This week I’m doing something a little bit different. I’ve posted interviews before with authors, mainly Indie authors like myself who have chosen to go it alone and self-publish their books. This week I’m taking part in a mini book blog tour to promote Pamela St Abbs mystery Shifting Sands: Inspector Campbell mysteries book 4.
Firstly, a bit of background:
Pamela St Abbs grew up in Norfolk but has always loved Scotland and has now lived there for over ten years. She loves to write detective fiction with tense, interesting plots.
She also writes Anglo-Norman crime novels under the name of Mary Bale, the first of which is called Threads of Treason and was published by Pen and Sword Books. As Pammy Bale, she writes books for children.
Shifting Sands is the fourth book in the Inspector Campbell series and the wonderful North Norfolk coastline was the background for this tale of duplicity and tenacity.
The pictures on the covers of Pamela’s books are original paintings by Pamela herself.
When messages of death are sent and two bodies are found on two different Norfolk beaches, Inspector Campbell and his team find themselves unravelling a complex case.
Available from Amazon in both eBook and Paperback formats.
Why read Shifting Sands: Inspector Campbell mystery 4?
- It’s a book for fans of intriguing murder mysteries
- The wonderful back-drop of the Norfolk scenery
Here’s a little taster to get you in the mood: an extract from Chapter Six of Pamela St Abbs’ Shifting Sands: Inspector Campbell mystery book 4:
DC Garden couldn’t get through to Inspector Campbell on the phone. She also tried Sergeants Jenner and Parnold without success. She wasn’t sure if she was wasting time by following up the information about the burnt huts, but she would at least be at the scene of the murder of William Cecil Broadgate if she was at Banksea Beach.
Jess Barratt was bent double cleaning out the Banksea Beach kiosk following the scene of crime officers’ checks. She was wearing a flowered print sundress and a red tabard. Her two-tone hair was scraped back into a tight pony-tail. She turned around on Garden’s cheerful hello. She had a bulldog-about-to-fight expression on her sharp featured face.
‘I know Sergeant Jenner has already spoken to you about what happened here on Friday,’ said Garden in her best friendly voice. ‘Your boss, Sarah Radley told me about the arson attacks on the beach huts here,’ she explained after introducing herself.
‘They’ve already been reported to the police,’ Jess Barratt replied in a harsh tone. ‘I could really do without this,’ she added as she continued to scrub a shelf. Garden noticed her accent was local but mildly so.
‘I wonder if you could confirm when the huts on this beach were burnt?’ asked Garden in a pleasant but firm manner.
‘The fire was last Tuesday,’ Jess Barratt explained softening her tone slightly. ‘It started in the one furthest away. It’s the one on the end. The fire seemed to have spread to the next one.’
‘That would be just three days before the murder,’ observed Garden making a note.
‘Why didn’t it take more of the huts out?’ asked Garden evenly.
‘There’s a gap between them and the next one in. Water runs through there. Surface water runs down from the caravan site; makes a little stream.’
‘Could you show me?’ asked Garden.
‘You can see them for yourself. They’re down to the left. There’s just the two.’
‘Can you think of any reason why they might have been burnt down?’ ‘You’re the police.’
‘Just one other thing. I understand that you know Harriet Epsy?’ ‘Yes, I do. Why do you want to know?’ Garden thought Jess Barratt
sounded defensive. The woman continued, ‘Oh, I suppose you can’t say. I used to work with her at the Gull Inn.’
‘Did she go to Strath-Kind school?’ asked Garden.
‘Yes, but it didn’t do her a lot of good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She got a taste for the high life. Her family weren’t that well off.’
Garden noticed her local tendency to say “were” instead of “was”. ‘Why they wasted what little they had on that sort of education I’ll never know,’ continued Jess Barratt. She paused and started rubbing the counter with a cloth. ‘Harriet used to live in the flats behind the Gull Inn. I don’t know if she’s still there.’
Garden jotted that down and asked casually, ‘Do you know Bradley Yorkman?’
‘He hangs round the beach at Daneton Howe. I sometimes help Sarah down there when Kara’s off. Sometimes he comes up here too.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sally Garden folding her notebook ready to put it away.
‘I know where he lives,’ offered Jess Barratt. ‘He’s down at Cricklestaithe. That’s half way between Daneton and Banksea. I don’t know the exact house, but I expect you could find that out.’
‘It would be as easy to get to Banksea as to Daneton from Cricklestaithe if he has a means of transport,’ suggested Garden reopening her notebook.
‘He’s got a trail motorbike he rides round the lanes,’ said Jess Barratt.
‘Thanks.’ Garden stepped away from the kiosk and made a brief note of the information she’d just received.
She walked the way she’d been directed and noticed the scene of crime officers were still at work in William Cecil Broadgate and Georgia Lomond’s rented beach hut. A little further on she found the burnt-out beach huts. She had to speak to someone who could make a decision. She tried Campbell again. This time she got through. Once she explained to him what she’d been told he agreed that the burnt-out huts ought to be brought in to the scene of crime investigations.
She thought she could see something lying among the dust and charcoaled timbers. She went to fetch it but somehow it was no longer there. She would have to leave it and let someone from Scene of Crime know.