Page 49 of Slack Tide Kill

Liam shook his hand first, then Sally followed. Mercer's hand was warm, dry, firm.

"NCA Officer Sally Rogers," she said. "Mr. Mercer, thanks for coming in."

"Not a bother, and it's Jack, please. Mr. Mercer was my Dad." He smiled, then sobered. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure. This place was quite different in my day, of course." He looked around, his gaze settling on the whiteboard. "Some things never change though."

Sally looked at the board. Reginald Rook and his sons were all they had. An active investigation. She felt the urge to cover the details up, but Mercer was police; maybe their best link to the original case, and she wanted his take on it all.

"Please, have a seat, Jack," she said. "You've already got a drink, or I'd offer you one."

"I could make one for you too, if you like," Mercer said, eyes twinkling. "Still know my way around the old place. Before they added that bloody great barn out there."

Liam laughed. "The extension."

"This man knows," Mercer said, wagging a finger at Liam. "I'd just come back from the Met, three years or so back, when they put that monstrosity up. Big plans to make Rye a command hub against small boats, I heard. Then some Whitehall politician wet his pants and the rest of the budget went to Dover." He shrugged.

"It is a nice bullpen," Liam allowed.

"And who said we can't have nice things?" Mercer grinned. "Now. You want that coffee, or shall we sit down and have this out?"

He gestured to the table. Sally watched him. He seemed happy, amused even, despite the circumstances. She'd seen a lot of old cops, but few managed to maintain that kind of skip in their step, especially after retirement. The job took a toll, then left a hole. When it didn't, those people usually had a strong foundation of some kind. Family, friends, another purpose beyond the police. They were resilient, and that kind of resilience was very appealing.

"We're caffeinated enough, don't you think, Liam?" she asked.

"I've bounced off all four of these walls already."

Mercer chuckled. "I know that story. OK, then let's get to it. It won't take long."

He pulled out his chair, looked to Sally once more for confirmation, and she nodded. Not a necessary step for him to take, but a decent one.

"Let's," she said, and sat.

21 THREE DECADES OF FOG

"So," Mercer began, "I heard about the death on Dungeness. You don't need to tell me any details of that. Honestly, I'd rather not know. But it's shells again, right?"

Liam nodded. "Cockle shells. Just like the original."

Mercer sighed and settled into his chair, some of his good humor seeming to deflate. "The bastard's back. OK. So." He pointed at the board. "Rook. Reginald. There was talk of him 30 years ago. I can tell you why he shouldn't be on your board now."

"Because he's dead," Sally supplied. "And back then, he had an alibi."

"Right on both counts," Mercer said, snapping his fingers sharply. "The whole pub saw him. The Conundrum."

"Conundrum?" Liam asked.

"Yeah. Got shut down years back. Nice little spot in Lydd, black and white pictures on the walls from way back when, mementos from the war. Thing is, I was there that night too, and I saw Rook with my own eyes."

Sally's jaw dropped slightly. "Really? You were there?"

"Stupefied you, huh?" Mercer asked.

"I didn't see that in the case notes," Liam said.

"I know." Mercer sighed. "It was a lock-in, after hours. Not a serious infraction, but not the kind of place a DI was supposed to be."

"So you removed it from the record?"

"I allowed it to be removed. Which is about as bad."