by D. E. White
“Okay, thanks, Garry. I’ll be with you in a minute,” Sarah replied.
“You’re Quinn’s other half, aren’t you?” Garry asked Dove, rummaging in the lockers for splints and extra equipment, as Sarah gently swabbed the blood away.
Dove clutched the side of the seat as the pain triggered a wave of nausea. “Yeah.”
“I remember seeing you at the Christmas party. You had your arm in a sling. Gunshot wound then, wasn’t it?” Garry tucked the splints under one arm.
“It was.” She blinked up at him as the nausea passed. “This was just bad luck. Whatever was going on in this car park, I was just coming back from surfing. Shit, I need to remember to get my board!”
“I’m sure someone will find it for you.” He squinted at her head. “You need an X-ray and stitches on this one, mate.”
“Just what I said,” Sarah agreed. “But she’s getting a lift with one of her colleagues.”
Dove scowled in pain and frustration. “Bloody hell, and that bastard tore my suit. That’s a few hundred quid down the drain . . . Okay, I’ll go and find a car now, and that leaves you with the one victim. No point in any more wasting resources on me.”
“If you’re absolutely sure?” Sarah looked worried.
Dove reassured her, stepping carefully out of the vehicle and into the floodlit car park. Once again the harsh artificial light made her wince, but she felt steadier on her feet.
Sarah and Garry soon finished preliminaries on the injured man, and Dove watched him sit up, tentatively touching his battered face, trying to answer questions. They supported him carefully, manoeuvring him on to the stretcher with the help of several police colleagues.
“You sure you’ll be all right, Dove?” Sarah checked again, as they eventually passed with the patient.
“Sure. Did he say what happened?”
Sarah shook her head. “As far as he can talk, with all those broken teeth, he seems to think it was an opportunist mugging, but I’m not sure your colleagues agree. He’s hardly dressed for a walk on the beach, is he?”
“Not really, no,” Dove agreed thoughtfully. The road to Claw Beach was way off any of the main routes in and out of town. “Did you get a name?”
“Alex Harbor. His wallet, watch and some other bits have been stolen, and like I said, the poor guy can hardly speak.” She changed tack. “Quinn’s going to go crazy when he sees your head. You gonna ring him now?”
“On my way to the hospital,” Dove told her. She hated disturbing Quinn at work, hated ringing any of her family to tell them she was hurt. It made her feel weak. Which, as her sister Ren was always lecturing her, was ridiculous.
Sarah shrugged. “Your call. Take care.”
PC Goss was back, his quick gaze taking in Dove’s bandaged head. “Your surfboard is propped against your car. Paramedics say you want a lift to the hospital?”
“Oh, thanks for that and yes, please, for a lift. I’m all patched up but I just need to get myself checked out by a doctor.” Dove was looking at the injured man, who was now being loaded into the back of the ambulance. Sarah was right. With his dark suit, shirt and polished shoes, he looked ready for a day at the office. Or a date, maybe?
“No worries,” PC Goss told her. “Let us know when you’re ready and I’ll let the boss know.” He indicated a short woman with cropped brown hair, who was in deep conversation with another officer. “We’ve got your statement, so just give us a call if you think of anything else. I guess you won’t be at work tomorrow!”
Dove said nothing but smiled gratefully at him. She walked carefully over to her car and slowly and painfully loaded her precious board on to the roof rack. It had cost her a load of money, her board, and according to Quinn, she loved it more than him. A hybrid soft-top, it was a go-to for advanced riders in smaller waves, and this particular board was from South Bay Board Company in California. A little bit of childhood nostalgia, she had thought, when she ordered it.
Gingerly, because sudden movements were still making her head spin, she secured the board with straps and chucked her waterproof kitbag into the boot.
“Hey, I’m going to drive you to hospital and someone else will bring your car.” It was PC Goss, indicating his vehicle. “Cool board, by the way. I’m more of a paddleboarder myself.”
“Thanks, yeah I like a bit of SUP too. Got a couple of boards at home.” Dove settled into the passenger seat of the police car, squinting at her head wound in the visor mirror. A little blood had soaked through the bandage, but the pain was definitely easing, and her vision was fine now. She was pretty sure she would be able to drive home from hospital. If not, she’d get a taxi or something. “Have you got the perps yet?”
“No sign of them,” he said, “but that’s a pretty distinctive vehicle and they haven’t exactly got speed on their side.”
She called her fiancé on the way, relieved when his phone went straight to voicemail. “Hi, Quinn. Just wanted to let you know I was involved in a minor scuffle in the car park off Claw Beach. I am honestly fine, but getting a lift to the hospital to get checked out just to be on the safe side. Love you.”
From the driving seat, PC Goss gave a conspiratorial smirk, and Dove shrugged. “No point in worrying him.”
The drive to Abberley General took twenty minutes, and within ten Quinn was on the phone.
“How hurt are you? Did someone actually attack you?” His voice was sharp.
She gave a brief recap, adding, “It’s just a few bruises and a cut. I’ll ring and let you know what they say after I’m seen.”
“Do you want me to come and get you, babe? I can clear it with dispatch and take an hour out, or longer if I need to?” Quinn’s voice was heavy with concern.
“No, my car is being brought down, so I’ll either drive home or get a taxi.”
There was a brief silence. “Did they catch the guy who did it?”
“No, not yet, but it shouldn’t be too hard. The first responders were only a few minutes behind the getaway vehicle.”
“All right, babe, we’ve got a job coming through, so I’d better go. Seriously though, call me if you need me. I can ditch everything to come and pick you up.”
“I know. Love you.” Dove had always had problems expressing her emotions, but because Quinn was so open in that respect, and so often finished their conversations with a term of endearment, she had found herself doing the same, and she knew it made him happy too.
The radio call came in just as they arrived at the hospital. The suspects from the Claw Beach attack had not been caught, but their distinctive green camper van had just been spotted on a beach five miles away. It appeared to have driven straight across the grassy downland and off the cliff edge.
“Bloody hell,” PC Goss commented, as a load of static and sharp voices followed. “I’d better get back out there. What the hell did you interrupt in the car park, DC Milson?”
Dove found her fingers tightening on the door frame as another wave of nausea hit her. She was just as shocked. “Clearly it was something worth fighting for.”
CHAPTER THREE
Dove’s phone buzzed at 4.40 a.m. She blinked, confused, wondering why she seemed to have the worst hangover ever. Recollection of the previous evening’s events hit hard as she propped herself upright on one elbow and grabbed her phone. Naturally she hadn’t rung in sick — had decided, as the X-rays were clear, she would be fine. After a few painkillers and a bowl of soup, she had crawled gratefully into bed.
It seemed fairly inevitable she would get called out after that rather rash decision, she thought now. She groaned loudly as there was nobody else to hear. Layla, her grey cat, was stretched out at the bottom of the bed, regarding Dove with narrowed green-gold eyes, disapproving of the early-morning disturbance.
The text was brief, summoning the Major Crimes Team to a murder scene. Four bodies. The address was the Beach Escape Rooms down on the pier. Intriguing. Dove took all of ten seconds to decide she was fit enough to report, stood up
too quickly, and felt her head spin and her ribs ache. Shit.
It was a good thing Quinn wasn’t yet back from work. He was doing a long shift and wouldn’t finish until half six. Dove, having already had a lengthy phone conversation with her fiancé after the A&E doctor discharged her, now sent him a hasty text to let him know she had been called out.
A hot shower made her feel better, but also revealed several angry blue-and-red bruises around her ribcage. For a second, as soap cascaded down her naked body, Dove ran her fingers lightly over the scars on her abdomen. She had once been stabbed by a gangland criminal, who was holding her hostage after a police operation went badly wrong. The near-fatal experience and subsequent injury had changed the course of her life. So much so that she was now able to brush off mere bruising and a headache. Nothing would ever compare to nearly losing everything.
* * *
Despite her slow start, Dove arrived on the scene within half an hour of the team text. The rendezvous point was in a large car park above the beach, just twenty yards from the pier, and the dirty red entrance barriers were wide open. The pay-and-display machine was decorated with colourful graffiti, and shingle from the beach had pushed its way on to the concrete, mingling with the litter.
It could have been a depressing scene, but the early-morning sun and clear skies promised another scorcher of a day, and the thought raised her spirits. She glanced quickly in the driving mirror before she got out. Her injury was almost covered by her wavy black hair, and in her crisp white shirt and grey suit she certainly didn’t look like someone who should have called in sick. But she knew that her amber-brown eyes looked tired and bloodshot, so she slipped on her sunglasses.
Her long-time work partner, DS Steve Parker, and their immediate boss, DI Jon Blackman, were just getting out of their respective vehicles. They exchanged quick greetings.
“What happened to your head?” her boss asked. He was frowning at her injury, stepping closer.
“Minor accident in a car park yesterday,” Dove told him airily, pulling her plait further forward over her shoulder to hide the white patch covering her wound. “What have we got?”
“Four bodies were discovered in one of the escape rooms under the pier. Looks like the room flooded at high tide, so possible drownings. Signs of a break-in near the main gate to the premises, and also the door to the escape room.” He had been reading the information from his phone, but now looked up, his serious grey gaze moving from person to person. “Preserving any evidence is going to be a nightmare with water involved. The paramedics were first on scene and managed to liaise with the fire service and the coastguard to get the victims out, just in case. Hard to say but if we could have left them in situ it might have made our lives a little easier . . .”
Dove nodded. As ever, for all the emergency services, the main aim was to preserve life, even at a potential murder scene. She always remembered the story of the newbie PC who was first on scene at a stabbing and panicked, pulled a knife from the victim’s ribcage, only to realise he had screwed up, and hastily reinserted it.
According to the story, the coroner had been most confused to find the body had two stab wounds, which might have suggested murder, when actually it turned out to have been a suicide.
DI Blackman continued, glancing round, raising a hand in greeting as other members of the on-call Major Crimes Team arrived in the car park. “The owners, Jamie Delaney and Caz Liffey, are now on site. They live just up the road. I’m going to liaise with the incident commanders, find out who’s taking the lead on this one and get an up-to-date report. Lindsey and Josh, see what’s happening down by the water over there.” He indicated the beach area directly below the long, narrow car park, and slightly to the right of the pier structure. “Looks like a dog walkers’ party. Maybe they saw something or have found something. Take some of our uniform colleagues with you if you think it might be trouble.”
Dove nodded at the other members of the team. Only DS Lindsey Allerton looked bright-eyed and alert. Her short, curly hair was held back by a bright green headband, and her round cheeks were rosy.
“Preliminaries, people, and then straight back to the office, where we’ll collate and split up FLOs and teams,” the DI announced. He was tall and thin, an avid marathon runner with a shaved head and a poker face. “I don’t need to remind you it will be all hands on deck with this one. Four victims says anything from accident to serial killer, so I’ll get the DCI to drag in as many extra officers as he can.”
Dove could see the small gathering directly under the pier, down near the water’s edge. The tide was on the way out, beginning to expose streaks of sand and stones. She checked an app on her phone. High tide had been at 00.52, and low tide would be at 07.09 today.
As well as a few people in gym gear and the dog walkers, pets barking excitedly, she could see what looked like the group of rough sleepers who congregated under the pier in the warmer weather. In her experience, these people saw everything, but often went unnoticed, so she hoped they would be able to provide some leads.
“The rest of you come with me and we’ll get the scene set up, make sure the cordons are as far out as we can get them. Jess is Crime Scene Manager and should be here any minute. I’ve asked the council to lower the bollards so she can drive straight through the pedestrianised area on to the pier,” the DI added, striding away now, boots crunching in the pebbles as he jumped down on to the beach from the car park.
Dove and Steve walked towards the pier, following the concrete path that briefly gave out on to wide pavement next to the busy coastal road, before they arrived at the pier entrance.
Here the pavement widened into a large arc to take in the pedestrianised area. On a normal day, it was busy with pop-up kiosks selling popcorn and candyfloss, and packed with milling tourists. Now, police tape fluttered in the breeze, and emergency service vehicles blocked the road in either direction.
Jess Meadows and her team were unloading the van, which had been parked close to the pier. Plastic boxes of equipment were being piled up neatly and white suits were being donned.
“Four bodies, and it isn’t even six in the morning yet,” Jess greeted Dove. Her shiny blonde hair was tied up in a knot on the top of her head and she wore large designer sunglasses, giving her petite face an almost alien appearance.
“Lucky us,” Dove replied to her friend, glancing over the side of the pier at the rapidly increasing crowd of bystanders. Most were snapping photos on their mobile phones. A couple of others had larger, more professional equipment and were taking photographs or videoing with tripods and cameras. The press.
“I know, and I only saw you last week for dinner. Normally we get at least a month before we have to meet up again,” Jess quipped, while she quickly and efficiently suited and booted up in the regulation white plastic gear. “Yet here we are and . . .” She dropped her sunglasses down her nose and peered at Dove’s head. “What have you been up to?”
Dove waved her comments away. “Tell you later, it’s not important.” She grinned reassuringly in the face of Jess’s piercing stare, then followed Steve and their uniformed colleagues down the wide wooden pier towards the escape rooms. Her boots echoed on the wooden boarding, and she could see the beach below through the gaps in the structure.
The Beach Escape Rooms was a fairly new venture, less than a year old. She vaguely recalled reading in the news that it had caused a sensation when it was first installed, with lots of planning permission objections from locals who feared the new buildings would ruin the look of the old pier.
The funfair, fish-and-chip kiosks and slot machines were still in situ, but it was true these now looked drab and old-fashioned compared to the glass and chrome of the creation at the end of the pier.
As soon as you passed the halfway point, you left the traditional seaside attractions behind and were confronted with high metal gates underneath a neon sign proclaiming:
Beach Escape Rooms. The ultimate adult entertainment.
&nbs
p; “Makes it sound like a brothel or some kind of dodgy sex shop,” Steve commented.
“No under-eighteens. I expect the insurance is too expensive,” Dove surmised, looking at a smaller notice filled with disclaimers underneath the main sign. It directed potential customers to a website and gave mobile phone numbers for both the owners.
Members of Jess’s team were already carefully examining what appeared to be the remains of a padlock and chain. Others were dusting for prints and putting scattered debris into neatly labelled plastic bags.
Dove and Steve signed the log and pulled on gloves and plastic boots to avoid evidence contamination. The morning sun cast a pleasant warmth across the proceedings, and the sea glittered enticingly, but Dove could already feel sweat under her jacket. Her head was aching, and she was glad she had thought to slip a packet of painkillers into her pocket, just in case.
The central office was square, with a domed glass roof. On either side, six glass escape rooms staircased down into the sea (when the tide was in), the lower rooms disappearing under the pier. Dove’s youngest niece, Delta, had already been with friends on a night out, and raved about the adrenalin-pumping addition of cold seawater seeping into the game, and the added thrill of watching and being watched by anyone on the beach while you tried to solve the puzzle and beat the clock.
DI Blackman was walking towards the office next to a tall man with close-shaven hair bleached white-blonde and a shorter, muscular woman wearing a blue vest top. The long hair piled on top of her head was a dirty yellow colour.
The pair were holding hands, their shoulders sagging, whispering to one another. As they turned to look towards the main gate, Dove could see both were wearing appropriate expressions of shock and horror. She guessed these were the owners, Jamie Delaney and Caz Liffey.
The trio vanished inside the office as Dove and Steve looked over the rail at Escape Room Six. It was one of the lower rooms, and was currently half underwater. At high tide, as Delta airily had informed Dove, the lower rooms were completely submerged, but due to a pipe and pump system, combined with a vented roof, completely safe. Dove remembered expressing concerns about air supply and Delta brushing her comments aside, telling her not to be so boring.
