DCI Jeff Carslake watched the other car pull up to his bumper in the rearview mirror. It parked so close that when Jake stepped out and walked over, Carslake could only see the lower half of his body. A rear door of the car Carslake had borrowed specifically for this meeting opened and in slid Jake. He quickly shut out the weather.
“All a bit melodramatic, isn’t it?” asked Jake. A gust hit the car, rocked it from side to side. The sky was black; rain on the way.
“Best no one is aware of this,” replied Carslake. “I learned from experience long ago to take the better-safe-than-sorry approach right from the outset.”
“Reculver, though. This place is the arse-end of beyond.”
Windswept was an understatement when describing the tiny seaside hamlet half an hour’s drive up the coast from the Ramsgate–Margate axis. Here, the buildings were set low to deal with whatever weather was thrown at them. Once, it had been a strategic location. The Roman fort, built two thousand years ago, on top of Iron Age defences, to guard the water channel before them, was just a grass-covered hump now. The only significant constructions were the pub and the twin towers of a ruined church slowly being consumed as the sea eroded the chalk cliff it stood above. Visitors were frequent here in the summer, when they could ride or walk the coastal path for uninterrupted mile upon mile. During an inclement spring they were, at best, rare.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Carslake.
“Do you have any dead children?”
“No.”
“Then you wouldn’t have a clue what I’m going through and your apology is just words.”
“I can empathise.”
“I want your assistance, not your sympathy. How many years have I been paying you?”
“Don’t.” Carslake hated Jake shoving his corruption back into his face. He could just about live with himself otherwise, but Jake made it tough.
“What? You’re bent.” Jake leant forward, between the seats. “We’re not friends together here. I give you money, you look out for me. If you’re pissed off with me, I don’t care. Get it?”
“Yes.”
Jake sat back. “I had to learn about Regan from Solomon Gray, of all people.”
“I couldn’t warn you. The death knock had to be news.”
Jake ground his teeth. “My dead son, news. It’s all over social media. Even bloody William Noble is tweeting about Regan. I bet he’s loving this.”
“It’s the way the world works now.”
“Tell me the rest.”
“Are you sure you want to hear?”
“Just get on with it.”
Carslake adjusted his posture. He pulled his jacket tighter about him. It was cold. “Not much to say until after the post mortem tomorrow.”
“I want the report as soon as it’s available.”
“You’ll get it.”
Carslake explained what he knew about the case, to date. When he’d finished, Jake sat for a few moments, thinking.
“Something smells,” said Jake. “Regan out at sea; it doesn’t make sense. There was no need for him to be taking on a sideline. My business is healthy, and he had plenty of folding money to play with.”
Carslake shrugged.
“I want you to start digging,” said Jake.
“I already am. It’s my job.”
“No, I mean more than just getting reports to me. Investigating.”
“You’re making me sound like a proper policeman now.” Carslake couldn’t help but put the sarcasm into his tone. Jake didn’t seem to notice.
“You’ve got resources; make sure they’re directed where I need them. Call me with everything, no matter how small.” Jake popped open the passenger door. Carslake watched as the initial scene reversed itself — Jake returning to his car and driving away.
When Jake had gone, Carslake got out of his car. He needed to clear his head. He crossed the car park, buffeted by the wind, heading for the derelict church. Inside, the breeze lessened, whistling through columns of brick and the windows where glass had once been. It sounded to Carslake as if someone familiar were speaking to him. Carslake stood still and listened.
“Why?” They said. “Why?!”
Carslake’s heart hammered against his rib cage, his breathing quickened. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the space he stood in. “Tom? Is that you?” His voice shook.
“Why?!”
Maybe not Gray’s boy, maybe it was the others. The ones he’d never met but had helped sully him forever. Something brushed across Carslake’s face. It felt like somebody breathing on him. He backed up against the wall, twisting his head from side to side, trying to see into the shadows. He almost pissed himself there and then. The wind increased, plucking at his clothes. Carslake’s scalp itched, as if someone were running their fingers through his hair.
Carslake fronted up, as he always did. Shouted at them, though there was no strength in his words. But the wailing grew until he could stand it no more. He turned and ran.