26. On The Brink
Twenty minutes later, Sally parked in the station's back lot, already feeling the shift in the air.
There were many more patrol cars now, the press presence was fortifying at the front, and Akilota's forensics van was in the corner.
She heaved the tent out of the back, dumped it by the van then rounded the corner to the front entrance.
Tania Brown was waiting for her. She wore another pink outfit, this time a brighter clamshell shade, paired with lurid candy-pink lipstick.
"Officer Rogers," Brown shouted, dragging the camera lens toward her. "Nice uniform. Been demoted already?"
Several of the press laughed. Sally kept on walking.
"Is that bruise on your throat from DCI Mayhew?" Brown called after her. "I heard you're on the brink."
Sally pushed into the lobby. The officer on desk duty was Simms and he waved her through. "They've already begun."
The air in the corridor hummed. The bullpen was bright and full, every seat taken by uniformed officers. Sally slid in and pressed to the wall. Mayhew stood at the front before a whiteboard loaded with photographs of the victim; many from the beach but others from an earlier time.
In a suit and loosened tie at some kind of themed party. Floppy-haired in a family photograph, younger. In school uniform with a yellow crest on the blazer pocket. His eyes shone bright.
All next to his mutilated corpse on the beach. Sally's stomach twisted.
"–reported missing this morning by his mother, Barbara Harrow," Mayhew said, "from the family home in Playden.
19 years old, just starting an apprenticeship as an electrician.
We know he left work with one Lenny Campbell, his mentor, at approx.
4 p.m. on Sunday from Hastings. They were rewiring the old Jerwood Gallery; we have the work dockets to back that up, and we have Mr. Campbell and the victim on the gallery's CCTV, both upon entry and exit.
" She cleared her throat. "According to Mr. Campbell, the victim said he was going to the Black Hind pub in Winchelsea to meet friends. "
Mayhew paused and looked out over the officers.
"I have spoken with Mrs. Harrow this morning.
She assumed her son was out with friends and stayed over at one of their houses.
It's not unusual. But a second night was, so she rang us.
Now, she has no idea where her son went or who he might have met up with.
So Sunday afternoon is the last we have until the victim turns up on Dungeness. "
She paused, letting that settle. Now the boy on the beach had a name. He was a real person to be grieved by family and friends, for whom the real pain was just beginning. It might never end. All Sally could do was bring justice.
JASON HARROW, read the name across the top of the whiteboard.
Jason.
"Our priority now is to hammer out his final hours.
" Mayhew flipped a page on a chart. "Teams are being assigned interviews and door knocks.
Some in Hastings, some in and around the Black Hind, some with his colleagues, his family, trying to track down his friends.
We'll do everything we can to build a complete picture. "
She laid the chart down and gazed out. "This was a young man just starting a promising career.
A local man. We need to do right by him.
" She stared, as if defying anyone to argue with her.
None spoke. "Any questions, raise them with your team leader or DI Gemmell.
And remember, the press are all over this.
They will try to bait you. Do not let them.
Leave all of that for me and Press Liaison.
Your job is to gather the evidence, follow the trail and catch this killer. Thank you and dismissed."
The room filled with movement and noise as the officers stood. Sally pushed her way through. There was no sign of Liam yet. Mayhew was talking to Gemmell, and Sally shoved through.
"DCI, DI," she said.
"This doesn't concern you, Rogers," Mayhew said sharply, pointing to the side. "Wait."
"It all concerns me, DCI," Sally answered. "It concerns me you didn't tell me that the woman who found the body, Nancy Cagen, was the aunt of the original victim."
Gemmell's head swiveled to Mayhew. "Is that true, DCI?"
Mayhew's expression hardened. "It's all in the case notes, which have been made available. I haven't got time to spoon feed you every detail, Rogers."
"Cagen thinks Reg Rook killed her nephew," Sally went on, "30 years ago. Now we've got one Rook in custody and three on the run, and you still think it's spoon feeding to talk about this?"
Mayhew's lip curled. "That's actually what I was speaking with DI Gemmell about.
We've seen movement on a credit card associated with Silas Rook.
It's possible all three brothers boarded a sleeper ferry out of Dover late last night.
The DI here's going to coordinate with French police to track them down.
The Rooks have several rental properties in southern France, so we're setting up sting operations.
Now does that satisfy you, or do you want to hear what we all had for breakfast, too? "
"I want to hear what the mother said," Sally volleyed back. "You spoke to her."
Mayhew's cheeks flushed a faint red. DI Gemmell raised both hands. "DCI, I can go get started."
"So go," Mayhew snarled.
Gemmell backed away. Mayhew stared a moment longer, then picked up her chart, slipped the top sheet free and shoved it against Sally's chest.
Sally took it. "What's this?"
"Associates of the victim."
Sally didn't look at it. "Tell me about the mother."
Mayhew watched Sally. The sharpness in her eyes softened by a degree. "She's destroyed."
"Of course."
"She's a single mother." Mayhew's voice stayed flat, though the words seemed to be costing her something. "Works at a call center in Hastings. She said she usually heard her son come in most evenings, but not that night." She paused. "She said he was saving up."
"Saving for what?"
"A car. A blue Fiesta advertised in Lydd. Had photos of it in his phone and kept showing them to everyone."
The associates list felt heavier in Sally's hand. "Did she have any idea who he might have been meeting at the Black Hind?"
"Vaguely. She said he had a handful of friends from school, a few lads from the building sites around Hastings. None of them have come forward. We're working through social media now."
"Girlfriend?"
"Not recently. He'd mentioned a girl at Christmas, but nothing came of it. She doesn't know her name."
Silence dropped between them, filled only by the rattle of wind on the station's high windows.
"She asked me if he would have been frightened," Mayhew said.
"What did you say?"
Mayhew didn't answer immediately. "I said that we had every reason to believe it was very quick. That it was most likely peaceful."
The silence stretched. Sally looked out the windows, to the gray-washed parking lot and the dark clouds beyond. A blue Fiesta in a photo on his phone. A girl at Christmas. It always went this way, when you got the ID.
The boy on the beach had a life. A specific, narrow, real life, and someone had ended it on the Dungeness shingle in the dark. Jason Harrow.
"Thank you, DCI."
For a moment Mayhew seemed to be about to say something further. Then the professional mask reasserted itself, hard and complete.
"Where's your partner?" She looked around the emptying hall then returned her gaze to Sally. "And why are you still wearing that uniform?"
"I like the cut. And O'Connell's on his way; you only called me 20 minutes ago, though you must've assembled everyone else an hour ago."
Mayhew pushed her jaw forward. "You should know to be here."
"From 5 a.m.? I'll bear that in mind. But you still haven't answered why you didn't properly introduce the witness, Nancy Cagen, on the beach yesterday."
"Properly? Rogers, you rolled up in filthy Spandex with wild red eyes, ranting and racing about in a storm. I wasn't about to tell you anything I didn't have to."
Sally opened her mouth, then closed it. Perhaps that was fair. "And now?"
"The jury is very much out."
"So judge this. We cross-referenced associates of the Rooks yesterday, building on a theory about the Crab Shack's CCTV.
We asked the DI's team to look into those names, in particular one Gerald Spate.
Given the Rooks' historical involvement, I want to start on the list today.
One of them may know where they are now. "
Mayhew raised a hand. "DI Gemmell told me all that. I do not appreciate you logging work hours from my squads or my DI, especially for another leap like this." Her eyes flashed. "But go back a step. When did you speak with Nancy Cagen?"
"This morning. We met on the beach."
"You interrogated a witness without my express permission?"
Sally held in a flinch. That might have been a procedural mistake. "Not an interrogation. Not arranged, DCI. I saw her. She talked."
"Why do I believe none of that?" Mayhew shook her head. "You're dangerous, Rogers. I thought some cool-off time yesterday would do it, but now I see not. I'm raising this again with Deputy Director McMaster."
"Or you can use us," Sally said quickly. "We'll do the grunt work on these associates. We need all the manpower we can get."
Mayhew's eyes narrowed. "This kind of brinksmanship is no way to run an investigation."
"We're team players, DCI. We'll start on that list now."
Sally walked away, heart clamoring. That was close.
Back in the training room, she found a thick document waiting on the desk and started leafing through it.
DI Gemmell and his team had delivered; this was a full workup of their list, prioritized by the profile.
There was none of the crossover she'd hoped for after the Fates' profile, though.
No emergency services, no land management, other than Reactor Logistics-style waste control.
There were a fair few men in their 50s though. Foremost among them for his recent Directorship of Reactor Logistics was Gerald Spate. Based in Dymchurch, some 20 minutes north up the coast from Dungeness.
Their next target. A possible killer. He might even know where the rest of the Rook brothers were.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Sally said.
PC Chakrati entered hesitantly. She looked washed-out, like she was barely staying on her feet. She held out several papers in a slim plastic wallet. "Ma'am. This just came through for you."
Sally took the wallet. "Thanks, Emily. What is it?"
"Something about the girls." She looked uncomfortable. "You know, from the Lodge?"
"OK." She scanned the front page; looked like the paperwork she'd requested from Brampton at the old fire station museum. She turned back to Chakrati. "Are you all right?"
"I'm just tired, ma'am. Sally. I'm not used to this."
"Nobody ever is," Sally said, and smiled. "I'll fill this in and get it back to you."
"Very good."
She bobbed out. Sally extracted the papers from the wallet. Seemed like five pages, each requiring handwritten responses to multiple questions, along with signatures. More paperwork. But she'd made a promise to Eszter and the others, and this mattered.
She rustled around, found a pen and set to work. It took around 30 minutes, including a full appraisal of how the 'witnesses' were essential to the case. Just as she was finishing up, the door opened again and Liam came in, carrying two takeout cups of steaming coffee.
"Sally," he blurted. "You weren't at the Mermaid."
"I was in Dungeness. Had to go for a run. Now we're going to Dymchurch." She looked at the coffees. "Is that for?"
He looked at the cups in his hands too, then held one out. "Of course, yeah."
Sally took it. "Thanks. Here's the workup the team made last night." She held out the thick folder.
Liam scanned the topmost page. "Gerald Spate. OK, we had him yesterday, too."
Sally regarded Liam. He was pale still, his skin blotchy, with a white spot of shaving foam clinging to the corner of his jaw. The welt from the seatbelt seemed even redder and rawer today. But he was here, with coffee, and no scent of lingering alcohol. The kind of thing a partner did.
"We did," she said. "Now we know more. Come on, let's go find out what he knows."
She started away, taking one sip of the coffee. It went down like bitter fire, setting her stomach rumbling with hunger.