Fatalis

Chapter Fifty-Two

Gearhart's radio beeped as the sheriff watched the chopper take off. He switched it on. "Gearhart-"

"Sheriff, I think I've got one of them." Special Officer Lyon told him.

"Where?"

"Where the Santa Ynez River and Agua Caliente Canyon meet," Lyon said. "There's a drain with a sinkhole about a hundred feet away. It looks like what Grand said-big sonofabitch."

"Do you have a clear shot?"

"Not really-there's a lot of tree cover."

"Where's the second one?"

"I don't see it yet," Lyon said.

"I want to get them both, now," Gearhart said. "Is there some way you can keep either of them from going into the sinkhole?"

"I can try firing on either side," Lyon said, "keep it out in the open. Or I can go down-"

"No," Gearhart barked. "Keep your distance. Take them out if you can-I'm going to get a highway patrol chopper to take me over. I'll meet you there with a team."

There was no answer.

"Lyon, do you read me?"

"Yes, sir," Lyon said.

"I'll get back to you," the sheriff said and signed off.

Gearhart immediately radioed his nighttime communications officer and asked him to patch through a call to Assistant Commissioner Lauer at home. Lauer was head of the highway patrol's field operations, which oversaw the Office of Air Operations. When Gearhart needed an additional fixed-wing plane or helicopter fast, that was the man he went to. The California Highway Patrol had larger, longer-range choppers than the sheriff's own hill-and-beach sweepers. That was what he wanted now.

Gearhart explained that they had their "animal killer" in sight and needed to airlift personnel to the site. He asked Lauer to have the chopper pick up his sharpshooters at the sheriff's office, then collect him and head on to Lyon's position. Since there was a CHP pilot on duty at all times, Lauer told Gearhart that he'd have the helicopter at the office parking lot in under ten minutes and at the sheriff's position five minutes after that.

Gearhart thanked him.

The sheriff briefed Lyon, who said that he thought he saw the second cat in the conduit. There was a clearing between the pipe opening and the sinkhole. With a little luck, he felt he could pick at least one of them off as it passed through, then hold the other one.

"There may not be anything left for you to do when you get here except to mop up," Lyon told him.

"I'll settle for that as long as you're careful," Gearhart told him. "This isn't a freakin' movie set-there are no safety rigs."

Lyon promised he would be very careful.

Gearhart clicked off then made one more call. It was to Thomas Gomez. The forensics scientist was en route from the beach to the campsite. The sheriff ordered the lab team to divert from there to the blockhouse. He wanted them to positively ID the remains at the site. Gomez complained that he and his team were exhausted but said they'd be right up.

Gearhart put the radio back in its loop. He made a fist and shook it tightly at his side. This wasn't going to get away from him. He had good people in the field and on the way. And though he was furious that these killings had transpired in his community, on his watch, he was nearly at the end of this ordeal. He would display the dead carcasses of the animals and the people who counted on him would understand that while they probably couldn't have prevented this, it could have been far, far worse.

All Gearhart had to do now, he hoped, was the thing he hated most.

To wait.