Fatalis (15 page)

The voice had come from the cab. Gearhart walked over, followed by Danza. The sheriff was surprised that be could smell the rubber of the gloves over the scent of the fish. Then again, maybe he'd just gotten used to the stench. He could also smell the tart scent of the IS vapors being used to search for fingerprints. The vapors were a combination of iodine and superglue, which could be sprayed onto any surface, including blood. They coalesced quickly on prints and revealed more details than traditional powder.

The sheriff stepped up to portly team leader Thomas Gomez, who was on his knees in the sand, right outside the broken windshield. The three other members of his group were working through the open passenger's side door and on the other side of the shattered windshield. There was a gentle hum coming from inside the cab. Gomez had hooked a small battery pack to the air system and was blowing the contents of the vents into plastic bags. The bags had pinholes that allowed the air out but kept particles in. Sometimes pieces of skin, strands of hair, or fluid samples ended up in the bags.

"What have you got?" Gearhart asked.

"A very weird case," Thomas admitted. "Sheriff, did the victim have a dog?"

"I don't know," Gearhart admitted. "Why?"

"Because we've got what looks like fur stuck in the blood and floating from the air vents," the balding man replied. "There's also what looks like spittle in the grooves of the floor mat. It's thicker than drool from any dog or bobcat I've ever seen, though I'll have to check it against samples from rabid animals. If it matches, that would lead us in a whole different direction. I'd also put in calls to all the local zoos and animal preserves."

Gearhart pulled his cell phone and notepad from his jacket He was angry at himself for not having thought to ask about the dog. A lot of drivers traveled with dogs for companionship, protection, and to keep from having to put them in kennels. He checked his notes for Caroline Bennett's number and called. The woman had gone back to her office with a deputy to talk to the packers in the small warehouse, see if Glen Grey had seemed different from usual the night before. There was always the chance that he had to meet with someone on the road, maybe a drug dealer or someone who held a chit, possibly a gambling debt If so, he might have been anxious or depressed.

Gearhart was only on the phone for a few seconds. "The driver did not have a dog."

"Well, that does complicate things," Gomez said. "There was almost certainly a long-haired animal here at some point."

"Maybe he picked up a stray," Danza said.

"I doubt that," Gomez said.

"Why?" Gearhart asked.

"Because I haven't found any nose-painting on the pieces of glass," Gomez replied.

"Excuse me?" Danza said.

"You're not a dog owner," Gomez said.

"No."

"If a car window is closed, dogs often put their paws on the dashboard and their wet noses on the windshield," Gomez said. "So I'm betting this was a predator, possibly drawn by blood after the accident and possibly it was a bobcat-though if a carnivore
was
here, I also don't understand how it managed to get the victim out without leaving footprints in the blood. A bobcat can't just
pull
someone through a broken window."

"I know," Gearhart said He looked back across the smashed walls of the truck. "And an animal didn't cause those breaks."

"I also don't understand why there isn't a trace of the victim other than blood and a few strands of hair," Thomas went on. "A large boa constrictor could do that, but they don't have fur, they don't live here, and they leave slither marks, which pretty much rules that out. Like I said, it's a weird one. I'll know more after we get the fur and spittle samples over to the lab."

Gearhart nodded, then called Chief Deputy Daniel Mahoney, head of Support Services-as the sheriff's office floaters were known. The unit backed up all the other divisions. The sheriff told Mahoney to have one of his deputies check with the Santa Barbara Zoo and to call everyone in the database who might own or train big cats, wolves, Komodo dragons, or other predators, possibly for the movies. Gearhart wanted to make sure all the animals were accounted for. If no one picked up the phone or if Mahoney thought someone was not telling the truth-private owners occasionally lied to try to get their animals back before they were shot or confiscated-Gearhart told the chief deputy to send a car out. Mahoney said he'd have the answers before noon.

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.

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.

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?"

"Hannah, it's Caroline Bennett."

"CB, hi," Hannah turned toward the road, looked up at the mountains, tried to put Andrea from her mind at least for a moment. "Thanks for calling back."

"Sorry I couldn't talk before but I've been on the phone," Caroline said. "Plus there's a deputy with me. He's interviewing one of the packers now, so I was able to catch a break. It's been a bad morning."

"I know and I'm sorry," Hannah said. "I was hoping you could tell me what's going on. They've got the crash site sealed off and they won't even tell us if there's a body."

"You're asking the wrong person," Caroline said. "I don't know what the hell's going on."

"What do you mean?" Hannah asked. "You were here before."

"Yeah, and I didn't see much more," Caroline told her. "I came to the crash site. I stood on the road, I identified the truck, and then I was taken to a highway patrol car to answer questions about the driver."

"Weren't you asked to ID the driver?"

"No."

"Did you see him?"

Caroline said she did not.

"Then I'm not understanding this at all," Hannah said. "Who is the driver?"

"Hannah, I can't They'll know where it came from and Gearhart will give me and my drivers trouble-"

"I understand," Hannah said quickly. Screw Danza. She knew how to give a person room when they deserved it. "Can you tell me what kind of questions they asked you?"

"Routine stuff," Caroline told her. "The driver's background, who he hung out with, where be hung out, how long he was with us. The sheriff even wanted to know if he had a dog."