LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

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