dove asked.

  “I have, actually. Oscar Wilding was having an affair with Aileen Jackson. He does a few odd jobs for the blessedly nosy neighbour, Caroline, who lives across the road. She doesn’t seem to have a life, but is devoted to her cat.” Lindsey smiled as they negotiated the door with their cups and packages. “She’s a sweet lady who knows the whole street intimately. She recalled Mr Wilding chatting to Aileen when she put the bins out, about six months ago. Said he came back fairly often after that, always at night, and I need to check, but I’m guessing when the husband was working the night shift. The neighbour said it was love and they were planning to run away together, but that may be her embellishing a little.”

  “I don’t suppose the neighbour saw them on the twenty-fifth?” Dove suggested, considering Aileen’s apparent return to a more exciting lifestyle.

  “She did indeed. She claims Mr Wilding arrived in a taxi, picked up Aileen, and they both left at twenty to eleven, which ties in with the taxi driver’s statement about picking up the couple and dropping them on the seafront at five to twelve,” Lindsey said. “Boom! What have you got?”

  Dove told her, and added, “So now we have to speak to Caz Liffey and find out her version of events, because they both lied on their initial statements, didn’t they?”

  “Seems kind of sick if they were in it together, sat in the office with the baby while our victims died,” Lindsey observed, as they entered the office. “I’d be interested to see more of the Mickey Delaney case and find out if Bravery should have been in the frame for her attack after all. Didn’t the DCI say his alibi was based on some motorway-cam footage? Worth looking into.” She took a gulp of her drink as they headed up the stairs. Anyway, I’ll catch you later.”

  “Sure. Thanks, Lindsey.”

  “Oh,” Lindsey paused at the door and turned back, “cameras at the escape rooms feed back into the office, so whoever’s working can keep an eye on the players. Could it have been some kind of retribution? Sitting down and watching Bravery and the others drown?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jenna’s asking me a question, but today I don’t feel like answering. I concentrate on the rise and fall of my chest, on my lungs working, on my heart beating, but it’s all too loud, too strong, like I’m underwater.

  Jenna is talking again, but her voice is soothing now. She is my best friend and sometimes she makes me mad, but I trust her. I can hear another female voice too, and this one is sharper. A hand on my arm takes me back to the car journeys. I don’t trust Caz.

  Caz pretends to like me because she fancies my brother. She’s all whispers and insincere little touches on my arm or hand as we sit on the back seat.

  Jenna is saying something about training now, and Caz is correcting her . . . I drift along with them. Sometimes I reply but they ignore me.

  I made the squad, so now I get another six hours’ training a week. Mum got over her stress about driving me to practice, but it means we have to lift-share with Caz, which sucks. She hates me because she’s two years older and only just made the squad, but she pretends to like me.

  I’ve been pushing and pushing my body, just to show Coach he made the right choice, and I know I’ve been noticed. It gives me such a buzz to step out on to the mat and do my routine. I don’t fear anything when I’m out there, but before and after, the chatter, the envious glances as I come off the mat, make me shake inside.

  I don’t need everyone to like me, because I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to go to the Olympics. Even Jenna says I’m just lucky. Lucky to get picked, lucky not to have an injury, lucky in competitions . . . She doesn’t get it. It’s not about luck, it’s about sheer hard work, and forcing myself to do it.

  Jenna and I are the same age, and sooner or later it’s going to come down to me or her. I hope we can still be friends but I guess I can survive if not . . . I don’t think Jenna wants it as much as me, but her mum wants it more than anyone else. She’s a total bitch, Jenna’s mum, and she hates me too. In fact, if I think about it, more people hate me than like me in gymnastics.

  Caz is saying something about the weekend now, about going out . . . Probably to watch the football, so she can stare at Jamie . . .

  On Saturday after the summer regional competition, we went out to the old swings, just me, Caz and Jenna. It was great just sitting on the swings in the sunshine, twisting the chains round and round, then letting go so the wooden seat whizzed
round in the opposite direction. Pretending to be a little kid again, like none of it matters.

  Jamie was hanging with his mates in the far corner, near the woods. They were kicking a ball around, probably smoking in between games like they usually do. I should tell Mum. Caz was watching Jamie like she usually does, and Jenna started on about how Nathan fancies me so I should go out with him.

  I was happy until I saw him watching us. He lives here too, so he has every right to be hanging around, trimming the hedge, mowing the strip of lawn that separates the dirt track from his garden. No one else noticed.

  The other girls carried on chatting. Jenna blew bubbles with her pink gum, and Caz talked about her plans to travel the world. She’s so in love with my brother, it’s embarrassing, because Jamie pretty much ignores her. A lot of girls like him, despite the fact he’s ginger and lanky. Funny, people always say he has ginger hair, but mine is usually described as red. Another difference between us.

  Funny, because although Jenna and Caz are still talking, I think I can hear my dad’s voice, even see his face quite clearly. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but the other girls have gone quiet, and I’m back on that summer’s day.

  I carried on winding and unwinding the swing, letting the chat flow over my head, watching the man with the hedge trimmer. If he ever tries anything, I’ll be ready . . . I rubbed the bruises on my arm. I bruise really easily, so I always have bruises. Lucky, really . . . There’s always an excuse for everything.

  I think this might be one of those memories I’ll look back on when I’m old and grey and laugh at. I hope so anyway, because just now, for some reason I’m crying. My face is wet but my skin is hot again. As though I’m in the sun and someone has thrown water at me. I’m back in the under-tens at gym club, hardly daring to come out of the changing rooms and face the confident, beautiful girls, the strong, laughing boys. And when I did, just by the door, one of those girls was at the water fountain. She looked up as I went past and deliberately put her hand under the jet, directing the icy water right into my face.

  “Caz!” A voice scolded. But there was laughter and my face was burning as I forced myself to carry on walking.

  Everything seemed to be impossible back then, when I was just a skinny kid with long tangled red hair scraped into a ponytail and a crappy second-hand green leotard. I have gymnastics to thank for the fact I now look like one of those hard-faced, confident girls I used to admire. But I’m not like them on the inside, no matter how much Coach praises me, no matter I’m in the county squad, the national squad, and an Olympic Pathway contender. And they still hate me.

  * * *

  The beeping is getting louder, and my heart rate increases, picking up the rhythm. There is music pumping out, coloured lights flashing, and the evening summer heat is almost tropical . . . A woman is shouting, and other voices join in, panicked, but quickly fading as I realise where my memory has led. Dad took me and Jamie to the funfair down in Lymington-on-Sea today. It was so cool because he just dropped us off to meet our mates and then picked us back up at eleven!

  Jamie whinged (of course) but took the free lift home because his stupid scooter was broken. The night was alive with the noise and neon colour of the fair, the smell of summer, sweat and burgers. I won four goldfish in a plastic bag on the rifle range, and when we got home, I let them swim free in our pond.

  I stayed outside watching the ripples in the dark water, watching the lights go out in neighbouring houses. By the time Dad called for me to hurry up, the only light left on was in an upstairs room in the house next door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Dove ate her bacon sandwich while she went back over the forensic evidence from the Beach Escape Rooms. Okay, so if Caz and Jamie had been in the office, either one of them could have swum down to block the outflow pipe. Probably Jamie, she supposed, as it was his vendetta.

  She chewed a thumbnail thoughtfully, running over the sequence of events. Suppose Jamie had threatened Ellis when he arrived for his sordid night out. Maybe Ellis had laughed in his face and Jamie just snapped? The man he was sure had put his sister in a coma was now getting it on in the escape room without a care in the world.

  No wonder the security cameras had been damaged to avoid too much evidence being captured. Did they plan it hastily together, Caz and Jamie, including the feeble idea of the break-in? Or, she stopped with her drink halfway to her mouth, had Jamie already put the workings in place by the time Caz arrived to comfort him? Did they argue, and did she try to stop him from going ahead and murdering four people?

  The photographs of the outflow pipe and accompanying notes indicated no evidence had been found on any part of the structure. The seawater would have washed everything away, Dove thought, skimming the documents, and licking a stray splash of brown sauce off the back of her hand. Fingerprints from the control panel and the emergency shut-off valves, both inside the office and outside, had Caz’s and Jamie’s prints on them.

  She peered at a footnote. A partial oil-smeared print had been identified on the outside emergency shut-off valve. The print was still being processed.

  Dove had picked up her phone to call Jess and see if she had any further information on the last print, when saw a new voicemail. Delta! She had forgotten to listen to the last one. With a twinge of guilt, she called her niece.

  “Hi Delta. What’s up?”

  “Oh, Dove, I’ve been trying to call you and I know you’re at work but . . . Nothing’s wrong, really . . . Actually, could I stay with you for a bit?” Delta was normally cool and laid-back, but now her voice was quick, and her words tumbled over each other.

  Dove was surprised by the request. She knew Ren and Delta had fallen out over Delta’s current job choice, but she thought Delta was happy with her friend Abi, in a flat-share in the slightly dodgy area of Highcourt in Lymington-on-Sea. “Are you not still living with Abi? Or did you two have a fight or something?”

  There was a slight pause. “Dove! We aren’t ten . . . It’s just . . . the landlord is having the flat decorated and the place stinks of paint. You know how I get migraines . . .”

  This last was true. Delta had had to cope with a lot during her teenage years, seen and experienced things nobody her age should have done. The doctors thought the migraines might be as a result of some kind of PTSD, although the girl had never displayed any other symptoms, constantly assuring everyone she was fine.

  “You could stay with your mum? She’d like that,” Dove suggested.

  “She wouldn’t. She’d go on and on about how I need to get a better job and stop bumming around as a pole dancer.” Delta’s usual sarcastic tone had returned.

  This was probably true, Dove supposed. “You’re always welcome at ours, but the couch isn’t the most comfortable, and with both of us working shifts . . . Although Quinn is supposed to be on a few days off now, he might go in for extra shifts because of his training.”

  “It’s fine, I won’t then!” Delta snapped.

  Dove realised her ham-handed efforts to persuade Delta to move back in with Ren were not working. “Don’t be silly, we’d love to have you. I just wanted you to know it’s probably just as uncomfortable as Abi’s flat at the moment. When do you want to come?”

  There was another pause, longer this time, as if Delta was considering the offer. “If you’re sure, could I come tonight?”

  “I . . . Yes, you can.” Dove glanced at the computer screen and back at her watch. “Look, why don’t I pick you up from work, and we can go to Ren’s together and then back to mine. You were still planning on coming over to hers later, I take it?”

  “Sure. Yeah, thanks, Dove, that would be great. It’s only for a couple of days while the . . . while the painter finishes.”

  “Is everything else okay?” Dove queried. She couldn’t help feeling the landlord of this particular block of flats was very unlikely to be redecorating. She had been out to the flats a few times in the course of investigations and the whole place stunk of
rats and piss.

  “Fine. Dove, have you heard anything else about Gaia yet?”

  “No, but she should be out tomorrow. All the tests have come back normal and she’s gagging to get back home.” Dove wondered if it was Gaia’s accident that was upsetting her normally level-headed niece.

  “Everyone’s talking about what happened at the club,” Delta said quietly.

  “I’m sure. But I know Colin and Uri will be keeping an eye on things until Gaia gets back to work.” Dove paused. “Delta, do you know anything about the robbery?”

  “No.” It was a little quick and a little sharp. “Of course I don’t, but people are saying it must have been an inside job, so there are lots of accusations flying around, especially from the new girls.”

  “Just try and encourage everyone to cooperate with the police,” Dove suggested. She didn’t think Delta would be holding out on some vital piece of information, because she had been brought up around Dove’s work and knew better than that, but still, the girl was definitely on edge.

  Delta sighed. “Most of them don’t like the police at all.”

  “Well, ignore the haters and concentrate on the employees who owe their livelihoods to your aunt,” Dove told her. “Delta, I’ve got to go, but I’ll pick you up later unless I get stuck here on something.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  He was watching me when I arrived home today, the man next door, but I went out into the back garden anyway and worked at my walkovers, my back flips, my jumps until I couldn’t move any more. My homework books waited in a pile on the grass, but I couldn’t be bothered to open them.

  So I flopped down by the pond. It was so gross. Filled with rubbish, cigarette ends and oil. My fish were floating on their sides, poisoned by the shit in the water.