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

by D. E. White

  “On and off, but we met again in Koh Samui and later at a backpacker’s hostel outside Cancun in Mexico. I had some time off, and we were emailing, and realised we were going to be in the same place at the same time. He’d just done his instructor course, so we travelled together after that, ending up with six months in the Maldives, working for a tour operator. It was heaven.”

  “And you came back to Abberley?” Dove queried.

  “We both still felt the UK was our home and we wanted kids. Jamie wanted to be near his parents when Mickey . . . well, if anything happened to Mickey. Five years is a long time to be in a coma. Something will happen soon, good or bad, and decisions will have to be made. Jamie knows I’ll support him,” Caz explained.

  “Caz, are you sure Jamie never mentioned Ellis Bravery speaking to him, either the night of the twenty-fifth, or earlier in the month when he saw him in the street?” Dove was slipping the top back on her pen, pocketing her notebook and iPad, keeping it casual.

  For a long moment Caz was silent, then she turned back to Dove, shutters down, her face stony again. “Nothing. He said nothing to Jamie apart from greeting him. I told you, Ellis never recognised him.”

  * * *

  After the search was complete, the team exited the house. DI Lincoln caught Dove and Steve before they got in the car. “Can you two go and have a word with the woman opposite? Number 213. Miss Serena Cardew. She asked one of the SOCOs what was going on and then said she had some information for us.”

  Steve nodded. “Can do, boss. Nosy neighbours are often the best type to have.”

  DI Lincoln agreed. “We’ve got a few bits and pieces, but nothing that jumps out from the search apart from the recent bonfire in the backyard.”

  Dove, hearing the change in his gravelly voice, from monotone to something approaching bloodhound alertness, felt her own pulse begin to race. “What is it?”

  “All bagged and tagged, but it looks like someone tried to burn a wetsuit.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  It’s so hot again. Not desert heat, just sweaty, muggy and making me breathless.

  The summer has been so hot. Not like normal The last couple of days, we spent time in the woods, hanging out by the quarry. Jamie made a rope swing that went right out over the drop. I can see him laughing, daring the others to have a go, his hair bright in the sunlight.

  As always, down by the quarry, hidden from the grown-ups, there is smoking, drinking, people hooking up and breaking up. Gymnastics training always comes first for me, but I think this summer I’ve finally figured out I can be both an elite athlete and a teenager.

  So I’ve still been getting up to train at four, making sure I get my homework done, putting in just enough effort to cruise by in the middle of my year group. After school I train again, Coach straightening my body in the gym, adjusting my posture with steady hands. Both of us strive for perfection.

  In the evenings, I shower and hang out in the waste ground behind our house, by the swings. There’s often a big gang of teenagers from the estate who play football. Salthaven is a small town, so the matches get really fierce. There’s a lot at stake.

  It’s been so hot, I’ve just been wearing shorts and a bikini top. I’m no match for Jenna in her pink lace hot pants and bra (covered with a large hoody until she is out of the house because her mum would totally kill her).

  Two weeks after he rejected me, Nathan decided to ask me out. Thinking he was taking the piss and it was a joke, I said no, but we hung out as friends and gradually drifted into being boyfriend and girlfriend. I can feel every last touch, taste Nathan’s mouth on mine, hear his voice telling me he wants to leave school and join his dad’s decorating business, telling me I should aim big and hold tight to my dreams.

  It was such a sweet, innocent kiss, that first one, and so far from the pressures of my life. The others gave us less hassle when it became obvious we were together. A few dates at the football field, hanging out and sharing a can of cheap fizzy wine he’d got his brother to buy at the garage.

  Then, when he wanted more, I said no, pushed him gently away, both hands against his chest. He was probably disappointed, but he’s nice and he didn’t want to hurt me. We broke up a few days later, just as the summer holidays were about to start. I guess I should have been sad, but instead I felt a vague sense of relief, like I’d ticked off another experience, like I’d joined the gang properly.

  Jenna started dating him not long after that and she was soon texting me, telling everyone they’d gone all the way, giving me way too many details. Made me cringe. But I’d gone by then — travelling for a four-day competition in Liverpool. I couldn’t let any of that get to me. I had to focus, on my routines, my timing, my vaults. All the things that matter more than a stupid teenage romance.

  And anyway, Jenna was left at home because I got the last place on the squad this time and there’s no room for her.

  I can feel a mosquito bite my arm, a sharp prick of pain, and I want to rub the sore place. My face is wet again. Is it tears or sweat? I want to wipe it away, but I can’t move . . . I shout for my mum, for Jenna, to help me, but they don’t hear.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The woman who lived opposite Jamie and Caz proved to be a delightful elderly lady, recently confined to a wheelchair after a boating accident. “I get so bored, I spend a lot of time watching the street. I might write a book one day, but then again I have been promised a mobility scooter so I’ll be out and about soon.” She beamed at them, and offered tea and biscuits.

  “No, thanks. You mentioned to one of our colleagues you have some information you want to share?” Dove said.

  “I do.” She wheeled herself into the spotless living area, and deftly leaned over to pick up a newspaper. “Your other colleagues have already been around knocking on doors asking if anyone saw anything on the night of July twenty-fifth, but I didn’t.” For a second her face clouded. “Sometimes the pain is bad and I have to medicate, you know, so I slept like a baby that night.”

  Steve nodded encouragingly.

  “Their baby doesn’t seem to sleep much, Caz’s and Jamie’s. I hear her wailing sometimes. Nice couple they are, and we’ve chatted a couple of times.”

  Dove waited, as the woman paused to sip from a glass of water, “But I did see a woman, not much more than a girl, arrive on a moped, or a scooter thing, the night before the murders. She was very late, after midnight, but I like to watch films until about one, so I was here in the front room. The curtains were open, and as it’s been so hot at night the windows are all on the vent, so I can see right out into the street.”

  Dove shot a glance across from the sofa to the window. It was true, the houses were directly opposite one another. “Did you recognise the girl?”

  “Not at the time, but in yesterday’s paper I saw her picture.” Serena tapped the newspaper and handed it to Dove.

  Linked to the main feature on the murders at the Beach Escape Rooms was a piece on Mickey Delaney. The journalist had re-hashed the cold case, bringing up the fact she would have been in a coma for five years next month, adding one of the murder victims had been a suspect in Mickey’s attack.

  Dove rolled her eyes. Ellis Bravery had never officially been a suspect, just one of the many people questioned in connection with the incident. But the press liked the stretch the truth . . .

  This was something the press had been gorging on ever since the identities were released, despite the fact that community engagement and support from the police appeal had initially been high. Below the inky paragraphs were photos, the largest and most poignant of which was captioned Mickey and best friend Jenna celebrate a competition win, just weeks before the attack.

  The two girls were beaming for the camera, arms around each other, cheeks touching, holding up their medals. Dove looked up at Serena. “You mean the late-night visitor was this girl? Jenna Essex?”

  The woman nodded. “Exactly that. Jenna . . . Essex? was at Caz’s house. A very p
retty girl and she doesn’t look a day older than this photograph, even though I suppose she must be, what, eighteen or nineteen now? She seemed to be in a hurry — upset, I would say, and she was carrying a box, a small plastic box.”

  “Do you have any cameras outside your house?” Steve asked.

  “No, but I’m getting one of those doorbell cameras fitted soon.”

  Dove assumed the street cam would have picked up Jenna’s arrival. But perhaps she was a regular visitor. “Have you seen her before?”

  “No, never. Caz seemed to have been expecting her because she was waiting with the door open.” Serena paused. “But she didn’t seem pleased to see her. Their voices were sharp, unhappy, I would say, although I couldn’t hear any actual words. Jenna went inside and they talked in the front room. She was in there for maybe half an hour.”

  “Was Jamie at home?” Dove asked.

  “I didn’t see him. He often works late now they’ve got the little one. They do seem such a nice couple,” she repeated. “The curtains were open, you understand, so I could see Jenna and Caz arguing about something, waving their arms around. Jenna had given her the box and she took something out and looked at it for a while.” Serena took the glass of water from the table again and sipped reflectively. “Then she put her head in her hands and sat down. Jenna went and sat next to her. I could only see their heads, and I thought whatever had happened they must have sorted it out. But the arguing must have started again because when Jenna came out, she had the box and she was crying, sobbing I would say. She drove off far too fast, poor girl.”

  Dove glanced at Steve before she smiled at Serena. “Are you happy to make a statement just covering what you’ve told us?”

  “Of course,” Serena said. “Are you sure you won’t stay for a cup of tea?”

  Steve rang DI Lincoln and sent Serena’s statement to both DIs and DCI Franklin, while Dove leaned against the car door, breathing in the slightly cooler air. The sudden storm had cleared the dusty heat, leaving a salty freshness blowing straight off the sea.

  The post-storm breeze was blowing litter down the street, mingling with the stench of dustbins and drains wafted down from further up the hill. The houses, as usual for this part of town, had their doors painted in bright colours — red, green, blue and even a bubblegum pink. Tall, narrow terraces going on and on towards the horizon, stacking neatly upwards until the junction with Framer’s Way.

  Dove glanced at her watch. It was gone five now, and it felt as if they were still uncovering more questions than answers. Had Jenna kept in touch with her former best friend’s brother?

  Steve finished his call as Dove glimpsed Caz at the upstairs window of her house, peering down at them. But the woman moved quickly away when she saw the police officers were still outside.

  “So what now? Are we bringing Caz in again?”

  Steve shook his head. “No, we leave her until the lab gets results on the bonfire and the rest of the house search. George said to go and see Jenna Essex now, before we check in on Jamie’s parents. We can try and find out if she’s part of the bigger picture, or if this is another chase down a rabbit hole.”

  “I looked her up. She teaches at her mum’s dance studio on one of the industrial estates. She has classes all evening, with a half-hour break at five thirty.”

  “You drive, and I’ll do some more paperwork,” Steve suggested.

  “Deal.” Dove slammed her door and drove off with the windows wide open, wind in her hair. A sideways glance showed her Steve was rolling his eyes as he tapped rapidly on his iPad.

  The sound of dance music drifted out of the open windows as they pulled up outside the Essex Dance Academy. It was a large warehouse, now converted into individual studios, and according to the large pink sign, also housed KD Martial Arts and Kerry’s Toddler Trampolining.

  The stick-thin girl on reception was chewing gum, and she blew a large bubble with a snap of her glossy red lips before cheerfully directing them to Studio Four. “She’s just finished a class but she usually grabs a smoothie from the kitchen and sets up for the under-tens now.”

  The smell of sweaty feet reminded Dove of changing rooms after football. For a while she had pursued the game fiercely, playing for her university, but her love of the sea had won out, and she now found gyms boring and changing rooms claustrophobic.

  Steve pushed open the door to Studio Four, and Dove saw a tall, slim, blonde girl arranging mats and benches. She looked up and smiled. She had the kind of icy teenage prettiness that sometimes comes with a heart-shaped face and candy-cute smile. Dove thought back to the photograph in the paper. Mickey’s curly hair, big generous smile and snub nose contrasted with Jenna’s slick perfection. A perfect match.

  “Sorry to disturb you. DS Steve Parker and DC Dove Milson from the Major Crimes Team. Do you mind if we have a quick chat?”

  Her professional smile faded into a blank stare, and she dropped the heavy blue mat she was holding. “Do I get a choice? Are you arresting me?”

  “You are welcome to come down to the station with us if you prefer,” Steve said cheerfully. “You aren’t under arrest or anything. We’re just pursuing our enquiries regarding the murders of Ellis Bravery, Dionne Radley, Aileen Jackson and Oscar Wilding.”

  “Who are they? I don’t know anything about that,” Jenna said, moistening her lips, and reaching for a smoothie in a plastic cup. She took a gulp and then chewed at the straw, watching them sideways under her lashes, her whole body tense.

  “Jenna, can you tell us about Mickey Delaney?” Dove asked gently.

  Jenna’s look of surprise told them straight away she had not been expecting this, but she hastened to answer the question, words tumbling over one another in apparent relief. “She was my best friend, still is even though . . . well, she just is. Mickey was super-talented but sweet with it, you know?”

  “Did it ever cause trouble with her teammates that she was so talented?” Dove asked casually. She had planned to try a different line of questioning, but decided to get the girl talking first. Steve sat down on one of the benches, stretching his long legs out, the glint in his eyes showing her he knew exactly what she was doing.

  “Oh, people were jealous because I think she was probably the best of everyone.” Jenna sighed. Leaning against the wall of the dance studio, long blonde hair piled on top of her head, dressed in a neon orange cropped T-shirt and shorts, she didn’t look a day older than fifteen. But her eyes told a different story. Dove noticed whenever Mickey’s name was mentioned she withdrew a little, dropping her gaze to her bare feet.

  “Jenna, we do appreciate how awful it must be for Mickey’s family and friends, especially Jamie and Caz, but we are trying to solve a multiple murder case,” Dove said carefully.

  “I always felt so guilty I didn’t go with Mickey that night,” Jenna said suddenly. “She was tired after the competition and sometimes we would both go down to the quarry and sit and talk. It was . . . peaceful down there.” She looked up at Dove, her eyes filled with tears. “Everyone knew we used to go down there after a competition, so I guess that’s another reason why everyone tried to blame me, to say I did it . . .”

  “But surely everyone seems to have pinned the blame on Ellis Bravery? Jamie was certainly under the impression he was responsible, wasn’t he?” Steve put in.

  “Jamie was a classic older brother,” Jenna explained. “He was very proud of her, and I know he also felt like he had failed her. In his eyes, she was a kid, and he was all grown up, so he thought the one time she needed him, he should have been by her side.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

  “And Ellis Bravery? You mentioned in your original statement you had seen him watching your group a few times . . .”

  Jenna screwed up her nose. “I didn’t take any notice, really. Hell, Mickey’s dad used to give me that look occasionally, like when a bloke fancies you. At fourteen, I thought I was it, you know, and I’m sure I was a bit of a brat.” She smiled sadly. “Mi
ckey used to say we were both gymnastics brats.”

  Dove didn’t get how the word brat was an endearment, but the memory seemed to please Jenna. “So you never felt Ellis was a threat?”

  “No, I told the police back then. Jamie was convinced he’d done it because apparently Mickey had told him she’d seen him watching her in the garden.”

  Time to switch subjects. “Do you keep in touch with Jamie? With Caz?”

  There was no mistaking Jenna’s fear now. Her face paled. Her features suddenly seemed not pretty at all, but too pointed and sharp, and she was breathing fast. “I . . . Not really, no. They went travelling, but I still visit Mickey at the hospital, so I sometimes see them . . .”

  “Have you visited their house recently?” Steve prodded.

  “I . . .” Again the hesitation, as though she was weighing up options. “Yes, I did . . . I went to see Caz last week.”

  Dove flicked through the pages of her notebook. “When was this?”

  “Um . . . the twenty-fourth, I guess . . . I went after I closed up here. I had a few late classes and then . . .” She put a hand to her chest and breathed deeply.

  “It’s okay, just tell us what happened,” Dove said softly.

  “Well, I’m moving out of my mum’s place, into a rental flat of my own near the river. I was packing up boxes and you know, junk and stuff you keep for no reason.” Her gaze was far away now, a half-smile on her face. “I found lots of Mickey’s stuff. Presents she gave me, photos we had printed out for our bedroom walls, prizes and trophies we won as a duo.” Her eyes filled with tears. “She always told me to keep them. Mickey knew my mum . . .” Jenna lowered her voice and flicked a glance towards the door. “My mum wanted me to win so much.”

  Steve smiled encouragingly at her. “My mum was like that with my sister and her acting — a proper stage-door mum!”

  Jenna smiled weakly and continued. “She doesn’t really want me to move out . . . But anyway that night I found . . . some other photos of Mickey and I thought Caz and Jamie might like them.”