Page 193 of Slack Tide Kill

Liam hung up.

His heart pounded in his chest. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek. He checked the app, ended the recording and played it back. It was all there. Perfectly clear, both sides of the conversation. He emailed the file to himself, then uploaded it to a secure private server.

All done, he told himself.

It didn't feel that way. It felt like, at any moment, armed officers would charge in. Blackmailing a senior officer was a serious offense, whatever the content of the blackmail was.

But he was already living in fear. At least this was honest.

He stood and pocketed his phone, then started walking back through the hospital. He wanted to be there when Sally woke next.

79 NEVER ENDING

Sally's three days of observation passed smoothly and calmly. DI Gemmell came by several times, sharing swift, dense debriefs. The pipework in Reactor A had been isolated and contained. Mercer had rejected every offered solicitor and clammed shut. Mayhew was back in her Rye station, leading the search for Arthur Bledd and Nia Mensah. There was still no sign of them, as if the marsh or the sea had swallowed them whole.

"She seems different, though," Gemmell said. "The DCI."

"Nicer?" Liam asked.

Gemmell smiled. "I don't know about that. But, maybe. And one more thing. The girls trafficked by the Rooks, one of them's been asking after you."

Sally strained for the memory. "Eszter?"

"That's it. Safeguarding pushed her asylum claim as a trafficking victim and got it flagged urgent. Apparently you had something to do with that?"

Sally smiled. "So she's secure?"

"She is. It's not a yes on asylum yet, but she's out of Dover and in a safe house in Folkestone."

That was another tiny breath of relief. "Thanks, Stephen. Let them know I'll be in touch."

"Of course."

On the news, the floodwaters in Romney Marsh led the coverage, along with trickling details from the Cockle Eye Killer case. Tania Brown was on numerous shows as a talking head, sometimes right alongside the original podcast crew. Together they broke down and monetized Jack Mercer's foundational wound for the masses.

A few people came to visit Sally: a contingent of officers from Buxton; a phone call from her mentor back home in Intelligence; but no family. Friends came to visit Liam, then his father. He was a stuffy man in a tight suit, complaining on the way in about the state of the roads and the ever-present stink of the marsh. He carried it in with him on his boots.

They sat side-by-side, largely in silence. A few words here and there. No warmth, but at least he was present. Sally watched them, and when the father finally left, she did not mention it. Neither did Liam.

At the end of the second day, Director McMaster called. It was on Liam's phone, but he put it on speaker so they both could hear.

"O'Connell," he boomed, "Rogers, you both there?"

"Yes, sir," they answered.

"All right. First thing to say is, bloody good job. Kept all of us in work, after your utterly unacceptable dance moves with the Gaze. Top brass were gunning for you both, and you somehow moonwalked your way out of it. So, three sodding cheers."

He did not cheer. Sally looked at Liam, who only shrugged.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

"Shut it. Now, there's the inquiry. Where did you eff up, when did you eff up, how much did you eff up. I'm pretty sure the answers to all three are everywhere, constantly and by huge margins, so when the debrief comes, just shut your cake-holes and look pretty. It was a storm, you hardly remember details, and that would pretty accurately reflect your level of thought in the moment anyway, wouldn't it, Rogers?"

Liam looked over at her. Half-smiling. "Uh, yes, sir," she said.

"Don't take that tone with me," he snapped back. "You should be on the slow boat back to America, but I'm a softy and I'm keeping you both on. Nine months left in your tenure? I'm curious how much more you can screw up. Any thoughts?"

Her mind went blank. "Uh, I'll endeavor to–"