Page 118 of Slack Tide Kill

Mayhew just shook her head. "You should've gone in the ambulance, Rogers. Get inside. Get warm. Leave this to us."

"But–"

"Nobody's listening, Sally," came a voice to her right. She turned. Liam was looking at her, wrapped in another silver blanket. His skin was pale and goose-fleshed, but his eyes were sharp like needles. "Nobody trusts you."

Sally just looked at him. In that moment, it was hard to imagine they'd ever been close. Maybe this was who he really was. It was how he'd been at the very start. Arrogant. Dismissive.

"Shut your mouth, O'Connell," came another voice. Sally turned again, the beach reeling. It was Gemmell, his nice suit smeared with ocean foam from carrying her, the cancer ribbon pin stained black. He looked angrier than she'd ever seen. At the end of his tether. "She was looking out for you, you ungrateful prick. She saved your fucking life."

Liam opened his mouth but said nothing.

"DI Gemmell, control yourself!" Mayhew snapped.

Gemmell simmered back, then pointed. "Yes, ma'am. I'll grab Simms and we'll take those two houses. Can you and O'Connell clear the north beach, ma'am?"

Mayhew's lip curled, and she fixed Gemmell in a hard glare. "Go."

Gemmell ran off. Mayhew turned back to Sally. For a moment she seemed as angry as before, then something seemed to shift. "You called me Stewart, out there. Talked about my father."

Sally said nothing.

"Maybe you saved my life, too." She looked back out across the beach. The rain was growing harder. "Go inside, Sally. You are no use to us like this. Now." She looked to Liam. "O'Connell, with me."

They headed off.

Sally stood alone. She tried to watch their progress, but the adrenal rush was fading and she felt her head drooping. Exhaustion was hitting her. Someone appeared by her side. Flaherty? The tall woman had a haunted stare and shaking hands. She held out a mug of tea, which Sally took.

"Thanks."

She squeezed the mug in her palms. It felt like the only warm spot on all of Dungeness.

"She just went up," Flaherty murmured, mostly to herself. "Just gone."

Sally took a sip. Bitter, weak, pointless. She hated tea. But at least it was hot.

"Come inside," Flaherty said. "We can watch through the window."

Sally let herself be led. They sat side-by-side, on the window seat and watched as reinforcements arrived. A fire crew ran down to the sea, resorting to using buckets to throw sea water over the blaze. It went out after a few minutes, but spewed black smoke.

AROs stalked across the beach in formation, rifles raised. More paramedics came in, then there was CSM Akilota and his crew, and a Coastguard boat, and numerous people in bright orange waders out in the tide, sifting for evidence.

Sally found herself sipping dregs. She thought of Nancy Cagen again, carrying her plastic bag of treasures, talking about cracking rocks for crystals down at the slack tide line. The memory was replaced by the image of Emily Chakrati, going up in flames.

The anger began to climb back up inside her, getting hotter by the second. The killer wouldn't stop. That's what the Fates had said. They'd waited 30 years for this moment, and it was only going to get worse.

She had to catch them. Now. Today.

Her phone rang. For several moments she didn't recognize the sound, just a strange buzzing as she watched the tape lines going up then ripping free in the gathering wind. Officers chased the yellow plastic streamers pointlessly.

Then she raised the phone and checked the screen. NCA Deputy Director McMaster. She braced herself and answered.

"What on God's green Earth is happening down there, Officer Rogers?" McMaster said. No greeting. No 'Are you OK?'

Sally swallowed. "It's bad, sir," she began, then went on to summarize; Arthur Bledd, Nia Mensah, the boat, the blast. The death of Emily Chakrati.

Seconds passed, then McMaster responded. "Words can scarcely describe how deeply fucked all of that is, Rogers. This man Bledd was in the vehicle with you yesterday, correct? He was piloting the drone that found the second victim? A drone you gave him permission to fly several thousand feet high, in contravention of all CAA regulations?"

Sally gulped. She left the window seat and stepped out of the cottage. The wind crashed over her and she leaned into it; the only thing keeping her on her feet.