Chapter Thirty-Six

"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.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

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.