Page 144 of Slack Tide Kill

Sally considered that. "Good point. They didn't find that on the original body, did they?"

"No. So, maybe the first kill is pre-Heraclitus? The recent killings came after Bledd had time to think through the theory."

"Yeah." Sally kept on chewing her omelet. "If it's Bledd."

"You still don't buy it."

"I don't know. Sure, with the seal, he could have done it. But that doesn't match what Cagen told me; maybe the reason she ended up dead. She said nothing about a seal or about Bledd. She thought it was Reg Rook killing Richter for something he saw. So why would Bledd go after her now? It makes no sense."

"Well, one thing's for sure. Spate's never going to tell us anything."

Sally kept eating.

"You think there's nothing to act on here?"

Sally waved a fork in the air. "Mayhew's already hunting for Bledd, so that's covered. And all Spate gave us was hearsay anyway. So, no, I don't think so."

Liam sipped. The rain beat down outside. Sally couldn't shake the feeling that they were spinning their wheels on the periphery of something real. Something just out of sight, buried in the slack tide.

But how to get it out?

They finished up and left silently.

"On to Meeks next, then?" Liam said over the rain, sitting in the squad car. The Gray Lady clashed on the beach beyond Martello 24; the one invasion this stretch of coastline frequently fought back, with its sea walls and shingle mounds.

"Meeks, sure. We can raise the seal thing. See if it goes anywhere."

"OK. He lives just up this way. Lympne. It's got a safari park. Pretty nice."

They pulled out. Sally picked up the file and dug back in while Liam navigated narrow marsh roads. Sewer ditches either side ran black and swollen. After a few minutes she shuffled the papers.

"So, Crawford Meeks. 59, currently on his third marriage to a much younger woman, Stacey Meeks. She's 31, a TV weather girl for the local station, KMTV. He's got five children from previous marriages, only one of them living with him now. Madrigal, 11."

"Maddie for short, I heard," Liam supplied.

She leafed deeper into the wallet. "Looks like a long list of business interests, though tax records suggest he divested from all Rook connections a year or so ago."

"Right around the time Roarke Rook threatened him with the digger."

"He's still heavily invested locally, though. There's got to be a mountain of paperwork somewhere. Intricate financial finagling I can scarcely begin to follow."

"That was my take, too." Liam tapped the wheel. "Anything stands out to you?"

Sally skipped more pages. "It all looks suspect. Investment in three barber shops in Hythe, when Hythe has a population of only 15,000? That's got to be too many barber shops, unless they're all walking around with hairstyles like yours."

Liam chuckled. "They should be so lucky."

"Also a raft of local vape shops that keep popping up and getting shut down, mostly for selling nitrous. There's a real estate agency that specializes in brownfield sites. A few nail salons which follow the same pattern as the barber shops, then a dry cleaner's, and the list goes on."

Liam looked at her. "He's washing money. Right?"

"Looks that way."

"Maybe money for the Rooks. Maybe even for Gerald Spate?"

"They'd all need somebody like that," Sally said. "I doubt the trafficking gangs pay by Venmo."

Liam looked blankly at her.