Murder in Orbit (6 page)

“Splendid!” cried Dr. Puckett, rubbing his hands together. “We're 240,000 kilometers out in space, in a closed colony where everyone is accounted for, and we have a dead man who can't exist—and in fact, no longer does. Do you realize that makes this the biggest locked-room puzzle in history? What a chance for us to be brilliant! And how did you make out, Mr. McPhee?”

By way of answer, I passed around copies of my composite drawing.

“Anyone recognize him?” asked Dr. Puckett, staring at the broad-faced, sandy-haired image I had come up with.

Cassie and Helen shook their heads.

“And what have you turned up, Elmo?” asked Dr. Chang.

“I'm glad you asked that!” exclaimed Dr. Puckett.

“I know,” said Dr. Chang. “Feeding you cue lines was the top item on my job description.”

I was beginning to realize that insulting Dr. Puckett was like throwing spit wads at an elephant. Even if you scored a direct hit every time, it didn't really make any difference. He rolled on as if Helen hadn't said a word.

“Through a complex process of elimination, I have managed to assemble a list of the people who could have put that body into a bulk collection spot. This involved some sophisticated comparisons of collection schedules, delivery times, and log-on notations. But it was worth it, as I have narrowed our list of possible suspects by 99.71 percent—from 25,112 down to 73. Not bad for a morning's work.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, if we continue at that rate, we will pinpoint our villain in approximately 10.43 seconds. Unfortunately, like the man about to reach the ground after stepping over a hundred-foot cliff, we have now come to the hard part.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” said Helen.

“You're safe for the time being,” said Dr. Puckett. “It's Rusty and Cassie that I'm going to put into action. I want you two to go out and start talking to these people.”

“What are we supposed to say to them?” asked Cassie. “Do we just go up and ask them if they killed someone and dumped him in a collection unit yesterday?”

“No. You show them the picture Rusty worked up and ask if they know the person. Odds are they won't admit to it, even if they do. But if you're paying attention, you'll be able to get a sense of whether or not they're lying. That's why I want both of you to go out on this one. One of you will be showing the suspects the picture—the other will be watching their eyes when they first see it.”

“But what do we tell them?” persisted Cassie.

“What do I care?” snapped Dr. Puckett. “Be creative. Tell them it's a school project. Tell them your sister spotted him eating a McBunny Burger, developed an unrequited passion for the guy, and is pining into an anorexic stupor. Drop a hint that we suspect he's the forerunner of an alien invasion. All I want you to do right now is get that picture in front of these people's faces. Now, here's the list, along with each person's workplace and home address. See how many of them you can get to before the day is over. Helen, I want you to stay here for a minute. I need to talk to you about our other project.…” He looked up at me and Cassie, as if he were surprised to see us still floating there. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he roared. “Get going!”

I glanced at Cassie. It was clear she wasn't too pleased about all this. But it was also clear that she had no intention of arguing with Dr. Puckett. She touched the button on her belt and headed for the door.

I started after her.

Fortunately, I had been fitted with a propulsion belt of my own while we were in the lab.

Unfortunately, it takes a while to learn to use those things properly. I bounced off three walls before I finally made it through the door.

It wasn't what you would call a grand exit. I appreciated the fact that Dr. Puckett did nothing more than chuckle.

Chapter 8

Cassie

When I finally made it into the hall, the look on Cassie's face did little to improve my self-confidence. She looked like someone who's been forced to babysit for her obnoxious little brother.

“You think I'm crazy, don't you?” I asked.

“I've already answered that question.”

“Cassie, I swear to you that everything I've said is true. I know it all sounds
crazy
. It
is
crazy. But that's why it's so important. There's something weird going on up here, and we're the ones who have to figure it out.”

She looked at me, and I could tell that she was surprised. “You really are serious, aren't you?”

“Of course I'm serious,” I said, surprised by her surprise. “Why else would I be doing all this?”

“I've been trying to figure that out. To tell you the truth, once you said all those stupid things about my father, I didn't really listen to what else you were saying. I was too mad. I figured you were just trying to prove something at his expense.”

“I was sorry about that after I'd done it,” I said, trying to be diplomatic without being dishonest. And I was sorry—at least, sorry that I had gotten her so riled up. Anyone would be. I mean, who in their right mind would want to have someone that good-looking upset with them?

The apology seemed to smooth things out a little. I don't mean we suddenly became best friends, or anything like that. But at least I didn't feel like I was walking beside a human icicle anymore.

We got in an elevator and headed for the Rim. We didn't talk much—there were too many people around for us to discuss the mystery, and even though Cassie wasn't actively hostile anymore, we still hadn't worked our way up to casual conversation. So I had to content myself with the view, which is pretty spectacular when the elevator first enters the Rim. Unlike the ride through the Spoke, where there's not much to see since it's enclosed to protect us from radiation, when you break through into the Rim, the glass sides of the elevators let you look out over the colony. It's an entirely different viewpoint than I get from my rock, because you're still a couple of hundred meters from ground level when it happens. Unfortunately, the elevator is moving so fast you don't really have time to enjoy it. In fact, some people never see it at all; anyone with a weak stomach usually faces inward, so they won't have to watch the ground rushing up at them.

“What next, Sherlock?” asked Cassie as we stepped out of the elevator.

Ignoring her sarcasm, I consulted Dr. Puckett's list. “The nearest suspect is about three buildings over,” I said after a few minutes.

“I can hardly wait,” muttered Cassie.

When you're doing something like this, the first time is always the worst. At least, that's the way it is for me. The attack of nerves I suffered as we approached the first address on our list was enough to make me want to take the next ship back to Earth.

We paused outside the door and I located the name, Dr. Debra Doyle, on the directory mounted beside the frame.

“What should we say to her?” I asked, gripped by a sudden surge of panic.

“How should I know? This whole thing was your idea; I'm only here because Elmo made me come. You do the talking. I'll watch her eyes.”

Thanks for nothing
, I thought. What made Cassie's reaction really annoying was that she was right. There was no reason I should expect her to carry the ball for me.

Straightening my shoulders, I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said a warm, feminine voice.

I touched the button at the side of the door and it slid open. Cassie and I stepped through.

“Can I help you?” asked the smiling brunette sitting behind the desk. She seemed very nice. Unfortunately, she was the secretary, not Dr. Doyle herself.

“We'd like …” I stopped. My voice wasn't working. I swallowed and tried again. “We'd like to see Dr. Doyle.”

“Can I tell her what it's about?” asked the secretary, still smiling.

“A school project,” I replied.

The secretary gave me a funny look, but she buzzed her boss and repeated the message. I watched as she nodded her head. I couldn't hear the actual answer, because it came through a small plug she wore in her ear.

“You can go in,” she said at last. “You're in luck. She's in a good mood today.”

Wondering what the doctor's bad moods were like, I led Cassie through the door the secretary indicated, into a room that was almost buried in books and papers. What is it about these scholars that makes so many of them insist on real books—which cost a small fortune to ship up here—instead of microfilms and computer storage, which are cheap and easy?

Dr. Doyle looked up from the book she was examining. She had a stern appearance, yet I could see a hint of humor in her eyes that made me feel at ease.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

To my astonishment, this wonderful thing happened: I opened my mouth—and words came out. That may not seem like much, until you consider that until that moment my mouth had felt like it was full of cotton balls. Suddenly I was not only talking, I was making sense. I was on a roll!

My grandfather had always told me that, being a McPhee, sooner or later I would find that I had the Irish “gift of gab.” I had pretty much given up waiting for it. And now here it was! (And not a moment too soon.)

“We're doing a kind of experiment for this scientist we work with,” I said, skating as close to the truth as I could. “It's a long story, and I can see you're pretty busy, so I won't take up a lot of time going into details. Basically it has to do with identification techniques and information chains. All we really want you to do is take a look at this picture and see if you can identify it for us.”

Cassie handed me the picture, and I passed it to Dr. Doyle. She glanced at it, then shook her head. “Sorry, can't help you.”

“That's all right,” I answered cheerfully. “In this study a negative response is as useful, statistically speaking, as a positive one. Thanks for your time.”

And with that I was heading for the door, before the good doctor had a chance to use the eight-letter word for
baloney
that I could tell I had brought to mind.

“For someone who didn't know what you were going to say, you did all right,” said Cassie, once we were back out in the hallway.

“Unexpected inspiration. Let's just hope it holds out. Do you think she was telling the truth?”

“Absolutely. I don't think that woman could lie if she tried.”

Merton Thorpe settled his feet onto his desk and loosened the flap of his collar. “So, whaddaya kids want from me?”

I handed him a copy of the composite drawing. “We're looking for this man. Someone told me they thought he used to work for you.” This was absolutely true; I had asked Cassie to say it to me just before we entered Thorpe's office. The weird thing was that having her do so somehow made it easier for me to say this to Thorpe with a straight face.

He glanced at the picture, then handed it back to me. “Never saw the guy.” Then he kind of squinted a little and added, “What are you kids up to, anyway?”

Cassie surprised me by chiming in. “It's a contest,” she said primly.

Thorpe looked at her, letting his eyes linger longer than I thought was appropriate. “More modern education, I suppose,” he said with a snort. “Well, sorry I can't help you. Better luck next time.”

He swung his feet off the desk and stood, indicating it was time for us to leave. That was fine with me. Something about him rubbed me the wrong way.

“What do you think?” asked Cassie, once we were outside his office.

“He's a skeeze, but he's telling the truth,” I said.

“I agree. He didn't even bat an eye when he looked at the picture.”

To my surprise, I was beginning to feel confident with this technique of watching people's facial expressions when they looked at the picture. It was hardly what you'd call a scientific method. But it seemed to work.

Besides, it was all we had at the moment.

“Well, that's ten,” said Cassie as she crossed Thorpe's name off the list. “I don't know about you, but I'm ready for some lunch.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” I replied. “After all, we've got only sixty-three left to go.”

Cassie groaned.

We stopped at the corner outside Thorpe's building, and I punched a couple of buttons on the pedestal that stood next to the walkway. A map and some written information appeared almost instantly. “Closest fast-food joint is this way,” I said, heading off to our left. “McBunny Burgers, here we come!”

“Speak for yourself,” said Cassie. “I never eat the things.”

“Why not?” I asked, not realizing what I was walking into.

She made a face. “I don't like hares in my food.”

I collapsed against a wall and stared at her in shock.

“What's wrong?” she asked, all sweetness and innocence.

I shrugged. “I was going to say I didn't know you had a sense of humor. Then I realized that after that pun, I still don't have any proof. I think maybe I liked it better when you were hardly speaking to me.”

She ignored me and kept walking.

When we reached the restaurant, I went to find a table while Cassie placed our orders and paid for the food. (We have a custom out here that whoever mentions eating first pays; it's not a bad way to deal with things, except when two stubborn people get in a contest and go hungry for hours at a time.)

We sat across from each other and spread the list out between us so we could plan our strategy while we ate. I thought about trying to play footsies with her, but decided not to press my luck. I mean, what we had so far was a slight thaw in the cold war, not a declaration of affection. Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted to get involved with a girl who was willing to make jokes like that “hares in my food” crack—no matter how good-looking she was!