might be the director of the observatory, but St. James was a founding father.
I took his hand. At the first physical contact his demeanor changed, as if he'd resigned himself to my presence and was determined to be a gentleman, despite my profession. "A terrible tragedy, Ms. O'Brien. You must forgive us. We are all still reeling from the shock, and …," here he slowed and chose his words carefully, "it is difficult for us to understand what possible benefit could be derived from an investigation. Surely the police will handle that."
Then he withdrew his hand and sat back to wait for an answer.
"Are you here because of Dr. Grenier?"
He showed a moment of surprise — he was a man used to being answered, not questioned — then recovered. "A most unfortunate coincidence, I'm afraid. I'm observing the next few days." He must have seen my eyebrows raise and looked amused. "Oh yes, Ms. O'Brien, I still carry out an active research program, much of it on this telescope. Without the observing, why live?"
"So you knew Dr. Grenier then."
He made a display of shifting to face me, giving himself just enough time to frame an answer. "I did, yes, rather well. Dr. Grenier's death is a tragedy, not just for his family and friends, but for Canadian astronomy as well. He was a gifted researcher, and you can't just replace someone of that calibre. In Yves's case I don't think he can be replaced at all."
"I wouldn't go that far, Tony. We're all replaceable." Eales's voice was cool.
St. James, who seemed to have momentarily forgotten Eales, let his gaze drift back to his face and rest there, but before he could respond I did.
"You didn't get along with Dr. Grenier?"
"Don't put words in my mouth," Eales snapped. "I simply said we are all replaceable, a principle I'm sure Tony will support, in practice if not in theory. Now what do you want?"
"Edwin." This time the warning had more force, but so did Eales's response. He leaned forward, his hands flat on the desk, and glared at St. James. "This is still my office and still my observatory. And it is still my responsibility to run it as I see fit, regardless of your opinion." Then he switched his gaze to me. "I, for one, am overwhelmed with work since Yves managed to do considerable damage to the prime focus in his final asinine act. And every night of observing we lose represents thousands of dollars, a figure I'm sure Dr. St. James would be happy to confirm. So what the hell do you want?"
I let a beat pass, and when I was good and ready I said, "Dr. Grenier's research diaries."
Eales pulled back, and out of the corner of my eye I saw St. James's hand drop limply to the side of his chair. Eales, however, a pugnacious alpha male, hopped right back in the ring. "By what authority?"
Again I let a moment pass, just to let him know I wouldn't be bullied. "The Government of Canada, who, after all, owns them."
At this point I heard the door to the office open. "I'll take it from here."
I turned to see a cross between a leprechaun and Leif the Red standing, arms crossed, in the doorway. With his balding head of red hair and close-cropped auburn beard, he held himself like a Celtic chieftain, albeit in pinstripe grey. The only flaw was the bow tie. It's hard to take a man seriously who sports a bow tie. Although, I thought as he stepped in the room and shut the door behind him, I might have to revise that opinion.
He locked eyes briefly with Eales, then with St. James, before moving to me. He thrust out his hand. "Gunnar McNabb, Public Relations."
I didn't take it. "I'm not the public." I turned back to Eales. "I want the diaries, Dr. Eales. If you —"
Gunnar leaned over and gripped my arm. "This meeting is over."
I turned, looked at his hand on my arm, then looked up at him. "This meeting is over when I say it is." I snapped my arm out of his grip and turned back to the director. "Dr. Eales?"
St. James had bent his head and was now massaging his temples as if to ward off a major migraine.
"Don't say anything," said Gunnar.
I stood and turned on Gunnar. He wasn't any taller than me, but he was built like a brick wall: broad shoulders, big chest, all muscle. If he knew how to use that muscle, and it looked like he did, he could flatten me in seconds, but it wouldn't come to that. I poked him hard on the chest.
"You're obstructing an investigation. If you want to keep your job and your hefty government pension, back off."
He 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
