Earlier that morning, after updates from the rest of the team, Greg had run background and credit checks on Justin Harris and found a thirty-eight-year-old man who rented his home, paid his bills on time, had never been married, and earned a bachelor’s degree in physics and a master’s in technical communications from UCF.
Time for another visit.
He found him in his front yard, arguing with a preppily dressed guy, who turned out to be Justin’s ex. So Justin was gay. Greg was surprised at his own relief. The ex was an asshole, and to top it all, also a lawyer. Once Justin convinced the guy to leave, he spent the next five minutes apologizing with one breath and running himself down with the next. When he finally came up for air, he said, “I’m sorry. What can I do for you, Agent Marcotte?”
Greg threw caution to the wind…although a tiny piece of his brain wondered if he had totally lost his mind or was only sleep-deprived. “You can call me Greg. You can stop apologizing. And you can explain to me why you think that clown will ever do any better than you.”
Justin’s jaw dropped. To his credit, he recovered quickly. “Pfft. You saw him. He’s a catch.”
“What I saw was an obnoxious jackass who doesn’t deserve a decent guy like you. And your verbal jousting with him was impressive.”
Justin blushed, which Greg found endearing. “I’m a writer. I use my words. And how do you know I’m a decent guy?”
“I’ve met a lot of indecent guys. I know a decent one when I find him.”
Justin seemed nonplussed by that. “Huh. Well. Thanks. Um…”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
Justin grinned. “Now who’s apologizing?”
Greg laughed. “Yeah, okay. I don’t suppose you’ve remembered anything else about your conversation with Roy Shaw.”
“No. I told you everything. Have you learned anything else about him?”
“Not much. Just that he acted as the payload liaison for Skyose.”
“No kidding.” Justin scratched his nose. “That’s odd.”
“How so? Did Shaw mention it to you?”
“No, not at all. Some of the other reporters were talking about it before the launch, just saying that it’s atypical that nothing leaked about a non-military payload. Usually there’s at least a rumor. Not this time.”
“Wouldn’t that only indicate that Skyose is better than most at stifling leaks?”
“I suppose. Then there were those two Ideodax guys at Preacher.”
Greg sat up straighter. “Who?”
“Sam Boone and Glenn Pietras.”
“What did they say?”
“I asked whether they’d release the payload information after the investigation was complete. They said probably not. They asked me if I’d heard anything about the payload, and they were happy when I said no. Boone asked for my card. He said he’d call me first if the information was ever released.”
“Do you know anything about Ideodax?”
“Very little. This was their first space venture. They’re a communications company, so the assumption would be that they were sending up a communications satellite.” Justin shrugged. “Shouldn’t be any big secret about that. Unless they’re a military contractor in disguise.”
“Not to my knowledge, but we’ll check to make sure.” Greg drained his water. “Can I ask a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“How did you get interested in space?”
“My dad was an engineer with the shuttle program. Thirty-five years, from beginning to end.” Justin smiled, as if remembering. “He was busy during launches, but he took me to every landing. He said it was a miracle, every time the shuttle landed safely.”
Greg said, “It almost always did.”
“Yeah.” Justin winced. “I was at KSC with my dad, waiting for Columbia. Such a horrible day.”
“Are your parents still living?”
“My mom is.” Justin traced the pattern of the Formica with his finger. “When the shuttle program ended, my dad was kinda lost. He built that coffee table and a few other pieces, but he really didn’t know what else to do with himself. Then just over a year later he dropped dead of a heart attack.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Anyway, Mom remarried a couple of years later and moved to The Villages.”
“Ugh.”
“Right? Now can I ask you a personal question?”
“Turnabout, huh? Okay.”
“Where are you from?”
“Swannanoa, North Carolina. Just east of Asheville.”
“Ooo. I bet that’s gorgeous.”
“Sure is.”
“How’d you end up at Patrick?”
“With the military, you go where they tell you. I applied for Kirtland and Holloman, wanting to go west and live near mountains. So they sent me to the beach.”
Justin laughed. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
“Nah. It’s grown on me.”
“Are you in the Air Force?”
“Nope, I’m a civilian. About half of us are.”
“Why AFOSI?”
“I thought it was the best gig when I decided to go federal.”
“Oh, what did you do first?”
“I was a cop in Charlotte. A homicide detective.”
Justin made an O with his mouth.
“Yeah. I was sick of arresting fifteen-year-olds for killing each other over shoes and girlfriends.” Greg rolled the empty water bottle between his hands. He had no idea why he was spilling his guts to Justin, but it felt right. “Listen, I need to get back to base. But…would you like to get dinner later? Unless you have other plans.”
Justin narrowed his eyes. “You’re not just feeling sorry for me because of Clay, are you?”
“What? God, no. Trust me, if I didn’t want to have dinner with you, I wouldn’t have asked.”
Justin’s smile was tentative. “Yeah. I’d like that. We could get takeout and eat here, if you’d rather. Since I’m a witness in your case, maybe we shouldn’t be seen together in town.”
Greg grinned. “I like the way you think, Mr. Harris.”
Justin grinned back. “Text me when you’re free, Agent Marcotte.”