Sealfinger (Sam Applewhite Book 1)

by Heide Goody

  “The regular meals on wheels lady.”

  “Karen who?”

  Sam frowned. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Wondered if I knew her.”

  Sam shook her head, unable to remember Karen’s surname, and drank. The powerful minty liqueur got stronger the further down the cup she drank.

  “No, no meals on wheels this week. No seals. Although I did end up chasing turkeys around a kitchen.”

  “A kitchen?”

  “The wrong kitchen. It was meant to be Lavender Court, or Lavender Court House. Even now I can’t remember which one. There were turkeys, plates got broken and then Mr Vamplew the owner…”

  She tailed off. The name stuck in her brain. It was an odd surname for certain, but why it should suddenly chime with her wasn’t clear. Vamplew.

  “Edith Vamplew,” she murmured.

  “Sorry?” said Jimmy.

  Sam could picture it now. Rows of boxes drawn on Mrs Skipworth’s notepad with a name in each box. One of them had been Edith Vamplew, Sam remembered.

  “Excuse me, I’ve got to google something,” she said and pulled out her phone.

  “No problem,” said Jimmy, reflexively looking at his own phone. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  He stared at the screen for a long time. “Problems. Loose ends.”

  53

  Jacinda wouldn’t discuss her problem on the phone, insisting Jimmy come out to the house. Another round trip to squeeze into Jimmy’s shrinking day. The woman was unnecessarily needy. Between her and the increasingly impaired Wayne, Jimmy felt like the carer for a band of invalids. That left him no time to himself, and no time to find out what Sam knew.

  A swing round to pick up Wayne—

  “Yes, I’m taking you home later, and what are we not going to mention?”

  “The alligator.”

  “Good.”

  “Or the tiger.”

  “Right. Or the tiger.”

  —and then straight down to the Frost house in Friskney.

  Jacinda was, as always, in the office building out back. Jimmy couldn’t hear shooting this time. That didn’t necessarily mean the encounter would go any better. He left Wayne in the van and went indoors.

  Jacinda sat at the desk. To one side was a map of the Lincolnshire coastline, with Shore View and the other proposed container village sites marked on it. On top of that, splayed across the desk, were a number of postcards filled with dense, neat writing. Jacinda murmured to herself, fingertips on the postcards. She didn’t look up as Jimmy approached.

  “You said it was urgent,” he said.

  She ignored him and continued her almost inaudible reading.

  “Did you want me?” he said, pointedly.

  “I’m going over my acceptance speech,” she said. “Businessperson of the year awards tomorrow. I have delegations from Nottingham and Doncaster City Councils to show round Shore View the day after. I am under a lot of stress.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  Jacinda cleared her throat as though summoning energies from deep within. “Five days ago there was a conversation which never took place.”

  “Eh?”

  “And during that conversation you said no one saw you kill the woman and that you left no trace.”

  “Right, is this about that woman? Sam? Because I was actually talking to her when you called. She’s just being nosy. She’s not police. She’s not been given authority to investigate—”

  “She was at Sacha’s clinic in Hogsthorpe, asking if he’d treated a man who’d had his foot bitten off.”

  “How the fuck…?”

  “You said she knew nothing!”

  “There’s nothing for her to know!”

  “That’s not the worst of it!” Jacinda shouted, pushing herself to her feet. “Sacha is suddenly fearing for his livelihood and reputation. He’s thinking of going to the police and confessing his part in things!”

  “Did he say he was?”

  “He intimated as much.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “What does that mean? Did he say it? Did he say, ‘I’m going to go to the police and tell them what happened’?”

  “You think we can risk that?” In fury, she pushed her speech cards away. Maybe she expected them to fly up in a dramatic cloud, but they simply tumbled along the desk like breeze-blown leaves. “This can’t come back to me!”

  “It won’t,” he said.

  “Oh, really?” Her mouth twisted like she had a bad taste in it. “Why did I trust you? You’re just a fucking brickie!”

  “Trust me?” he said and stepped back as though wounded. “Why did I end up working for a brainless girl who only runs this building company because her dad was stupid enough to top himself without making sure the right person was put in charge!”

  That hurt. He could see it in her eyes. That fucking cut her deep. And it felt good.

  “How dare you!” she snarled.

  “I fucking dare because even though we are going to get away with this, if there is a sliver of a chance the old woman’s death is going to be pinned on me, I will make sure you go down with me!” Thinking on his feet, he pulled his phone from his pocket. “You think I haven’t been recording every one of these little conversations that supposedly hasn’t happened? Huh? Fucking stupid bitch.”

  She stared at the phone. She had eyes like a doll, huge and lifeless. A Capitalist fucking Whore.

  “We are wedded together,” he said. “In this and everything else. I’m your bloody partner now. For better or worse.”

  She was silent for a long moment. “We need to salvage this situation,” she said eventually, quietly.

  Seething with residual rage, Jimmy nodded.

  “We need to silence any potential leaks,” she said.

  He nodded again.

  Jacinda raised three fingers and ticked them off. “Sacha. We can’t risk him going to the police.”

  “Agreed. I’ll talk to him.”

  “‘Talk to him’? Is that code for something.”

  “What? No. I can talk to him. Make him reconsider.”

  Jacinda ticked another finger. “Sam Applewhite.”

  “We don’t know what she knows.”

  “But she clearly knows too much.”

  Jimmy looked at the third finger and blinked.

  “Wayne,” said Jacinda.

  “Really?”

  “You think we can ever let that one-legged pillock go back to his mum, that we can rely on him to keep his mouth shut.”

  Jimmy pressed his lips together. Cold Jimmy stirred at the back of his mind. Out of all three of the potential problems, Wayne was the most unpredictable. Besides, Jimmy had no love for him. Any residual sympathy or friendship he’d had for the man had been washed away by prolonged exposure to his injury and his stupidity. Wayne was like a wounded dog; it’d be kinder to put him down. Jimmy looked at the shotgun with Cold Jimmy’s eyes.

  “But Sacha first,” said Jacinda.

  Jimmy nodded slowly. If the worst situation arose, Jimmy would have to kill all three of them. But he didn’t have to kill them all himself. He could get Wayne to off the vet. Sacha could put Wayne out of his misery. Dominos.

  “We’ll do it tonight,” he said.

  54

  It was dark by the time Jimmy pulled up outside Sacha’s place in Hogsthorpe, but the lights were on and there was only one vehicle in the parking bay. He placed a phone in the big man’s hand. Wayne’s hands had that sickly infected look now.

  “Now, you stay here. If I need your help to put the frighteners on Sacha, I will call you.”

  “And I’ll come in.”

  “If I call you.”

  “Is he going to have a look at my leg?”

  “Does he need to? Does it hurt?”

  Wayne shook his fat head, the action sending waves of sweaty, diseased, unwashed stink rolling off the man. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s more like I can’t feel it all that well.”

  “Yeah?
What do you mean?”

  “It’s not just my leg, it’s my other leg and all over. I think Sacha gave me superpowers. I feel really light. I’m sure I could fly if I jumped off something high up.”

  “I don’t think so, mate,” said Jimmy. He leaned over and pinched the flesh at the top of Wayne’s leg. Wayne didn’t react at all, just carried on gazing out of the windscreen into the distance. He considered the notion that if Wayne died from a raging infection there would be no need to kill him. Jimmy wasn’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.

  “You come if I call you,” he said.

  He got out and crossed to the clinic. A lamp over the doorway created a cone of light in the dark. Jimmy pressed the doorbell. Soon, he saw movement through the frosted glass and Sacha opened the door.

  “Jimmy?” he said, the surprise in his voice unmistakeable. Was his guard up? “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, but is this about—?” He stopped and looked past Jimmy. “Wayne, my man. You don’t look well.”

  Wayne was hobbling at speed from the van.

  “I told you to wait,” said Jimmy.

  “And I told you to go to A&E if things got worse,” said Sacha.

  “Got worse?” said Wayne.

  “Him?” said Jimmy, thinking fast. “No, he’s fine. I just think maybe the brace needs a bit of an adjustment. It’s a bit, er, wobbly. It’s those spring clasps.”

  Sacha sighed loudly. “Yes, they were always a problem.” He looked from Wayne to Jimmy. “Come in. Yes, but only for five minutes.”

  As they followed the vet inside, Jimmy whispered to Wayne. “I told you to wait.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “But probably best if you don’t mention your ‘superpowers’ to him, yeah? We don’t want him to take them away, do we?”

  “No!” said Wayne, horrified. “He wouldn’t do that, would he?”

  Sacha led them through to his surgery. “Come on, sit on the table where I can have a proper look.”

  Wayne hoisted himself up onto the steel table without assistance. The man thought he was weightless and clearly there was something in that mind over matter mantra.

  Sacha bent to inspect the leg. “Oh my God. What on earth have you two been doing?”

  Wayne was filthy dirty from adventures in ghost trains, seal sanctuaries and from sleeping rough. His skin glistened with an unhealthy sheen from what Jimmy suspected was an infection. His leg brace had become remodelled into a very different shape from when Sacha had fastened it on.

  Sacha began to take his vitals: an electronic thermometer in Wayne’s ear, listening to his chest with a stethoscope. “It doesn’t look good at all.”

  “You spoke to Jacinda today,” said Jimmy.

  Sacha hesitated for just a moment. “Yes, but only to tell her that Miss Applewhite had come asking questions.”

  “Sam Applewhite knows nothing.”

  “She’s got Wayne’s missing trainer.”

  “My Yeezys?” said Wayne, excited. “Have you got it?”

  “Er, no, Wayne.” Sacha looked pointedly at Wayne’s missing foot. “But even if she did…”

  “You don’t need to worry about Sam Applewhite,” said Jimmy.

  “Yes, but I do,” said Sacha. “You are running a very high temperature, Wayne.”

  “I feel fine,” said Wayne.

  “You might be tempted to … go to the police,” continued Jimmy.

  No hesitation from Sacha this time, but the formality of his movements as he listened to Wayne’s chest and then assessed his leg betrayed his nervousness. “And if I went to the police?” he said lightly.

  “That would be a really bad idea,” said Jimmy.

  Sacha nodded. He squeezed Wayne’s leg through the hoof brace and dressings. “Does that hurt, Wayne?”

  “No,” said Wayne cheerily.

  Sacha applied more pressure with his thumbs. “Now?”

  “Nope.”

  Sacha dug his thumbs right in and pressed violently, like he was trying to break into an uncooperative orange peel. Fluid seeped through Wayne’s dressing. A viscous pus, the colour and consistency of runny custard.

  “I think I’m healed,” said Wayne.

  Sacha swore softly in the language of whatever long-lost country he had originally come from. “Yes, but if the police come knocking at my door?” he said to Jimmy without looking round. “With a brace designed for a horse attached to the leg of a man who should have gone to the hospital last week? It is a big clue, no? Damning evidence?”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” asked Jimmy.

  The vet tapped the leg brace with his fingernails. “This is a smoking gun.”

  “And that’s the only worry you have?”

  Sacha stood and faced Jimmy. “Yes, but I also have expenses that need paying.”

  Jimmy smirked. “You want paying off?”

  “A one-off payment,” Sacha assured him. “Thousands. Not tens of thousands. Unless your Wayne is covered by pet insurance.”

  Jimmy weighed it up and nodded. “That sounds very reasonable.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Sacha. He turned back to Wayne. “Right, my man. I am going to need to take this brace off you.”

  “My bionic leg?” said Wayne.

  “It is broken. Uncomfortable.” He reached for the clasps binding it to Wayne’s lower leg. “It will need to come off if I’m to make you all better.”

  Wayne batted Sacha’s hands away. “I don’t want to.”

  “All better soon,” said the vet.

  Wayne’s meaty hands grabbed Sacha and hauled himself up. “You said he wouldn’t take my superpowers, Jimmy!”

  Sacha pulled back automatically. Wayne, refusing to relinquish, dragged him into a furious bear hug that lifted him up and onto the table. “You. Are. Not. Taking. My. Powers!” Wayne grunted as he squeezed. Sacha wriggled and kicked. A flailing foot caught a half-open drawer and medical utensils flew up and out in a shower.

  “Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Jimmy shouted, trying to restore order.

  Seriously ill or not, Wayne was slowly squeezing the breath and life from Sacha. In response, the vet’s hand had found a scalpel that had fallen on the table surface. He jabbed it down into Wayne’s thigh. Wayne didn’t even notice. Swearing violently, Sacha reversed it in his hand and stabbed at Wayne overhand. By chance, it found Wayne’s eye. Apparently, Wayne still had some feeling in his eyeball. He let go of Sacha as he clutched at his injured face.

  Sacha leapt back, half propelled by Wayne’s jerking motion, somehow landing on his feet. There was a desperate, terrified and energized look to his face. He swung the scalpel – his hand dripping with blood and eyeball juices – swung the scalpel back and forth between Jimmy and Wayne.

  “Madmen. Madmen,” he panted.

  “Easy, Sacha,” said Jimmy. “Let’s not get upset…”

  “Jimmy,” Wayne keened softly, hands cupped to his ruptured eyeball as though trying to catch falling tears.

  “Upset?” Sacha jabbed at Jimmy to force him back. “Madmen. I am going to the police.”

  “You can’t go to the police,” said Jimmy. “You are in as much trouble as—”

  “Yes, but I will confess my part!”

  Jimmy lunged for Sacha, tried to grab the scalpel. Sacha swung. How he missed Jimmy’s fingers, Jimmy couldn’t tell. The two of them collided, bounced against one counter and then another. There was a high pitched squeak as Sacha’s foot slid in eyeball fluid. Together they toppled.

  “I think I need to go to a hospital,” Wayne whimpered.

  Jimmy and Sacha rolled, Jimmy ending up on top. The scalpel slid away from Sacha’s hand. The vet battered at Jimmy. They were of similar sizes, but a lifetime of poking pet hamsters and sticking hands up horses’ bums did not compare with a life of physical labour. Besides, it was Cold Jimmy in charge now. Cold Jimmy swatted Sacha’s blows away and reached for something with which to end the
treacherous man.

  His eyes fell on that weird gizmo of steel and plastic. Eighteen inches of pointed steel. The horse-inseminating gun. Cold Jimmy picked it up, assessing its potential as a murder weapon. It was heavier than it looked.

  Sacha saw the intent in Jimmy’s face. “Wait! I’ll not tell—"

  “Not up to me anymore,” said Jimmy.

  He hefted the strange tool. With a double-handed overarm strike he plunged the length of it into Sacha’s open mouth. Sacha gurgled in shock and pain. Jimmy angled it upwards. The little TV screen on the device was on. Jimmy sought out the soft palate at the roof of his mouth and brought all of his weight down on the gun.

  Sacha’s gurgle briefly shot up in pitch as Jimmy pushed harder. He felt the steel rod crunch through layers of bone, cartilage or whatever he had penetrated until its entire length was buried up to the trigger hand. A rasp escaped Sacha’s throat, then he was silent.

  “Wow, look at that,” said Wayne.

  Above him, Wayne (ruined eye still cupped by a hand) stared down over the edge of Sacha’s table at the little television screen. It showed a scene of gloopy mess, white and red and grey.

  “It’s his brain,” said Jimmy.

  “Can you see what he’s thinking?” said Wayne.

  Jimmy didn’t know whether to laugh or vomit. He opted for both. “Great,” he murmured once he’d regained control of himself.

  “Can we fix my eye now?” said Wayne.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Jimmy looked round at the mess they’d made of the place. Blood, bodily fluids, equipment. It couldn’t look more like a fistfight in a surgical theatre if he tried. At least all the mess would be taken care of when he torched the place, he decided.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked round for some accelerant. He went outside to check out the other small buildings between the clinic and the stables. He was looking for cannisters of gas or cans of diesel. He was certain Sacha would have one or the other, being out here in the sticks. He paused outside a metallic shelter. At first glance the contents were unpromising, nothing but a large machine of some sort, but he went inside to check it out and flicked on the lights.

  The machine was essentially a large container with a pulldown hood over it. It had an enamel badge on the front declaring it was a Helios 5000. A separate badge directly below said Defra Approved. There were some other controls, including a timer and a temperature setting.