Cold Dark Matter. Alex Brett
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would get up and close the door, but, as I'd hoped, he didn't. He obviously figured I couldn't get into too much trouble under his watchful eye. Unfortunately, he was right.
Duncan had given me a description of the diaries — bound blue notebooks just like we used to use in chemistry lab — so I knew what I was looking for. I also knew I probably wouldn't find them in Grenier's office, but that wasn't why I was here. I pulled out my notebook, laid it on the desk, and pulled the first drawer out onto the desk. I carefully removed, examined, and catalogued every item in the drawer. When I'd finished that, I moved on to drawer number two. At my current rate, it would take me approximately three hours just to complete his desk.
As I worked, I saw several people pass the office in the hall outside. By the time I'd finished the second drawer word had gotten out that someone was rifling Grenier's desk and traffic had picked up considerably. Some people stopped and stared. A few even approached the door, but they backed off when they saw McNabb seated like a prison guard on the chair across from me. McNabb, I noted with satisfaction, had begun to squirm, and that was my cue. I pulled out the third drawer and put it on the desk, then I lifted my briefcase onto the chair, opened it, and made it look like I was pulling something out and stuffing it in the pocket of my jeans.
"I'll be back in a minute. I just need to use the ladies'." We'd passed it on the way here, so I didn't wait for a response. I just breezed out the door.
At the bathroom door I gave a quick glance up and down the hall, saw no one, and pushed the door open, letting it bang shut, then I scooted across the hall into an empty seminar room, leaving the lights off but the door wide open. I leaned on the wall just inside the door and waited. It took seven minutes. I heard a light step coming down the hall. It stopped outside the ladies' room, then shuffled impatiently. Finally, the staccato click of high heels approached from the direction of the office. McNabb directed the woman to check the stalls. A minute later she was out with the unfortunate news. They were empty.
"Shit," said McNabb, and the sound of his footfalls diminished as he took off in the direction of the office. There was no sound for a moment, then the heels clicked into the bathroom and the door swished shut. McNabb had left Grenier's office door open, but the instant I was back inside I closed it. I didn't have much time.
The first thing I did was grab an agenda from Grenier's desk and stuff it in my leather jacket. Next, I hit the callers button on his phone and scrolled to the day before his death. I wrote down the names of the people who'd called Grenier that day, the following day, and the day after he died. I would have liked to get the names of all the callers, but my time was limited. Next I moved on to his speed-dial and copied down the ten names there. I'd just gotten into his directory when I heard a soft knock at the door. I froze. Was it locked or not? There was another soft tap, the door opened, and a small, round man slipped inside and shut the door quietly behind him.
"They are looking all over for you," he remarked in a beautifully articulated French accent. Then he stepped forward, took a furtive glance over his shoulder, and said, "Andreas Mellier, at your service. I was thinking that maybe you might like an escape route."
Actually, I'd planned to let myself out Grenier's back door, but Mellier was offering me an intriguing alternative.
He glanced at his watch. "And it is lunchtime. Perhaps you would care to — " There was a shuffle outside and the door swung open. Mellier did a quick pirouette, which brought him face to face with McNabb, or face to shoulder, to be more accurate. "Ah! It is Monsieur McNabb," he said with a grin. Then he motioned to me. "You see? I have found your fugitive and she has agreed to have lunch with me at the Ranch House Restaurant. I am a very lucky man." He put out his arm. "Shall we?"
I linked my arm through his, gave McNabb a dazzling smile, and waltzed out the door on Mellier's arm.
chapter five
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,