Today I would like to welcome you all on my stop of the Blog Tour for Containment By Vanda Symon that I am sharing with Maria from Varietas, and I would like to share an exclusive extract from the book, with all of you. Thank you very much to Anne from Random Things Tours for the invitation. Please do show some love to all the wonderful book bloggers on this blog tour by following and sharing their work. 🙂
Publisher: Orenda Books
Genre: Crime Fiction
Release date: 05 03 2020
Price*: Kindle £3.99 (GBP)/ Paperback £6.36 (GBP)
Kindle $7.99 (USD)/ Paperback $15.95 (USD)
Pages: ~ 320
You can get this book here:
Description of the book: Dunedin’s favourite young police officer Sam Shephard is drawn into a perplexing investigation when a series of shipping containers wash up on a sleepy New Zealand beach, and a spate of unexplained deaths ensues…
Chaos reigns in the sleepy village of Aramoana on the New Zealand coast, when a series of shipping containers wash up on the beach and looting begins.
Detective Constable Sam Shephard experiences the desperation of the scavengers first-hand, and ends up in an ambulance, nursing her wounds and puzzling over an assault that left her assailant for dead. What appears to be a clear-cut case of a cargo ship running aground soon takes a more sinister turn when a skull is found in the sand, and the body of a diver is pulled from the sea … a diver who didn’t die of drowning…
As the first officer at the scene, Sam is handed the case, much to the displeasure of her superiors, and she must put together an increasingly confusing series of clues to get to the bottom of a mystery that may still have more victims…
What started as a small crowd of bewildered residents, huddled against the seeping chill of a dark Dunedin winter morning, had grown to a string of awed and silent spectators leading from the tip of The Mole to the end of the spit. Their vehicles occupied every conceivable snippet of vacant real estate, while those arriving attempted absurd turning manoeuvres in streets never designed for heavy traffic. On the other side of the harbour entrance the distant play of car headlights winding from Taiaroa Head to Harrington and beyond held testimony to similar scenes.
August’s watery sun was rising on the horizon, pushing back the vestiges of an eventful night, revealing an unlikely tableau. Shafts of lemon light struck the bridge of the Lauretia Express, accentuating the unnatural tilt of her peak. Fingers spread along her container deck, the play of light and dark giving it the appearance of a decayed jaw studded with random teeth. The hulk of the stilled ship dwarfed the buzz of tugs, pilot boats and inflatables that strafed the stricken hull with spotlights.
The scale of the accident was all too apparent to the shivering crowd stretched along The Mole. The ship towered above them like an eight-storey building, marooned at an impossible angle. The strobe of camera flashes added to the eerie atmosphere, creating a stilted cinemascope of the Lauretia’s demise.
Those further down on the spit huddled in clusters, staring at the incongruous sight of iceberg-like containers, some beached upon Aramoana’s sands, some not so fortunate to find dry land. People moved in slow-motion swarms, circling, pointing, whispering in reverent tones at a respectful distance. The whispers were silenced as three young men approached one of the metal boxes. The low sun bathed them in hallowed light as they ran their hands over the surface, and then grasped the door handle and pulled. The security seal was no match for their determination. The creak of metal grating on metal cut through the tense air, puncturing the silence. A held-breath stillness followed, then there was a collective gasp from the crowd. An invisible line had been crossed, and as if upon a signal, the masses descended, as vultures upon carcasses. Eager hands grasped at doors, greedy arms lifted out cartons, motorbikes, furniture, tossing aside that deemed unworthy, plundering that deemed treasure. Fights broke out among those determined to have the best of the bounty, while the moral minority stood back, appalled but helpless. Anarchy had hit Dunedin.
Soon the detritus of pillage was strewn across the beach; ornaments, books, papers, clothes. Those not actively emptying containers poked through what had been cast aside, pocketing the desirable. An elderly woman, wrapped up against the cold, shoulders draped with her newly found bounty – a red woollen coat – poked another pile with a piece of driftwood. She bent over closer to examine the glimpse of shiny white that tantalised from beneath a pile of garments, and then reached out a hand to push aside the coverings. It took several moments before her mind took in the eyeless sockets of the human skull and another five seconds before her lungs sucked in enough frigid air to unleash a scream.
About the author: Vanda Symon is a crime writer, TV presenter and radio host from Dunedin, New Zealand, and the chair of the Otago Southland branch of the New Zealand Society of Authors. The Sam Shephard series has climbed to number one on the New Zealand bestseller list and also been shortlisted for the Ngaio Marsh Award for the best crime novel. She currently lives in Dunedin, with her husband and two sons.
Website: vandasymon.com / Twitter: @vandasymon
*-the price was taken from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com on the current date. The price might change at the time of your purchase. The links used in this post for book purchases are affiliates.