Page 109 of Slack Tide Kill

"It's Jack Mercer's," she said, turning. Mayhew's face was a storm cloud, bruised and furious. "He knows Bledd, maybe he knows where he is."

There was a pottering sound from inside, then a double clank as bolts were withdrawn and Mercer's face appeared. He seemed disheveled, no cup of tea in his hand this time, as if they'd just woken him. He blinked in the gray light, looking around at them.

"Officers," he said, until his gaze fell on Mayhew and he gave a tiny flinch. "Gloria?"

Mayhew's anger blanched away, to be replaced with an iron mask of control.

"Mr. Mercer," she said coolly. "We're looking for your neighbor, Arthur Bledd. Do you know when he left this berth, and where he was headed?"

Mercer just stared at Mayhew, like he was faced with a ghost. "Gloria," he repeated softly. "I knew you were on this thing. I tried to check in with you, earlier, but…" he trailed off momentarily. "Wait. Why are you looking for Arthur again?"

"Jack," Mayhew said, the mask of her face not shifting. "Can you help us locate Mr. Bledd?"

Mercer stared a moment longer, then blinked, as if a spell had broken. "I, uh. Arthur. He's not here?" He peered at the nearest berth. "No. Right. Well, he must have left in the night. He was here when I called it a night."

"And when was that?"

"Uh, around 10. Earlier every night, and nothing to do on the water, you know." He tried for a faint smile, his eyes briefly settling on Liam and Sally. Nobody smiled back and that registered. "This is serious, isn't it? You don't think–"

"The situation is developing rapidly," Mayhew said, her tone softer still now. "You know how that works. Can you think of anywhere else Bledd might have gone?"

"Really? I can, uh. Yes, I think so. At least broad strokes."

"What strokes?"

Mercer stepped more fully through the doorway of his houseboat. He wore a tartan dressing gown with the fabric belt dangling loose, frayed at the sleeves. "It's something he's kept very private, but, yes. Thing is, Arthur's recently gotten engaged, and–"

"Bledd's engaged?" Sally blurted.

Everyone looked at her. "He is," Mercer said. "She's an artist, as I understand it. Sculpture, found materials. She has a place on the beach near Dungeness, which I could make assumptions about, but I don't know anything for sure."

Mayhew's eyes narrowed. "You're talking about Prospect Cottage?"

"That'd be my guess. Like I said, he never named it."

"No need. Thank you, Mr. Mercer. DI Gemmell, we're going to Dungeness."

She strode back toward the Mini. Liam and the others followed.

"One second, Stephen," Sally said, turning back to Mercer. "Jack, what's Prospect Cottage?"

Mercer smiled. "Only one of the most famous artist's homes in the country. Used to belong to a film-maker, right out on the shingle. They do residencies, last I heard."

"Come on," Gemmell said, touching Sally's shoulder.

"Coming," she said, as the others went back to the Tesla and the Mini's engine started. She looked at Mercer and he looked back at her.

"What's going on here, Sally?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, though she felt it. Something was off, and she didn't know what. Like Bledd had been tipped off, somehow. "You and the DCI. There's heat there, like she's angry at you? But you all know each other down here."

Mercer watched her, like he was waiting for her to put the pieces together. "It's a small community."

"It's more than that." The Tesla hummed to life behind her. "You called her Glory, before. Nancy Cagen did the same thing. Now Cagen's dead, and you're friends with Bledd, and now Bledd's gone." She took a moment, trying to put her finger on it. "Jack, I'm concerned for your safety."

"You think I'm a target?"

"Maybe. What's your connection to the DCI? I spoke to Cagen before she died. She wouldn't tell me her ties to Mayhew. Will you?"