Ghost Writer(53)

Anything was possible. For that matter, it could be Gravell.

I pushed myself away from the bulkhead and went to the rail. The rain was a cold, gentle spray. It washed away the sudden nausea and rising paranoia. Holding onto the rail, I leaned back, unsurprised to find Gravell behind me.

No, I decided. Gravell couldn’t be the saboteur, or he could, but I wasn't going to go there. That was Minton's route, not mine. Everyone was innocent until proven guilty and Gravell had given me more reason to trust him than not.

“I refuse to be paranoid,” I said aloud.

“Paranoia is bad. Careful is good. Dry is good too, Madame Kirby. Do you think we could get out of the rain now?”

I chuckled and thought, poor man. What a trial I could be.

“Okay. Let's get to work. Hope the coffee is still hot.”

“It's tea, and it's in a thermos.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight ~ Voices from the Past



By lunch time, the rain had stopped and the sun was starting to break through the clouds, giving the sky a cathedral-like beauty. No one was going to get me inside.

“Let’s have a picnic on the deck. We can fetch sandwiches and refill the thermos. By the way, do you have some objection to me having coffee after breakfast?”

“It’s harder to mask poison in tea.”

“Seriously?”

He smiled and shrugged, making me wonder if he was messing with me.

I wasn't the only one feeling cooped up. The rest of the research team joined us on the aft deck. Naturally, we started talking about the station.

Mary Lou shared the information about the blood. Tracy told us that Minton had his fingers over everything, but Dawes had his hands on Minton's few personal items. I wondered about the journal and had a sudden pang of guilt because, no matter what I said about being careful, I had badly compromised that piece of evidence. I should have been handling it with gloved hands if at all. Gravell gave me a grimace that said the same thought had occurred to him.

“Did you read the letters from your father?” I asked Mary Lou.

She shook her head.

“Dora wanted you to go through the material first. She hasn't given us access to it yet. To be honest, I'm a bit nervous about it. The letters could be very personal or disturbing. That's why I'm letting Tracy process the written material. She doesn't have the same stake in the contents as us.”

I pulled out my smartphone. Everything I was working on was backed up on it and, unlike the phone, I never forgot to keep it with me. I called up Lou Boreman's letters and read a couple of them aloud. Mary Lou teared-up with emotion.

“I remember Puddles. I don't remember walking with my daddy. I suspect I was in a pram at the time.”

“I'll send you copies of the other letters for you to read at your leisure. There's one that involves your mother that I'd like to hold back until I speak to her, if that's okay with you.”

“Course, honey. I trust you.”

I hoped that she would still trust me later, when she learned about the journal. On the whole, I decided I was comfortable with my decision. I had no illusions that anyone else would share my perspective.

“Did you come across anything from my uncle?” asked Mike.

I consulted my archive list.

“There's one letter to his brother.”

“My father was dead.”

I nodded. “I know. Sometimes that doesn't stop you. I haven't had a chance to read it yet. I can call it up now, if you like.”

He nodded, so I began to read.

Dear Johnny,

Lord, I wish I could put a stamp on this letter and know it'll reach you. I've never felt so alone. I thought I was used to this shit, but sometimes I feel like I'm invisible. I always thought you were crazy to settle for the infantry when you were the brightest one of us, but at least you had friends. I've got what I always wanted, and now I wish I settled for being a cook.

Boreman's not bad, the red-neck son of a bitch, and Golanger is okay except he looks at me like I'm from another planet. The officers deal with me only as much as they need to. I was forced on Shore and he resents it. His friends resent me on his behalf. Of the lot, Minton's the only one who seems colour blind. He only cares that the job is done well and he doesn't socialize much with anyone, so I can hardly take offense if he doesn't pay much attention to me.

“It goes for several pages,” I said. “From the looks of it, each paragraph is written at a different time. The whole thing is treated like one big letter.”

This could provide some perspective on what was going on a counterpoint to Minton's journal. Since I wanted read further on my own, I searched for a reference to Naire in other documents.

“Here's something about your uncle written by Margolo.”

Weapon's Tech Joey Naire

Has skills that make the ladies stare

I stopped, red-faced.

“On second thought, I won't read that one. In fact, maybe I'll get back to work.”

Of course, Mary Lou and Lil had to look over my shoulder. Despite the fact that neither was a giggler by nature, both giggled. Out of a sense of fair play, I showed it to Mike.

He read it, smiled and said, “Probably true.”



After lunch, Gravell asked for permission to look at Minton's journal. He had gloves on and an evidence kit. When I wasn't reading it, I kept it in a sealed bag. When I was reading it, I tried not to touch it any more than necessary. Even so, I couldn't imagine what he would find that wouldn't have been compromised either directly by me or by exposure to salt and damp in the atmosphere.