Water's Edge

Chapter XXXIV

Absolutely Nothing To Go On

There was nowhere to park Zee outside The Marsh & Bottle, but I wanted to settle down with a half before engaging with the mystery address, the pen, the ink. The half pint appeared before I even ordered it, and I must have scowled a little for Lucy tutted and left me with it: it wasn't her, I liked being remembered. It had just become an old curse that the strangest public houses became my haunts when I preferred something a bit more lonely. How did it go? In Gatsby? I feel more intimate with loads of people around, or some bollocks—

I was using the free time to think of anything but the task at hand. I'd have to go to London, which scared the shit out of me to be frank. All the journo's came out of the London. I just hoped Viv had got my message in a glance and would come with any information to help me. I was technically off this case, I could feel it, but I had checked my phone in the car (bad boy, I know) and I was still getting paid by Edith so I had to keep going.

My gut said it wasn't Wren. It wasn't their people. It was something else. Something altogether more sinister. The key was whatever this journalist was working on. If I find that, I find the rest.

It all orbited Thursday nights, and whatever corners they were cutting.

My thought was cut short when Viv arrived. I sighed in relief. In her hand was a slip of paper folded up tightly. She came over and didn't bother to sit, smelling of formaldehyde and cheap perfume, "Spectator."

"Oh fuck, really?"

"Yeah." She handed me the paper and I opened it up, "We checked pockets, and this was tucked in deep. He's a recent addition to our throne." How morbid she was.

I looked at the address; definitely an editor of The Spectator, London's premier news outlet in print. It could not have made the trip any better, but this certainly made a jaunt to London worse. I hated London.

I looked up at her, downed the half, stood uncomfortably as I retrieved a fag, "What do you think is going on, Handsome?"

She did a small shrug, "It ain't Wren and the hippies, I can tell you that for sure."

"Yeah?"

"I mean, no fibres or anything. No CCTV I imagine either?" I shook my head. Wherever they drowned it was far away from any prying eyes, digital or otherwise, "The water just washes most of it away, from these traces of ink. Some in weird places, back of the neck. But they're in grimy water. I think we're clutching at straws to be honest."

I headed for the exit, and Viv thanked Lucy for me by paying. I hadn't noticed until I got outside. I was in my own head, and Viv seemed to understand that and give me room to play the thoughts out, no matter how dreary they were, "I'm working on nothing. Everyone has an alibi, everyone is a suspect. All the victims don't add up. Is it pro-dam, or anti-dam. Is it anything to do with the fucking dam?"

Viv smiled and I wondered why. My scowl must have told her so, "Calm your tits." She said and angled me towards Zee, "The answer will be right under our noses."

"It always is when you figure out what it is." I said as I turned the engine over, "That's why you've figured it out."

"It isn't the hippies."

"I should be off the clock."

"Yeah?"

"Edith is still paying."

"Then make your money's worth."

She tapped the roof of the car. I didn't pull off immediately but I growled the motor; it sounded how I felt. I wanted to just let it go, accept the will of the thin blue line. But it had missed the mark, aimed for the bullseye and hit a bull. It all sounded right, but nothing felt OK. I growled again, and saw Viv had been watching the whole time. Was that sympathy?

Fuck it. I was a dog with a bone. And I hate bones.