Grand placed the samples in a plastic bag, then looked closely at the other outcroppings. There were hairs caught in several other stalagmites as well. A dog or a coyote or a mountain lion could have been washed down here. They might have been caught in the sinkhole at the creek. But unless the water had been much higher down here, he couldn't imagine how the hair had gotten stuck three and four feet from the floor.
Grand had intended to spend time in and around this passageway measuring the icons, taking a few low-light video images, trying to see the designs fresh by looking at them from different perspectives: from the middle and bottom of the passageway, from the far end of both caves, and lying flat on his back in the center of the tunnel. He had planned to explore the extremely steep, narrow, twisting tunnel that led from the small cave to who-knew-what below. He had wanted to run the video camera around the lower chamber so he could study the site later, maybe share it with Dr. Thorpe.
But now he had another mystery and he had to get this one into the lab. For the one truism of science was never to let too many mysteries collect. Knowledge can't be built on leaps of faith.
The scientist took a moment to scrape mineral samples from the cavern walls. He used the edge of a small blade from his Swiss Army knife. Then he carefully brushed the rock fragments into a plastic bag. He would also bring those back to the university for analysis, see what had caused the discoloration and how long the non-native minerals had been present in the rock.
Grand exited the cave, then checked his watch before he began packing his gear. He would have just enough time to get the samples to the various university laboratories before teaching his class. He was looking forward to getting back in front of students. It was an enforced break, a time to clear his head. It was also a place to get a new perspective. Going back to basics always helped him to see things fresh.
With his finds safely stored, Grand left the cavern.
Behind him, the darkness was still, silent, and absolute.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hannah loathed and detested the bullshit article she wrote about the truck crash. The reporter didn't usually react that strongly to her work, not only because the topics weren't particularly controversial but because the stories tended to have a resolution by the time she wrote about them. An election. A race. A fire. But the mystery of the missing engineers and the dead driver was still ongoing.
What bothered her most was that she felt that she was misleading the public. It was probably like writing for Pravda under the Communists, but it was her own damn newspaper. Journalistic integrity kept her from saying what she really thought, that Sheriff Gearhart and Andrea Danza were hiding something and that the situation at Painted Cave and on the beach might be related.
Hannah was also frustrated that she hadn't been able to reach Jim Grand. She had left a voice-mail message at the office and at his home. When he didn't call back and her deadline neared, she rang the anthropology department at the university and asked if he had a cell-phone number. She was told that he didn't have a mobile phone.
"The signals don't reach the caves he explores," said an assistant.
She had wanted to talk to him for that day's edition. The sheriff and his people were busy searching the hills. But Hannah wanted to know if any of the mountain caverns might reach from the Painted Cave sinkhole to the beach where the Bennett's Surf truck was found.
Having no cell phone wasn't going to help her do that. Hannah thought of asking Dr. Thorpe, but she didn't want Caltrans and Sheriff Gearhart to know what she was thinking. She had a feeling Gearhart's supply of crime-scene tape could cover most of the Santa Ynez Mountains. She also considered asking her friend Allen Daab, a traffic reporter for Los Angeles 's number-one radio station, to take his chopper on a pass over the mountains and try to spot Jim Grand's SUV. But even if Daab agreed to do it, Hannah wouldn't have had time to drive up there and search the caves for the scientist.
All of which left her in a very pissy mood. Even the sun finally coming through the big cathedral window of her brick-walled office didn't cheer her. It warmed the room, lit up the wall-framed photographs of her family, gleamed off the plaques she'd won for college journalism and community service and editorial contributions she'd made to local business leagues. Even the plants on the shelves seemed happier. But not her.
She sat at her desk and glared at her computer monitor and reread the article she had written on the Caltrans engineers. It wasn't so much a story as an update: how many people were involved in the search and how it had expanded. The families had refused to talk to her and Caltrans had nothing to add to their upbeat bullshit statement that they were still hoping for a successful resolution to the situation. She reread the article she had written about the fish truck accident. It told where the crash had occurred and what kind of truck was involved, but not who was driving, why the accident might have happened, and where the goddamned body was. What kind of newspaper was she running if she couldn't get basic information like that? A shitty one, obviously.
The missing body thing annoyed her most of all. Not just the mystery but because Hannah couldn't even say the body was missing. Never mind a lawsuit from the driver's family for pain and suffering if she was wrong. She didn't like being wrong, especially not in print.
Shortly before filing the story she decided to give Grand's office one more try. To her surprise, he picked up.
"Professor!" she said.
"Yes?"
"This is Hannah Hughes."
"Ms. Hughes, hello," Grand said. "I was just listening to your third message-"
"Yes, I'm sorry about all those," she said, "but I really need to talk to you. Actually, I needed to talk to you about an hour ago, but now will do if you have a minute."
"All right," he said. "Unfortunately, I only have about one minute."
"I'll talk fast," she said. "Here's the thing, Professor. Did you hear about the truck crash this morning outside of Montecito?"
"No. I've been in a cave all morning. What happened?"
"A fish truck went off the road and I think the driver's missing. No one's being allowed near the truck, so I can't say for sure. But if it's true, and if it's connected to the disappearance of the engineers, it could be a big story. What I need to know is this. Is it possible that the caves, tunnels, and sinkholes connect the Painted Cave region with the foothills near the beach in Montecito?"
"Sure, it's possible," Grand said. "In one way or another all the underground systems are connected, from Baja California to Alaska, both over the land and under the sea."
"Great. I just want to make sure-we're not talking metaphysics, here?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You know, like in the East. That all things are connected throughout the universe."
"No, we're not," Grand said. "Though I don't repudiate those beliefs."
"Of course not Do you know of any direct routes from the place where we were to the beach?"
"Not offhand," Grand replied. "I'd have to look up some of the geologic charts-"
"Could you?" Hannah said.
"You mean now?"
"Please."
"Ms. Hughes, I've got work to finish up and then a class to teach."
"Hannah. And I'll call you Jim. Look, I know this is an imposition, but it's very important."