Page 25 of Slack Tide Kill

At the forensics van, one of the rear doors was open. The team inside were working rapidly. She glimpsed the boy's body on the gurney. His clothes had been fully stripped and fresh photographs were popping, while analysts urgently collected trace samples with a filtered forensic vacuum and sterile swabs.

"Capturing as much as they can before the damage sinks deep," Liam said, leaning out of the door.

"They should never have left him in that tent."

"Right. They think they've got cause of death, though."

She looked up. "Already?"

"Chemically induced MI."

"Myocardial infarction? A heart attack?"

"Yeah." Liam dropped down beside her. "Rapid IA drugs screen confirmed it. They were worried about environmental degradation, so, yeah..." he shrugged.

"And?"

"Heavy ketamine presence in the blood, and a cardiotoxin, cocaine or something like it. Could've both been a big factor in his death."

Sally's mind rushed. "Injection point?"

Liam breathed out heavily, fuming sour, alcohol-scented air over Sally. "Not yet, but they're still looking. Autopsy is up next; the heart should tell the story."

"I know that, Liam. Where's their unit based?"

"Dover."

"What's that, an hour away?"

"Yeah."

"OK." She breathed out. Resetting herself. "I'm going to Reginald Rook's place. See if I can find out who runs the Crab Shack now." She studied him. "Can you get started on that warrant?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. Yes. But, ah–"

"What is it?"

"Shouldn't we go together?"

Sally just looked at him. She didn't want to mention the alcohol still on his breath or the shaking in his hands. As long as he didn't drink while on the case, they'd be fine. But taking him with her like this?

"I've got it. We really need that warrant, in case I get nowhere."

"Oh," he said. "Sure."

He didn't move. Sally nodded and headed away, leaving him behind.

Back in her Mustang, she sat for a moment, hands on the wheel. Her legs were shaking and her knuckles were pale. She twisted the rearview and looked at her face.

White.

She saw the boy's body again, tossed by the storm. His perfect hair finally ruffled. So small, so powerless, exactly how she'd felt in the grip of the storm. Her heart went cold and she gave herself a shake, then leaned over to rummage in the passenger footwell.

Tossing aside Mud Beast paraphernalia, she came up with her rucksack. Inside was her laptop, ruggedized with black rubber. She popped the lid and logged in, tethering to her phone's hotspot.

The hotspot couldn't connect.

"Damn storm," she muttered, then put the laptop back in her bag, looking out through the rain-smeared windshield.