“But why would one of the townspeople attack Neil?” Bob asks.
“Why would anyone send threatening e-mails to warn Martin not to return? Then go through additional steps to sabotage this search before it ever began?”
Martin finally manages a shrug in answer to all these questions. Then he returns his undivided attention to the circle of stones. I focus on Bob, who seems to be the only other functional adult.
“Was Devil’s Canyon always the target of this year’s expedition?” I ask him.
He nods.
“And how many people know that?”
“It’s public knowledge. Nemeth filed the paperwork requesting permission months ago. It’s a matter of protocol when leading an expedition into a wilderness area. Lets district rangers know what’s going on. Also, the permit can be used to launch rescue efforts if your party doesn’t return after the listed timeframe.”
“In other words, plenty of people would know.” I pause. “Five years later, Martin’s efforts aren’t a new variable, right? And he’s never gotten threatening messages before.”
“No.”
“Then it’s gotta be this area. That’s what’s new. Devil’s Canyon itself. Someone doesn’t want outsiders here.”
Bob remains thoughtful. “Nemeth said this area wasn’t well trafficked but that other hikers do pass through. What would make our presence so special?”
“We’re not passing through,” I guess. “We’re staying and searching. And we brought a cadaver dog.”
“But attacking us would only bring more attention and people into this canyon.”
“Unless Neil wasn’t supposed to end up incapacitated. More like wounded enough we’d have to abort our efforts and return to civilization. Same with stealing our food. Further motivation for us to depart.”
“Except Neil can’t hike out. Most of us stayed, and the two other members of our party are now summoning the cavalry. That doesn’t bode well for our attacker’s mission.”
I gaze at him with troubled eyes. “Or it doesn’t bode well for us.”
“What do you mean—” Bob stops himself, arriving at the answer before he finishes asking the question. “You’re worried now the person will have to grow more serious, get rid of us once and for all.”
“I wish this canyon could talk,” I say quietly.
“Me, too.” Bob nods slowly. Then: “I think we should get back to the others now.”
“Agreed.”
We both turn toward Martin. Then our real work begins.
* * *
—
Martin doesn’t argue, but neither does he agree. He pretends to listen but doesn’t appear to register any of our words.
I understand grief. I’ve witnessed its ravages before, felt its sharp teeth myself. I still don’t know what to do with Martin’s silent surrender. He’s gone from totally obsessed to completely shut down. I’m not sure which is worse.
In the end, Bob gives up on discussion, goes with a command. “You have twenty minutes,” he informs the man. “Then we’re leaving. All of us. Even you.”
Bob walks off, heading deeper into the cave to give Martin some space. I follow after him. The ceiling slopes down the farther away from the opening we get. There’s still plenty of distance before Bob has to duck.
We curve around slightly, then approach what appears to be the end, where the cave narrows down into a den-like space not so different from my domed tent. There’s another, smaller campfire that’s been built here. I peer behind us, just making out a piece of the vast opening where Martin still sits. Living room, I think. Making this the bedroom.
With two sources of heat, this place would feel cozy even as the temperatures plummeted. Had that given comfort to its inhabitant—say, Timothy O’Day—before the first winter storm arrived and buried all his available firewood in feet of snow?
“What have you found?” I ask Bob quietly.
“Just this. Someone’s clearly camped out here. But who? When?” Bob shrugs. “Marty has his symmetrical-stone theory. Believes it’s proof it was Tim. But I’ve been all through the cave, as well as the area outside of it. I can’t find any traces of Tim’s pack, gear, clothing. There’s also no sign of bedding.”
“I thought Tim didn’t have his sleeping bag or tent.”
“No, bush-craft bedding. A layer of harvested moss, or a mat of thin pine boughs. If Tim stayed here for the long run, he’d want something other than stone to sleep on, and not just for comfort, but for insulation as well.”