Cold Dark Matter. Alex Brett
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am afraid."
I put out my hand to restrain him. "Are you saying that Eales and St. James are trying to hide the circumstances around Grenier's death?"
"I'm saying they're lying, yes. Everyone is lying. Perhaps even the police."
I remembered Benson's willingness to help a neigh-bour, an almost inexplicable behaviour in a cop. "Did you voice your concerns to the police?"
"They don't want to hear. They think I'm some crazy Frenchman who sees aliens and the CIA under my bed, but I can tell you something. I work with Yves for many years. He did not jump that night. I know this for sure."
"Suicide is notoriously unpredictable. It's possible you wouldn't have known."
"Then why is Shelton lying? What is he afraid of?"
"Shelton Aimes? The telescope operator?" And the last person to see Grenier alive.
"Sure. You want to see for yourself? He works at the telescope tonight. I take you there and we have a little talk with Shelton." He poked the air in my direction. "You're the investigator. You see if he's telling the truth."
I sat back in my chair and took a moment to weigh the pros and cons. The waitress arrived with two plates, although they were barely visible beneath the huge slabs of meat on each one. When she was gone I leaned toward Mellier and said quietly, "It's a police investigation. I can't just waltz in."
At that his dark eyes twinkled. "Ah! You mean like you did in Yves's office."
He let me squirm under that for a few seconds, then he reached out and put his hand on my arm. "I know more about Yves Grenier and those diaries than anyone else in Hawaii. You help me find who pushed him, I help you find the diaries. Perhaps we will, what is the expression in English? Kill the two birds with one stone." Driving is my meditation, a time when I can let my mind detach from the rational world and move into a deep subconscious process that sorts and organizes information in entirely new ways. When I left Mellier on the porch of the restaurant, with an agreement to meet him later at the Astronomy Centre, I needed a long drive. My subconscious was writhing with little worms of information that refused to be stilled. Maybe by the time I reached Hale Pohaku and the Astronomy Centre, I'd have a few of those worms under control.
I was about to turn the key in the SUV when I remembered something and checked my watch. It was just past two o'clock here in Hawaii, making it five hours later, around seven o'clock, in Ottawa. Lydia might be home. I reached for my cellphone and hit the speed-dial. If I was really lucky, I could stamp out a few of these wrigglers before I even got started. After a series of buzzes and clicks the line connected.
"Hey, Lyd, no classes tonight? No Firearms 101 or Interviewing 302?"
"I am trying to study for my final exams," she said pointedly, "in between your assignment, of course. Are you settled in Hawaii?"
"Settled wouldn't quite describe it. You turned up anything yet?"
"You mean in the brief time I've had since you called?" She let that hang for a minute. "Interestingly no, although not for want of trying. I did have an excellent lunch today with the minister's personal assistant. Like so many of our public servants she does enjoy The Canal Ritz, but then you'll see that when you get the bill."
Hey, I wasn't paying. I couldn't care less. Duncan's budget came from the minister, so the minister had just taken Lydia and his own secretary out to lunch. As far as I was concerned, they both deserved it. "You asked her about the telescope, discreetly I presume?"
"Really, Morgan, I've been at this a long time one way or the other. Yes, I did mention the telescope, and that's what's interesting. I am quite sure she's never heard of it, much less any controversy surrounding your astronomer's death. Just to verify I made a few other calls on your behalf — all very discreet of course — and they confirm my first impression. The rank and file know nothing of it, which, you must admit, is curious."
Both curious and unusual. It meant that this investigation was "need to know" only, even within the minister's office. It seemed a bit extreme. "What about the other thing? Did you get a lead on Duncan's wife?"
There was a pause just long enough to let me know that Lydia still didn't approve. "Not as yet. I should have something by the end of the day tomorrow."
Something in her tone caught me. "You're not holding out on me, are you? You haven't talked to Duncan?"
"That, Morgan, would be unethical, and I, at least, try to avoid that. Now I really must go and study. I have forensic science tomorrow." The line went dead.
I pressed the "end" button and pushed the phone aerial in, then laid the phone on the console between the two seats, all the while replaying that last exchange. Lydia hadn't actually answered my question, so that left it hanging. Had she been in contact with Duncan?
With a sigh I started the truck, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed back toward the telescope headquarters. Just beyond the headquarters there was a turnoff to the Saddle Road. On my map the Saddle Road appeared as a narrow squiggly line that cut right across the centre of the island, crossing the high mountains through a pass between the peaks of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. At the highest point on the Saddle Road, just before it began its descent into Hilo, there was a faint broken line that snaked up to the summit of Mauna Kea. Halfway up this line was a little dot labelled Hale Pohaku, the location of the Astronomy Centre, and my home for the next few days.
By the time I reached the turnoff the rain had let up but a heavy mist still poured from the cliffs above, hiding the terrain around me. The Saddle Road began with about the width of a driveway, and by a few metres in it had degraded to a track of broken asphalt. The first turn was a blind twist, then the road shot straight up. I scrambled to gear down and the truck lurched forward. With my hands gripping the wheel and my foot on the gas, I gave up any idea of disengaging. If someone came barrelling down the road we'd both be dead.
After ten minutes of what felt like a vertical climb the mist began to thin, and I saw light above. I came around another corner, then I unexpectedly shot out of the fog into clear blue sky and an intense and dazzling sun. I was in a high chaparral of rock, stunted Ponderosa pine, sage bush, and low, spreading cacti. A few long-horn cattle lifted their heads as the truck rumbled by, but they quickly went back to pulling at the tufts of grass that poked out between the cacti. Then the road levelled and opened up into a wide, flat valley of yellow grasses and low shrub. Mauna Loa rose on my right like a soft green swell. On the left, the peak of Mauna Kea loomed above me, a fortress of rock.
With the road flat and wide enough to see oncoming traffic, I now could let my mind wander. I began with Mellier. What was he up to? Was he only interested in the death of his friend, or was there something else? I ran through our conversation from several directions, dissecting it for inconsistencies and possible untruths, but I could find nothing glaring. Still, something wasn't right. Why, for starters, would Mellier trust me? He didn't trust anyone else, so why had he waltzed me out of Grenier's office? What did he know, and what was in it for him? I mulled that over and didn't get anywhere, so I filed it away for more work. Maybe I'd know more after our trip to the telescope.
Then there was the problem of Duncan; too many little things that didn't add up. How did the minister's office find out about Grenier's death so quickly? Benson didn't tell them, unless his surprise at seeing me was feigned. And it wouldn't have been Eales or St. James, since they obviously didn't want outside interference. So who was it?
Then I realized that two of the worms were related.
Someone had sent the minister's office a photograph of Yves Grenier hanging off the telescope, and it must have been taken a very short time after his death to arrive in Ottawa so early. That meant several things. Someone on-site in Hawaii knew of the minister's interest in Yves Grenier. And, whoever this person was, he or she had either police connections or unauthorized access to the crime scene. I gave myself a good, swift mental kick. If I hadn't been so damned preoccupied with Duncan's personal problems I would never have left that café without the name of the Hawaiian source. I filed away another mental note. Squeeze Duncan, and squeeze him good. He was withholding information, and that's not allowed.