Fatalis

Chapter Thirty-Three

Sheriff Malcolm Gearhart crossed the dark, deserted beach like Douglas MacArthur returning to the Philippines. At least, that's how it seemed to Grand. The sheriff was still all stride and command, despite what had to have been a long and frustrating day.

Gearhart walked directly to the ranking highway-patrol officer. Sergeant Bonnie Crellin. Hannah was also hurrying across the sands, pulling her tape recorder from her handbag as she did.

Grand walked after her, his longer steps making up for her hurried pace. He hadn't been on the beach since Rebecca's death and, now that he had a moment to think about it, he absolutely didn't want to. Feeling the sand under the rippled soles of his boots, hearing the ocean so close-it was almost as though he could reach out blindly and she'd find his hand. He held and savored the moment until it became unsettling. Until that which had been so deeply fulfilling was followed by an almost unbearable sense of loss.

Grand needed to let Rebecca go, not just for his sake but for the sake of the here and now. He needed to focus on whatever was killing people. He continued the process Rebecca had started before-

He corrected himself. It was Hannah, he thought. Hannah had started the process, not Rebecca.

Grand continued the process of assuming that saber-tooths were alive and worked backward. The size of rib cages suggested the giant cats had remarkable lung capacity, which could be used for extended running but also for holding their breath underwater. Carrying off two hundred pounds of dead weight was also possible for them. Scarring from muscle attachments on fossils indicated that the animals had very strong neck and jaw muscles. That was presumed to be for accommodating their powerful biting and gutting ability-killing prey with a single, penetrating attack of the two fangs, then ripping up chunks of flesh for consumption. But what if the neck muscles were also used for hauling the dead prey off to dens? Gutting it later?

Then there'd be no sign of a victim, except for blood.

This part of Southern California was the heart of where Smilodon fatalis had lived, from the shore to the mountains and all the way down past Los Angeles. In addition to the killing style, the geology would certainly explain everything that had happened, from the disappearance of engineers Greene and Roche to the attack on the catamaran. Not only had the rains opened new tunnels, but many of the existing caverns opened into underwater grottos, formed over the millennia by the rise and fall of the sea.

Yet while so many things made sense, the notion itself was highly improbable, if not impossible. How could saber-toothed cats have remained hidden for so many years?

By living underground and eating wild animals.

But without a sighting?

His own words came back to him: Probably because no one who ever saw one lived to paint its picture.

Gearhart was talking to Sergeant Crellin. As Grand and Hannah neared, the reporter turned.

"I want to tell Gearhart what we've found out," she said as they walked. "Are you okay with that?"

"Sure."

"He may want answers more than he wants me to just disappear," Hannah said. "Maybe we can pool what we know."

Gearhart was turning away from Sergeant Crellin just as Hannah and Grand neared. The sergeant was instructing her men to break out the yellow tape and to admit only Gearhart's lab team. The sheriff glanced at Hannah and Grand, then started toward the wreckage of the catamaran.

Hannah caught up to him. "Sheriff, we need to talk."

"Ms. Hughes, this is now officially a crime scene."

"I know."

"You'll have to leave."

"I know the drill."

"But I would like copies of the pictures your photographer took," Gearhart went on. "He can drop them off at my office. You'll be reimbursed for his time and material."

"You can have copies on me. All I want to do is talk."

"There's nothing new about that."

"Sheriff, this is important," Grand said. "Give her a few minutes."

"I once asked you for something to help this town," Gearhart said. "You-the two of you-told me to piss off. You don't have the right to ask for a damn thing."

"We know things you don't," Grand said. "Things you need to know."

"Do I?"

"If you want to find who did this, yes," Grand said. "Your lab team wouldn't have run the same tests that I did."

"Such as?"

"Radiocarbon dating."

Gearhart looked from Grand to Hannah. He continued walking. "Talk," he said to her.

"As the professor said, we've been doing a little research on our own," Hannah told him. "Professor Grand was down in one of the caves this morning-the one where he found the engineer's flashlight-and he discovered something down there. Fur from a large predator."

"And?"

"It was from a big cat," Hannah replied. "Possibly the same one that attacked the fish truck."

Gearhart reached the shattered Hobie Cat. He squatted and looked at the gashes with his flashlight. "We're looking into that possibility."

"Not this possibility," Hannah said.

Gearhart looked up. "I'm listening."

"Without doing the carbon-14 test you wouldn't have thought to go to the same database we did to find a DNA match," Hannah said. "Sheriff, this is going to sound weird, but the fur comes from an animal that is supposed to have died out about eleven thousand years ago. I say 'supposed to' because the samples Professor Grand found came from a living creature. The spacing of the gashes on the catamaran and the size of the footprints in the sand seem to corroborate the identity of the animal."

"Which is?"

Hannah just blurted it out. "A saber-toothed tiger."

Gearhart didn't flinch or roll his eyes. He looked from Hannah to Grand. "Do you believe that?"

"Until a theory can be discounted I always keep an open mind," Grand told him.

"That isn't exactly an endorsement," Gearhart said.

"No. It's a possibility."

"But I notice that you're not dismissing it either," Hannah said. "Why, Sheriff?"

"Ms. Hughes, today I've listened to explanations ranging from UFO abductions to actors wearing movie monster makeup to people who change into tigers to attacks by angry Chumash spirits," Gearhart said.

"What makes you so sure there are no spirits?" Grand asked.

"I've received offers of help from psychics, exorcists, and even a lion tamer," Gearhart went on. "Now you're saying that prehistoric cats are using the beach as a litter box. Off the record, I don't believe any of it. But until I find who or what is responsible for the disappearance of these people, I'm going to listen to any respected professional."

"This isn't about ghosts and space aliens and you know it," she said. "Why didn't you dismiss the idea of these tigers?"

Gearhart excused himself and started toward the car. Hannah followed and Grand went after her.

"Why won't you talk to us?" Hannah demanded.

"Ms. Hughes, this is why I hate these little discussions. Because everything turns into a goddamn interview, a negotiation for information."

"But we can help!" she said.

"How?" Gearhart asked.

"Like we just did," she said. "Gathering information, talking to people-"

"Your kind of help can also cause panic," Gearhart said. "Or it can inform a perpetrator about what we're doing so he can plan his next crime."

"Animals can't read!" she said.

Before the sheriff could say anything else there was a call on the patrol car radio. Gearhart jogged over.

"Look," Hannah said to Grand. "The call is out of range of his personal radio." They hurried after him. "It's either from the mountains or another town. Something's up. I can feel it."

Gearhart reached the car, opened the door, and removed the handset from the console under the dashboard. "Gearhart here. Go," he said as he slipped into the vehicle and shut the door.

Hannah and Grand arrived a moment later. The car window was up and the voices were muffled inside. A moment later he started the engine and revved it. The voices were lost entirely.

The Wall had finished taking his pictures and ambled over. "Did he offer to put us in for a responsible-citizenship medal, being here before the critical evidence was obliterated?"

Hannah said nothing.

"Then the answer is no," the Wall said. "If nothing else you've got to admire Gearhart's consistency."

A moment later Gearhart turned on his flashing lights and drove off.

Hannah watched for a second and then ran toward Grand's SUV.

"Come on," she said. "Something's up."

Grand and Hannah got into the SUV and the Wall jumped into his Jeep.

"Let the Wall go first," Hannah said. "He's done this before. If we lose Gearhart he'll call me."

Grand obliged. After the Jeep rattled over the train tracks and sped after the patrol car, Grand set out. Meanwhile, Hannah had her phone out, ready to take the call.

As they followed the Wall back onto the 101 and then up into the foothills. Grand realized that he had gotten this all wrong.

It was Hannah who was Douglas MacArthur.