Fatalis (24 page)

"I'm here," said the small voice.

It came from a bath suite in the back. Grand hurried over. The door was shut. He didn't know if it was locked, but he didn't want to open it. Not if the girl was hiding from something. He knocked.

"Are you in there?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"Uh-uh."

"May I come in?"

"Where's my dad and mom?"

"We're looking for them," Grand said softly. "But we found you. My name is Jim. Could we talk just a little?"

"It was here," said the voice.

"What was?"

"The lion."

Grand felt his bowels tighten.

Gearhart arrived.

"Where was the lion?" Grand asked.

"It was outside and then it was on the roof."

"Well, it's gone now. Listen," Grand said carefully, "I've told you my name. It's Jim. Remember?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Eugenie."

"Eugenie? That's a
very
pretty name."

"And my rabbit's name is Blankie. But he lost his head when I was running."

"He did? Well guess what, Eugenie."

"What?"

"Blankie's head is out here. And if you open the door, there's this very nice man, Sheriff Gearhart, who will be happy to put Blankie's head back on his body."

The girl was silent again.

"Eugenie, are you all right?"

"Yes," she said after a moment. "I was just looking."

Grand felt a chill. "At what?"

She didn't answer.

"I've had enough of this," Gearhart said. He moved close to Grand. "Open the door. Whoever did this is getting farther away and she's our only witness."

"Sheriff, this girl is scared," Grand said. "She says she saw a lion. There's something else in there. You startle her and she may not want to talk at all." Grand took a breath and knocked softly on the door. "Eugenie?"

"Yes?"

"The sheriff would really like to fix Blankie. And maybe there's something you'd like. A snack?"

"I'd like my mom."

"Okay. How about you come out, tell the sheriff a little about what happened. Then maybe we can see where your mom went."

The girl was silent again. A moment later they heard clumping; it sounded as if she was walking in the shower or tub. Then there was a click and the door handle turned. A small, red-haired girl stood in the open door, a headless bunny tucked under her arm.

Grand smiled and crouched in front of her.

"Hi, Eugenie," he said. "I'm Jim Grand."

"Hi."

"And this is Sheriff Gearhart," he said, pointing up.

"Hi," the girl said.

Gearhart half-smiled.

"Now," Grand said, "if you go with the sheriff, he'll take you to Blankie's head. And maybe the three of you can sit down and talk."

Eugenie looked from the sheriff's face to his gun. "Okay," she said. "You go first, Mr. Sheriff."

Gearhart turned and left the bedroom. Eugenie was close behind him. She turned and looked at Grand before leaving the bedroom. She tried to smile but it stopped short of her eyes. They were guarded.

Grand smiled back. When she was gone, the smile faded and he looked into the bathroom. It was a small, brightly lighted room with oak-panel cabinets and a garden tub. There were pieces of cotton in the tub; stuffing from Blankie, he guessed. She must have been huddled there. He couldn't imagine what she was looking at until he looked up.

There was an oblong skydome over the tub. Ordinarily the stars would be visible, but not tonight.

Tonight, the sky was red.

"Professor, you didn't know who or what was in that camper," Gearhart snapped. "You could have caused that girl's death and your own by going inside." The sheriff glanced at Hannah Hughes. "
This
is why I take control of a site when I get there."

"He helped you," Hannah said.

"He slowed me down," Gearhart said.

Grand and Gearhart were standing beside Grand's SUV, at the foot of a high slope. Hannah and the Wall were standing behind Grand. A helicopter hovered over the light, illuminating the grounds. In front of them, newly arrived deputies sealed off the campgrounds and examined the blood-covered tops of several of the vans. As in the truck crash, blood was all that remained of the victims. To the north, in the picnic area, an emergency medical team and trauma counselor examined Eugenie at a park table.

"I want the three of you out of here, now," Gearhart said.

"She said she saw a lion," Grand said quietly.

Gearhart looked at him. "Man, you know how to push but not to listen. She
thinks
she saw a lion."

"Sheriff," Grand replied evenly, "something scared that little girl enough to cause her to hide in the smallest place in the smallest room of that camper and to stay there."

"She also thinks her stuffed rabbit is alive," Gearhart said. "She has an imagination."

"Having an imagination doesn't mean the girl was using it," Hannah pointed out.

"She was eating dinner when this happened," Gearhart said sharply. "The drapes are neatly drawn. She wasn't looking outside."

"But she could hear. Maybe she heard something near the door and went to check it out. The door closes by itself. She could have opened it, seen something, and run."

"It was dark," Gearhart said. "And there are no footprints."

"The cat could have been on the tops of the campers," Grand said.

"If there
was
a cat."

"There was definitely something there," Grand said. "That's where the blood is. The scratch on the wall of the fifth wheeler is pretty high-it could have happened when a big cat reached down."

"Could have," Gearhart said. "That scratch could also be an old one. And there are at least eight people missing. Why would a lion take them all? No, Professor Grand. Only the girl knows what she really saw, if anything, and my people will find out what that was. Even then, until the evidence-
evidence
-tells us otherwise, there is no lion."

"Barring a lion then," Hannah said, "what do you make of this?"

"It's under investigation," he replied and walked away.

Grand, Hannah, and the Wall stood there silently under the clear, cool sky. A brisk wind was blowing from the southwest and riding up the hill. Grand looked to the north, along the steep slope. He still had a feeling that something was out here, beyond the reach of the lights. Something- the only word that came to mind was
unhealthy
.

"Do you guys really think there's a lion running around up here?" the Wall asked.

"It's possible," Hannah said.

"You know, I'm wondering," Grand said.

"About what?" Hannah asked.

"The killer apparently fed at the beach. There was no reason to attack the campsite."

"There's an 'unless' in your voice."

Grand nodded. "Unless the gunshots came first. Maybe the cat was walking past here after leaving the beach. It could have been carrying a body. Maybe someone saw it and opened fire."

"I like that," Hannah said. "It could have been headed to another cave."

Grand nodded. "Let's move the cars and do a little climbing."

"Where?" Hannah asked.

Grand pointed to where the edge of the spotlight from the helicopter barely illuminated a section of the slope.

"See the boulders up there?" Grand said. "About a hundred feet up, just past the light?"

"Yeah-"

"Look right above them," Grand said.

"I see what looks like a shallow ditch there," Hannah said.

"It's not a ditch," Grand said. "It's a slide path. When large rocks become dislodged from higher elevations they slip down the mountainside leaving gouges or ruts."

"And?" Hannah asked.

Grand said, "That's how I've found most of the new caves up here."

Hannah looked at him. "Let's go," she said as she climbed into the SUV.

Grand and the Wall drove their vehicles out of the campsite and back onto Pendola Road. They pulled off on the nearest shoulder where Grand took out the flashlight and started up the slope. The Wall followed with his own flashlight and cameras.

Hannah was scared but excited. She felt the way she did just living in Southern California, where the earth could shift and cause the seas to swell over Santa Barbara or the mountains to rain down. Only more so. If they were right and Gearhart were wrong, there wasn't going to be a doorway where they could hide or high ground they could run to.

Though Hannah had to be cautious and conservative in print, she refused to embrace Gearhart's parochial view of what was happening here. Not just because it was Gearhart's view but because Hannah had learned-in these hills, in fact;-that nature could surprise you.

When she'd first moved to Southern California, the young woman had come up to this very place. Because she was such a beach baby she
had
to see the sea at dawn from someplace high. So she'd climbed up one of these hills, and as the sun rose behind her she looked out at the ocean. It was whitecapped and green and filled the world to its ends. The hills smelled of the sea and she felt safe. It was a spectacular experience. But what was most unforgettable about that morning was that when she started back down the mountain she happened upon a field where monarch butterflies were hatching. There were thousands of them with their brown wings, dark veins, and matte-black borders with white spots. Some soared with the joy of new flight, some rested. But the wings of each one were moving, catching the light, changing from moment to moment. The sense of safety was replaced by a sense of fragility, her individual life less important than the awesome cycle she was witnessing. She felt less permanent than a butterfly's wings.

Right now she felt even less permanent than that. Not just from the possible danger but from the exertion of the past few days. The young woman's ankles began to hurt almost at once from pushing her heels into the soft earth. But she wasn't going to let that slow her down.

Grand had told them not to speak. The wind was moving up the mountain. An animal would smell them but a human wouldn't. A human would have to hear them.

"Unless, of course, we've got to phone him for help," the Wall said.

Grand had said he was going to lead the group around the side of the mountain as they climbed. He said he wanted to bring them back on the camp side just above the helicopter searchlight. He didn't want Gearhart seeing them and calling them back.

They made their way up the steep mountainside, Hannah in the middle. She could tell the Wall was unusually anxious. They weren't going up to track the killer, and none of them expected that he or it would still be there. They were only going up to look for more footprints or fur samples. But Hannah didn't blame the Wall for his anxiety. She was usually so determined to get her story that she bulldogged ahead without always factoring in all the what ifs. That was how she'd almost burned to death at the wharf fire, trying to talk to fire fighters on the line. And he'd had to pull her from a sea cliff that was collapsing in Goleta during the storms of 1997. She'd wanted to know what it was like to be banged around by winds and rain. In addition to taking pictures, it was the Wall's job to reign Hannah in.

The mountainside was alternately rocky and muddy, with thick grasses in some places and none in others, steep inclines in spots and gentle slopes in others. The first and last time Hannah had been up here it wasn't the rainy season, which made a big difference. It also wasn't nighttime then, where every
click, hooo
, and
crunch
wasn't a potential danger. When the wind was refreshing and not a gentle betrayer.

As they climbed, Hannah watched Grand in the glow of the Wall's flashlight. The scientist moved with such poise and balance that it was suddenly difficult to picture him sitting still in a chair back in that small room at the university. Yet he had seemed at home there too. Also when he was wisecracking about Gearhart running for governor.

Outer and inner strength, humor, and intelligence
, Hannah thought. And from the way Grand smiled each time he mentioned her name, still very much in love with his late wife.

Hannah had never met anyone quite like him. She felt safe around him, something she'd never felt around Sheriff Gearhart.

They continued up and around the slope, sometimes ascending so steeply that they were literally on their hands and knees going up. As they climbed, Grand occasionally pocketed large, flat stones. She was curious about them but didn't want to talk and break her concentration on the climb.

Eventually they saw the edge of the spotlight. There was enough light spilling over so they could see, and Grand had them shut off their flashlights so that they wouldn't be noticed from the ground or, possibly, from whatever was above. Then he led them around the arc, toward the slide path. It was interesting feeling her way: Her other senses truly did compensate for not being able to see as well, her sense of touch in particular. She was much more aware of the stability, texture, and even the temperature of each rock or ledge or tree trunk she used to climb.

The air was cooler and the wind nippier as they ascended. Hannah could see the moon-speckled ocean in the distance, the white clouds, the stars, the misty lights of Santa Barbara.

They passed the boulders and followed the slide path straight up.

Suddenly, Grand stopped and pointed ahead. "Look."

About forty or fifty feet up the mountain leveled off. It was as though a massive piece had been sliced from the top. A forest of oaks had grown there, the outermost trees slanting sharply outward, bent and shoved but not dislodged by decades of rain. The slide path started at the edge of those woods, bounded on both sides by boulders that hadn't come free. They were too low to see whether or not there was an opening.