21. Three Decades Of Fog
"So," Mercer began, "I heard about the death on Dungeness. You don't need to tell me any details of that. Honestly, I'd rather not know. But it's shells again, right?"
Liam nodded. "Cockle shells. Just like the original."
"Because he's dead," Sally supplied. "And back then, he had an alibi."
"Right on both counts," Mercer said, snapping his fingers sharply. "The whole pub saw him. The Conundrum."
"Conundrum?" Liam asked.
"Yeah. Got shut down years back. Nice little spot in Lydd, black and white pictures on the walls from way back when, mementos from the war. Thing is, I was there that night too, and I saw Rook with my own eyes."
Sally's jaw dropped slightly. "Really? You were there?"
"Stupefied you, huh?" Mercer asked.
"I didn't see that in the case notes," Liam said.
"I know." Mercer sighed. "It was a lock-in, after hours. Not a serious infraction, but not the kind of place a DI was supposed to be."
"So you removed it from the record?"
"I allowed it to be removed. Which is about as bad."
"Removed by who?"
"My DCI. Robert Stewart. He was looking out for me."
A few seconds passed, then Sally picked up the thread. "The same DCI who hung himself three weeks into the investigation?"
"That was Rob," Mercer said. "A good man, a great boss. Kind to a fault." He sighed. "I used to rack my mind, thinking what I could have done, to prevent him from doing what he did."
Nobody spoke. The rain tapped at the window.
"I know what you want to ask next," Mercer went on.
"Why he did it? I honestly don't know. Not then, not now.
" He took a moment. "Maybe the murder was too much.
Things were different back then, more innocent maybe, and a killing like that?
It got in everyone's head. Like we were all somehow rotten, all to blame. "
That hung for a moment. "So he felt responsible."
"I think so. And the case was going nowhere. We were circling the drain. No real suspects. And you never really know what's going on in someone's life, do you? I mean under the surface. Maybe this murder, it was just the trigger that pushed him over the edge."
Sally studied him. There was a real pain there, still. "He sounds like a good man. There were no signs of foul play?"
"No. We looked long and hard, but found nothing." He looked at them both. "And after that, the case became radioactive. Like it was cursed. The press only flooded in harder after that, coming after everyone, followed by the news that the reactors were shutting down, and…"
Mercer trailed off, arms raised in a faint shrug.
Sally thought about all that. The press. The suicide. The lock-in. "You were close to him."
Mercer looked up, smiling now. "We were. Rob was a mentor, even a kind of second father. Funny thing, I'm far older now than he ever was. Just, that thought strikes me sometimes."
Sally looked at Liam. She saw much the same thing in his eyes. Empathy, but another dead end.
"I'm sorry for the loss, Jack," she said softly. "Were there really no other suspects at the time? Nobody you liked for it at all?"
"I wouldn't say nobody. Dungeness had its share of oddballs, drifters, outcasts.
Just like now. It's a strange landscape, you know?
" He paused, reflecting. "There was one guy, I think his name was Lean?
Anthony Lean. A hobo on the shore, maybe unemployed out of Brighton.
Reduced to begging by the reactor entrance.
We questioned him, but got nothing. There was no reason to hold him.
" Mercer stopped, sipped his coffee, then went on.
"I kept tabs on him for years. On all the potential suspects.
A few local fishermen, an engineer on Reactor B.
Most of them are dead now. Some are hundreds of miles away, or infirm, or in jail.
I can give you all their names and last-known whereabouts now, if that helps, but I do think it'd be wasting your time. "
"You've ruled them out?"
"A dozen different ways. But I've got all the files. I'll bring them by."
"Thanks."
They sat quietly. Sally studied the man before her. Clearly, he'd been badly damaged by the original killing. His mentor had committed suicide, and it had left a mark. He'd fled the area. Gone to London for decades. Not so unlike her, really, coming here...
"The original body," Liam said. "I read the notes. Tom Richter. His head was craned back, his face pointed at Reactor A. And the cockle shells. Did you ever have any theories about what those things meant?"
Mercer nodded slowly. "Sure, lots of theories.
There was talk it was some kind of eco-terrorist act.
" Liam frowned. "Yes, we had those back then, too.
Like the shells were the beach taking revenge for the placement of the reactor?
There was even a man who fit that bill, a local environmental warrior, kind of, but there wasn't a shred of evidence to tie him in, and Rob shut that down cold. "
"The beach taking revenge?"
"I know, it was crazy talk, but we were reaching for anything we could find. Rob said it was like trying to thread a needle through sea foam. He had the best expressions."
"Any other theories?" Sally asked.
"Just some out-there stuff. Eyes are the windows to the soul, right?
So maybe our killer was a spiritualist. Religious.
Or maybe it was the opposite direction, and he was an extreme atheist, militant even.
Trying to prove some kind of point about heaven and hell, something we can't even grasp because it frankly makes no sense at all. "
"What about numbers?" Liam asked. Sally looked over at him sharply. That was not something she'd intended to share.
"Numbers?" Mercer asked.
"Anything on the body like that? Numbers, a message. Anything on the shells?"
Mercer considered for a moment. His lips twitched, like there was a question he wanted to ask, but he'd noticed Sally's sharp look at Liam, and just nodded.
"No. Nothing like that. If there had been, though?
" He thought for a moment. "I'd be looking at old scripture.
The Bible? All the books are numbered, every line, too.
Kind of like poetry." He smiled softly. "I'm a sucker for the metaphysical poets.
17th century. Men like Cowley, Donne, Vaughan.
Some of their work is so beautiful, and loaded with meaning. Philosophical truths locked in verse."
He stopped then, and smiled.
"I'm sorry. This always happens, when I get onto those days.
I get maudlin, start talking poetry. I suppose I'm still looking for meaning.
But that doesn't help you now." He placed both hands on the desk, as if to stand, but looked first to Liam, then Sally.
"Do you have anything else? I'll try my best to give you straight answers, but I think you're getting the picture. I don't have any."
Sally breathed out slowly. She had no more questions. The air of defeat hung over every word Mercer had shared with them, from the start to the finish. A fog, really, one he'd lived with for three decades.
"I think that's everything, Jack. Again, thank you for coming in."
"You're very welcome." Mercer began to stand, but winced and paused at an odd angle, like something in his back had caught. Sally rose to help, but he waved her off and straightened with an effort. "Just the ravages of time. If you need anything else from me, Glory knows where to find me."
Sally frowned. "Glory?"
He smiled. "Sorry. Gloria, your DCI. We go way back." He looked around the room one last time. "I miss this. Not this case, of course. But this. Having a partner. Nothing mattering more than the work. Looking out for each other. I wish you both the best of luck."
They shook hands again and he left. Sally watched him cross the bullpen. His stature seemed to grow, the further he got away from the training suite, until by the doors to the bullpen she could feel the old, controlled, faintly amused manner radiating off him again.
Was that the real Mercer? Or a mask he used to cover up the pain?
"That was pretty useless," Liam said. "A whole bunch of nothing."
Sally turned. Liam seemed worn now. Tired. She felt the same way. "He's carried this case his whole life. Let's hope it's not like that for us."
"I doubt it. I've got plenty of demons of my own already."
"Right," she answered slowly. Everybody did. Her eyes drifted up to the clock over the door. Just gone 5 p.m.
Liam followed her gaze. "Five. Could be clocking off time. But, well…" he read her eyes. "Probably not for us."
"Probably not." A shudder ran through her, like her body was trying to shake off the gloom. "What else are we going to do in Rye, Liam, at this time? Besides, I've got an idea."
"That sounds ominous."
"It's evidence-based. I think we need to approach this case in a way they never did before, back in the 90s."
"OK?"
"We need the profile. Get inside the killer's head. It could give us motive, which could open this thing up. And for that, we need to make a call."
Liam looked at her, a question on his lips, until understanding dawned. "You don't mean... No."
"Yes. I already requested them from McMaster. They may have something by now."
Liam rubbed his forehead. "Ah shit. What did I say last time? They'll flay the flesh from your bones?"
Sally smiled. "They're not that bad, Liam. Come on. It's time to talk to the Fates."