32. The Black Gutter
The drone's down-facing camera showed a long, black ditch racing by below, along with snatches of the land either side. Every field was shorn now, no crops in February, and most bore the looping scars of plowing.
"We're on the Black Gutter now," Bledd muttered, slowing the drone. "Almost there."
Sally leaned in.
"There's the shepherd's cote," said Bledd, pointing as a rectangular slab of slate roofing passed by underneath, tucked against a bend in the drainage sewer. "And…"
The slow scroll of the landscape halted as the drone held still. Bledd pressed in closer to the screen. He zoomed the screen in, focusing on a small cluster of scraggly willows. Then he exhaled heavily.
"Little fuckers."
"What is it?"
"They're gone."
Sally's heart skittered. "Gone? You're sure?"
"They were here. No doubt. See that?"
He pointed. Sally looked but saw nothing, maybe a darker smear on the dark earth. "What am I looking at?"
"Open fire. Buggers the ecology right up. Plus all this around here?"
Sally squinted. There were tiny, pixel-sized dots on the earth around the stain. "Mushrooms?"
"Litter. Coke can there. Chocolate bar wrapper. I'm going to have to go in and clear that up."
Sally leaned back, looking at Bledd with new eyes. He was incensed. "You're sure it was them?"
"Nobody else I know on the marsh would camp out like that. Dropping crap everywhere."
Sally felt the weight of that tick over in her head. The Rooks had been right there. They'd missed them, maybe just by hours, and another unwelcome thought rose up.
Was Liam right? Had Spate called Roarke to warn him?
"Have we got them?" Liam called from the bank.
"They're gone," Sally answered, mind racing. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the notes she'd made back at the museum, holding them out to Bledd.
"What's this?"
"Edwin Pike's idea of possible Rook hideouts. The Rooks romanticized the Owlers, and these are all old smuggler hideouts." She tapped the paper. "The Black Gutter's on there, which locks it. If we work down this list, we might find them."
Bledd took the paper and traced a finger down her notes. "OK. So, Giggers' Green Road? Nice idea, Ed, but it's completely backed up right now. Felled ash tree got tangled and silted, so it's overflowing. Nobody's hiding out there."
He slid his finger further.
"St. Thomas Beckett's a good one. Pike's right about the tourists, but you can't see Puddledock sewer from there.
Added bonus, it's a wide enough channel to take a marsh boat.
Plus there's the hay croft. And these others?
" He tapped the paper. "Daleacres is a possibility.
He probably means the Longleaf plant nursery, right in the middle.
Big warehouse, got busted a few years back as a marijuana grow site.
" He looked up. "Wouldn't be surprised if the Rooks are connected to that. "
"And the last one?"
"Greatstone?" Bledd sucked air through his teeth.
"It'd be a bold move, or a desperate one.
Sandwiched between the village and Lydd Airport.
It's not exactly overlooked, just tight, but the whole zone's the bird preserve.
That means fences. No obstacle to men on foot, but it would be to a boat.
It's also a bit of a tourist attraction, with the sound mirrors, though you can't get all that close. "
"Sound mirrors?"
"Great curving blocks of concrete, like old-school satellite dishes? The precursor to radar. They call them the Listening Ears."
Another reference to the past. Sally recognized it from the podcast, and felt she was drowning in it. "World War 2?"
"Right. More Pike's domain than mine." He handed back the piece of paper.
"I can add a couple of places to this list. They may not be Owler sites, but they'd appeal to the Rooks.
" He checked his watch. "Should be 40 minutes left on the drone's battery, give or take.
Long enough to overfly all the ones nearby.
" He thought for a moment. "You've got a car? "
"Of course. Why?"
"Houseboat's too slow. If we don't get lucky on this side, we can meet the drone on the other side then hit Greatstone in person."
Sally studied him. There was a change in him now. Pike had said as much, that he was mercurial. "I thought we only had an hour? You had your Rotary club dinner?"
"That was until we saw that campsite. Rooks have always been a blight on the landscape, and I won't abide it. I once saw Reginald Rook fly-tip a vanload of absolute shit." He shook his head, disgusted even now. "I went after him, of course."
That took a moment to register. "You went after Reg Rook?"
"Of course. He may have been a big man back then, but I won't stand for defiling the marsh.
It can't defend itself, can it? So I punched his lights out, walked him back to the trash pile and had him pick it all up.
Then I escorted him to the tip in New Romney and made sure he junked it all properly, including the fees. "
Sally laughed despite herself. "And he never came back at you for it?"
"He tried once or twice. I'm a tough bastard, though, Officer Rogers."
Sally was surprised he remembered her name. "I'm getting that. OK, Mr. Bledd. Let's get to my car."
They climbed the bank and set off. Liam fell in beside Sally while Bledd ranged off ahead, the drone case still open as he continued to steer.
"He's crazy, right?" Liam asked.
"Maybe the good kind. Said he punched Reg Rook's lights out over some fly-tipping, back in the day."
Liam's jaw dropped slightly. "Damn. He really loves the marsh, huh?"
"He's got tanks of marsh mud inside that boat," Sally said, lowering her voice. "Like, he's doing experiments or something."
"On mud?" Liam blurted, then quietened again. "You notice how he matches the profile, right? The age, interests, obsession with the land? Even the eco-terrorism, if he's going around punching people for littering."
Sally considered that data point. Something Mercer had said. "Yeah. But he's Mercer's friend. I don't see an ex-DI missing this for three decades."
"Maybe. I don't know. Vats of mud in his boat sounds pretty suspicious."
"So he's odd. That's not criminal. And he's helping."
"Or this is the wild goose chase, run by the killer himself."
Sally sat with that for a moment. "Right. Well, we've got eyes on him now. I still feel he's with us."
Liam just looked at her. It was enough to remind her of Dark Peak. How she'd trusted then, and been betrayed. Could the same be happening now?
Her pulse quickened. No way to know though; that was the whole point. You just had to do your best. She took a breath and reset herself.
"We'll dig into him, then. Keep an eye on him. OK?"
"That's all I want to hear."
"Good. Any update on the AROs?"
Liam frowned at the subject change, but allowed it. "Yes. One squad's in an ARV already leaving Dover. Mayhew wants in, so we just need to tell her where."
"As soon as we know, she knows."
They reached the Mustang. Bledd stood by the passenger door, absorbed in his drone case.
"Just flew over Giggers' Green Road," he said without looking up. "Nothing, like I thought. I have shotgun."
"Shotgun?" Liam asked. "It's a police car."
"And I'm driving," Bledd countered, holding up the handset. "I need the view up front."
Liam looked at Sally, but she just shrugged. He snorted, folded the seat forward and squashed his tall frame onto the narrow rear bench. Bledd dropped in, slid the seat all the way back which pulled an 'Oomph' from Liam, then slammed the door.
"Seatbelt," Sally said.
Bledd ignored her.
"Seatbelt," she repeated, louder.
Bledd fastened it. "Take us northeast on the Military Road."
"All right."
They set off and Bledd gave directions. Largely they reversed the way they'd already come. Back through Appledore, down through Brenzett and Old Romney, as Bledd occasionally barked out sharp updates.
"Puddledock's clear. Daleacres' clear."
Doubts buzzed in Sally's head. Every mile further along felt like they were slipping further behind. Maybe the Rooks had already fled the marsh. Maybe they were never even here.
"Bungalow Lake's clear. Jury's Gut's clear."
In the back Liam fielded calls from Mayhew, announcing their current location and setting up a rendezvous in Greatstone, just half a mile up the coast from Dungeness.
"Beggarsbush Lane clear. Five Vents clear."
Passing into New Romney, Sally caught a flash of black off to the side and glanced over, but saw nothing.
"That was me," Bledd said. "Just overtook us. I'll scout Greatstone, which only leaves a few more sites in the northeast."
The Mustang rolled through Littlestone, where the tide lapped high at the sandy beach. It was well past noon and her stomach protested. She turned south on the broad coast road, passing dozens of shuttered summer shops.
"Holy shit," Bledd said abruptly.
His tone sent a chill through Sally. "What is it? You've found them?"
"Not the Rooks," Bledd said, zooming in on his screen. Moments passed, then he looked up, his gaze cutting right through her. "It's a body."