Gearhart put the phone away and went back to the cab. Danza excused herself to brief the press.

Though the sheriff had gone through the drill with Mahoney, he wasn't convinced that an animal had done this. Scavenged perhaps, but not killed or taken the driver. His gut told him this was a thrill-kill, as Danza had said.

In Vietnam and in Los Angeles, Gearhart had seen people do sadistic and bizarre things. Some of them were worse than this. Now, as then, he didn't spend time trying to understand why they did it. He tried to find evidence that pointed to who was responsible and where they might be now or the next day. And then, whether it was in a humid jungle or an overcrowded city, he did one thing more.

He made sure they didn't do it again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hannah Hughes wanted to tear someone's head off and throw it. Hard. Preferably Gearhart's, though the head of any bureaucrat would do. At the very least the reporter felt like tossing her small tape recorder into the banquet tent and running in after it.

Oops! Dropped it. Sorry.

What was the worst the sheriff could do. Arrest her? Gearhart wouldn't want to give her the publicity. But she was afraid that he'd bar her from other sites, so she behaved herself.

It was just before eight-thirty in the morning and a dozen reporters were packed into a small area ten feet from the tent on the north side of the beach. Sandbags and the breakwater kept them from getting closer on the other sides of the tent Hannah and the Wall had been on the beach since six-thirty, ever since Karen Orlando came in and happened to pick up the highway patrol radio report of the accident. Hannah wished she had the money to hire someone just to monitor all the police and fire department communications during the night. Then they could get a jump on stories like these. By the time they got here, the tent had already been raised and Gearhart had put out the DO NOT PASS GO tape. The only information reporters had been given was that a fish truck belonging to Bennett's Surf had gone off the road and that the driver was dead. Hannah had tried to reach Caroline Bennett several times on her cell phone, but the line had been busy. Hannah left messages for her to call back.

In the meantime, Hannah paced the small patch of beach between the tape and the breakwater. She looked at the area around the sunlit rocks, at the steamy road-the tread marks were light, indicating only a modest application of the brakes-at the sea. There were a pair of the sheriff's patrol boats near shore. That was unusual. They had to be part of the investigation, but why? Hannah was also disturbed by things she wasn't seeing and by the attitude of many of the reporters. Some of the print people had spent an expense-accounted night in Santa Barbara rather than go back to Los Angeles, Fresno, and Monterey. They were drinking coffee and earing croissants and apparently waiting for either the chance to photograph a colorful wreck or for something to break with the missing engineers. And that seemed to interest them only because it might involve blind thrusts. Freshly uncovered faults in Southern California were always newsworthy.

At eight-thirty, Andrea Danza finally came out to speak to the reporters. The woman had on her stern, official face, which meant she'd be giving tight-lipped, cautious answers to soften the bad news. Hannah had been down this road with her before. She wasn't in the mood for it.

Danza began the short "briefing," as she called it, by stating that highway patrol still didn't know what had caused the accident. The tires of the truck were intact but there was no information yet about the condition of the brakes, the steering, or other vehicle systems. Danza said that she was not authorized to release the name of the driver until his next of kin had been found and notified. She agreed to answer a few questions.

"Can you tell us anything we hadn't already figured out?" Hannah asked. Her frustration was showing. She didn't care.

Several of the reporters laughed.

"What would you like to know?" Danza asked.

"What do the police think caused the accident?" Hannah asked.

"That's still under investigation."

"Is there any speculation?" Hannah fired back. It was like Ping-Pong. She had to keep going until Danza missed.

"You know that we never speculate on situations of this nature," Danza replied.

"Was the driver drinking?"

"That has not yet been determined."

"Ms. Danza," said another reporter, "is there anything new on the missing engineers?"

"Sadly, no," she said. "That search has been expanded but nothing has turned up."

"Have there been ransom demands?" the report asked.

"No," said Danza.

"What are the patrol boats doing offshore?" Hannah asked.

"They're sweeping for contents of the cab that may have washed out with the tide," Danza replied.

"Was the driver alone?" another reporter asked. The way he asked implied something salacious.

"There is no one else in the truck at present and no evidence that anyone left it," Danza answered.

"It's been over two hours," Hannah said. "How long do you plan on leaving the body in the vehicle?"

That question caught Danza off-guard. Her pause, though momentary, surprised Hannah.

"Until the investigation is complete," Danza said.

"Shouldn't the coroner be involved with this investigation?" Hannah asked.

"By county law and policy, no," Danza replied. "It was the decision of Chief Traffic Investigator Idestrom of the highway patrol to treat this tragic incident as an accident. The CTI invited the sheriff's criminalistics team to work on the driver's remains, and their investigation had been in progress for over an hour. Unless Mr. Gomez and his group finds possible criminal cause and the crash site is turned over to Sheriff Gearhart, the coroner is not required to make an on-site evaluation. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"Has the criminalistics team found anything to suggest foul play?" Hannah asked. "A stab or bullet wound on the body? Could the driver have picked up a hitchhiker who got off before the truck-"

"It would be premature to comment on any of that while the investigation is ongoing."

"It wouldn't be premature to deny the existence of any marks," Hannah suggested.

"I'm sorry," Danza said, "but I'm not going to comment on any details of this investigation." She excused herself and began walking toward her car, which was parked up on the shoulder with the other cars.

This was bullshit. Hannah knew Andrea Danza and she knew when Danza was stonewalling. There was no ambulance here. No hearse. Two patrol boats were searching the coast Maybe they were looking for beer cans that might have floated from the cab-or maybe they were looking for something else.

Then it hit her.

"Madam Chairperson, is there a body in the truck?" Hannah asked.

The woman kept walking. Hannah was the only reporter who followed her as she opened the car door and got in.

"Ms. Danza, that's an easy question," Hannah pressed. "Can't you give me a yes or no? You said no when someone asked about ransom demands-"

The woman looked up at Hannah. "You don't know how to give a person room."

"For what, Andrea? Wiggling or lying?"

"Breathing," Danza said. "Right now, Ms. Hughes, I wouldn't answer if you asked whether the sun was shining."

"The body's missing, isn't it?" Hannah said. "That's why the coroner's not here."

Danza shut the door and started the car.

"Why are you keeping this from the people?" Hannah yelled as her phone beeped. "What's the problem here?"

Danza drove off. Snarling in frustration, Hannah fished the phone from the pocket of her windbreaker. "Hello?"