She tried the laboratory where Fida and Emily had been working, and where she had secured the halophile sample, but he wasn’t there, either. In addition to everything else, they needed to decide what to do with the new biomatter. He had said that their other samples had survived as long as they were kept in water taken from the cryopeg but died soon after removal. She didn’t want to repeat that mistake.
She called and had Fida paged. Once again she went to the cafeteria and sat at a table with a cup of chlorinated coffee to wait. After fifteen minutes she grew impatient, and after thirty she started to worry.
She knocked on Graeter’s door, heard a growl that sounded something like “Enter,” and went in. She saw that he had replaced the woman’s picture on his wall with a fresh one, which, as yet, showed only a few punctures. Six darts lay neatly aligned on the right side of his desk. A stack of forms sat in front of him.
“Mr. Graeter, we need to talk.”
“Can it wait? You can’t imagine the paperwork required when someone dies here. And three?” He shook his head.
“No. Look, I’m a microbiologist. You know that. You’re probably an engineer by education. You think in numbers and angles. I think in pathogens and infections.”
She at least had his attention. “And?”
“You know that old saying, ‘Once an incident, twice a coincidence, three times a pattern’?”
“Heard it somewhere, yes.”
“Well?”
“You think the three women’s deaths are somehow connected.”
“I think it would be wise to assume they are and see where it leads.”
“That’s your take on what happened. Mine is different.”
“What is it?”
“Pole kills in lots of ways.”
What the hell is wrong with these people? she wondered. “That’s pretty much what Merritt said. But it sounds to me like you both are trying to explain these deaths away. I understand the reasons why you might want to do that. But wouldn’t it be wise to at least consider other possibilities?”
“I am considering them. I had Doc look into what happened, as you know. He can’t do much, but it’s all we have until conditions change and planes can land. You heard his statement about Lanahan and Montalban. His preliminary opinion is that an allergic reaction caused Bacon’s death.”
“And you buy all of that?”
He looked up sharply. “Did you go to medical school?”
“I don’t buy it. Bacon had been here almost a year, right?”
“I’m not an allergist. Neither are you, last time I checked. Doc is running some blood tests.”
“Did he say what kind? How long they would take?”
“What difference could it make?”
“Is he doing anything else? Growing cultures?”
“Jesus. I don’t know. Can you grow cultures from blood samples?”
“Are all the bodies down in the morgue?” she asked.
“You don’t need to worry about them.”
“I’m worried about what they might have left behind up here.”
“I have no reason to believe there’s danger to anyone else,” Graeter said.
It was like talking to a post. “You don’t know there is not danger to anyone else. Three people are dead.”
His head jerked up. “I definitely do not need you to remind me, Ms. Leland.”
She let the “Ms.” pass this time. “Mr. Graeter, I am not trying to get under your skin or tell you how to do your job.”
“Really? Because it feels like you’re doing both.”
“Others might die.”
“Nobody else is going to die. Jesus Christ. The bodies are quarantined and frozen. Doc has reasonable explanations. What do you have? Some crazy Andromeda strain bullshit? You haven’t been down here three days and you want to tell me how to run my station?” His voice had been rising, and his face reddening.
None are so blind, she thought. Might not be the best time to point out his, but too bad. “You could be compromising the safety of the entire station. You need to think about that.”
She nodded at the three framed photographs on his desk.
His hands balled into fists, stretching the skin, pulling open healed cracks that started oozing blood and fluid. She was sure he was going to slam both fists down onto the desk top. Instead, he opened them slowly and laid his hands flat, palms down. Took a deep breath, let it out. “We’re finished here. If you have a problem with my actions, you can file a complaint with NSF.”
34
“I won’t do that, and you know it.”
He picked up a dart and started running his thumb over the point. More calmly, he said, “I have a station full of Polies who have been here a year or longer. Some are okay, but a good many are right on the edge. You’ve seen them wandering around like zombies. An announcement about some killer germ could destabilize this population.”
Should I tell him? She wanted to. Needed to. But not yet. “Could I have a look at the station personnel roster?”
He stared. “Why?”
“I’m looking for a name.”
“Personnel information is confidential.”
She’d been expecting that. “Can you look at it for me, then?”
“What’s this about?”
That, too. “Emily was seeing somebody whose first name started with A-M.”
“And?”
“I’d like to know who it was.”
“Why?”
“He might know something about how she died.”
“We know how she died.”
“You think you do. I’m not so sure.”
“Sherlock Holmes in a dress. You’re beginning to show signs of paranoia. Are you aware of that?”
“I’m not paranoid, Mr. Graeter. And I’m not wearing a dress.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Isn’t a deputy U.S. marshal required to mount an investigation of something like this?”
He rubbed his forehead, took a deep breath. “That marshal stuff is mostly bullshit. More a formality than anything.”
“You said you were trained and sworn, though.”
“Two days of classroom work and two hours on the range. They called it LOST, believe it or not.”
“What?”
“ ‘Limited Operation/Situation Training.’ Translation: just enough to satisfy the bureaucrats.”
“But still. If a crime—”
“First a killer germ loose in the station. Now Emily Durant was murdered?”
“What have you got to lose by humoring me for five minutes?”
She had been choosing her words very carefully and watching Graeter’s reactions as she might have watched a copperhead on the desk in front of her. If he was the one, something would show on his face, in his voice, his eyes.
“Leland …” He shook his head but then turned around, looking over his shoulder to make sure his body blocked her view. “What was it, again?”
“Ambie. Probably short for a name like Ambrose. Ambert. Ames. Amos. Can you look for first or last names beginning with ‘Am’?”
“Do you know why I’m doing this?”
“No.”
“That’s too bad. I don’t, either. Thought you might be able to enlighten me.”
“Wow.” The genuine surprise in her voice drew a look from him.
“Wow what?”
“You do have a sense of humor.”
“It’s usually broken. Slips out at odd times.”
“I can see that.”
“Listen. Need to say this. When I’m wrong, I’m wrong. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“No need to apologize. Men are prone to such outbursts when they can’t think of anything better to do.”