Frozen Solid A Novel

37




LOWRY AND GRENIER HAD SEEN HALLIE TO HER ROOM SHORTLY after two P.M., which left three hours until dinner in the galley. She lay awake for two, dozed briefly, woke again. She swung down from the bunk, booted up the station computer, and checked for email. Nothing.

A knock. Agnes Merritt.

“How did you know?” Hallie asked.

“My business to know. For the record, I gave Graeter hell. He claimed it’s for your own good. Bulldoo, but he’s in command. Tell me about Fido.”

Hallie described her meeting with him the previous day. Then: “He told you about Vishnu. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She had thought Merritt might look uncomfortable. Not one bit. More like bemused. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. Remember I said to talk to Fido about the research? I knew he’d get it right.”

Reasonable, Hallie thought. “What about Graeter?”

Merritt shrugged. “He’s with NASI. That’s part of GENERCO. Oil is what they do.”

“So they might be afraid of something like Vishnu.”

“Conceivably.”

“Fida thought Graeter might have killed Emily.”

Merritt looked skeptical. “Graeter’s bitter and angry. Hates women, for sure. But killing Emily? I don’t know.” Her tone and expression said she could not completely discard the possibility, either.

“Did anything change after you told him about Vishnu?” Hallie asked.

“He got friendlier, now that you mention it. That did strike me as odd at the time. Now I’m thinking he might have been trying to divert attention. A smoke screen.” She shook her head. “This is crazy. But telegraphing intentions is the last thing a killer would do.”

“So you do think he could have killed Emily? Because of Vishnu?” She felt something move down in her belly. Not a pain, exactly. More like pressure. She thought of Diana Montalban. “And might be involved in Fida’s disappearance.”

“I can’t believe we’re even talking this way.”

“I’ll take that for a yes.”

“A maybe.”

“Can you communicate with NSF?”

“Not until comms are back up.”

“Do you have a secure line?”

“You mean like CIA spook stuff? It’s hard enough getting hamburgers and gasoline at Pole.”

“Can’t go out because it’s Condition One. Can’t fly. No phone or email. Aren’t people talking about these deaths?”

“Of course. Graeter’s dog-and-pony show in the galley didn’t help. Might have made things worse. A good many people think he’s covering something up.”

“I got some very dirty looks in the hall earlier. They must really believe I brought a pathogen in.”

“Some definitely do. Not sure how many.”

Hallie’s gut spasmed suddenly, like a fist clenching, then released. She remembered Diana Montalban bleeding to death on the floor of the galley. Another spasm, this one bad enough to make her wince and grunt.

“What’s wrong?” Merritt asked.

She needed to keep going. “Just a cramp. So about Graeter …?”

“Nothing to do until comms are up.”

“Any idea when flights might start again?”

“The cutoff is sixty and ten. We’re about twenty degrees away from that now. I hate to even think this, but winterover might have come early this year.”

“And winterover lasts eight months, right?”

“Yes.”

She thought about eight months trapped in the most escape-proof prison on earth with Polies dropping dead, going crazy, boozing and drugging, maybe killing one another, and possibly with some deadly pathogen floating around the hermetically sealed station.

In for a penny … “Agnes, do you know anything about triage?”

A frown, then a split second of hesitation, both of which could have been evidence of a struggle to remember some long-forgotten fact. Or of something else. “It’s an emergency medical technique. Sorts out who gets treated when. Or not at all. Why do you ask?”

“I was just curious. Maynard Blaine mentioned something about triage when we were having coffee.” That, of course, was a lie, but detectives told lies to get at the truth, didn’t they? “He sounded pretty excited about it. Before I could ask him anything, he was paged and had to rush off.”

“Blaine told you that? When?”

“Yesterday. He just wandered over and sat down. You know how he is.” She gave a sly wink, and just then something serious happened in her lower regions.

“I have no idea what he was talking about.” Merritt looked confused, and very displeased.

“Could it be the name of a research project?”

“No. I would know if that were the case.”

The conversation had dead-ended. “It was really nice of you to come all the way down here, Aggie.”

“Got to watch out for my Beakers.” Merritt glanced at her watch, stood. “Five o’clock. You should be out soon. I’ll probably see you at dinner.”

Merritt left. Hallie waited a minute to let her clear the corridor. She had given Lowry and Grenier her word, but this qualified as an emergency if anything ever did. She stood, gasped, and sprinted for the women’s room.