Page 124 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Airtight

Waldo pulled his hands off his face, leaving most of his sour
expression behind. “Wait a minute, Kelly. Wait a godamned minute.
Are you saying that Laurel committed suicide at our goodbye party?
Nobody is going to support that theory.”
I raised my hand for silence. “Each of you may well have to
support whatever theory you subscribe to: the police are not likely to
let any of us go home without being questioned first. Lt. Gramercy
already told Ben not to leave town.” I paused while the
criminological implications of my remarks sank in. “Up to a point I
would expect all of us to do what is right for the project and for
Cyborganics. Now, that doesn’t mean lying to cover anything up. It
just means, well, putting the best face on it we can. So, if you have
any axes to grind, remember that your statement can get blown out
of proportion, particularly if the press gets hold of it. I will try to
keep this all as low-keyed as possible. You have to talk to the police,
but you don’t have to give interviews to every scandal-sheet reporter
who manages to sneak past the receptionist. Is that clear? I have to
go chaperone the shamus: she wants to poke around in the
Ecodome.”
More half-hearted objections were raised, and I dealt quickly with
them; I didn’t want to exhaust whatever store of good-will I might
have had with the law at that point by keeping Ms. Gramercy waiting.
I left, having gotten a modicum of assurance that the five of them
would behave in my absence. I also avoided catching Toro’s eye. He
had said little, for which I was grateful. His personality was magnetic,
and he could have swayed the others into rebelling against my totally
fictitious authority.
I walked as quickly as I could in my heels down the hall and out
the back door into the parking lot. A few journalists lingered by their
vans; I dodged them and made a beeline for the dome. Lt. Gramercy
was already at the airlock, notebook in hand. She nodded a curt
greeting as I approached. My fingers fumbled at the keypad next to
the portal. I hoped the detective understood that my haste was
generated by a desire to get us inside before the hounds of the press
figured out what was happening.
“How many people know the code to open this door?”
We stepped into the small antechamber and I had the fleeting
pleasure of watching the outer door close virtually in the face of a

123