LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

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

Скачать книгу