Page 89 of Slack Tide Kill

"Liam, it's OK," she protested. "We're OK."

He looked at her, then rubbed his eyes and turned away.

There was a glint from the water to the left, a sucking sound and a splash as Bledd pulled something from the water.

The shotgun. He lifted it with both hands, side-on. A double-barreled model, weeds and water streaming from the broken-open hinge, mud sliding off the stock. It looked old, ugly and all-too real.

For a long few seconds nobody spoke.

Then Liam's voice broke the stillness, flat and professional, "Shotgun recovered from the water. Yes. It was fired at our vehicle prior to collision. Three suspects have been detained. We need firearms, CSI, several ambulances and a supervisor now."

Sally turned back to him. He was on his phone, facing away.

Across the field, the sirens bleeped and cut out on the road. Figures exited and somebody shouted, looked like Sergeant Simms.

"Are you all right?"

"Get DCI Mayhew," Sally called back.

Arthur Bledd walked over and rested the shotgun at her feet. He seemed untouched by any of this. Muddy, wet, disheveled, but then he'd been all those things before too.

"They'll try and nail you for that," he said softly. "Stand your ground, Rogers. You did the only thing you could. A brave thing." He rested one hand on her shoulder, then pointed at the sewer. "I'm just going to collect some of this rubbish, before your lot tape it all off."

He slid easily back into the water and began fishing for crisp packets, leaving Sally just staring.

Figures were already jogging over the grass toward them. More vehicles pulled up nearby, an ambulance, and the paramedics extracted a stretcher from the back and sprinted across the grass. Sally recognized John Logan. He glanced at her as he came closer.

"Damaged wrist," she said, pointing at Roarke Rook. "Might be broken. But he's dangerous."

"We know what we're doing," Logan said, dropping in behind Rook.

The first wave of officers arrived like a tide. She set them to watching over the Rooks and establishing a perimeter. In moments DCI Mayhew came running from a patrol car, greatcoat flapping. CSM Akilota hurried alongside her.

Sally's body went weak, now she could hand over responsibility. It took everything she had to stay on her feet.

Things moved quickly after that; a series of moments where Sally felt like the skipping needle of a broken record player, jumping tracks. Mayhew barking orders; Akilota telling Bledd to get out of the water; the rogue halves of the Rooks' boat being secured. At one point a firearms officer edged up and collected the shotgun.

"That's fine," Sally found herself saying numbly.

Then DCI Mayhew was in front of her, barely two feet away but somehow distant, as if there was a great gulf between them.

"Talk me through this, Officer Rogers," she said, her tone cold and bright.

Sally explained as best she could. A preliminary statement. The race across the field. Roarke Rook firing on them. The decision to ram the boat. Mayhew nodded then probed.

"You're telling me you did not leave the road and enter the field with the intention to assault the boat directly?"

Sally's lips moved. By the banks, DI Gemmell was running the same debrief with Liam. One more officer stood by the sewer, PC Hawlin, trying to get Arthur Bledd out of the water. He eventually came, arms brimming with trash.

"What?" Sally asked.

Mayhew repeated the question. Now Roarke Rook was shouting for his lawyer.

"No, of course not," Sally murmured. She knew this feeling, could recognize it even from within. Dissociation. An effect of shock and trauma. Knowing that didn't clear any of the fog from her head. "I wanted to, uh, head them off."

"And then Roarke Rook fired?"

She nodded numbly.