Page 71 of Slack Tide Kill

Liam put his hand on Sally's arm, but she went on anyway. "Credit card record at Dover, near the ferry."

Spate laughed. "You dozy muppets. Of course they did. But the way I heard it, you had them cornered in the marsh, right?"

"So you have heard about our search."

"Everybody knows." Spate waved a hand irritably. "Don't mean I'm involved. But ask yourself, how many cameras you got on the route into Dover? You probably put road blocks everywhere, right? Roarke and his boys aren't magic. He's not getting through all that."

"So..."

"So it's the oldest smuggler's trick in the book, girl, goes right back to the Owlers, and Roarke always fancied himself some sort of swashbuckler. Even when he were a little lad."

"What's the trick?" Sally's tone turned cold.

"Misdirect, isn't it? Back before phones and card records, it were even simpler. Get yourself, or pay someone dressed as you, to get witnessed going out in a boat. Make sure the witness is someone respectable. Maybe even take two or three boats, but they're lashed together, right?"

A weight descended in the pit of Sally's stomach. That perfectly matched Gabriel Rook's testimony. "Two or three boats?"

"Yeah, looks like the whole gang's fled. You take that little flotilla over the horizon, just a mile or two to be out of sight, less if there's a mist, then circle back into the marshes." He sighed and patted his belly contentedly. "Wild goose chases were an Owler specialty. Plenty of routes into the marsh from the sea back then, though they're all dammed up now. Sea walls did for most. They'd row right in there, used to be miles and miles of nothing." He reclined deeper into the armchair. "No one's finding you."

Sally's mind raced. "You think the Rooks never left Romney Marsh?"

"It's what I'd do," Spate said. "If I were a little shit like Roarke."

"OK. Where in the marsh?"

"No idea. Owlers had bases all over Romney. Plenty of sunken villages out there, too, shelter, no access except by boat. Great place to keep a safe house, leave a generator and some food? Him and the boys could ride out weeks, maybe months." He stopped, leaned over his belly and snatched up the joint. "Home field advantage. You'll never find him."

He brought the spliff to his mouth and took a long, deep drag. The ember glowed red and the rolling paper made a crackling noise as it burned down. Then he exhaled a long, billowing cloud of bluish smoke.

"You're happy about that, are you?" Liam asked angrily. "That he's gotten away?"

"Of course I am," Spate said, waving the joint in the smoke. "I can't stand the Rooks, but you pigs? You're the real filth."

He started laughing, took another long drag and puffed it in their faces.

Sally let the smoke wash over her. Spate's words seemed to have the ring of truth. If she was Roarke, it's what she'd do. Misdirect. Hide. Weather the storm on home turf.

And if that was true, was there any way to find him?

She nodded to Liam then walked out without another word. Liam followed, chased by Spate's laughter. Back in the gray wash of the caravan park, it was raining again, a fine mist billowing in off the water.

The Channel. The marsh. Water on all sides, and somewhere out there, the Rooks.

28 MARTELLO 24

Sally drove up the gravel slope to the road in silence. Liam had the folder closed on his knees and his eyes dead ahead. She turned right, not because she had anywhere to go, just to be driving.

Waiting. She could feel it building beside her like weather.

"You just told him," Liam said.

"I did."

"A man who's done business with Reginald Rook for 30 years, and you told him where we think his sons are, and how we know it." He still hadn't turned.

"And he gave us the marsh." Sally slowed for a junction, checked both ways, pulled forward. "Liam, we had nothing. France, ferries, French police setting up stings around holiday lets? It's bullshit." She turned. He didn't look at her. "If I hadn't given him something, we'd be driving back to Rye empty-handed; just some fat man's pub alibi."

"That's not the trade you made." Now Liam turned. "You gave up the state of a live manhunt. Spate's got a phone, Sally. He's got Roarke's number in it, probably, whatever he says about not being mates. Two minutes after we pulled out of there he could have told him we're not looking at Dover anymore."