Grace regarded him silently with her steel-grey eyes.

‘You know how this’ll go, don’t you?’ asked Julian. ‘Everyone’ll want a piece of this; the Parks Service, state authorities, local press, national press.’

Grace shrugged. The Parks Service had gravelled over a century-old logging camp to build the Blue Valley camp site. They’d even dammed the Tahoe river to produce a scenic lake alongside it. She knew exactly what they’d want to do with this place.

‘Grace, give me a chance to find out who these people were, to find out their stories.’

Her wind-worn face creased with suspicion. ‘You want the scoop?’

Julian offered her a guilty smile. ‘Well, yes.’

She said nothing.

‘Please. We’ll be so very, very careful. I promise you.’

She could already see the gift shop in the very centre, several ‘how-it-must-have-looked’ dioramas dotted around, and to one side, a children’s play area floored with that safety rubber tarmac… and for guest convenience electricity outlets embedded in the trunks of the surrounding trees…

She pursed her lips.

… And discarded Snickers wrappers for miles around this place.

‘I’m a researcher, Grace. I used to work for the BBC. It’s what I do best. I can give faces and voices to the people who lie here, before this place gets trampled.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Look,’ he said, taking a deep breath, ‘what do you think a FOX news team would do with this? If there’s even a hint that these people ended up like the Donner Party, that’s all they’ll focus on. And the likes of the National Enquirer? It’ll just be a sensational story about cannibalism, that’s it. Give me a week, maybe two, and I’ll find out who they were, their dreams, what drove them west, how they ended up trapped here.’

‘Two weeks?’

‘No more. It’s sat here for what? A hundred and fifty years? Is two more weeks’ rest going to do any harm?’