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 if Gunnar 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
