Page 110 of Slack Tide Kill

Mercer shifted his footing. The houseboat bobbed slightly. "I don't know that it's for me to say, Sally. It's her story to tell."

"That's exactly what Cagen said. She died before she could tell me."

"Officer Rogers, we need to go," came Gemmell's call from the car. Sally held up one hand, watching emotions ripple across Mercer's face. Maybe there was pain. Confusion. Shock.

"Jack," she pressed. "People are dying."

"OK." He held up one hand, then took a deep breath. The Tesla's horn sounded but they both ignored it. "I told you about DCI Robert Stewart. My boss."

Sally frowned. "OK."

"What I didn't tell you was, he had a daughter."

That meant nothing. Then Sally's jaw dropped. "No. Mayhew?"

Mercer nodded. "She used to be little Gloria Stewart. Before she grew up and got married. She'd come running around the station while we were all working. Such a cute little kid." His eyes took on a faraway look. "So bright. And that was all fine, her being in that place, when the major crimes were just tipping and poaching and traffic offenses. It made coming to work every day feel like family. She used to call me 'Uncle Jack'."

He exhaled heavily. The Tesla's horn blared again.

"Then Richter died, and Rob died, and nothing was the same." Mercer seemed paler now, like the story was taking a toll. "I still remember how she looked at the funeral. I tried to say something to her, she was only 6 then, but I couldn't find the right words. She was just a kid, and I couldn't even handle it myself."

Sally stood, barely hearing the Tesla's horn anymore.

"I ran, Sally. Away from here, from her, from it all. Couldn't face the failure. London was no better, really, but at least it was numb. I wasn't even thinking about redemption. Just stopping it from hurting."

Something cracked inside Sally's chest. She understood that feeling completely.

"So Mayhew's father killed himself," she said, forcing herself forward. "Now she's facing the exact same pressure. The same killer."

"That's it. So if anyone's at risk, it's her. Don't worry about me. I survived last time and I'll survive now. But you have to look after Gloria, Sally. That death destroyed her world and broke us all. I couldn't bear it if it claimed her, too."

Sally didn't know what to say. The horn sounded once more, then a door slammed.

"But if you can find this killer?" he urged. "It'll put to rest this ghost for all of us. A lot of people will finally know peace."

The weight of that landed. The pressure.

"I'll find them," she said, then turned. The Tesla was already halfway through a three-point-turn, and Sally ran toward it. Gemmell stopped and pushed the door open.

"Let's get to the beach," she said, slamming the door after her.

46 ARTISAN EYE

"Tell me about Prospect Cottage," Sally said, as the Tesla shot back through Rye.

"It's just up the beach from the reactors," came a voice from the back. Chakrati. "Like the DCI said, it's famous. Shingle garden, driftwood sculptures, painted all black, got a John Donne poem on the side."

Sally turned. "A what?"

"A poem. The whole thing's a national monument to Derek Jarman. Artist, film maker. It was open for tourist visits for a while, but…" Chakrati's tone sharpened. "I'm on the website. They do artist's residencies now. Winter. Summer. Hang on."

Sally brought up the Prospect Cottage website too. The building was framed with wooden lapboards, condensed and boxy, gleaming black like an oyster shell against the low horizon. The poem on the side was barely legible, cursive letters nailed to the wall in tight rows.

"There's someone there right now." Chakrati looked up. "Nia Mensah, she's into found sculpture, driftwood, just like Jarman."

Sally searched Nia Mensah as they shot through Camber and onto the barren coast road. She found her webpage, her social media, and then–

"I've got him! Bledd, in a photo with Mensah. That looks like Prospect Cottage behind them."