He was dusting himself off when a bird called and he looked up to see a seagull cruising by, followed a second later by two more. No ravens, though.

The tent looked the same. The tables stood on either side of the tent, the coffee table in one corner, the fold-up Styrofoam bed in another, the aged Blazo boxes converted to shelves containing the cleaned, neatly laid out tools of Erik’s profession and the carefully labeled artifacts. The Shawshank rock hammer was still there.

“Erik?” Liam said. No answer. He raised his voice. “Erik?”

Behind him he heard a scatter of sand and rock. “It’s easier going up than coming down,” he said without turning.

“Good to know,” Jo said breathlessly. “Berglund still not around?”

“Doesn’t appear so.”

“Have you checked the cave?”

“I was just about to.” He pulled the tactical flashlight from the holster on his belt and led the way through the tent into the mouth of the cave.

The darkness of the cave gulped down the light of the flash and if possible made the interior look even darker and somehow larger than he had noticed on Monday. It was colder than he remembered, he thought fifty degrees at most. It smelled off, too, more than just of decaying seaweed. A chill ran down his spine and his heart sank.

He took a step forward toward what he guessed what the back of the cave and immediately tripped over something and fell to his knees. He dropped the flash and it went out. “Damn it.” He groped for the flash, hoping it hadn’t broken against the rock, hampered by being totally disoriented, only dimly aware of Jo’s figure outlined against the light of the cave entrance. The dimensions of the cave seemed to expand exponentially in the dark.

“Liam?”

“Don’t come in. The floor is a bunch of rock.” He understood now why Erik hadn’t walked him inside it during his visit. “Just stay there until I find the flashlight.” His hand closed over it finally. He felt for the switch and pushed it.

It lit immediately, illuminating the face of Erik Berglund peering out from behind an outcropping of rock separated from the wall of the cave.

“Erik?”

But Erik’s eyes were wide and staring. His blond hair was matted with what could only be dried blood.

Behind him Liam heard Jo take a sharp, inward breath.

“Stay there, Jo.” He got to his feet and picked his way carefully to the little rock wall Erik’s body had fallen—or been placed—behind.

He put out a hand. Erik’s skin was cold and clammy to the touch.

Erik’s right arm was outstretched over his shoulder. Liam traced it with the beam of the flash and saw a phone under his lifeless hand.

He bent to pull it free and straightened to thumb it on.

It was dead.

Like Erik.

Twelve

Wednesday, September 4

“RIGOR IS STARTING TO PASS OFF,” LIAM said, “but the cave where the body was is pretty cool and I’d guess colder at night.”