Читать книгу Cold Dark Matter - Alex Brett - Страница 13

The waitress showed the bottle of pinot noir to Mellier, and he nodded. She poured a bit in his glass. He smelled it, swirled it, sniffed, and finally took a sip before giving her a nod of approval. I put my hand over my own glass. I was already feeling the effects of jet lag compounded with a lost night of sleep. The last thing I needed was to pour alcohol on top of that.

Mellier gave a tsk tsk and poured himself a big glass. "You will go up to the observatory after this?" he asked. I nodded. "Then you have the steak. You will need the hemoglobin. Shelley." The waitress was already halfway across the open floor headed for the kitchen, but she turned at the sound of Mellier's voice. He was obviously a regular. He raised two fingers, and she gave a nod. Good thing I wasn't a vegetarian. He turned back to me. "Why were you in Yves's office? I would like to know this, please."

We'd come in separate cars down the main street of Waimea to a restaurant more reminiscent of Little Joe and the Ponderosa than tropical Hawaii. The exterior of the Ranch House Restaurant was log surrounded by a wide, covered porch. The inside was sombre: rough planks; heavy, dark wood furniture; and a decor of wagon wheels, oil lamps, saddles, and bullwhips. The only thing that didn't fit was the damp chill, and I'd been relieved when the waitress led Mellier to a table in front of a huge field-stone fireplace, complete with blazing fire. I'd pulled my chair right up to the hearth and was now trying to absorb the dry heat through my leather jacket.

This was my first chance to really observe Mellier, and I'd quickly realized that he was no buffoon despite first impressions. Given the adroit way he'd just avoided the question I'd asked him, I suspected his bumptious style was a ruse to hide the razor sharp mind behind the glasses. I needed to keep my wits about me.

"My question first," I responded.

He lifted his glass and took a sip, keeping his eyes level on mine. He was assessing me, much as I was him. Finally he put it down. "Why did I help you? This is what you want to know? It is very simple. I helped you because you piss everybody off and I like that. It means we perhaps have compatible interests."

"And what interests are those?"

"But you did not answer my question. Why were you in Yves's office?"

It was too early in the investigation to trust anyone, especially Andreas Mellier. Mellier was, in fact, the French astronomer that Grenier had worked with the night of his death, and this made Mellier a prime candidate for pilfering the diaries. I needed to play him carefully, giving out just enough information to get something useful back in return, at least until I could figure out what he was up to. I started with what he probably already knew, or what he would know by the end of the afternoon when the gossip train had finished its run through the telescope headquarters.

"I'm an investigator. I've been sent by the Canadian government to tie up some loose ends around Dr. Grenier's death."

"An investigator? Really? Why should I believe you?"

I pulled out my ID card and passed it over to him. He examined it, then handed it back. "In Paris I can go down a back alley, I pay someone fifty euros, and they make me a card like this in less than one hour. It doesn't mean much."

"Do you know anything about Dr. Grenier's diaries?"

Mellier raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps."

"So you know they're missing."

"I've heard this, yes."

"I've been sent to bring them back. If you don't believe me, call the Minister of Industry and Science. The number's on the Internet."

His expression changed. "That makes me really angry. That makes me really, really angry." He hit the table with his fist. "Don't you people care about what happened to Yves?" Several diners glanced uneasily in our direction. "A good man is dead for no reason, and you goddamned Canadians, Edwin, St. James, that idiot McNabb, all you care about is to cover up what happened. What is the matter with you people?" He threw his napkin on the table. "I was hoping that maybe you are different. That you come from Canada ready to ask some real questions rather than hide the truth." He gave a Gallic shrug. "You pissed off the others so much I think that maybe you are not working with them, but obviously I am wrong." He started to get up. "You will have to eat alone, I am afraid."

I put out my hand to restrain him. "Are you saying that Eales and St. James are trying to hide the circumstances around Grenier's death?"

"I'm saying they're lying, yes. Everyone is lying. Perhaps even the police."

I remembered Benson's willingness to help a neigh-bour, an almost inexplicable behaviour in a cop. "Did you voice your concerns to the police?"

"They don't want to hear. They think I'm some crazy Frenchman who sees aliens and the CIA under my bed, but I can tell you something. I work with Yves for many years. He did not jump that night. I know this for sure."

"Suicide is notoriously unpredictable. It's possible you wouldn't have known."

"Then why is Shelton lying? What is he afraid of?"

"Shelton Aimes? The telescope operator?" And the last person to see Grenier alive.

"Sure. You want to see for yourself? He works at the telescope tonight. I take you there and we have a little talk with Shelton." He poked the air in my direction. "You're the investigator. You see if he's telling the truth."

I sat back in my chair and took a moment to weigh the pros and cons. The waitress arrived with two plates, although they were barely visible beneath the huge slabs of meat on each one. When she was gone I leaned toward Mellier and said quietly, "It's a police investigation. I can't just waltz in."

At that his dark eyes twinkled. "Ah! You mean like you did in Yves's office."

He let me squirm under that for a few seconds, then he reached out and put his hand on my arm. "I know more about Yves Grenier and those diaries than anyone else in Hawaii. You help me find who pushed him, I help you find the diaries. Perhaps we will, what is the expression in English? Kill the two birds with one stone." Driving is my meditation, a time when I can let my mind detach from the rational world and move into a deep subconscious process that sorts and organizes information in entirely new ways. When I left Mellier on the porch of the restaurant, with an agreement to meet him later at the Astronomy Centre, I needed a long drive. My subconscious was writhing with little worms of information that refused to be stilled. Maybe by the time I reached Hale Pohaku and the Astronomy Centre, I'd have a few of those worms under control.

I was about to turn the key in the SUV when I remembered something and checked my watch. It was just past two o'clock here in Hawaii, making it five hours later, around seven o'clock, in Ottawa. Lydia might be home. I reached for my cellphone and hit the speed-dial. If I was really lucky, I could stamp out a few of these wrigglers before I even got started. After a series of buzzes and clicks the line connected.

"Hey, Lyd, no classes tonight? No Firearms 101 or Interviewing 302?"

"I am trying to study for my final exams," she said pointedly, "in between your assignment, of course. Are you settled in Hawaii?"

"Settled wouldn't quite describe it. You turned up anything yet?"

"You mean in the brief time I've had since you called?" She let that hang for a minute. "Interestingly no, although not for want of trying. I did have an excellent lunch today with the minister's personal assistant. Like so many of our public servants she does enjoy The Canal Ritz, but then you'll see that when you get the bill."

Hey, I wasn't paying. I couldn't care less. Duncan's budget came from the minister, so the minister had just taken Lydia and his own secretary out to lunch. As far as I was concerned, they both deserved it. "You asked her about the telescope, discreetly I presume?"

"Really, Morgan, I've been at this a long time one way or the other. Yes, I did mention the telescope, and that's what's interesting. I am quite sure she's never heard of it, much less any controversy surrounding your astronomer's death. Just to verify I made a few other calls on your behalf — all very discreet of course — and they confirm my first impression. The rank and file know nothing of it, which, you must admit, is curious."

Both curious and unusual. It meant that this investigation was "need to know" only, even within the minister's office. It seemed a bit extreme. "What about the other thing? Did you get a lead on Duncan's wife?"

There was a pause just long enough to let me know that Lydia still didn't approve. "Not as yet. I should have something by the end of the day tomorrow."

Something in her tone caught me. "You're not holding out on me, are you? You haven't talked to Duncan?"

"That, Morgan, would be unethical, and I, at least, try to avoid that. Now I really must go and study. I have forensic science tomorrow." The line went dead.

I pressed the "end" button and pushed the phone aerial in, then laid the phone on the console between the two seats, all the while replaying that last exchange. Lydia hadn't actually answered my question, so that left it hanging. Had she been in contact with Duncan?

With a sigh I started the truck, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed back toward the telescope headquarters. Just beyond the headquarters there was a turnoff to the Saddle Road. On my map the Saddle Road appeared as a narrow squiggly line that cut right across the centre of the island, crossing the high mountains through a pass between the peaks of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. At the highest point on the Saddle Road, just before it began its descent into Hilo, there was a faint broken line that snaked up to the summit of Mauna Kea. Halfway up this line was a little dot labelled Hale Pohaku, the location of the Astronomy Centre, and my home for the next few days.

By the time I reached the turnoff the rain had let up but a heavy mist still poured from the cliffs above, hiding the terrain around me. The Saddle Road began with about the width of a driveway, and by a few metres in it had degraded to a track of broken asphalt. The first turn was a blind twist, then the road shot straight up. I scrambled to gear down and the truck lurched forward. With my hands gripping the wheel and my foot on the gas, I gave up any idea of disengaging. If someone came barrelling down the road we'd both be dead.

After ten minutes of what felt like a vertical climb the mist began to thin, and I saw light above. I came around another corner, then I unexpectedly shot out of the fog into clear blue sky and an intense and dazzling sun. I was in a high chaparral of rock, stunted Ponderosa pine, sage bush, and low, spreading cacti. A few long-horn cattle lifted their heads as the truck rumbled by, but they quickly went back to pulling at the tufts of grass that poked out between the cacti. Then the road levelled and opened up into a wide, flat valley of yellow grasses and low shrub. Mauna Loa rose on my right like a soft green swell. On the left, the peak of Mauna Kea loomed above me, a fortress of rock.

With the road flat and wide enough to see oncoming traffic, I now could let my mind wander. I began with Mellier. What was he up to? Was he only interested in the death of his friend, or was there something else? I ran through our conversation from several directions, dissecting it for inconsistencies and possible untruths, but I could find nothing glaring. Still, something wasn't right. Why, for starters, would Mellier trust me? He didn't trust anyone else, so why had he waltzed me out of Grenier's office? What did he know, and what was in it for him? I mulled that over and didn't get anywhere, so I filed it away for more work. Maybe I'd know more after our trip to the telescope.

Then there was the problem of Duncan; too many little things that didn't add up. How did the minister's office find out about Grenier's death so quickly? Benson didn't tell them, unless his surprise at seeing me was feigned. And it wouldn't have been Eales or St. James, since they obviously didn't want outside interference. So who was it?

Then I realized that two of the worms were related.

Someone had sent the minister's office a photograph of Yves Grenier hanging off the telescope, and it must have been taken a very short time after his death to arrive in Ottawa so early. That meant several things. Someone on-site in Hawaii knew of the minister's interest in Yves Grenier. And, whoever this person was, he or she had either police connections or unauthorized access to the crime scene. I gave myself a good, swift mental kick. If I hadn't been so damned preoccupied with Duncan's personal problems I would never have left that café without the name of the Hawaiian source. I filed away another mental note. Squeeze Duncan, and squeeze him good. He was withholding information, and that's not allowed.

I was just moving on to Edwin Eales when I saw a turnoff whiz by in my peripheral vision. It had been hidden behind a low bush. I jammed on the brakes, pulled a three-point turn in the middle of the road, and aimed myself up the switchback with my subconscious firmly switched off. My first destination was the Astronomy Centre halfway up to the summit. After a little nap I'd continue up to the dome. I slept like the dead. A few hours later, with no idea where I was, I opened my eyes a crack. I was in a bed, which was good, and the bed was comfy and warm, but my eyes felt like sand and my sinuses had hardened to a crust. My nose and ears were also numb with cold. I lifted my head, the room came into focus, and my mind kicked in.

I was in the Astronomy Centre in my monastic single room, a small box decorated in shades of white, grey, and pale wood. A neat little desk was built into the corner, and beside it were a dresser and an armoire. The only luxury was a private bathroom with shower. And, I seemed to remember, a drinking glass for water. I struggled a little higher. If I made a dash for the bathroom I could jack up the electric heat on my way back then snuggle up in bed until the temperature climbed above freezing. I took a deep breath, threw off the cover, and three seconds later was back under the blanket guzzling fluid. The heater had already begun to buzz and creak, and moments later waves of heat rose through the air.

When I'd arrived here a few hours earlier I'd been so exhausted that I hadn't even bothered to change. I'd just dropped into bed in the same clothes I'd worn since I got off the plane. Part of my exhaustion was jet lag. Part was from the short walk uphill between the parking lot and the Centre. At home I would have taken those forty stone steps at a run, jogging up them two at a time. Here, I'd only been able to manage three risers before putting down my bag to rest. Then three more steps, and another rest. Even standing still it felt like I was breathing through a straw. No matter how hard I sucked there was never enough air.

I gulped down more of the water and felt my nose rehydrate and my ears begin to thaw. The bedside clock blinked 6:12 p.m. in red LED numbers, and outside dusk was falling. Mellier might be downstairs already, but I had a few things to take care of before I could meet him, and the first of these was to take a shower. I braved the cold and leapt out of bed.

Fifteen minutes later I was a new woman, dressed and ready to go, including wool socks, long underwear, and a down vest. If it was this cold here at the lower elevation it was going to be brutal on the summit. I checked the clock again and did a rapid calculation. In Ottawa it would be near midnight, too late to call Duncan with his young children, but Vancouver was three hours earlier. Sylvia would just be warming up. I picked up the phone.

As usual, she was already connected to the Internet. I could hear her tapping away even as she lifted the phone to her ear. "Hey babe," she said, before I even had a chance to say hello. "Duncan said you'd call."

Sylvia is the best science librarian in the federal government system, and both Duncan and I make use of her services often. Still, it was curious that Duncan would have called and mentioned me. "When was this?"

"Yesterday. He called me and asked for a search then told me to send it by e-mail to you. Said you'd be requesting it anyway when you got around to it. He knows you too well. How's Hawaii?"

I looked around at the spartan room and felt the itch of my long johns. "It's not your scene. Trust me on that."

"Yeah right. Try again." There was a clatter of tapping in the background. "Are you online?"

"Not right now. What's up?"

"I just sent it off. You have a complete reference search on Yves Grenier." Then I heard another burst of rapid-fire typing. "And there goes Andreas Mellier. Anything else?"

"Duncan requested a search on Andreas Mellier?"

"You bet. Looks like most of his work is co-published with Yves Grenier. Quite the publishing record, the two of them. What are they up to? Cooking the books? Creative data management?"

I didn't answer. My mind was preoccupied with another question. Why would Duncan have asked for that search? What was behind it? Then I came back to reality. "Can you add two more to the list?"

"Fire away."

"Edwin Eales and Anthony St. James. But there's something else."

"If I charge for it, it's yours."

"Physics is more your line than mine. Can you look over the stuff when it comes in? See if anything juicy hops off the page?"

"Give me a hint. What are we looking for? Fraud? Data theft? It helps if I know."

I thought about that for a minute, but the answer that came out of my mouth surprised even me. "A motive for murder."

There was silence at the other end. Even the tapping ceased. "What has Duncan gotten you into?"

Sylvia had become a little too maternal since my last brush with death, and I didn't like it. I'd already had one mother, and she'd been one too many. "It's my job, remember?"

"A homicide investigation? Last time I checked you did research fraud and embezzlement. When did your job description change?"

"Just find me anyone whose research might benefit from Grenier's death, or at the very least from his research notes." Once I had a list of possible competitors I could cross-check the names against the list of people on Mauna Kea the night of Grenier's death. If nothing else, I could pass the information on to Benson in fulfillment of the agreement I'd made with him.

There was a long-suffering sigh on the other end. "Just watch your back, O'Brien. I prefer my friends alive."

So do I, I thought, but some of us don't have that choice. I, however, kept those thoughts to myself. Sylvia hates maudlin, particularly when it's directed at her, and given the tumour growing in her brain — the result of high levels of estrogen used to transform her from a David to a Sylvia Delgado — it often is. I gave a rather too abrupt goodbye and hung up the phone.

My second order of business was a quick check of the e-mail just to make sure nothing urgent had come in. I plugged my laptop into the high-speed connection and within seconds my account was before me. There were the usual reams of crap: messages on the new interpretations of the workforce adjustment policy, nomination forms for brown-noser — that would be employee — of the year, and several contributions to the office humour file. I whacked it all without reading. Sylvia's e-mail reference searches popped up, and I downloaded them to my hard drive. I'd get to those as soon as I could.

Finally, and with trepidation, I opened an e-mail from my boss, Bob. He would be seriously ticked at my temporary appointment to the prestigious Minister's Office, and really out of whack if he knew the assignment was in Hawaii. The e-mail, I was sure, would be a written harangue ordering me to stay in touch (meaning tell Bob everything about the case, whether it was his business or not), a list of five additional files I should handle while I was away, and an order to be back in the office by the end of the week. Instead, this is what he wrote.

Morgan:

Don't worry about the office. Everything is taken care of here. Get lots of rest and come back when you're fit as a fiddle.

Bob

Get lots of rest? He thought this was a Hawaiian vacation. I looked outside at the sun setting low over desolate rock. If only he knew.

"I have not good news. I don't think they'll talk." That was Mellier, speaking for the first time on the entire ride up to the summit. I'd wondered if he was preoccupied with Grenier's death or just scared speechless by my driving.

From the Astronomy Centre there was only one road up to the summit, and it ran in a series of abrupt switchbacks up a steep slope of rubble. The road itself seemed to have been scraped out of loose rock. The outer edge was ragged as if ready to crumble at the weight of the truck, and if it did give way there was nothing to stop us tumbling from here to the Saddle Road miles below. As if that weren't enough, each turn of the switchback was so tight I had to fight with the lumbering four-by-four to bring it around in time. When we finally arrived near the summit the road flattened onto what looked at first like a wide plateau but was in fact a broad bowl. Like a scene from an apocalyptic thriller, it was an endless vista of lifeless rubble housing an enchanted city of pale domes. Cast against the blackness of the sky and crescent moon it was an eerie sight. Mellier told me to turn off the headlights.

"Who is ‘they'?" I said, slowing and keeping my eyes on the road.

"Shelton. And Elizabeth Martin. She is the staff astronomer on duty tonight."

Mellier directed me to the last dome at the end of the road, the FrancoCanadian Telescope, and I pulled into the small parking area. Two FCT trucks were already there. The truck rocked, buffeted by the wind.

When the motor was off he said with an apologetic tone. "It's possible they don't even let you in." Then he turned to the landscape and spoke without looking at me. If his sadness was feigned he was a world-class actor. "You know, Shelton I understand. He has something to hide. But Elizabeth? She and Yves were very close friends. Why will she not help?" He let that hang for a good minute, then he seemed to return to himself. "Oh well." He gave a shrug and an impish grin. "Why don't we at least see how far we can get. Maybe we will make it right to the observing room and surprise them both."

"What are they going to do, physically remove me?"

"Ah," he said, "you have not met Pexa." Then he opened his door and hopped out of the truck.

I ran through my mental files. Pexa. The guy who found Yves Grenier hanging from the telescope and called 911. I smiled to myself. No, I hadn't met him yet, but I was looking forward to the moment I did. With that thought I tucked my briefcase under the driver's seat and swung the door open. The wind hit me like a solid wall, and I had to throw my weight against the door to get it shut. Then, eyes watering, I fought my way step by step to the observatory doors. Between the sound of the gale and the snap of my jacket in the wind it was bedlam out there. By the time I reached the doors Mellier was already inside. He held the door open and I moved into blessed silence and gulped down air. I felt like I'd run a 5 k.

"Come this way," said Mellier quietly.

We were standing in a small foyer, and at the end of it were two steel doors, one leading to the left, the other to the right. He pulled open the left-hand door.

"Merde," he said loudly and leapt back. On the other side of the door, leaning against the wall, stood a big, dark-skinned man with a beautifully chiselled face and short black hair. He had his arms across his chest. He'd been waiting in ambush.

"Andreas," he said with a slight nod of his head.

Mellier moved forward and flicked the guy's arm with his hand. "You almost give me a heart attack. What are you doing here? Your shift is over." Then to me. "This is Pexa. He is the building manager, but only by day." He spoke up to Pexa. "At night the astronomers take over. Okay, Pexa, now we go in."

Mellier began to walk around him, but Pexa moved to the middle of the narrow hall. "I'm sorry, Andreas."

Despite his size he moved with an agile grace, and I had the impression it would take bulldozer to move him, but Mellier took him on.

"You're blocking me? This is absurd. I'm the senior astronomer here. You can't block me from my own observatory."

At that Pexa moved slightly aside. "You're right. You stay, but she goes."

Now it was my turn. I kept my voice like his: low, commanding, and calm. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I'm an here on an official investigation. I go where I want."

I started to move forward, but he took a step toward me. "Not up here, you don't."

I took a step closer to him. "You're the one who found Grenier, aren't you?"

He gave a nod but didn't answer.

I pulled out my notebook and flipped it open to a new page. "Who was it who called you?"

He was watching me with a veiled expression. "Elizabeth Martin."

"And what time would that have been precisely?"

His response was cool. "I've told the police everything they need to know."

"The police investigation is still open, and as long as I'm in Hawaii I'll make damn sure it stays open." I took another step forward so I was now within inches of Pexa's face. "And you know what that means? That means you're going to be questioned again, and again, and again, either here or down at police headquarters. You'll be questioned until both Detective Benson and I are satisfied with your answers. So what time did you say you got that call?" Then a light went on in my head. "Now isn't that interesting. Look who we have in the dome tonight: Shelton Aimes, the last person to see Yves Grenier alive; Elizabeth Martin, the first person to see Grenier's suicide note; and Pexa, the first person on the scene. I can see why you don't want me around."

Pexa put his hand on my shoulder and firmly turned me in the direction of the door. He maintained the dead calm in his voice, but my last statement seemed to have hit a nerve. "Under the safety statutes and laws of the FrancoCanadian Telescope Corporation, the telescope operator has absolute authority to determine who may be in the dome. You've been ordered off the mountain for your own safety."

He'd gotten me as far as the foyer. "For my own safety? That's a load of crap."

"Don't be fooled, Ms O'Brien," he said. "It's a dangerous place up here. Real easy to get hurt."

Mellier stepped around Pexa and puffed himself up to his full five foot two. "This isn't over. I walk her first to her truck then I come back here and we settle this once and for all. First with you, then Shelton and Elizabeth. This is an abomination."

I smiled to myself. If I didn't know better I'd say that Mellier had been at this game as long as I had. Then I stopped up short. For all I knew maybe he had.