Page 117 of Slack Tide Kill

"She's police, isn't she?" one of the paramedics asked as they rolled her into the ambulance. "Who sprayed her?"

"Don't ask."

The paramedics set to work, cutting free her clothing and wrapping her with silver blankets, washing her eyes and face with some cool, stinging solution. The pain in her eyes swiftly eased and the relief flowed back to her throat and nose. Breathing came easier. The chill came off her skin.

"Any other urgent response cases here?" one of them asked Gemmell. "She needs to go to hospital."

Gemmell looked out. "There's an officer with a head injury."

The other paramedic sprang out of the back, Gemmell went to help and moments later came back in with PC Hawlin. He was shivering violently, with a silver blanket around his shoulders and a white towel pressed to his head, stained with blood. They brought him in and sat him down alongside Sally, pressing a clotting agent against his scalp.

"Let's roll!" The paramedic banged the front wall, while the other slammed the first rear door closed.

"Wait!" Sally rasped.

"What is it, ma'am?" Gemmell asked, holding the second door open.

She struggled to sit up. "The killer's here, Stephen. On this beach."

He frowned, his features blurring before her. "You mean Bledd?"

Sally shook her head, which sent sparks shooting across her vision. "We don't know it's Bledd. I don't think it's him. But whoever triggered that bomb…" she paused to swallow painfully, "they had eyes on us. We need to lock the whole beach down."

Gemmell stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I'll relay that to–"

"Not enough," Sally rumbled, and swung her legs off the gurney. Her head swam as new urgency rushed through her. "I'm OK. Get me some clothes."

"Not a chance," one of the paramedics said, a restraining hand on her shoulder. "At minimum you're at risk of concussion, and the PAVA has long-lasting effects. We need to get you–"

Sally twisted the man's hand away and stood, silver blankets draping down her body. "No. Stephen, get to Mayhew and start this. I'm coming."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Clothes," Sally repeated to the male paramedic.

The man shook his head. "John told me about you."

"Please."

He sighed, looked out at the beach, then turned and burrowed in a small rucksack in the corner, coming up with a chunky plastic bag. "This is my own spare kit. I want it back."

He held it out.

Inside was a set of dark green cargo trousers and a green polo shirt. Sally pulled them on, too loose, but she cinched the belt tight then stepped back out into the wind.

The door slammed shut behind her and the ambulance departed, siren wailing.

Sally scanned the view, eyes clearing a little more in the misty rain. The fire on the water was still burning, but all the officers were up on the beach. DCI Mayhew stood with Gemmell by the wall of Prospect Cottage, in heated conversation.

Sally strode toward them.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mayhew demanded when she saw Sally. "You're supposed to be in the ambulance!"

"The killer was here," Sally called. "Watching. Maybe by drone, but I think in person. They'd want to see this. We need…" she braced as a shudder rocked her. "All units to search the beach, the road, every nearby house. They may still be here."

Mayhew looked disgusted. "DI Gemmell's just been telling me. You really think the killer isn't Bledd?"

"No." Her thoughts whirled, theories clattering into place. "Maybe it's another frame? Like the Rooks. The killer misdirecting us."