Читать книгу Cold Dark Matter - Alex Brett - Страница 14

When we were back outside and I was seated in the truck I asked, "How long can you keep him busy?" Mellier leaned in the truck window. He glanced briefly at Pexa standing in the doorway then turned back to me. With the howling wind there was no way that Pexa could overhear our conversation. "Long enough. I will try to get Elizabeth too. Then you'll have Shelton all to yourself. I can't guarantee, but perhaps."

"The two of them together I can handle. Just get Rambo out of the way."

He told me quickly where to hide the truck and, once back inside the dome, how to find my way to the observing room. When he was finished he straightened and stepped away from the SUV, his sparse hair standing upright in the wind. He glanced uneasily at the dome, then back at me, as if he were trying to decide something. He took a decisive step forward and tapped on the glass. I brought the window back down. This time he put his head right in and spoke more softly.

"What Pexa said about the dome being dangerous, it is not a joke. Just remember when you're inside, there are bottles of oxygen everywhere. If you feel dizzy or sick, you stop, you use the oxygen. Don't take a chance if you're alone." He tapped his watch. "Nine o'clock here. I don't see you, I notify the others and we begin to search."

It wasn't a cheering thought, but I gave him a nod and reached for the headlight switch. His hand shot forward. "No headlights on the hill. You'll screw up the observations." He moved his hand to my arm and gave it a squeeze. "Be careful."

When he was back inside I reversed the truck and swung around onto the trail that would take me up a rise to the Gemini Telescope. I got my last view of Mellier poking his finger accusingly into Pexa's solid chest. I hoped he could keep Pexa occupied for at least half an hour. It might take me that long to huff and puff my way back down the three hundred metres that separated the two telescopes.

When I reached the Gemini Telescope I slowed and came cautiously around the base of the dome. It was a massive structure, one of the biggest on the mountain, and tucked into the base was a large loading dock just as Mellier had described. The loading dock bay was huge, the length of a semi and twice as wide. With no outside lighting on the summit, and no headlights either, it would be impossible to see even a large truck parked in its recesses. And, as Mellier had explained, Gemini used remote observing. Tonight's Gemini astronomers were sipping coffee in a warm office somewhere down in Hilo while the remote-controlled telescope streamed images back to them. There would be nobody up here to notice my truck.

I reversed and backed into the furthest corner, turned off the engine, and checked my watch. Five minutes, on top of the time it would take me to get back down to the FrancoCanadian Telescope, should give Mellier enough time to move Pexa out of the way and start a good yelling match somewhere else in the dome.

With the engine cut a vicious cold seeped into the vehicle, and despite all the clothing my teeth began to chatter. It was bizarre. I'd lived through much colder weather in Canada, but this cold was so penetrating that it seemed to cut right to the vital organs, possibly a consequence of oxygen deprivation. I checked the inner pockets of my leather jacket for my flashlight, lock picks, and other tools, zipped my coat back up, and slid out of the truck. I closed the door quietly behind me and crunched my way across the gravel to the entry of the loading dock. The land around me stood in relief: looming pillars of rock black against the deep blue sky and the huge ghost-like domes pale against the rock. I moved a bit further out and strained to hear, but with the wind buffeting the metal above I wouldn't hear a Sherman tank coming up this road. I had no choice. I pulled up my collar, regretted that I hadn't brought a toque, and headed down the hill.

Fifteen minutes later I was back in the FrancoCanadian observatory hallway sucking back air as if I'd just scaled Everest. I stood still long enough to run through Mellier's instructions in my mind then pushed myself off the wall and got moving. I took the same door Mellier had earlier, only this time there was no Pexa to stop me. An in/out board, the one I'd seen on Benson's video, was just inside the door. According to the magnets, four people were presently in the dome: Mellier, Pexa, Martin, and Aimes. That, at least, was a relief. There were no other itinerant astronomers that I might bump into.

At the end of the hallway I found the door to the stairwell and slipped inside. I was standing in a dark narrow chute with metal walls, the claustrophobic's nightmare. The steep, open risers seemed to disappear into the gloom above. Like everything else I'd seen so far — riveted metal walls, the round portals in doors, dim lights, and no windows — this place felt more like a submarine sitting in the Mariana Trench than an observatory perched on top of the world.

It was a brutal climb to the fifth floor, and I had to stop every few steps to gasp. By the time I reached the top my legs wobbled and my head spun. I sank down on the landing and noticed an oxygen bottle hanging on the wall. It was tempting, but I had no idea if the things made noise, so I decided to wait it out. When I could finally breathe again I stood, moved forward, and peeked through the portal. There was no movement or noise, but as Mellier had promised my destination was in sight: a pair of swinging doors just to my left had "Observing Room" written above them. This, Mellier had told me, was the telescope's control room. Within this small, heated space the telescope operator monitored and controlled the telescope, and observing astronomers watched as their images and data flowed from the telescope through the computer to the monitors inside. I crossed the hall, pushed open the doors, and stepped inside.

A lanky young man sat in a swivel chair with his back to me. "We're ready to roll," he said, not turning around. He was facing what looked like the console of a NASA shuttle. In addition to watching an array of buttons, switches, gauges, and flashing indicator lights, his gaze seemed to dance over three computer screens arranged around him on an L-shaped counter. Each displayed a different image. "I'd say we're good," he confirmed, then he twirled around to face me.

"Hello, Shelton," I said.

I revised my first impression. Shelton Aimes wasn't lanky, he was thin to the point of gauntness and looked like he needed a Hawaiian vacation. His hair was greasy and parted haphazardly on the side, his skin pale and his cheeks hollow. The eyes, though, were huge and luminous, magnified by the lenses in his aviator glasses. It gave him a look of permanent surprise.

I stepped forward. With a thrust of his legs he backed his chair against the counter. "Who are you?"

"I think you know that already. May I sit down?"

He didn't say anything, but didn't move either. Then one hand darted for the phone. I crossed the room in an instant and snatched it before he could lift the receiver. I put it back on the desk, unplugged it, then pulled up a chair. Mellier has been right about one thing. Shelton Aimes was scared, but I wondered if it was a chronic state.

"I don't have to talk to you," he said.

"But why wouldn't you? One of your colleagues is dead, and all I have is a few simple questions. Nothing difficult, nothing incriminating. Not that you have anything to hide, but there are some details that just don't add up. Did you know I'm working with Detective Benson?"

I could see sweat on the fuzz above his lip. "I already spoke to him."

"And he told me you were very helpful, but there are a few things that have cropped up and you're the only person who can help us."

"I'm working tonight. I'm busy here. Look." He twisted around and poked the monitor to his left. "Do you know what that is?"

It looked like a swirling blob of red and blue. I shook my head.

"It's a front coming in. We have four, maybe five hours to get in a whole night of observations because when that thing hits everybody's off the mountain." He seemed to gain a little confidence. "I don't have time to piss around with questions."

"Fair enough, but either we do it here or Benson and I bring you into the station, and I can promise you it'll be way more convenient to do it here. So what do you say, Shelton? Just a few quick questions?" His leg was vibrating with tension, but he didn't say no, so I continued. "The night that Yves died —"

"That he committed suicide."

"The night that he died —"

The door swished open behind me. "What about that night?" A woman strode forward, yanked the telephone line from my hand, and jammed it back in the phone, then swung around on me, effectively blocking Shelton from my view. "What the fuck do you think you're doing. I've been trying to call him. Get out of here."

It was a powerful entrance, and even though they were on the same team Shelton cowered. Despite her physical presence the woman was tiny, not more than five feet tall, and even in the bulky clothes she'd be lucky to weigh in at a hundred pounds. Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat ponytail.

"You must be Elizabeth Martin. It's a pleasure." Then I moved my chair over so I could see Shelton and continued as if she'd never arrived. "The night of Dr. Grenier's death, did he have his research diary with him?"

He pushed his glasses up on his nose and glanced at Elizabeth. I looked meaningfully at her, then back at him. "It's a simple question, Shelton. It doesn't require Dr. Martin to get an answer."

"He doesn't have to answer you," she said. "You're not a cop."

I ignored her again and kept my eyes locked on Shelton. "Just tell me the truth, Shelton."

"I don't remember."

"That's odd, because Andreas Mellier told me that at one point in the evening you asked Dr. Grenier to check in his diary for a telescope positioning from the week before."

"I'm calling Pexa," said Elizabeth, and she reached for the phone.

I finally looked at her. "It won't change a thing. I'm staying until Shelton answers."

"He doesn't want to talk to you. Can't you see that?"

Shelton had paled considerably since I'd arrived. "Did Yves have his current diary in the dome that night? Yes or no."

Shelton nodded reluctantly.

"And did he have the diary with him when he left the building?"

He turned away and fiddled with his computer mouse. "I don't know." Then he said louder. "I don't know." He stood abruptly. "I think I'm going to be sick," he said and bolted from the room.

Elizabeth watched him leave then turned on me. "You complete asshole. If I lose Shelton tonight, if he's not here to operate the telescope, I lose a whole night of observing. Do you know what that means? No, of course you don't, because you're from Ottawa. So let me explain. I have five nights." She jammed her fingers in my face in case I couldn't count. "Five nights. That's five nights all year booked to observe on this telescope. That's all I can get, that's all anyone can get, and thanks to you I've just lost one of them. Goddamnit." She turned away from me and wrapped her arms around herself. "Goddamnit!"

The outburst seemed to calm her slightly, and she turned. "What do you want? Just tell me. I'll help you if you promise to leave."

"Deal. What's Shelton's hiding?"

"You need me to tell you that?" She flopped into the chair he'd vacated. "What the hell do you think? Guilt."

"Guilt? Why?"

"Because the telescope operator is responsible for the safety of everyone in the building. They can order someone off the mountain if they think they're too sick to stay and they ensure that everything is closed up and turned off at the end of the night. It's their responsibility to make sure that everyone gets out safely, then they lock up. Yves died on Shelton's watch. That's hard to get over."

"So it was Shelton who ordered Mellier off the mountain the night Yves died."

She glared at me. "I'm not going anywhere with that."

"Nor am I. I just need to understand." She barely nodded. I continued. "So if Shelton is responsible why didn't he check and make sure Yves got down?"

"He's not a babysitter. His responsibility ends when everyone's out and the doors are locked."

"Did Yves have his own key?"

"We all have keys, but you're not allowed in here alone, not under any circumstances. It voids our insurance." She stood up. "I've done my part. It's time for you to leave."

I stood. "You know it's not over. I'll get to Shelton eventually."

"But by the time you do —" Then she stopped herself.

"What?" Mellier stepped from a hidden door on the other side of the room. Where had he come from, and how long had he been there? He continued. "By the time she does, what, Elizabeth?"

She seemed less surprised to see him than I was. "Why are you helping her, Andreas?"

"Why are you not helping her? Yves was our friend."

"Exactly. Yves was our friend. And who do you think cares more about Yves? Her or me?" She kept her eyes on Andreas, but spoke to me. "Why don't you tell Andreas who sent you?"

"He already knows."

"Tell him anyway."

She said it as if she knew something that I didn't, and that made me uneasy. "The Minister of Industry and Science," I said carefully.

She'd taken on the tone of a TV lawyer. "And he's interested in what, exactly?"

She was pushing me toward some hidden trap, I could feel it. "They want the diaries. They belong to the government."

She swung around to me. "A tautology, Morgan O'Brien. They sent you here because they want the diaries. They want the diaries so they sent you here. But why do they want the diaries?"

The trap door swung open and I began to fall. She caught the momentary panic in my face and laughed. "They didn't tell you, did they?" She turned to Mellier. "They didn't tell her, Andreas. Do you know why? Because this isn't about Yves. They don't care about him. They only want the diaries. If they cared about Yves, how he died, do you think they would have sent …," and she gave me a look of disdain, "… her?"

I drove my truck back down alone. Mellier decided to stay up at the dome and help Elizabeth since Shelton had collapsed in the staff lounge and was attached to an oxygen mask. I took one peek in and even I didn't have the heart to question him, he looked so pitiful huddled in a down jacket with the mask plastered to his face. But as I'd said to Elizabeth, it wasn't over. I needed to know where that diary was when Grenier'd left the building, and Shelton was the only one who knew.

I'd also have another go at Elizabeth Martin, but I'd wait until my anger died down. She'd as much as told me I was being used, and that infuriated me, but the fury was fuelled by fear. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind a little voice was saying the same thing, and whether the interpretation of the facts held up under scrutiny, there was no denying the facts were solid. Bottom line, I didn't know why I was here, not the underlying reason why these diaries were so important, and that pissed me off. Not knowing the bigger picture was like walking in the forest without a map: I'd stumble blindly from tree to tree ending up in the same place that I began. It was no way to run an investigation.

Back at the Astronomy Centre I headed directly for the cafeteria. It was open all night, with the staff there sending up sandwiches and hot meals to the telescopes for a midnight "lunch." I ordered the daily special, some kind of congealed flesh in a glutinous liquid. The counter guy plucked it from the hot tray with tongs and it slid across my plate on a greasy emulsion. Perfect. I was ravenous and wouldn't get another chance to eat for some time. Given the cholesterol load, though, I opted for the salad bar over the French fries, along with a big glass of juice followed by coffee. I chose a table in the far corner of the room that looked across to the summit of Mauna Loa. Far below on the Saddle Road a set of headlights seemed to slither through the darkness. I poked the meat with my fork and four little geysers of fat spurted from the holes. A second later I was savouring what turned out to be a deliciously juicy pork chop in a sublime and delicate sauce. It's true, you can't always judge a book by its cover. I turned off my rational brain and let my primitive senses prevail.

Half an hour later, revived, I crossed the stone floor of the foyer and went slowly up the stairs that led to my room. At the door I stood for a moment. Earlier that evening the hallway had been bustling: doors opening and closing, astronomers, technicians, and engineers hurrying along the hall with heavy briefcases and down jackets slung over their arms. Now all I could hear were the occasional low voice and the clicking of a computer keyboard somewhere nearby.

I put the key in the lock and opened the door but stopped abruptly. It was the smell that caught me first, faint but unmistakable: the manly odour of a deodorant soap. I scanned the room. Nothing seemed to be out of place. I listened intently, then, keeping my head high, I edged over to the bathroom. I pushed the door open with my foot, edged my hand inside, and flicked on the light.

It was empty.

I crossed to my room door and closed it, then I looked around again. Someone had been here, but nothing seemed to be disturbed. I turned on all the lights and began a methodical search for anything out of place. My clothes were hanging as I'd left them; the bed may have been further rumpled, but it was hard to say. I bent down and pulled my suitcase out from under the bed. It was still locked, but there were telltale scratches around the locks. I pulled out my key and opened it. Everything was as I'd left it.

At the bathroom door I stood for a moment and studied the position of my hairbrush, the placement of my shampoo, the exact angle of my toothbrush, all those things that I make myself aware of before I leave a hotel room. Nothing was out of place, and that made me nervous. Whoever had been in here was no amateur. Still, Locard's Law of Exchange had to apply. Whoever had been in my room must have left something behind and taken something away. Hopefully they would have left something behind more macroscopic than a carpet fibre, a strand of hair, or a trace of DNA. I didn't exactly have a crime lab at my disposal.

I pulled out my flashlight, returned to the main room, and threw my leather jacket on the bed. I was sure my suitcase had been opened so I started there. With the flashlight held obliquely to carpet, I ran it over the area where the suitcase had been, then swept out from that point. I'd arrived at the base of the bedside table when I found something: a few flecks of a fine silver powder just around its base. I kept my breathing even. I didn't want to jump to conclusions. I ran the flashlight beam up the side and caught a few flecks there as well. Now I was sure enough to cut to the chase. I pulled myself up so I was kneeling in front of the bedside table. There were two obvious choices: the phone and the water glass. Given the colour of the powder, a pale silver-grey, it had to be the glass. I pulled out my geologist's loupe, held the flashlight to the glass, and did a careful examination. I could see the smears where it had been wiped. I looked more carefully. There were no prints on the sides and no lip marks on the rim, just a few silver flecks around the base. Dusting powder: lightning grey. Someone had lifted my prints.

I switched off the flashlight and sagged against the bed. If they wanted my prints it could mean only one thing. They had official status and access to the fingerprint databanks. Whether they could get into the ones where my prints were stored would depend entirely on who and what they were.

I didn't even bother checking my watch. I needed some answers now.

Duncan picked up on the first ring. "Yes," he said abruptly.

"It's me."

He hesitated. "I can't talk. I'm waiting for a call."

"Who's on the ground here, Duncan?"

There was silence for a minute, then he said, "I'm not sure."

"Well I've had unexpected company and they lifted my prints. And while we're at it, where did you —"

Then I heard little Peter cry in the background and the plaintive voice of Alyssa calling for her father. His voice changed back into Duncan my friend. "Morgan, I'm sorry, but I just can't talk right now."

The connection went dead.

I sat there for a moment, stunned. I'd just been abandoned in Hawaii on some screwball mission for the minister without all the cards. On the other hand, Duncan had his own problems right now and I was a big girl. I'd have to work it out myself. I struggled to my feet. Best to stick to the plan, and the plan for now was to take a little ride.

I headed back down the Saddle Road and at its base turned toward Kona. About halfway down I took the turnoff to Waikoloa Village. It was dark as all get-out, no lights at all along the road, but as I neared the development I could smell the change in vegetation. The dry grassland transformed into swaying palms, lush gardens, and perfectly manicured lawns, the joys of irrigation. Behind the tropical paradise, though, were the same condos and double-car garages seen in every development across North America.

Grenier, I could see from my map, lived on a crescent. As I came up to his street I slowed and made the turn. It was a street of detached single dwellings with the houses nicely separated by vegetation or high fences. Grenier's house was a two-storey detached with fencing on either side. I kept moving slowly along and took in the neighbourhood. The only light from the houses was the occasional blue glow of late-night TV, and the driveways were packed with cars, often three or four to a house. There were some cars parked on the street, so my vehicle wouldn't look out of place.

When I reached the end of the crescent, I didn't loop back immediately but took some time to cruise the area and work out several escape routes. Occasionally another car pulled in behind me, but it inevitably deked around to pass. Other than that, the neighbourhood was dead. I drove back to the main street that fed onto Grenier's crescent and parked my car. I slipped my briefcase out of sight, did a final check of my tools, and quietly shut the car door behind me.

At this elevation, close to sea level, it felt more like postcard Hawaii. It wasn't brutally hot, but hot enough for me to start sweating in my leather jacket. And the air was damp and fecund, smelling like a mixture of chlorophyll and peat. I did one slow walk by Grenier's house to test the dog barking potential, which, fortunately, turned out to be low, then I looped back around, crossed his lawn, and moved into the shadow of the recessed door.

Through the sidelight the hallway looked dark and abandoned with a pile of mail lying on the carpet beneath the door. A set of stairs ran up the right-hand wall, and the hallway itself continued back to what looked like a kitchen in behind. I could see the edge of a glass door that must open onto a patio in the backyard.

Somewhere down the street a dog barked, then two cones of light appeared. I moved into the corner, confident that I couldn't be seen. The car didn't slow, just continued out the other side of the crescent. Maybe it was a security guard or, for that matter, a cop. It was time to move. I stepped off the portico and crossed to the side of the house. A narrow path squeezed between the house and the high fence next door. Halfway down I heard a siren wail somewhere in the distance, and it added to the eerie cacophony of night sounds: birds screeching, the rustle of big-leafed plants, the clicks and croaks of the lower phyla.

At the end of the path I stopped and glanced around the corner. A grouping of cheap outdoor furniture sat on a small cement patio, and this was surrounded by a border of ill-kept greenery. A high fence enclosed it all. I pulled out my flashlight but kept it off. After another minute of listening I left my corner and crossed the cement, aiming for the door. It wouldn't take me more than a minute to pick that lock and walk inside.

Then I felt something crunch underfoot, glass being ground into cement. I flicked my flashlight on, ran it across the patio door, and quickly turned it off. I wouldn't be needing those lock picks after all. Someone had been here before me, but they'd used a crowbar instead. I wondered, as I crouched low, if they were still inside.

I waited ten, fifteen minutes, straining to hear any noise from the house. Finally, when I was confident that I was alone, I stood and stepped into the kitchen. Pots and pans were scattered across the floor, drawers were upturned, even bags of food had been dumped out on the counter. What once were light fixtures were now gaping holes. The fixtures themselves dangled below, an uncanny reminder of Grenier's death. Despite the crow-bar entry this didn't look like a smash and grab. This looked like someone searching for drugs. Or money. Or hidden diaries.

In the hallway I stopped again and listened. Straight ahead was the front door, to my left the staircase and open archway, and to my right a closed door. Grenier's home office, where, Mellier had told me, Yves Grenier had kept a neat row of his old diaries. I started to move forward then saw something in my peripheral vision, a movement in front of the stairs. I froze. It was near the floor, then without warning it burst up the stairs, white and fluffy and scared. Then I connected something I'd smelled in the kitchen: the odour of drying cat food.

I forced myself to relax and moved forward. At the door to Grenier's office I caught a glimpse of the street through the sidelight. There were way more cars out there now than when I came in. I'd have to be careful with lights. I gave the knob a tentative wiggle. It wasn't locked, so I pushed it open with caution, and when I was sure I was still alone I stepped inside.

The office had been searched with no attempt to hide it. Drawers were pulled open, but not emptied as they had been elsewhere. Books had been pulled out of the bookcase but some still remained standing. I did a quick scan just to confirm that the diaries weren't there, then started with the phone. Who was on Grenier's speed-dial, and who was listed in his directory. I clicked through the speed-dial and wasn't surprised to see Elizabeth Martin, Andreas Mellier, and several other astronomers from the observatory. Shelton Aimes wasn't there, nor was Edwin Eales. The other numbers were for the computer room, the observing room, and the doctor, dentist, and InfoSurf line.

I moved on to the directory. Would I find Eales under E? St. James under S? But the very first entry under C stopped me cold. Carmichael, Duncan, at home and at work. My heart missed a beat and I reached forward to brace myself against the desk. Duncan never told me he knew Grenier, so why was his home number here? I yanked the phone off the hook and jabbed the dial button. There were several clicks and buzzes as the signal passed through the satellite links. I looked through the window to see a car in front of the house that hadn't been there before. It was a new model sedan, dark and the size of a tanker. The phone connected through. I heard a soft click somewhere behind me, but just then Duncan picked up.

"Carmichael," he said.

I felt cold metal touch my neck just behind my ear. "Drop it," a voice said quietly.

"Who's there?" Duncan demanded.

The barrel was pushed harder against my skull. "Drop the phone now."

The line went dead, I let go of the phone, and I placed my hands on the top of my head.