Space Case (22 page)

My watch alarm chimed. I glanced at it and groaned.

“What's wrong?” Zan asked.

“I forgot I'm supposed to have a session with Dr. Marquez today.”

“About what?”

“Everyone thinks I'm going psycho because I said Dr. Holtz's death was suspicious. And yet here's all this evidence that says it was.”

“Even so, it's best to keep this to ourselves.” Zan fixed me with a piercing stare. “You
swear
you haven't told anyone else about what we're up to?”

“I swear,” I lied.

“Good. Although . . .” Zan trailed off, as though she was embarrassed about finishing the sentence.

“Do you need something else?” I asked.

“I hate to ask, especially given the threat you've received.”

“That's even more reason I want to help,” I said. “The faster we find whoever sent this, the less chance there is they can hurt me.”

That wasn't the only reason. I didn't want to admit it to Zan, but the investigation was exciting. It had shaken up my dull life at MBA and given me something to focus on. Even though I'd been threatened, I didn't want to go back to my boring old routine.

“I just need you to keep your eyes and ears open a bit longer,” Zan told me. “I'm going to look into all these leads you've found and try to figure out where Dr. Holtz stashed his phone, but I could still use another brain on this. Sound out Dr. Marquez right now. Watch Daphne to see if she does anything else suspicious. Keep your distance and don't do anything stupid, but pay close attention to our suspects—and anything else you notice that's out of the ordinary.”

“That's it?” I asked.

“Trust me, that's plenty. Now hurry. You don't want to be late to your appointment with Dr. Marquez.”

“Actually, I do. In fact I'd prefer to miss it completely.”

Zan laughed. It sounded so sweet, it was almost like a song. “I understand. And if he wasn't a suspect, I wouldn't push you.”

“All right.” I headed for the door, opened it a crack, and peeked into the hall.

Mr. Grisan was passing by on the ground floor, but otherwise there was no one around. Once Mr. Grisan was around the corner, I stepped out onto the catwalk and waved Zan through after me.

She hurried for the stairs while I locked the door. She'd only gone a few steps before something occurred to me. “Wait!” I whispered.

Zan turned back, looking nervous to be out in the open with me. “What?”

“I told you about all the suspects I found. Did
you
find any?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Trust me, Dashiell, the less you know about what I'm doing, the safer you are.” Before I could protest, Zan ducked around the corner, disappearing from sight.

Lunar day 189

Lunchtime

“How are you feeling, Dashiell?”
Dr. Marquez asked.

“Hungry,” I said. “I missed breakfast today.”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“That's how I'm feeling.” I held up a plate of recently rehydrated enchiladas. “That's why I've got this. I didn't want to miss lunch, too.”

Dr. Marquez picked at something in his teeth. He was seated on an InflatiCube across the table from me in his family's residence. Dr. Marquez usually met patients in the medical bay, but Dr. Holtz's body was still in there, and
everyone figured that having a corpse around wasn't conducive to a good therapy session.

The Marquez family's large SlimScreen was set to an image of a wheat field: acres of golden grass rippling in a light breeze. It was probably supposed to be relaxing, but all it really did was make me hungry for fresh-baked bread.

I'd never enjoyed my meetings with Dr. Marquez, but I put up with them because I thought they were important. Now that Chang had told me Dr. Marquez wasn't very good at his job, I was annoyed. His nervous tics and probing questions were getting under my skin—and it was hard to hide, since he kept asking me to discuss my feelings.

Dr. Marquez said, “Your parents have expressed concern about how you're responding to Dr. Holtz's death. You have been distressed, distracted, paranoid . . .”

“What did I do that was paranoid?”

“You suggested that the death wasn't a mere accident. That there might be a conspiracy surrounding it.”

“I didn't say anything about a conspiracy.” I forked some of my enchiladas into my mouth, only to discover they weren't enchiladas. They were liver and onions that had been mislabeled. I spat it back onto the plate.

Dr. Marquez pointed triumphantly. “Ah! See what you just did? You told me a lie, and your own body reacted violently
against it. In being dishonest with me, you almost made yourself throw up.”

“No, I almost threw up because this food sucks,” I countered. “It's liver and onions. I didn't like liver and onions back on earth. No one does. So what NASA moron thought it would be a good idea to dehydrate it?”

“You are displaying a great deal of anger,” Dr. Marquez said. “I wonder if this might truly be about something else besides the food.”

“It's not,” I said. “I'm starving and I just got the worst lunch imaginable. I'd rather eat rat droppings.”

Dr. Marquez templed his fingers under his chin. This was a very special weird tic of his, the one he did when he was trying to look smart. He generally followed it with what he imagined was a Very Impressive Observation. “I think you're subverting your anger, Dashiell. Something else is annoying you.”

Yeah, you,
I wanted to say. But I didn't. Instead I shoved the liver and onions away from me. A little bit sloshed off the plate onto the table.

Dr. Marquez recoiled from it. “Dashiell, I understand the source of this anger. Dr. Holtz's death has been upsetting to all of us—”

“No,” I said. “It hasn't.”

Dr. Marquez arched an eyebrow. “You mean it's not upsetting to you?”

“No. It's very upsetting to me. But other people here haven't been upset at all. In fact, there were a lot of people here who didn't like Dr. Holtz very much.”

“That's not true . . .”

“Like you, for instance.”

Dr. Marquez froze. He'd been about to say something, but now a weird, surprised gagging noise came from his mouth. It took him a while to decide what the proper response to my accusation should be. He finally opted for indignation. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it's true.”

“And what could I possibly have against Dr. Holtz?”

“He thought you were a lousy doctor and tried to keep you from coming up here.”

Dr. Marquez made the weird gagging noise again. He was struggling to control his emotions, but he couldn't quite do it. Anger flashed in his eyes. “Where did you hear that?”

I didn't want to rat Chang out, so I said, “Lots of people said so.”

“Well it's absolutely false!”

“So you weren't angry at Dr. Holtz?”

“This session isn't about me! It's about you.”

On another day I might have backed down, but Zan had asked me to sound out Dr. Marquez. And besides, provoking him was much more fun than answering annoying questions
about myself. “All I'm saying is, there are people—like you—who aren't at all upset that Dr. Holtz died. So maybe it's not paranoid of me to think that his death wasn't an accident.”

Dr. Marquez gasped. “Are you accusing me of something?”

Rather than answer, I shrugged.

Dr. Marquez shook his head and tutted. “This is very disturbing. Your delusions are worse than I was led to believe. Have you told anyone else this?”

“Some people in security.”

“And what was their response?”

“They were already suspicious of you.”

It was a lie, but Dr. Marquez bought it. His eyes went wide in surprise. “That's ridiculous! I had nothing to do with Dr. Holtz's death! And besides, there are plenty of people here who were far angrier at Dr. Holtz than me!”

“Like who?”

“Lars Sjoberg and his wife!” Dr. Marquez blurted out, so worked up he forgot all about censoring himself.

I leaned forward, intrigued. “Sonja?”

“Oh, definitely. She
hated
Dr. Holtz. He hadn't wanted the Sjobergs to come here and had been very vocal about it. Sonja was offended—and believe me, that is one woman you don't want on your bad side. Everyone thinks Lars is dangerous, but she's the real hothead in that family.”

“Really? She doesn't seem like it.”

“Don't believe that icy exterior of hers. Underneath, she's a volcano. Back on earth, at a charity luncheon a few years ago, one of her best friends made a joke about her being shallow. Sonja stabbed her in the leg with an oyster fork. Lars had to spend nearly a million dollars on lawyers to keep her from filing charges.”

“I never heard that,” I said.

“Lars spent another couple million keeping the story hushed up. I only found out during a hypnosis session.”

I was growing more convinced that Dr. Marquez wasn't a very good psychiatrist. I was pretty sure doctors weren't supposed to talk about their patients like this. But as long as Dr. Marquez was doing it, I was going to keep pushing him. “Did she ever hurt anyone else?”

“Oh yes. She once attacked a paparazzo with a high-heeled shoe. And when she caught a butler trying to steal some of her lingerie, she tackled him and bit part of his ear off.”

“And NASA let her come up here?”

“They didn't know. Like I said, the Sjobergs spent a lot of money to keep her bad behavior under wraps. But she's not the only enemy Dr. Holtz had up here. There's also Mr. Grisan.”

“He didn't like Dr. Holtz either?”

Dr. Marquez started to say something but then changed his mind. “Actually, I can't speak to that.”

“Why? Did Mr. Grisan tell you something in confidence?”

“No. In fact, Mr. Grisan doesn't have any sessions with me.”

“He doesn't?” I asked. “I thought everyone was required to do that.”

Dr. Marquez shrugged. “Not him. I don't know why. I asked my superiors at NASA, but they said to forget about it and just let him be.”

“So then why did you suggest him?”

“I don't think he and Dr. Holtz liked each other. I once overheard Dr. Holtz telling Nina he didn't think Mr. Grisan could be trusted.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know. That was all I heard. It's no basis to accuse Mr. Grisan of anything. I should never have mentioned it. You got under my skin, and I made a mistake.” Dr. Marquez nervously nibbled on his thumbnail.

“So is there anyone else you suspect?” I asked.

“I've said too much as it is.”

“I'm not asking for anything you heard in a session—”

“The point is, I shouldn't even be playing this game.” Dr. Marquez was calming down now, seeming to realize that
he'd blabbed too much. He corkscrewed his index finger in his ear, digging out a glob of wax. “No good can come out of making accusations. No one had anything to do with Dr. Holtz's death except Dr. Holtz. He made an error of judgment and died by accident. End of story.”

“But you just accused two people yourself,” I said. “You really think this was an accident?”

Instead of answering, Dr. Marquez sniffed the earwax, wrinkled his nose, then flicked the wax across the room, where it stuck to the wall. “Let's talk about
you
, Dashiell. Why do you continue to insist there's a conspiracy at work?”

I sighed. Dr. Marquez had regained his composure. I wasn't going to get any more out of him. Now I'd be stuck talking about my feelings for the next hour.