Page 71 of Identity Unknown
“Not any I’m aware of.”
“And if you’re using it for big scientific projects, I would imagine you’re not buying sample sizes off the internet. You’re dealing with a commercial lab somewhere.”
“There are only a few of them in the country, none in Virginia that I know of,” Lee says. “And regolith simulant isn’t the sort of thing you create in your hobby shop with a tumbler or a portable grinder. Industrial machinery is involved, and you’ve got to get the right rocks and minerals from somewhere on this planet.”
He explains that the typical moon dust simulant used for scientific research often has a fluorescent additive that glows white. It makes it easier to determine if a spacesuit or piece of electronic equipment is properly sealed. High-quality simulants are pricey, anywhere from ten to thirty dollars per pound depending on where you get it.
“That adds up when buying tons of it to simulate lunar, Martian or asteroid conditions,” Lee is saying.
“Can you make any sense of this?” I sit down on the bed, sipping my coffee. “We’re talking about a child who didn’t go out and play. Luna Briley rarely left the house or had company. She was all but held in solitary confinement.” I feel the anger flaring again. “How the hell did she get fake moon dust on her?”
“I’m guessing it was transferred to her pajama top by someone who had physical contact with her. My question is whether there are other sources of the simulant inside her house.”
“I don’t know if the entire place was searched with crime lights, but the bedroom and certain other areas definitely were while I was there,” I reply. “And nothing fluoresced cobalt blue. Not that I saw or have heard about.”
“If there’s no trace of it in the house,” Lee says, “then it was transferred to Luna by someone who had it on their clothing. That’s what I’m guessing.”
“And how might that person have been exposed?”
“Anybody who works around it, for example,” he says. “A number of aerospace companies and government agencies, including NASA, use regolith simulants, as you might imagine. The real thing is locked up in vaults. Only a small amount of real moon dust and rocks still exist since we were last on the moon more than fifty years ago.”
I’m getting off the phone when Benton emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around him. He’s clean-shaven, his hair damp and combed straight back, his chiseled chest and flat belly covered in a sheen of sweat. I tell him what I’m finding out.
“Christ. I can’t say I saw that coming,” he says.
“You and me both.”
“I can’t imagine many uses for fake moon dust beyond the obvious aerospace research,” he adds. “For one thing, it’s extremely dangerous.”
“To everything and everyone,” I reply. “Chronic exposure without appropriate protection can cause severe lung damage and death. I’d worry about anyone spending much time around it.”
“Our trace evidence lab will confer with yours when appropriate to confirm what Lee told you, and I have no reason to doubt him.” Benton is getting dressed in khaki pants, a polo shirt. “We’ll find out who’s having a simulant like this shipped to them, specifically focusing on anything in this area.”
“I suspect that whoever left the microscopic residue on Luna wasn’t aware of it and wouldn’t have been unless walking under a black light,” I reply as Carrie Grethen hovers in my thoughts. “I suppose someone regularly exposed to moon dust, fake or otherwise, could leave it all over the place without realizing it? Or is this more of the same? Another rabbit hole? Another riddle to solve that leads nowhere, Benton?”
“We don’t know who left it,” he says. “And we don’t know the source. But if Carrie’s the one transferring this stuff all over the place, I strongly suspect she’s none the wiser.”
“Then she’s made a mistake.”
“She may have.” Benton ties his shoelaces.
“Or maybe she doesn’t care if she’s leaving it,” I reply. “Or she wants us to find it.”
“All of the above are possible, depending on other things going on.”
While he’s on the phone with other agents, I put on clean cargo pants and a long-sleeved tactical shirt not appropriate for hot weather. But when I last packed the jump-out bag it was winter. My clothes are wrinkled and a bit musty smelling.I should have hung them up before going to bed but was distracted by my husband and tequila.
I’ve texted Lucy several times on a secure messaging app, and am just now hearing back. She and other investigators are next door at NASA Langley inside building 1112 examining Sal’s pickup truck. I reply that Benton and I will head that way as soon as we check out of our room. Then I pass along what I’ve learned from Lee Fishburne about the moon dust simulant.
Probably the same thing we’re finding all over his truck,Lucy writes back.You’ll see when you get here.
I ask if she’s heard from Marino. I’ve sent texts and tried to call since early this morning, and he’s not responding. She informs me that he rented a car and drove back to Alexandria. No way he was getting on the helicopter again, he told her to tell me. Last they communicated he was at the office, and I send him a message. I tell him that Benton and I are on our way to look at Sal Giordano’s pickup truck.
I’m with Faye,Marino answers me right away.
He’s inside the firing range with Faye Hanaday, and he sends a video of a white cloth-covered target screeching along a track. Faye has safety glasses and headphones on while testing the Beretta .22 pistol that killed Luna Briley.
BANG! BANG! BANG!