The morning did not bring the sun. It just turned the sky from a suffocating black to a heavy, bruised pewter.
Cody Cole stood on the tarmac at the Eureka-Arcata Airport, his collar turned up against a stinging, horizontal drizzle that swept in off the Pacific. The small twin-engine turboprop plane taxied to a halt, its propellers cutting through the thick coastal soup with a wet, chopping roar that felt too loud for the dreary morning.
When the cabin door dropped, Evelyn Reed stepped down the metal steps.
She looked exhausted. Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed with dark circles, and she wore a heavy, rain-slicked canvas jacket that looked as worn out as she did. A dark green backpack hung loosely over one shoulder. She didn't look like an aggressive academic looking for a fight; she looked like a woman carrying the heavy, numbing weight of sudden grief.
She walked slowly through the damp wind, stopping a couple of feet from Cody.
"Deputy Cole?" her voice was quiet, hollowed out by the long flight and the raw shock of losing a colleague.
"Dr. Reed," Cody said, keeping his voice soft to match her demeanor. "Welcome to Humboldt County. Let's get you inside out of this mist."
She nodded silently, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as she followed him through the glass doors into the quiet baggage claim. The air inside smelled of damp carpets and vending machine coffee, doing nothing to chase away the drab chill of the day. Cody pulled off his Stetson, shaking a fine spray of water from the brim.
"I know it's a terrible circumstance," Cody began, keeping his voice gentle. "Arthur Finch was a respected man."
Evelyn rubbed the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, shuddering breath. "I just... I can't quite wrap my head around it yet. Arthur was so careful in the field." She looked up at Cody, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Right now, Deputy, I’m just really tired. I’d like to just get to a hotel, drop my bags, and pick up Arthur's belongings from your station so I can sort through them.
"Of course," Cody said. "The department has a room held for you at the Red Lion over on Broadway. It’s quiet."
The drive through Eureka was a blur of wipers cutting through the heavy gray mist. The old Victorian houses and sprawling logging yards looked muted under the dark sky, casting long, somber shadows over the wet pavement. Neither of them said much. Evelyn kept her forehead resting against the passenger window, staring out at the passing tree line.
When they arrived at the hotel, Cody helped her grab her heavy luggage from the back of the cruiser. He carried the largest suitcase up the outdoor walkway to her room, waiting by the door while she clicked the keycard and pushed it open. The room was stale, smelling faintly of old carpets and industrial cleaner. He set her bags on the luggage rack.
"Take a few minutes," Cody said, stepping back toward the door. "I'll wait in the truck. Whenever you're ready, we'll head over to the station."
Evelyn just nodded, dropping her backpack onto the bed with a heavy thud.
Ten minutes later, they were parking behind the Sheriff’s Office. The brick building looked cold and imposing in the rain. Cody led her inside, past the front desk and straight toward the back offices.
Sheriff Gantry was already standing outside his door, as if he’d been waiting for them. He had cleaned up since the night before—his uniform was pressed, his boots were polished—but the tight, hollow lines around his eyes were still there, buried beneath a mask of professional authority.
"Dr. Reed," Gantry said, stepping forward and extending a large, calloused hand. His voice was deep, practiced, and thick with small-town diplomacy. "I'm Sheriff Gantry. I want to tell you how incredibly sorry we are for your loss."
Evelyn took his hand, giving it a brief, polite squeeze. She looked into Gantry's eyes and felt a sudden, cold prickle of intuition. His words were perfectly formed, but his tone was completely flat. There was no real warmth behind it. He wasn't comforting a grieving colleague; he was a man methodically checking off boxes on an incident report, trying to move a conversation along as quickly as possible.
"Thank you, Sheriff," Evelyn said, her voice dropping into that tired, hollow register.
Gantry turned and nodded toward a plastic evidence crate sitting on the corner of Cody’s desk. It was filled with a few mud-stained jackets, a digital camera, a ziplock bag of keys, and a water-damaged laptop. "We gathered everything we could recover from the camp site. Cody here will help you sign the release forms so you can take it all with you."
Evelyn walked over to the desk, her fingers brushing the plastic rim of the crate. She looked through the items, her brow furrowing slightly as she realized something was missing.
She turned back to face Gantry, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. "Sheriff, did your men find a journal? A thick, leather-bound notebook? Arthur had it with him all the time. He kept all his field notes, coordinates, and personal logs in it. It wouldn't be something he'd leave behind."
Cody’s mouth opened, a reflex to say he’d look into it, but Gantry cut across him before a single syllable could form.
"No, ma'am," Gantry said smoothly, his voice cutting through the quiet office with a firm, definitive finality. "That box holds every single item recovered from the clearing. But Arthur's Jeep is still sitting down at the trailhead lot. We’ve got a tow truck bringing it into the impound lot today. It's very possible he left the notebook inside the glovebox or under the seat. We can clear the paperwork and release the vehicle to you tomorrow morning."
Cody felt his chest tighten. A cold sweat broke out along the back of his neck.
He didn't say a word. He couldn't. But his mind raced back to the night before—to the rain-drenched clearing, the flickering flashlights, and the unmistakable sight of that thick, dark leather-bound journal gripped tightly in Gantry's own hand. The Sheriff had tucked it directly into his heavy uniform jacket before anyone else could log it.
As Gantry continued talking, his deep voice droning on about the towing logistics and the release forms, Cody’s eyes dropped back down to the plastic evidence crate. He methodically scanned the mud-stained gear a second time, and a new realization hit him like a physical blow.
Arthur Finch’s high-end digital camera—was gone too. It wasn't in the box.
Cody looked up, his gaze shifting from the empty space in the crate to the back of Gantry’s neck. The Sheriff was lying to her face, systematically stripping away anything that could show what Finch was looking at right before he died.
Before Cody could say anything, a deputy leaned through the doorway from the front desk. "Sheriff? Phone for you on line two. It’s the county supervisor's office."
Gantry's expression hardened instantly. He nodded once, then turned back to Evelyn, fixing his professional mask back into place. "If you'll excuse me, Dr. Reed. I need to take this. Deputy Cole will take care of the rest of the paperwork and make sure you get back to your hotel safely."
He gave her a tight, formal nod and stepped into his office, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind him. The latch clicked home with a loud, final thud.
The bullpen fell quiet, save for the low hum of the fluorescent lights. Evelyn stood over the plastic crate for a long moment, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her grief and the exhausting, drab day. She looked thoroughly beaten down by the flight and the cold reception.
"Let's get this out of here for you," Cody said softly, wanting nothing more than to get away from Gantry's door before his nerves gave him away.
He leaned down, lifting the heavy plastic evidence bin into his arms. Evelyn grabbed her green backpack, and Cody led the way out of the station. They walked through the front lobby and pushed out into the heavy, gray drizzle. The cold air hit them instantly, carrying that sharp, wet scent of coastal pine and salt.
Cody unlocked the passenger side of his department SUV and waited while Evelyn climbed inside, out of the damp cold. He walked around to the back, popped the hatch, and carefully slid the crate onto the rubber mat in the cargo area. He stared at the mud-stained items for a split second—noticing the distinct, empty gaps where a journal and a camera should have been—before slamming the trunk shut.
Cody climbed into the driver’s seat, the damp cold clinging to his uniform. He started the engine, threw the SUV into drive, and pulled out of the station lot. The wipers slapped a steady, rhythmic cadence against the glass, cutting through the heavy gray drizzle as he headed back toward Broadway.
They were three blocks from the Red Lion when the radio on Cody’s shoulder burst to life with a crackle of static.
"Unit Two, Dispatch."
Cody reached down and keyed the mic. "Unit Two, go ahead."
"We need you to divert over to St. Joseph Hospital ER. A couple of hikers just came in about an hour ago. They're claiming they were attacked up near the Lost Coast trailhead last night. Sounds like they’ve been through a meat grinder."
Cody’s grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He glanced sideways at Evelyn. She had gone completely rigid in the passenger seat, her exhausted eyes suddenly sharp and fixed entirely on the radio on his shoulder.
"Copy that, Dispatch," Cody said, keeping his voice as flat and professional as possible. "I'm in transit to a drop-off. I'll head over to St. Joe's immediately after."
"Copy, Unit Two. Out."
The cabin of the SUV fell into a suffocating silence, filled only by the hum of the heater and the splash of tires on wet pavement. Cody kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, but he could feel Evelyn’s gaze burning into the side of his face.
"Another bear attack, Deputy?" she asked quietly. Her tone wasn't angry anymore—it was suspicious, edged with a cold, analytical curiosity that made Cody’s stomach twist.
Cody didn't look at her. He pulled the SUV up to the awning of the Red Lion and put it in park. "The King Range is rugged country, Dr. Reed. People get turned around, they panic, and wildlife gets startled. It happens more than you'd think."
"Does it?" Evelyn asked, not buying a single word of it. She reached for the door handle but paused, turning her head to look at him. "Arthur wasn't a novice, Deputy Cole. And it sounds like those hikers aren't either."
"Get some rest, Doctor," Cody said softly, finally turning to meet her eyes. He tried to project a calm he didn't feel. "I'll be back to pick you up at eight tomorrow morning so we can go clear Finch’s Jeep from the impound. We'll get it all sorted out then."
Evelyn stared at him for a long beat, searching his face for whatever he was hiding. Finally, she let out a tired sigh. "Tomorrow morning then. Drive safe, Deputy."
She opened the door and stepped out into the dreary afternoon, grabbing her backpack from the floorboard. Cody watched her walk toward the hotel lobby before he slammed the SUV into reverse, spun the wheel, and accelerated toward the hospital.