Page 68 of Slack Tide Kill

"Did you ever see the Rooks?"

"The Rooks?"

"Sons of Reginald Rook. Roarke, Jerome, Silas, Gabriel."

"No. Gerald's got his own crew, bringing those lads in. And it ain't any Rooks."

Sally considered. "Thank you. You've been very helpful."

"Not my intention."

They walked out, heading for the big caravan on the corner. From one of the caravans, a baby cried.

"You think Spate gets the men, Rooks take the girls?" Liam asked.

"Let's ask him."

The corner caravan was the largest in the park, a double-width static with cream siding gone green at the seams. A mildewed canvas awning had been stretched outward from the door, fixed with ropes to fence posts and plastic water barrels. Under it sat a small hot tub with a cracked lid, a black pizza oven, two stained recliners and a generator chugging in the cold.

Sally stepped under the awning. The air smelled of marijuana. A line of vivid green algae crept out of the hot tub.

"Disgusting," Liam said.

Sally banged on the caravan door. Something heavy shifted inside, there was a thud, a muffled curse then the door opened.

A man in a stained burgundy dressing gown tied too low across his belly filled the doorway. He was bald with a floppy gray comb-over, his chest was hairy and pale, his round stomach straining forward. His eyes were red, wet and unfocused, taking several seconds to settle on Sally.

"The fuck you want?" he said.

Sally held up her badge. "Mr. Gerald Spate?"

"No."

"Try again."

His eyes shifted to Liam, then back to her. Calculation moved slowly through the fog. "What's NCA doing on my doorstep?"

"We've got some questions about the death on Dungeness."

"Nothing to do with me. Now piss off."

He started to close the door, but Sally put one boot against it. Spate looked down.

"You got a warrant for that?"

"We don't need a warrant to make an arrest, Gerald."

"Arrest is it, now? Take your boot off my property or take me in. I've got a good lawyer, so you'll be wasting your sodding time."

"A lot depends on the charge, though, doesn't it?"

Spate's red-rimmed eyes sharpened slightly. "That's a smarter threat, girl. What have you got?"

"You're a waypoint for small-boat immigrants. Even if we can't prove it, I know quite a few vulture paparazzi. They'd love to crucify you for it in the Gaze; a good old Kent boy offering aid and comfort to the trafficking gangs."

Spate sucked air through his teeth. "Come in then. Bigger dicks than yours have swung over my front porch."

He stepped back and Sally entered.