Page 51 of Slack Tide Kill

"No. Nothing like that. If there had been, though?" He thought for a moment. "I'd be looking at old scripture. The Bible? All the books are numbered, every line, too. Kind of like poetry." He smiled softly. "I'm a sucker for the metaphysical poets. 17th century. Men like Cowley, Donne, Vaughan. Some of their work is so beautiful, and loaded with meaning. Philosophical truths locked in verse."

He stopped then, and smiled.

"I'm sorry. This always happens, when I get onto those days. I get maudlin, start talking poetry. I suppose I'm still looking for meaning. But that doesn't help you now." He placed both hands on the desk, as if to stand, but looked first to Liam, then Sally. "Do you have anything else? I'll try my best to give you straight answers, but I think you're getting the picture. I don't have any."

Sally breathed out slowly. She had no more questions. The air of defeat hung over every word Mercer had shared with them, from the start to the finish. A fog, really, one he'd lived with for three decades.

"I think that's everything, Jack. Again, thank you for coming in."

"You're very welcome." Mercer began to stand, but winced and paused at an odd angle, like something in his back had caught. Sally rose to help, but he waved her off and straightened with an effort. "Just the ravages of time. If you need anything else from me, Glory knows where to find me."

Sally frowned. "Glory?"

He smiled. "Sorry. Gloria, your DCI. We go way back." He looked around the room one last time. "I miss this. Not this case, of course. But this. Having a partner. Nothing mattering more than the work. Looking out for each other. I wish you both the best of luck."

They shook hands again and he left. Sally watched him cross the bullpen. His stature seemed to grow, the further he got away from the training suite, until by the doors to the bullpen she could feel the old, controlled, faintly amused manner radiating off him again.

Was that the real Mercer? Or a mask he used to cover up the pain?

"That was pretty useless," Liam said. "A whole bunch of nothing."

Sally turned. Liam seemed worn now. Tired. She felt the same way. "He's carried this case his whole life. Let's hope it's not like that for us."

"I doubt it. I've got plenty of demons of my own already."

"Right," she answered slowly. Everybody did. Her eyes drifted up to the clock over the door. Just gone 5 p.m.

Liam followed her gaze. "Five. Could be clocking off time. But, well…" he read her eyes. "Probably not for us."

"Probably not." A shudder ran through her, like her body was trying to shake off the gloom. "What else are we going to do in Rye, Liam, at this time? Besides, I've got an idea."

"That sounds ominous."

"It's evidence-based. I think we need to approach this case in a way they never did before, back in the 90s."

"OK?"

"We need the profile. Get inside the killer's head. It could give us motive, which could open this thing up. And for that, we need to make a call."

Liam looked at her, a question on his lips, until understanding dawned. "You don't mean... No."

"Yes. I already requested them from McMaster. They may have something by now."

Liam rubbed his forehead. "Ah shit. What did I say last time? They'll flay the flesh from your bones?"

Sally smiled. "They're not that bad, Liam. Come on. It's time to talk to the Fates."

22 THE FATES

The NCA's Behavioral Investigative Advice Unit, or the 'Fates', comprised three of the UK's foremost criminal profilers, drawn from various fields of expertise.

Dr. Helen Knight led the unit, a formidable forensic psychologist who headed the Cambridge criminology department. DeVon Collier was an undisputed expert in historical criminology and ritual serial killers, often called to consult with the FBI. Dr. Olivia Shaw specialized in the social and psychological impact of early life trauma.

Sally had found they often lived up to their nickname; three God-like weavers who spun out the thread of every mortal lifespan, measured, weighed, then snipped it off with a pair of razor-sharp shears.

No deviations. No mistakes. No way to change the fate handed down to you.

Liam gripped the table as the call went through on Sally's laptop.