58. One True Path
"Couple of reasons," Sally began. "First, we met Bledd, Liam. He was out at Scots Float doing his drainage thing. He dived into the sewer to get that shotgun. He flew the damn drone. If all that was him pretending, playing us, then he's a brilliant actor."
"Fair point." Liam paused. "But maybe he is a great actor. And for a smart killer? All those things serve double duty. Bledd's inoculating himself. Earning our trust, so we never see it coming."
"Maybe. But–"
"What else?" he prompted.
"OK. Just everything about that boat, his history and his investment. I don't see him as this guy broken by Heraclitus. I think Bledd found his answer a long time ago, and it was a blend of the marsh and the people in it. He straddled both. That was his life's work."
A few seconds passed. "That's subjective. Persuasive, maybe. He doesn't match the mindset. But if we think he's an actor, again, it's all double-edged."
"All we've got is subjective, Liam."
"Well, maybe not. Here's something for you."
"Go on."
"If it was Bledd, why use his own boat to dump Harrow's body?" He paused. "That thing was unique. Tanks, skiff, rear platform. Easily recognizable to Jerome Rook, even at night. If it was Bledd, why not just come in the punt, or steal a marsh boat from someone else?"
That got Sally thinking. Stealing a marsh boat would make sense. Except…
"He disabled the reactor CCTV, though. He didn't think anyone was watching, so it didn't matter how he arrived."
"Someone disabled the CCTV," Liam corrected. "But who had access?"
"The Rooks."
"Roarke Rook, to be specific. And when have the Rooks and Arthur Bledd ever seen eye to eye?"
Sally opened her mouth to answer, then shut it. It was a strong point. A Gordian knot she couldn't cut. "Reg Rook and Bledd hated each other. That goes back 30 years or more. And when we, I mean I, hit them with my car, Bledd was right there in the thick of it. Hauling them up."
"So why would Roarke Rook cut the CCTV for him? It doesn't make sense."
Sally realized their positions had shifted. Now he was defending Bledd and she was prosecuting. It felt good, fluid, covering all angles. "Unless all that was a cover. The whole crash in the sewer was an act?"
Liam inhaled sharply. "He dived back in to get the shotgun, Sally. Like some damn Golden Retriever."
"It was litter."
Liam scoffed. "Right. Or he wanted you to like him, which you do. Who's being subjective now?"
She said nothing. All those were strong points. Trying to untangle them was giving her a headache. Then another thought struck her.
"Oh, crap."
"What is it?"
"The foundation for all this. You remember what it was?"
"Of course I do. His boat on Dungeness that night. But then..."
"And who told us it was Bledd's boat?"
Liam cursed. "That little prick! Jerome Rook."
"Jerome Rook," Sally repeated. "Can we trust him as our sole witness? If the Rooks are behind this murder, of course he'd hand over Bledd. Especially if he knows no one can gainsay it."
"And Bledd's unlikely to have an alibi. Solitary guy, no real friends, lives alone on a boat."
Neither spoke for a moment.
"It's a bloody mess," Liam said. "Why did we go so hard based on what one of the Rooks said?"
Sally sighed. That was a good point. "It was all we had. We fought for it. I guess that made it feel more real. Then Bledd was gone, and all we had was the chase."
"Sunk cost fallacy," Liam muttered. "So where are we here? Nowhere, that's where."
"Not nowhere. Look, this is binary right now, yeah? A lot of he-said, he-said, but there's just two parties. Bledd or the Rooks."
"That's the problem."
"And you said Rye's focused exclusively on Bledd."
"They are. Everything. They have no doubt."
"So we leave Bledd to them, and we focus on the Rook connection."
A few moments passed. Signs for the M25 passed by outside in the rain as the taxi sped out of London.
"Agreed. And there's plenty there."
"Reg Rook was a smuggler," Sally began. "Smuggling something worse than people 30 years ago. Nancy Cagen fingered him as the killer. Said her nephew, Richter, saw something that got him killed. Shells in his eyes always seemed like it could be a witness intimidation thing."
"And the only person who ever had access to the reactor CCTV was Roarke Rook. Repairing the electricals was specifically in the Reactor Logistics domain."
"A domain which he pried forcibly from the silent partner, what was his name again?"
"Crawford Meeks."
"Meeks," Sally repeated.
Neither spoke.
"That's where we pick up," Liam said at last. "Rook took a digger to Meeks' house, all to get Reactor Logistics back off him. Why?"
"Maybe just to kill the CCTV? All of that, just so he can dump another body in the same place his father did."
"But the Fates weighted against a generational killer."
"I don't care what the Fates said. This looks good. And all along, in their back pocket, they've got the Bledd setup as their patsy."
"So where is Bledd now? If this is true?"
Sally took a heavy breath. "Dead, probably. Bledd. Mensah. Maybe we'll never find them. Weighed down in the slack tide, buried in the marsh."
"So the manhunt goes on forever? Another 30 years."
"Not unless we nail this bastard first." Sally thought all that through. She tried to unpick it, pressure check it, test it. "Except we've already got all four Rooks in custody. We've had them for days, now. And Bledd's boat blew up yesterday."
"Bugger it," Liam spat. "So, does that rule them out? Or does it just make the conspiracy wider?"
That sank in. "The conspiracy's wider. I think there's someone else out there, Liam, killing on command. Maybe they blew up Bledd's boat to take the heat off the brothers. By contrast, people trafficking is a lighter charge."
Moments ticked by.
"So we go to Meeks? He can run double duty. Confirmation on why Roarke wanted Reactor Logistics, and a rundown on this fifth Rook."
Sally snorted. "Like the fifth Beatle."
"It's gotta be another family member or a trusted friend. Someone from their tight social graph."
"Someone who'd been in the Crab Shack," Sally said, cinching threads together. "Meeks is good, but it seems he was always outside the inner circle."
"So who?"
One name came to mind. "Gerald Spate."
"Spate? Again?"
"He was Reg Rook's best friend, the only surviving member of his inner crew. He appeared on the whiteboard three times. If anyone knows who the fifth Rook is, it's got to be him."
Liam exhaled. "OK. But we'll need more on him. And I still want to go after Meeks."
"Of course. We've got a few hours before I'm down there. Can you research them?"
"That's a lot, Sally. Meeks especially, all those financial records? But.." he trailed off. "Maybe I can draft in a team."
"A team? Who?"
"DI Gemmell wants to work with us. Yesterday he kept asking me when you were coming back. I can pull in some other taskforce members, too. Simms, Hawlin, Flaherty. Everyone who was there at the beach, really. Who saw what you did."
A shudder ran through Sally. He didn't need to say any more. The shape of Emily Chakrati hung in the air between them. A young woman, full of life and ambition. Sally saw her eyes again in that final moment.
"Mayhew won't block it?"
"Like I said, Mayhew's a ghost, she's barely even here."
"OK. Set it up."
"Spate laughed in our faces this time." His tone shifted. "We'll have to go firmer."
"Firmer," Sally repeated. "Within bounds though, Liam."
"I'll take lead," was all he said. It wasn't agreement, but she didn't want to push harder now. "You said a couple hours?"
Sally checked her phone. "Traffic's rough. Maybe two. I keep hearing about bad weather. How's it looking down there?"
"Heavy rain. Wind's picking up."
"Same old, then. See you in two hours, Liam."
"See you."
He hung up, and there was silence in the car. Sally looked out the window into the rainy London exurbs. Her muscles still ached, her eyes stung. She'd slept maybe five hours, which had barely brought any recovery.
But it was good Liam was talking to her again. That had to help, even if he was colder now. With the storm inbound and the flood of media attention, everything seemed to be speeding up. They just had to run faster. Outrun it all. Even the killer who'd been planning this moment for 30 years.