Page 186 of Slack Tide Kill

She remembered talking to Nancy Cagen on the beach. She remembered the deep, aching sense of her regret. A regret she'd paid for, in the end.

Reg Rook. Roarke. Jack Mercer. All bound by blood, and what had it done for any of them? Richter. Cagen. Bledd. They all died for a reason.

But why Harrow?

She refocused on Gemmell, thoughts roiling. "We need to find the bodies. Bledd and Mensah. Where he hid them."

"We'll do all of that, Sally. Look, here." He steered her toward more flashing lights coming through the rain. "There's an ambulance. They'll take you to hospital. There'll be time for all that later."

Sirens approached. The cavalry, she'd said. Send everyone.

But the last question dug at her. She couldn't let it go. Not yet. She took hold of the van's rear doors and pulled them open. Gemmell didn't stop her.

Mercer was sitting on the bench, curled over his lap. He didn't look up.

"Harrow. Why did you kill him?"

Mercer chuckled.

"He's no one's relative. He saw nothing. He didn't reject you, like Cagen. There's no reason to kill him."

Now Mercer looked up, and she saw it. Clearer than before, bright as the lightning across Dungeness.

The madness. Mercer had given himself over to it. Like he was in the river already, seeing all things, feeling all things at once. "You really want to know?"

"I want to know."

"Good," he said. "Live with that."

Then his head sank back down. The conversation finished. Anger flashed through her, the senselessness of it, then Gemmell's hand came on her shoulder.

"Sally," he said. "It's OK."

"I think I know," she went on, staring at the top of Mercer's head. "It's none of those things, is it? It's chaos. No order at all, other than setting the record straight."

Mercer did not react.

"Your father rejected you even after you killed for him." Nearby, paramedics pulled a gurney from the ambulance. "Because of how you killed him, and you've been living the shame of that for decades."

Mercer twitched. Sally pictured herself back at the board in the Rye bullpen, where both dead boys' faces were side by side. She hadn't seen it before, hadn't allowed herself to, but maybe it really was that simple.

"You wanted to rewrite that. Kill him your way, for you. Not for Reg."

Mercer was still.

"You chose Harrow because he looked like Richter. Same face shape. Dark hair. That's it. You wanted a do-over."

Mercer turned his head. "Take her away," he said softly.

Gemmell slammed the door shut.

Then the paramedics were there, pushing their gurney. Was John Logan amongst them? Hard to tell. Her eyes were bleary now, backwash from the head injury, maybe, and the exhaustion. She saw three houses along the shore, as they took her arms and laid her down.

A figure watched from a dark window. Was that Dean Whateley, the Seafoam Strangler? An innocent, after all. Another victim.

The gurney wheeled her through the water. So close, now. Close to letting go. Gemmell walked alongside her. She grasped his hand.

"The DCI? Liam?"