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  “Your husband never made that call, did he, Mrs. Cardwell?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any idea of the person he was referring to?”

  “I’m sorry, no.”

  Ron sighed. “Mrs. Cardwell, would you please send me a copy of that letter?”

  “The whole thing?”

  “Yes, please.” Ron heard the woman start to cry. “Mrs. Cardwell?”

  “I’m sorry.” She paused to compose herself. “I was just concerned that people might see that Isaac wrote how much he loved me. But after the whole world has seen the horrible way he died, why should that bother me?”

  Ron couldn’t answer her.

  Lauren Gosden hadn’t been able to follow her husband’s instructions and keep their son, Danny, at home. She had to go to work. When you were a surgical nurse and you were scheduled to assist on a bowel resection for a colitis patient, you just didn’t call in and tell the patient and the surgeon to cool their heels until you could make it. Mountain lion or not, they wouldn’t understand.

  Neither would Lauren if she were in their place. Still, she couldn’t get angry with Oliver. He was just being a loving father and husband. His first thought was to protect the people he loved most, and Lauren loved him for that. Even so, she and Danny left the house, looking both ways before stepping outside, and made it safely to Community Hospital.

  Lauren’s first stop was the hospital’s day care center, the Sunshine Ward. The facility provided a safe, clean, home-like environment; the staff was well trained and entirely dedicated. Nobody who worked at the hospital ever had a concern about leaving her kids in the Sunshine Ward.

  But when Lauren walked in with Danny that morning there was an unfamiliar feeling, an almost frightening chill in the air. At first, Lauren noticed nothing outwardly wrong, and then she recognized, to her great dismay, what had disturbed her. The kids had been divided — segregated — into two clusters: white and others.

  The white kids made up the far larger group simply because most of the people who lived in town and worked at the hospital were white. The four black, two Latino and two Asian children were tightly bunched around Allison Page, the Sunshine Ward’s director. Five year old Patrice Williamson was crying her heart out to Allison.

  Lauren’s heart almost burst with pride when Danny instinctively walked right up to the distraught little girl and protectively put his arm around her shoulders.

  Allison turned and saw Lauren and the concerned expression on her face. The day care director said, “Give me a minute and we’ll talk.”

  Lauren backed off and looked at the other group. Three other staff members were talking to the white kids in hushed tones. A number of the children in this group were shaking their heads in response to what they were being told. But Shane Watrous, a six year old friend of Danny’s, whom Lauren had reassured by being present at his tonsillectomy, saw her and waved happily.

  Lauren waved back. Then Allison Page touched her arm and gestured her over to a quiet corner.

  “What in the world is going on?” Lauren asked the day care director.

  “A problem has come up. A serious one, I’m afraid. A number of the white children have been told by their parents not to play with the black children.”

  “What?” Lauren couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

  “Have you heard about the attack this morning?”

  “Just that my husband called and told me to keep Danny home.”

  Allison gave Lauren the details of the Castlewood attack, and told her there had been another the previous night.

  “I didn’t know about that. This is getting really scary.”

  “In more ways than one,” Allison said. “The ER staff who treated Warden Marsden started talking about what happened last night. Pretty soon it was all over the hospital … and more than a few people, I’ve heard, started speaking harshly about Mahalia Cardwell. Asking who was she to put a curse on them and the town. They hadn’t killed her grandson. They hadn’t hurt black people. They weren’t bigots.”

  “But by this morning all those open-minded folks had already told their kids not to play with the black children,” Lauren said, understanding the situation now.

  “Not all, but far too many. Then the kids started talking. And when Jenny Wright told Patrice she couldn’t be her friend any more because she’s black, it broke Patrice’s heart.”

  “Goddamnit,” Lauren said.

  “Exactly.” Allison sighed.

  Lauren felt two small arms go around her leg. Looking down, she saw Shane Watrous give her a gap-toothed grin. She ruffled his hair … just before her son stormed up and shoved the white boy away from his mother, knocking him down.

  “Daniel Gosden!” Lauren scolded fiercely. She’d never in his young life struck her son, but she was sorely tempted right now.

  “He’s white,” Daniel accused.

  “So are your grandparents,” his mother reminded him sternly.

  Allison had knelt next to Shane to comfort him, but when the boy saw Danny Gosden continuing to glare down at him, he broke into tears.

  That did it. Lauren took her son by his ear, the one she intended to fill with a lecture he’d never forget. She told Allison, “I’ll take care of this one. You and Shane can expect a heartfelt apology very shortly.”

  The day care director looked up at Lauren.

  “I’m trying to figure out a time when as many parents as possible can attend an emergency meeting. We can’t allow this to continue.”

  “No, we certainly can’t,” Lauren agreed.

  Chapter 40

  Media creatures of every size, shape and job description were still pouring into Civic Auditorium as Clay stood at the lectern waiting to address them. Finally, the doors at the rear of the room closed, everybody got settled and Annie Stratton cued the cameraman who would provide the live television feed to the town. The red light came on.

  “Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Clay began. “I have some serious matters to discuss with everyone this morning. It is my duty to tell you that there have been two more mountain lion attacks, one yesterday evening and another this morning.”

  The mayor provided the details of each incident as the throng of reporters penned their notes and held their recorders high to capture every word. Clay thought he saw relief in the faces of most of the audience that there had been no fatalities, but here and there in the crowd he saw expressions that came close to disappointment.

  Clay continued, “The state has assured me that additional game wardens will be sent to join in the hunt as soon as possible. Also, efforts are being made to locate and contract with a qualified houndsman to aid the hunters. Until such time as outside help arrives, Deputy Chief of Police Oliver Gosden will assist Warden Cordelia Knox in hunting this animal.

  “Additionally, I will be joining with five volunteers from the community, all of whom have a great deal of hunting experience, to supplement the patrols of our police department to prevent this animal from entering the built-up areas of town. If anyone, in any part of town or the surrounding areas, sees a mountain lion close to any place of human habitation, please call 911 immediately.

  “It is, of course, every citizen’s right to protect himself, his family and his home but I must urge everyone to make the use of firearms an absolute last resort. We must avoid any tragic accident that would result from an over anxious homeowner with a gun making a rash decision to use his firearm.

  “For the time being, the police department will pick up anyone jogging on the state roads within ten miles of Goldstrike and return them to a place of safety. Sightseers who stop at scenic overlooks will be escorted back to their cars and sent on their way.”

  Up ’til this point, Clay’s delivery had been one of calm, measured tones, intended to reassure those who heard him. Now, his voice dropped slightly in volume, but became titanium hard. The wattage of the light in his eyes seemed to double. Even if a person had never seen a C
lay Steadman movie, he’d know that this was not a man to trifle with, not now.

  “Anyone who refuses to comply with the police in maintaining good social order will be arrested. And I can promise that each person who is arrested will be prosecuted. We are faced with something of a crisis here. This is not the time for ornery individualism. This is the time for everyone to pull together. I sincerely trust that I will have everyone’s cooperation in this matter.

  “I understand that you all have questions you want answered and opinions you’d like to offer. That is why I’m calling a town meeting for seven p.m. tonight. Anyone who wants to attend can start lining up now. When the line reaches the capacity of this auditorium as determined by the fire marshal, notice will be given. Everyone else will have to watch from home. Phone lines and computer links to this auditorium will be made available for those citizens who can’t find a seat right here. People will not be allowed to congregate on the grounds of the Muni Complex. As of now, and until further notice, there will be a dusk to dawn curfew. Anyone whose job doesn’t require him to be outside, must be off the streets between those times.”

  The mayor then said he would take questions, but had time for only a few.

  Annie Stratton did the honors of selecting the mayor’s interrogators.

  “Mr. Mayor, will you be allowing press coverage of the town meeting?”

  “There will be a camera to televise the proceedings over the government access cable channel. You’re certainly welcome to watch that.” Clay looked at Annie for a second and interpreted the look she gave him. “Ms. Stratton seems to think it would be a good idea to allow a few of you to be present to provide pool coverage. So you can work that out with her, but I have to tell you that the overwhelming majority of seats will be reserved for the people of this town.”

  “Mr. Mayor, do you still believe that Mahalia Cardwell’s curse has nothing to do with these mountain lion attacks?”

  “I still cling to a rational turn of mind,” Clay said. “That’s a lot less fun, I know, but when I want make believe, I either go to the movies or make one. I’d suggest you think along similar lines.”

  Annie called on another reporter, but Ben Dexter, sitting next to the man, put a hand on the other reporter’s shoulder and preempted him.

  “In light of the fact that everybody else seems to have forgotten this little item, Mr. Mayor, is your chief of police making any progress in finding the killer of Isaac Cardwell?”

  “The investigation is proceeding, Mr. Dexter.” Clay paused, as if to make a decision. He nodded almost to himself and went on. “Perhaps you can tell us what’s on the Reverend Thunder’s mind concerning that matter, as you’re the only one he’s talking to these days.”

  There were those in the media mob who’d heard rumors that Dexter had gained exclusive access to Jimmy Thunder, but what Clay had just done was to make that fact common knowledge. In doing so, he set the press to chasing its own tail. Now, Dexter would get a taste of the media grilling he usually helped to dole out to others.

  But Clay wasn’t done with the man.

  “I’ve also heard talk, Mr. Dexter, that in preparing your story on the death of Isaac Cardwell, you’re going to emphasize the role our chief of police is playing in the investigation. My advice to you on that point is to provide a fair accounting. I think highly of Ron Ketchum.” The only SOB Clay had met whom he couldn’t stare down. “If he were to be slandered in any way, I’m sure the town council would vote to provide the resources for him to defend his good name in court.”

  Clay gathered his notes and left the lectern. He knew Annie Stratton would tell him that he’d done fine in setting the media to cannibalize Dexter, but she’d tell him he would be criticized for throwing that last dart at Dexter as attempting to chill the free press.

  The mayor didn’t care. Some of the press, to his mind, needed to be chilled. Ben Dexter, he’d like to flash-freeze.

  Before Clay could get off the stage, the line for the town meeting that night was already a dozen people long.

  Chapter 41

  Colin Ring sat on the balcony of his hotel room, making notes of his visit that morning with Mahalia Cardwell. He’d found her as delightfully vicious as ever. The Englishman paused in his writing and looked out at the glorious aspect of Lake Adeline and the crown of Sierra peaks that surrounded it. He thought he might move to Goldstrike.

  The town’s name was proving to be bloody well prophetic. He was striking gold on a regular basis. In his scavenging among the nightspots of the rich and indiscreet, he’d already come up with possibilities for three more books. Killer ideas all of them.

  He had it on reliable information — credible enough for him at any rate — that one of the pashas of the fabled Silicon Valley, and a major philanthropist in the local theater scene, was also a leading purveyor of child pornography on the Internet. This target excited Ring greatly because he hated sods who buggered kids, and he’d never gone after a high tech titan before.

  Then there was that berk named Edward Derby. Same arsehole whose son was nearly lost to that bleeding lion that had everyone up in arms. Derby’s game was a stock fraud called “pumping.” Ring had never heard of it, but his source, whom he’d lubricated with single malt scotch to the point of amnesia, had explained it to him. A bunch of snotty nosed touts in their brokerage offices conspired to drive up the price of an essentially worthless stock. Then they got on their phones and flogged it to an unsuspecting public. The price roared up even further. Whereupon the touts scarpered with their profits, and the bottom promptly fell out. A touch complicated that one, but with half of bloody America owning stock these days, it had relevance. Besides which, he’d also tell his readers about the mistresses, drugs and foreign real estate these young thieves secretly bought with the money they stole.

  It occurred to Ring that these two ideas veered perilously close toward investigative journalism. Of a sensational sort, to be sure. Still, there was a measure of respectability, of redeeming social purpose, in exposing these walking canker sores. Ah, well, it couldn’t be helped.

  But his last book idea involved his true love: the complete destruction of a heretofore lionized public persona. Even better, from Ring’s point of view, the man had once been a member of the British aristocracy. The class that had turned its back on him after he’d risked his life for crown and country for fifteen bloody years. This particular over privileged bastard had married an American heiress because his family money was long gone. Then he’d shocked his bride by renouncing his title and standing for Parliament as a member of the Labour party! Equally shocking, in the teeth of the Thatcher onslaught, he’d won. A single term, anyway. After that, he further reduced his station in life by moving to his wife’s native California and becoming an American. Once a citizen, he decided it would be to his advantage to have his wife’s money without the burden of her company. He didn’t resort to anything as crude as murder, but he did poison his wife with some very clever drugs that drove her mad. He now visited her at a private hospital quarterly. An apt financial interval, Ring thought.

  God, but Ring was having a grand time in Goldstrike. The place was bloody gorgeous, the pickings were immense, and he heard that the social whirl really picked up when ski season began.

  He’d also heard that he was already gaining a measure of fame among the legions of the resentful, the envious and the spurned who simply ached to betray those who’d once been closest to them.

  Ring had been told there was a bloke making the rounds actively seeking him out.

  He couldn’t wait to find out what this chap had in store for him.

  Corrie Knox and Oliver Gosden were out hunting the lion.

  They’d gotten to see Terry Castlewood for just a minute before he’d been taken into surgery. The lion’s bite at the back of his neck hadn’t severed his spine as the animal had intended, but tests showed two cervical vertebrae had been compressed. The doctors were at a loss to explain how Terry had made it all the wa
y back home before collapsing, and were concerned that there might be permanent damage, even paralysis.

  The boy told Corrie and Oliver all the details of the attack as closely as he could remember them. There was only one point on which he embellished on reality. He said he’d slashed the lion’s paw deliberately.

  “That fucker swung his paw at me, and I let him have it with my knife,” Terry claimed.

  Neither Corrie nor Oliver believed this heroic rendering of events, but they didn’t dispute the claim publicly. Considering what Terry Castlewood had been through, and the uncertain future he faced, it was a boast for him to hold on to, one he’d undoubtedly come to believe himself.

  As they’d left the hospital, Terry’s teammates, coaches, fellow students, and team boosters had already arrived to await the outcome of the young man’s surgery.

  The two hunters found the blood trail on the highway where Terry Castlewood had told them he’d last seen the animal. Corrie Knox’s concern was heightened. The amount of blood on the pavement indicated a serious wound. The lion had to be in considerable pain.

  “Here it is,” Oliver said. He’d found the carving knife that the boy had used to defend himself. He gently put a thumb to it. “Sharp blade. Probably made a deep cut.”

  The thought made the deputy chief’s face brighten. “This bastard has to walk around on a wound like that, maybe it’s already infected, just a matter of time before it gets infected, he keels right over and dies.”