Cold Dark Matter. Alex Brett
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didn't. Back off, that is. In fact, he moved in closer. A little red light went off in my head, but before I could make the connection he was in my face. "I'd like to see your identification." His hand was out, waiting. For a smallish man he had big, beefy fingers.
"Gunnar, please." That was St. James. Gunnar's eyes, a lively blue, flicked toward him. St. James must have signalled something because Gunnar took a small step back, although he clearly wasn't happy about it. I felt myself relax slightly, but Gunnar still had his hand out. "How do we know you're not a reporter?"
I pulled out my ID and handed it to him.
He read out my name, position, and affiliation then handed my ID back. "You have no authority here. I'll have to ask you to leave." He stepped aside and motioned to the door. "Now."
"Authority? We fund this operation."
Eales cut in. "We're incorporated, Ms. O'Brien. Although our funds come from Canada and France, we exist as a separate corporation under the laws and statutes of the State of Hawaii. Thank you, Gunnar. You're quite right. She has no authority here."
Gunnar reached for my elbow. For a PR guy he had very bad manners. I put up my hand in acquiescence. "You're right Gunnar, Dr. Eales. I have no authority. Not technically anyway." I dipped down and picked up my briefcase. "So I'll just fly on home to Ottawa and write up my report for the Minister of Industry and Science telling him that the Canadian staff of this telescope refused to cooperate in his investigation, right from the director, down." I held out my hand to Dr. Eales just to show that there were no hard feelings. "By the way, Dr. Eales, when is your next funding review?"
"All of you, stop this." It was the quiet voice of Anthony St. James. He raised his head from where it had lain cradled in his hand. "I think we should cooperate. Edwin, we have nothing to hide. We've done nothing wrong. Tell me, what can it hurt?"
Gunnar moved forward a step. "I wouldn't advise that, sir."
"No," said St. James, barely suppressing his annoyance. "I'm sure you wouldn't, but I think you'll take orders from me on this one." He sat up straighter and seemed to rally his strength. "Sit back down, Ms. O'Brien. Let's get this over with. What is it you want?"
"The diaries, and the sooner I find them, the quicker I leave you alone."
"But we have no idea where they are. How can we possibly help?"
"So they have disappeared? You don't have them, or one of your astronomers?"
He glanced at Edwin, and Edwin gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.
St. James turned back to me. "Not that we know of." "But you didn't notify the police. Not one of you." A complete silence greeted my statement, and I let it hang in the room for a good minute. Outside, the rain splashed against the window. Eales had his head turned and was staring at the bushes outside, as if he'd disengaged entirely from our conversation. McNabb's shoes squeaked as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Finally St. James leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees, his eyes focused on his hands.
"But we don't know they've been stolen. Maybe Yves hid them. Maybe he destroyed them. How do we know what was going on in his mind before —" He stopped abruptly. "Well, obviously he wasn't thinking rationally." A piece of his sparse grey hair fell forward, and he pushed it back with a weary gesture.
"I want to search Grenier's office, then I want access to all the staff records and any staff members who saw him or worked with him the day he died."
Eales reconnected and snapped his head around. "This is not Ottawa, Ms. O'Brien. People actually work here. You may search the office, yes, but you may interview the staff only through me. And no records."
"I can insist."
"Not without a subpoena, you can't, and I don't think even the minister wants to breach Hawaii's privacy laws."
I could just imagine Duncan's reaction if I landed him in that kind of toxic water so I figured it was time to cut my losses. I'd work around the other problems later. I pulled my briefcase to my lap. "I'll check his office now." I stood. "If you can think of anything that might help me locate the diaries, call me." I gave them both a card with my cellphone number on it. Gunnar moved to the door and opened it. I gave first Eales, then St. James, a penetrating look. "The sooner I find these things the sooner I'm out of here, and the less I disrupt your work." At the door I turned once more. "Think about it." Then to Gunnar. "I don't need an escort. I can find my own way."
It was Eales who responded. "There are limits to my patience. Don't try them." And he nodded to Gunnar.
"Are you normally stationed here?"
Unlike most PR professionals, Gunnar made no attempt to be social. "Ottawa," was all he said, but it was exactly the answer I wanted. I'd been pretty sure he wasn't from here. He didn't have a tan, his accent was Ottawa Valley, and his grey suit and bow tie just didn't say Hawaii.
"Which department?"
"Astronomy Institute. Director of Communications — Acting." He pulled out a business card and handed it to me.
I tucked it in my pocket. "So you'd know Amanda Sims."
He gave me a sideways glance. "I doubt it."
"Science reporter for the Ottawa Citizen?"
"I work at the policy level. My staff would know her."
Not likely, since Amanda Sims didn't exist. "If you work in Ottawa what are you doing here?"
We'd gone around a corner and had now arrived at Grenier's office door. McNabb unlocked it and motioned me through first. "Containment." He stepped in behind me and shut the door.
Grenier's office was small, neat, and in shades of grey. The wall directly in front of me was ceiling to floor glass, with a door that led outside to a lawn the colour of Astroturf. Grenier's desk sat almost in the middle of the room with a computer arm off to the side and two guest chairs in front. Behind these was a wall of books.
I swung around. "I thought you did policy?"
Gunnar crossed to the windows and opened glass louvres to let some much-needed fresh air into the room, then turned around backlit by the windows. It was, I noted, a cop trick, putting your conversational partner at an immediate disadvantage. Where had he picked that up?
"We're concerned about media fallout. I'm here to keep an eye on things until they settle down. A bit of a perk for me, really."
I looked at the monsoon outside. Some perk. It was probably warmer and drier in Ottawa right now. As for media fallout, what was the Institute expecting? Most Canadians didn't even know we had a telescope in Hawaii, and unless Grenier's death involved sex, drugs, or reality TV, they couldn't care less. "Have any reporters been sniffing around?"
"I'm afraid I've just arrived so I haven't been fully apprised."
I almost smiled. This guy was not only an excellent liar but also a master of half-truth and evasion, the exact set of qualifications that allowed him to excel in the field of public relations. I watched as he crossed back toward the door, but instead of leaving, as I'd hoped he would, he took up a position directly in front of the desk. With his back against the bookcases, he crossed his arms and prepared to watch my every move. It was supposed to intimidate me, make me hurry through my task, but I had all the time in the world. Probably a lot more than Gunnar McNabb. I moseyed over to Grenier's desk, pulled out his chair, and sat down with a sigh of comfort. I tried a few drawers, which were all open, and then I smiled over to Gunnar.
"Might as well sit down. You're going to be here for a while."
He gave me no facial reaction whatsoever. He pulled one of the guest chairs over and sank into it. Then he sat, back straight, arms crossed over his chest, and watched me. He wasn't going to make this easy.
When he was firmly seated I stood, walked over to the door, and opened it. "It's a little stuffy in here," I said. And I want every single staff member to see me going through Grenier's desk. But that, I didn't say. I wondered