60. Giant’s Pulse
They drove in silence out of Rye and onto the coast road. The rain came down in heavy curtains, while off to their right the sea thrashed low on the beach.
"So this is an amber advisory," Sally said.
"Storm Isla, it's called." Something spattered noisily against the driver's side window, and Liam flinched. "Damn. What was that?"
"Foam getting whipped off the waves," Sally said, looking past him. "They should probably close this road."
"That was foam? It's like our first day again, when you got machine-gunned by the beach."
"Still got the welts to prove it."
Liam looked over. "How is all that? All those cuts." He hesitated. "And your throat."
She raised one hand unconsciously to her neck. "Better, thanks. Still hurts to swallow. My eyes are the worst, though. PAVA's a killer." She paused. "And you? The other night, I mean. I spent hours in Rye, looking for you."
Liam took a moment, maybe thinking that through. "I heard. Bumped into that paramedic yesterday at the cottage. Logan."
Sally felt her cheeks coloring slightly. She remembered her fingers on his shoulder, the warmth coursing through her. "Oh yes?"
"He told me you'd gone in every pub across town. Freaking people out, he said. Like some mad revenant ghost."
Sally breathed a small sigh of relief. She wasn't sure why. She'd done nothing with Logan. Not even a kiss. But still, the way they'd talked, the intimacy? It felt somehow wrong, especially while Liam was out there somewhere, alone. "I was haunted, that's true."
"I know." Liam reset his grip on the wheel but said nothing more.
They turned north up Jury's Gap then looped east at Lydd. The road signs were barely visible through the rain as they headed northeast toward Dymchurch. Sally opened the file from Flaherty and scanned through.
After a few minutes Liam spoke. "I've read it all. What's your take?"
"Lots of stuff here. Plenty on Meeks. I'm not seeing anything fresh on Spate, though." She looked up. "We already detailed him pretty well last time."
"That's what I figured." Liam's knuckles whitened on the wheel. "So we try to crack something fresh."
Sally narrowed her eyes. "We follow PACE, Liam."
He snorted. "He's a human trafficker, Sally. Back in the FBI, did you handle scum like that according to PACE?"
She said nothing, because he was right, she hadn't.
They continued on through New Romney, Greatstone and St. Mary's Bay. Soon they reached the broad swathe of Gerald Spate's holiday camp, its mobile homes and caravans slotted evenly into the earth like rusted components in a ramshackle circuit board.
The site looked grim in the beating rain, water running off the road and down into the park like a shallow river, making the gravel track sludgy under their tires. The squad car slid and Liam corrected.
"Shit," he muttered, bringing them to the side and killing the engine. "The whole field's flooding."
Sally looked out over Gerald Spate's glamorous holiday haven. A thin skin of water shimmered atop the artificial grass. A few holidaymakers were already vacating their properties, throwing belongings into the trunks of crammed cars. Every step they took splashed and sent ripples spreading wider.
"It's a floodplain," she said, barely audible over the beating of rain on the car's roof. "Locked in by the sea wall."
"Didn't put that on his posters, did he?" Liam asked, and pushed his door open. "Come on, before the whole place gets washed away."
Sally stepped out and was deluged. Her boots sank into the grass, water almost to her ankles already, while cold rain trickled down her neck.
Liam set off over the watery plain at a loping jog and she followed.
Families continued packing frantically on either side, bundling their belongings and their children up like refugees.
"This is worse than I thought," she shouted ahead.
They passed the café, its doors locked and windows already shuttered, up to the sole elevated corner of the park where Spate's 'mansion' waited.
His tarpaulin porch was barely holding its own against the whipping sea wind, his door shut, but to Sally's surprise he was actually standing right there beside his hot tub, wearing only a pair of scraggly boxer shorts and looking out to sea.
They ran under cover of the tarp awning, relieved to be out of the rain if not the wind.
The generator thrummed beside the mobile home, barely audible over the storm as it strained to heat the hot tub.
Sally opened her mouth to speak, then she saw the view Spate was looking at, just over the sea wall.
The ocean was a vast gray cauldron of racing whitecaps, boiling under the rain and foaming in the gale-force winds. She became aware of a strange, rumbling drumbeat carrying beneath the onslaught of the rain and the wind, passing through her body like a giant's pulse.
"That's the sea on the wall," Spate said without turning. "Boom. Boom. Boom. It's hypnotic. I always do this. Get in the tub and watch. Listen. Dare it to come for me."
He turned to face them. His belly was flabby and sagged over his waistband, his face was almost yellowish and waxy, like a two-day-old corpse. He didn't seem at all surprised to see them.
"It hasn't yet, though. Maybe this time." The tarpaulin whipped and yanked overhead. "Officers, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Sally fought her urge to dunk the man's head in his own hot tub. A corrupt little king in a drowning kingdom. But she'd promised to let Liam lead.
"We're here to talk about Reg Rook, Mr. Spate," Liam said.
Spate's lips widened, revealing brown teeth. "Still dead, last I checked."
"Thirty years ago he was an active smuggler.
We've had this confirmed. He was involved with Nancy Cagen, now dead.
Her nephew was Tom Richter, also dead. Richter saw something and he died with shells in his eyes.
Cagen heard something from Richter 30 years ago, something about Rook smuggling something worse than people, and now she's dead with her ears cut off.
You tell me that's not the hand of the Rooks at work, Gerald.
There's got to be a fifth. Someone keeping the killing going, now all four of them are in custody. "
Spate stared at Liam. Seconds passed. The wind lashed the porch tarp and ejected a waterfall, splashing down around Sally's ankles. She didn't budge.
"Thought about that speech a lot, did you?" Spate asked.
Sally's hand twitched, the urge to punch his fat gut only growing stronger. "What was Rook smuggling, Gerald?" she asked.
"I already told you, I wasn't in with that side of him. I don't know."
"And we don't believe you," Liam said, stepping closer to the hot tub. He tapped the edge and it rang hollow. "This is some risk you're taking, Gerald. Sitting in water heated by a generator while there's a storm blowing. You ever heard of arcing?"
Spate's eyes narrowed. "Some kind of threat, son? From you?"
"No threat," Liam said, circling casually toward the generator.
"Just a fact. I've seen it happen. All this water coming down, it's conductive.
That generator fries a little, say your tarp blows off and the rain gets right in, it won't be the storm taking you down.
It'll be an electric arc right into this disgusting tub.
" Liam slapped his hand down on the edge, louder, and Spate flinched. "You'll fucking cook, mate."
"I'll take my chances."
Liam grunted and squatted beside the generator, out of Spate's sight. "Older model, this," he called over his shoulder. "I've used them. My dad was big into the outdoors, but with all the mod cons. Spark plugs are dicey. You've not replaced these ever, have you?"
Sally watched Liam intently. He abruptly yanked something, and there was a sharp cough from the generator.
"The fuck are you doing over there?" Spate asked, craning to get a better look.
Sally didn't say anything. This was a new side of Liam, and she wasn't sure what to make of it.
"See, without new spark plugs–" Liam wrenched on something else, causing the generator to speed up, sounding maddened, "you're at greater risk of electrocution."
He stood and turned, two pieces of plastic from the generator in his hands. Both Spate and Sally were staring.
"Here you go," Liam said, and dropped the pieces into the hot tub.
"You just ripped pieces off my machinery, you cocky twat!" Spate blurted, starting around the tub toward Liam.
Sally intercepted him, her hands touching his lank, greasy shoulders. He was heavy but weak, his feet slipping on the wet fake grass. "Easy now," she said.
"You should be thanking me," Liam said. "If anything, I just saved your life."
Spate shook his head and stepped back from Sally. "Your partner's gone mental. I'm going to sue for criminal damage."
"Pigs are filth, aren't we," Liam mused, coming around the tub's other side.
"Worst of the worst, to scum like you. Because you are scum, Spate.
Your whole life you've been a parasite. We come around and treat you like a real person, because that's our job, but you're not a real person, are you?
You're a leech, and I'm done with bloodsucking shits trying to bleed out everything good. "
"You done, you little bleeding psycho?" Spate snapped.
"Not yet. Into the hot tub with you, Gerald. Time to face the storm down like a man."
He circled Sally and pushed Spate toward the tub.
"Give over!" Spate bellowed, throwing a wild punch.
"Just a quick bath," Liam insisted, pushing the older man again.
Sally watched only a moment longer. This was obscene. Comical, bizarre, terrifying even. But it was getting them no closer to an answer.
Unless…
She put one hand on Liam's arm, the other on Spate's shoulder, and pressed them apart.
"Enough. Liam, cool it." She turned to Spate.
"Gerald, my partner wants you in the tub.
I see no witnesses here, and I honestly don't care what happens to you.
I just want answers. So start talking now, or I leave you to parboil like a rat in your own foul stew. "
Spate glared at her, nostrils flaring, then he hawked deep and spat noisily into the rain. "Fine. You want to talk? I'll tell you everything I know. About Reg, Cagen, whatever you want. Just, get this muppet to stop vandalizing my home!"
Liam glared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Deal."
"Inside," Spate barked, turning. "It's freezing out here."
"So much for braving the storm," Liam muttered at his back.