The call of nature forced him up. Feeling brave, he successfully navigated the use of the emergency toilet services in the port bow. After that, he grabbed a towel along with a plastic bag in which he’d packed his toiletries, and set off for what he’d discovered the previous evening, the humble shower housed within the even more humble marina building.
Amazon Prime recently offered me this book for free. As I was in my native Norfolk and with no books to read, it seemed a timely choice and a generous offer. I am now contemplating charging them for my time spent reading it!
As a detective novel, it contains many of the cliches of the genre - the mutual suspicion between the younger big-city cop and the experienced local, a lead detective with a traumatic family life, policemen who seem more interested in who gets credit than actually solving the crime. But it adds a new ingredient of its own with a female junior cop who checks out the new boy for a wedding ring at their first meeting:
As the new DI looked over his shoulder to reverse out, she took the opportunity to steal a close-up look at his face. Despite the fact that he must be a good fifteen years older than her, probably nearer twenty, and that he could hardly be considered successful, given that he was still only a Detective Inspector, and one who’d moved up from London to the Norfolk Broads, instead of the other way round – something she’d been hoping to do herself, in the not too distant future – combined with the fact that he drove a car straight out of some sort of sad Eighties TV mini-series, she couldn’t help but find him attractive…No wedding ring, she noted, as he turned the steering wheel; but then she saw the hint of white where there perhaps had been one.
And by that afternoon, this while about to see a body that has been found in the river, is engaging in flirtation that deserves a sub-category in the Bad Sex Awards:
’What about you? Where are you from?’
‘Oh, I’m a Horning girl,’ she answered, quickly adding, ‘No jokes please!’
With a boyish smirk, Tanner said, ‘Heaven forbid!’ But he couldn’t resist, and feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time, said, ‘So you don’t go around feeling permanently horny?’
Pretending to be upset, Jenny glared up at him. ‘I said, no jokes!’
‘Sorry,’ said Tanner, turning away to hide his grin. ‘I couldn’t help it.’
‘No? Well, don’t worry. It’s to be expected, I suppose.’ She turned her face away slightly, muttering under her breath, just loud enough for Tanner to hear, ‘But I do, though.’
Finding himself about as aroused by the comment as he was embarrassed, Tanner wasn’t sure where to look.
And then the next day:
As he pushed open the Jag’s heavy door, it creaked loudly. Opening her own door, Jenny said, ‘You may want to put some oil on that.’
‘On me, or the door?’ questioned Tanner, groaning as he heaved himself out.
‘I suppose that depends on if you enjoy being covered in oil whilst someone tugs at your handle,’ said Jenny.
Somewhere under this there is a spectacularly over the top murder mystery and the novel ends with Tanner, the main detective channeling another of Norfolk’s finest temporary-becoming-permanent residents, Alan Partridge, but with his boat standing in for the Travelodge.
Seeing the car ahead set off through the now almost fully open gates, he put the phone away, wiped the tears which had appeared from nowhere from his eyes, placed his XJS’s gear lever into the drive position, and headed back towards Wroxham.
Forcing himself to stop thinking about Jenny, instead he thought about the wooden yacht that was waiting for him, and was surprised to find himself actually looking forward to being back on board. Despite its insanely cramped accommodation and total lack of even the most basic amenities, he was beginning to think of it as a safe haven; one that was far removed from society’s seemingly endless storm of dangerous obsessions and cruel machinations, and one which was increasingly beginning to feel like being his new home.
The author apparently also writes “comedy” crime thrillers including titles such as The Thrills and Spills of Genocide Gill (which from the Kindle preview is like this dialled up to 11 - sample line “She looked up to see him staring straight down her cleavage as he played with his teaspoon with one hand and himself with the other”) so perhaps this is also intended as a satire of the genre. Except it isn’t marketed as such, hasn’t been received as such by most reviewers and in any case it is a very poor and ill-judged attempt at humour.
What a load of old squit.