Page 26 of Slack Tide Kill

She had enough on Rook to warrant questions. Access to the Police National Computer would be good, but she didn't want to delay now. Take too long, and Mayhew would catch up to her. Everything would get caught in the thick, slow-moving mud of police bureaucracy.

She paused a moment. Four sons, Mayhew had said. A rape charge. Sally weighed that then put it to one side. She was police, and besides, she could look after herself. She put the Mustang into gear and headed out of the lot. At the gate she stopped. The security officer looked at her blankly.

"You've got my bat and my canister," she said. "I want them."

"Got a receipt?" he asked, his face unmoving.

"Who else did you take a bat and a canister off?"

He trudged back to the booth, returning with the bat and Farb-gel. "That bat's illegal. Don't try to come back in here with it. The gel too."

Sally didn't reply, just revved off.

The storm chased her away from the reactor, across the shingle expanse and into the long flat miles of Romney Marsh. She took a left turn onto Dungeness Road, then another left half a mile away from Lydd onto a rutted, waterlogged gravel track.

There were signs for the RSPB Preserve. Beyond the fences lay broad, brackish ponds and thick fields of bulrush reeds, their sausage-shaped flower heads spiking upward. She turned onto a dirt lane marked by a rusting metal sign with bullet pockmarks:

PRIVATE PROPERTY - TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW

The lane was hard mud and grass strung with barbed wire on both sides. Scrap metal hung from it; old license plates, bits of tin, a rusted hubcap clanging in the wind.

Umberside Lodge.

Sally slowed as the complex emerged through the rain; a large farmhouse encircled by half a dozen lean-to outbuildings, a large barn, and an encircling line of salvaged vehicles that served like a barrier wall against the marsh.

Rusting tractors sat nose-down in the mud. Old vans with smashed windows. A pickup truck with no doors. Piles of scrap metal and oil drums formed crooked alleys between the outbuildings.

The place smelled of diesel and the swamp.

Sally rolled through an open gate into the muddy forecourt before the farmhouse. Three dogs burst out from behind a stack of pallets, barking loudly as Sally rolled the Mustang to a stop. Big, muscular XL Bullies. Thick shoulders and scarred muzzles. They circled the car, teeth flashing.

Fear bit at Sally's chest. Dogs at 3 a.m. She kept the engine running and leaned on the horn, the piercing sound splitting the day. Within moments a door banged open and a large man stepped out of the barn.

He was thick through the shoulders, wearing a black sleeveless vest with tattoos crawling like black vines up to his neck. His jaw was square, his stubble tightly sculpted and he watched her with blank gray eyes.

Another man appeared behind him, this one carrying a large, open cardboard box stuffed with colorful plastic sticks. Vape pens, she realized. Two more followed, all carrying boxes, all built the same way, the family resemblance undeniable.

All four of the Rook brothers?

They put their boxes down and fanned out. The leader hawked and spat into the mud then walked over slowly. Maybe the eldest? The dogs fell silent as he leaned against Sally's door and motioned for her to roll the window down.

"You lost, sweetheart?"

12 MAKING ENQUIRIES

Sally brought the window halfway down.

"I'm NCA officer Sally Rogers." She raised her warrant card. "Making enquiries about a property owned by your father."

Rook's lips tightened and his brothers shifted slightly around him. "My father? So you know who I am?"

"You're Roarke Rook," she guessed. "Reginald's eldest."

His lips pulled into a sneer. "That's just a name. Obviously you don't know who I am, coming in and honking your bloody horn like that." He leaned further into the window, bringing his face close to hers. "Private property, isn't it, darling? Reg's dead, this is a working farm, and we're busy. So why don't you jog on?" He gestured toward the gate.

Sally held his gaze. "This is about the property on Dungeness beach. I'd like access to the CCTV."

Rook's face shifted for a moment, like a mask slipping, but it didn't last long. "Don't know anything about that. Where'd you hear it?"