McFaul had choreographed everything. He was good at that, Cash thought. He’d arranged law enforcement personnel in a standing semicircle at the head of the room, flanking him on both sides of the podium, all in uniform with their hands clasped in front. It was impressive, reassuring, and a colossal waste of time.
It was ten minutes to one, and McFaul was still fussing with the way people were lined up, where their hands were, whether they were straight-backed and had wiped any inappropriate smiles from their faces. There was the sheriff on one side of her, his deputy next to him, and two other sheriff’s office undersheriffs. Cash was to his right, with Commander Graves and several uniformed Denver PD guys flanking her. McFaul was like a damn wedding photographer, adjusting people’s positions and making sure their heads were upright and turned the correct way.
“We want to show a solid wall of confidence and poise,” he said. “This is what we need to project to the public. This isn’t just about image—it’s about reassurance.”
He had even suggested including Maximilian in the lineup, but the security director had demurred, saying Erebus security staff needed to stay in the background. It was Cash’s distinct impression that Erebus did not want to take part in the news conference at all and that both Maximilian and Barrow were unhappy at the whole spectacle. Barrow, in fact, had disappeared.
Then, when all was ready, the media pool was let in like a bunch of dogs released into a run. First came the news television crews wielding cameras and boom mics, jostling and pushing each other, with their anchors in front. That was followed by the rest of the media—radio, newspapers, online news outlets, and bloggers loaded down with equipment. There were no chairs—this was standing room only—and there was quite a bit of noise and raised voices as everyone jockeyed for position. Cash was astonished; this was not the select pool McFaul had described—this was forty or more people.
When the hubbub had settled down to a murmur, McFaul stepped up to the podium. A hush fell, and he looked around the room, his face a mask of gravitas, and delivered a statement in a classic police monotone, all in the passive voice. It was one of those jargony speeches, full of the kind of phraseology you hear on television, about perpetrators and persons of interest, ingresses and egresses, and such. But it conveyed, quite magnificently, the impression that the case had stalled until he arrived—and then the breakthroughs came thick and fast. They had discovered the opening to the mine; they had entered at great risk; an officer had bravely sacrificed his life; they had found the killers’ lair; and they were now hot on their trail. No mention was made of the eyeball ornaments—that was one detail they had managed to keep secret, thank God—but the cannibalism aspect of the case had gotten out, and McFaul addressed that with expressions of outrage, condemnation, and promises to bring the monsters to justice. Cash was praised just faintly enough to throw shade on her efforts, but Sheriff Colcord and the Denver PD were applauded, as was Erebus for its “exceptional cooperation.”
The electricity in the room was intense. The press was hanging on every word. Cash had been so focused on the investigation and so isolated in the valley that she hadn’t quite grokked just how huge this story was in the outside world. As soon as McFaul concluded his statement, it was as if the entire room raised its collective hand with a frantic roar, trying to attract McFaul’s attention.
McFaul was just eating it up. He pointed to a famous anchor in front. “Ms. Ross, of CNN?”
“Do you have any idea who these killers might be?” she asked as boom mics swung around.
“We have reason to believe we’re dealing with a cult—an anarchistic, anti-capitalist, radical environmental group that opposes the scientific work of Erebus and are intent on driving them from the valley. Unfortunately, it appears families and even some younger children might be involved—which adds even more urgency to solving this case.”
More shouting. He pointed to another.
“Have you any ransom notes or demands?”
“No. We’ve received taunting videos and cryptic messages of sorts, but nothing that makes any sense or presents any demands.”
“What kind of videos? Can we see them?”
“They’re strictly confidential for now.”
“Do you have any theories as to why these cultists are cannibalizing their victims?”
“We believe it is to send a message of complete hatred and rejection of society. They are establishing that they are entirely outside of all societal and cultural norms.”
“You mentioned cryptic messages. Can you be more specific?”
He paused. “They left for us six Monopoly tokens, wrapped in grass, which we’ve interpreted as a possible anti-capitalist gesture.”
This was new, and it generated more shouting.
“What about DNA? Do you have any DNA of the killers?”
“Our Forensic Services Division has collected a great deal of DNA, which is being analyzed. The DNA is mixed and contaminated, and it’s been a tough problem to sort it out—we’re still working on that and will have results shortly.”
“Why weren’t the mines searched right away? Why did it take five days?”
Now they were getting down to the nitty-gritty, thought Cash. She was damned glad she didn’t have to answer that question.
“We weren’t aware of the Jackman Mine’s existence until yesterday. It was believed by Erebus that the mine had been thoroughly sealed a decade ago.”
“Where did the killers go? Where do you think they are now?”
“We’re searching the entire valley, quadrant by quadrant, on foot, with dogs and infrared drones. Trust me, we’re going to find them.”
“Why did it take so long to close the resort?”
“It was initially decided that it wasn’t necessary, but when I arrived, I promptly reversed that decision and persuaded the governor to agree. Only the governor had the power to do that.”
The questions went on and on, until it became clear they were never going to end as long as the press conference remained open. Finally, McFaul called out, “One final question. Ms. Dixon, KOAT?”
“Agent McFaul, as head of the investigation, what would you say to the family of the guard who was murdered and then, ah, cannibalized by these killers?”
Cash could see McFaul was taken aback by the question. He spent an uncomfortable moment with his face furrowed in thought. “I would say this: I extend my sincerest and most heartfelt condolences. Your son was a hero who died in service. Second: We’re going to bring these monsters to justice. You have my word on that. They will be brought to justice, and I can promise you the law will come down on their vile heads like the full weight of the Rocky Mountains.”
It wasn’t the happiest of metaphors, Cash thought, but it was effective, and she had no doubt it would be the lead on the national news across the country.
The press conference began breaking up. The press had been told they could remain in the lodge, asking questions and doing their thing, until a four p.m. deadline, when they were required to be gone.
She exchanged a glance with Colcord. They had a warrant to execute.