Doggerland (Sam Applewhite Book 2)

by Heide Goody

  He was so youthful, she considered the possibility of the young man being an aspiring magician, come to prostrate himself at the feet of Mr Marvellous, the master stage conjurer. Such things were possible, maybe even expected when having a former stage and TV magician for a dad.

  “Sorry. Tez,” she said.

  “I’m terrible with names,” said Marvin. “I’ve a great memory for faces. Rubbish with names. Isn’t that so, Saffronella?”

  Sam rolled her eyes. Even after several years of retirement, the old stage tomfoolery wasn’t far from the surface. Or maybe that was dads everywhere. Sam didn’t know, she didn’t have an ordinary dad for comparison purposes. Maybe all dads told bad jokes and did substandard dancing at the most embarrassing moments.

  “Pour yourself a cup,” said Marvin. “Pot’s freshly made.”

  “Just got to get something else from the van,” she said.

  “More food?”

  “Murder victim.”

  Tez looked from Sam to Marvin and back again.

  “Search me,” said Marvin. “This a work thing, Saskatoon?”

  “A sort of off-duty favour to a friend. A private investigation.”

  “Are you a private investigator?” said Tez.

  “Young man, no one knows what she does for a living,” said Marvin, which was by-and-large the truth of the matter.

  Sam went out to the van and collected the bag containing the sadly departed Drumstick. She brought it back to the kitchen, along with the definitely defrosted peas.

  “Small corpse,” said Tez.

  “I met a pygmy while doing a tour to entertain the troops in the Falklands,” said Marvin.

  Sam held up the bag. “Turkey.”

  “Fairly certain it was the Falklands.”

  Sam put turkey and peas in the freezer, sat down, remembered her hands, got up to wash them, and sat down again. She looked levelly at Tez. Had her dad really invited a young man over to set her up with? If so, her dad had a worryingly high opinion of her attractiveness. This man, Tez, was at least five years younger than her and had a physique that, whilst more willowy than hunky, was definitely on the attractive side of slender.

  “So, dad invited you over?” she said.

  “That’s right,” said Tez.

  “And you’ll stay for dinner,” said Marvin.

  “Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Fish for tea. Sam went all the way to Hull to get it.”

  “I didn’t go to Hull to get it,” she said. “I was in Hull.”

  “Fresh fish from Hull.”

  “Seriously, a cup of tea is more than enough,” said Tez and smiled. “Your dad just wanted me to come over and discuss some matters.”

  “How very formal of you,” said Sam.

  “It’s a serious business and I think he was keen that you were present.”

  “You think?” she said.

  “I think Marvin thought you might be home sooner and we didn’t want to delay but…”

  “I was chatting to Rich. He wants to open a theme park in Doggerland.”

  “Rich is her ex,” said Marvin.

  “A theme park in Doggerland?” said Tez.

  “They’ve been split up a long while now.”

  “Thank you, dad.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  Tez was frowning deeply as though he was considering something unpalatable. Had her dad not mentioned her past love life to this stranger he’d wheeled in to marry her, or whatever?

  “Something about that bother you?” Sam asked him tartly.

  Tez’s frown only deepened. “Sorry. Just trying to get my head round the concept.”

  She nearly snorted at that.

  “Thing is,” said Marvin “Way I see it, I’m not going to be around forever.”

  “You’re not dying, dad,” said Sam and reached for the teapot.

  “No,” he conceded. “But I need to think of your future. And this whole complicated business is not something I want you to have to face alone once I’m gone.”

  “Again, not dying. Not any time soon.”

  “No, your father is right to think about such things. If he hadn’t approached me, I’d probably be asking to talk to him. I was—” he grinned “—I was relieved when he got in touch. If you let time tick by, your options are reduced. You’d be much better to come to an arrangement—”

  “With someone like you.”

  “If you like.”

  “We should listen to what Tez has to offer,” said Marvin.

  “Oh, there’s an offer?” said Sam.

  “I’d need some guarantees,” said Tez. “Beyond the house, I mean.”

  “What the hell?” said Sam.

  “I’m sorry. That’s the way of things. Age is a factor here.”

  “Hey, don’t try to sugar-coat things, huh?”

  He pulled an apologetic face. “I’m just saying that, however accommodating I try to be, some things are not negotiable.”

  “I’ve not even said I’m interested yet.”

  “This is ultimately my decision,” said Marvin.

  Sam pushed herself away from the table and stood. “Have I literally just fallen through a hole in time? Do I get any say in this?”

  Tez frowned. “Not legally.”

  “What?”

  “Unless you wish to act as your father’s guarantor.”

  Sam froze. Sam thought. Sam rewound as much of the conversation as she could recall. “Tez…”

  “Yes,” he said.

  She looked at the young man’s suit in a new light. She saw the briefcase on the floor beside him.

  “From the bank…?” she hazarded.

  “Eastshires,” he said and produced a card from his top pocket.

  * * *

  Tez Malik

  Eastshires Bank, Lumley Road, Skegness

  * * *

  “I thought you’d be pleased I’d shown some initiative,” Marvin said to her. He looked to Tez. “She’s been banging on about my money woes for months. Thinks the family estate is under threat.”

  “Um,” said Sam.

  “Practically forced me to sell the old Jag,” said Marvin.

  “Not quite true,” she said, keen for something to say, keen to cover up her utter misunderstanding.

  “It’s great that you want to sort things out, Marvin,” said Tez.

  “I indeedly do.”

  “And we could definitely look at extending your loan with us, or helping to consolidate other loans you have.”

  “Do you have funds to do that?” asked Sam.

  “Well, I’m going back to work again,” said Marvin.

  “Are you?” said Tez.

  “Are you?” said Sam.

  “I’m looking into a few potential bookings.”

  Tez grinned. “Ah, the old magic routine.”

  “Well, maybe not so old,” said Marvin reproachfully. “I’m working on a new illusion in which I chop off a volunteer’s hand with a rusty saw.”

  “And reattach it?”

  Marvin gave him a steady look. “Wouldn’t be much of a magic trick if I didn’t. Would you like to see it?”

  “For sure.”

  “Wait there.”

  As Marvin got to his feet, Tez said, “It’s great that you’re looking to work again, but we’re not necessarily going to be able to extend your existing borrowing without proof of income or a medical report.”

  “And you’ll need a medical for public liability if you’re going to perform again,” Sam added.

  “Not a problem,” said Marvin breezily, going into the other room to get his props.

  Alone in the kitchen with Tez, Sam found herself in possession of several conflicted feelings.

  It was true her dad did have money woes, debts that savings from a lifetime of stage magic were failing to cover. He had sold the prized Jag – although in truth he had secretly done that months before Sam had even suggested it. And the house was indeed under threat. Sam had al
ready earmarked some estate agents she’d need to call if the situation could not be resolved. The man was broke, turning a blind eye to it for too long. Calling in the bank for a chat was actually a mature and sensible thing for him to do. However, she felt a bizarre annoyance that he had done it without her. She had mentally put herself in charge of resolving his mounting problems; now she felt oddly wounded that he was trying to do something about it himself.

  On top of that, now she had grasped the fact that Tez had not been wheeled in as a potential beau, she also felt mildly cheated. Yes, he was younger than her. Yes, he was a slim and handsome fellow who clearly took care of himself (Look at his neat nails! Look at his polished shoes!). But that didn’t necessarily mean he was out of her league; that she was somehow left on the shelf, distanced from all the young and sexy people. She didn’t want a new boyfriend, but she couldn’t help but feel something akin to jealousy.

  “So,” she said. “Could I possibly tempt you to stay for dinner?”

  “Oh, really…” said Tez, a gentle ‘no’ with a wave of his hands.

  “I bought more fish than my dad and I could possibly eat.”

  He hesitated. “Do you really investigate murders?”

  Sam shrugged. “It’s not in my actual job description. Mostly it’s security cameras and health and safety checks. Tomorrow I’m supervising a community payback team.”

  “Payback? As in community service?”

  “That. Think we’re going to do some weeding at the Otterside Retirement Village. I need to have a chat with the manager there anyway.”

  “But murders?”

  “I’ve encountered a couple.”

  “I’d love to hear more.” He pulled an apologetic face. “If that doesn’t sound too ghoulish of me.”

  She smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes to dinner then.”

  “And your ex…”

  “He’s not coming to dinner.”

  Tez’s brow beetled in confusion. “Is he really planning to build a theme park in Doggerland?”

  Sam retrieved the fish from the freezer and pierced the film packet with a knife. “He said so.”

  “You do know where that is?”

  “Somewhere local?”

  “Doggerland is underwater.”

  “Flooded?” The local area was prone to flooding. Storm surges and heavy rains often put the villages south of Skegness under several feet of water.

  “I mean it’s at the bottom of the North Sea,” said Tez.

  She put the knife down. “As in…?”

  “A hundred miles out to sea. Has been since the last Ice Age. Like, ten thousand years or whatever.”

  Marvin returned with a some felt bags, a chopping block and a hacksaw. “Right. Who wants their hand chopping off?”

  9

  “This is stupid,” declared Greg Mandyke, shaking his refuse sack and litter-picker.

  “Are you about to complain about something, Greg?” said Sam, neutrally. “That is so unlike you.”

  This drew a few sniggers from others in the community payback team who, over the last few weeks, had come to know Greg and Sam well.

  They were outside the Otterside Retirement Village. The agreed programme of work created by DefCon4 and the courts said this session should be the weeding and tidying of green spaces. Sam had selected the verges, pathways and grounds around Otterside.

  “What could possibly be stupid about this?” said Sam, gesturing at the open lawns and gardens about them. “We’re out among the greenery on a delightful sunny—”

  “It’s grey and horrible.”

  “—on this grey and horrible day. We’re getting some exercise and ticking off our community payback hours.”

  “We’re meant to be weeding!” said the silver-haired semi-retired builder.

  “Which we are.”

  “It’s late November! There’s nothing to weed. Nothing’s growing!”

  Sam gave him a deliberately puzzled look. “But surely that just makes it easier.” She glanced back along the grass. “It’s looking lovely.”

  “But it’s pointless. It’s madness.”

  “Gosh,” she said, deadpan. “If only there was something you could have done to avoid it.”

  “Got myself a better solicitor,” he muttered and carried on.

  “Okay,” said Sam to the team. “We’ll work our way up to the fence, then round to the other side. Not long now, folks.”

  She maintained a forcibly upbeat tone in her voice. Overseeing community service work was a chore. The individuals who’d been given community service by the local magistrates court obviously didn’t want to be there. Sam didn’t want to be there. Furthermore, the tasks the group were set (generated by some Kafkaesque DefCon4 system) were rarely vital community projects, mostly seeming to exist only to give the offenders something to do. Unwilling workers led by unwilling management in a task that no one wanted doing. Even though this description could be broadly applied to much of Sam’s job, community payback just seemed to rub it in.

  All Sam could do was present a positive attitude and let her inner self switch off, sleepwalking through until it was done. She reckoned most of the dozen offenders here did the same. Stacey, the hairdresser with a penchant for pub car park fights, looked like she had perfected the trick. The lights were on but no one was home as she mechanically moved from point to point, picking up miniscule fragments of rubbish, or pulling up any little shoot that didn’t look like grass.

  By comparison, Hilde Odinson, working through her allotted punishment for theft (even though she argued that she thought the telephone engineers didn’t want the telegraph pole any more, since they had just left it lying there), seemed to take continued interest in every little thing she came across.

  “What have you got there?” Sam asked her.

  Hilde touched the rusted hoops hooked over her arm. “I’m not rightly sure. Reckon these’d be pegs from some giant tent.”

  “Or the remains of a forgotten croquet set?”

  “Croquet?”

  Hilde was an Odinson, part of the amorphous clan of ne’er-do-wells which lived in their own hellish corner of the most dilapidated caravan park in the local area. The Odinsons were, for the most part, insular creatures, generally regarded as lacking in personal hygiene, education and respect for the laws of the land. However, Hilde was possessed of an unusual intelligence and an untameable creative streak, and although her education might not have encompassed something as mundane as lawn croquet, Sam imagined she’d have those hoops put to some use in her workshop before the day was done.

  “It’s a game,” said Sam. “With mallets.”

  “Like hammers?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Maybe me grandpa would like it.”

  Ragnar Odinson, patriarch of the clan, had long ago decided that his family were of Viking stock and chose to live his life accordingly. Beards, fighting, and the occasional raiding party, were all part and parcel of the Odinson way. Most of the men wore stylised versions of Thor’s hammer as religious amulets.

  Sam tried to picture an Odinson version of croquet. She couldn’t see them strolling across manicured lawns in white slacks and straw boaters, sipping on Pimms with mint and cucumber between shots. It was easier to picture them with tankards of mead in hand, staggering through mud to whack whatever poor object they’d decided to use as a ball.

  “Maybe,” said Sam. “I think this whole area has been used for various games. Stacey found a cricket wicket. There’s a golf flag over there.”

  “Oh. Would anyone be bothered if I took it?” Hilde looked hopeful. “Don’t want to be stealing or owt.”

  “We can only ask,” said Sam.

  They caught up with the rest of the group. Greg had taken another pause and was looking back at the retirement village.

  “Picking out an apartment for yourself?” Sam asked.

  He scoffed. “Rather be dead than in one of these places. No, I was just thinking. I know someone who moved
here.”

  “Family or friend?”

  “A whinger, I recall,” he said, moving on. “Bet she’s looking down on me and laughing.”

  “Cheer up,” said Sam. “Soon, it will all be over.”

  He looked at the distance left to go in their weeding efforts. “Until the next time.”

  “I meant after today, your time owed will be down to single figures.”

  “Hooray for that,” he said with a small amount of cheer. “And it’s taught me something.”

  “Oh?” said Sam. There were little evidence of rehabilitation among the offenders.

  “Footwear,” he said.

  “What?”

  He rocked on his heels, showing off his pale green wellingtons. “Le Chameau. The original sixty-five design. A mere hundred and fifty quid.”

  “For wellies?” she said, considering her six quid pair of squeaky boots.

  “Always the right shoe for the job. You can’t compromise on luxury.”

  The first time they’d met, he’d attempted a beach-cleaning task in expensive espadrilles which had been stolen by opportunist thieves. If the only thing weeks of community payback had taught him was the value of protective footwear, then…

  Sam sighed. The whys and wherefores of justice were none of her business. She was just the woman who made sure it happened.

  Once the team had returned to the retirement village car park, Sam gathered the bags of weeds and litter and signed off the timesheets for the offenders. Greg sat on the lip of the open boot of his Lexus and carefully swapped over-priced wellies – he had a special carry case for them, Sam noted – for a pair of moccasin shoes.

  “Can I then?” said Hilde, hovering at Sam’s shoulder.

  “Huh?” Sam looked down at the collected scrap and oddments the young woman had in her hands. Seeing no sign of retirement village staff, Sam said, “Sure, why not?”

  Hilde practically skipped up the driveway to the main road where a dirt-grey van waited. A non-specific bearded Odinson was leaning out, chatting to a trio of older people – a woman and two men, one in glasses, the other in a wide-brimmed hat. Seeing her looking, the Odinson gave Sam a devil’s horn salute of greeting.