That’s the new title. It works better, alas. I don’t think I’ve shared this clip, but I can’t share the clip I was working on, because it gives too much away.
“Yeah, I was the last person to see the corporal,” Gillian Waite told me. “Except for the murderer, I guess. Who was not me.”
Tobias hadn’t expected to get any real leads from the power plant skeleton crews, but Waite’s name had popped up. She just wasn’t one of the people on those crews; she had been the one who first reported Oates as being missing. She had come in for another interview with ill grace, but was still answering questions.
“I didn’t ask if you were,” Tobias pointed out. “Why assume?”
“Why not assume? I’m always getting asked about stuff I didn’t do. What’s one more?” She shrugged one shoulder. “I guess I got one of those faces.”
Tobias was forced to admit that yes, she did. Waite wasn’t ugly, or even plain: big green eyes in a delicate face, with her frizzy black hair in a spaceman’s bun. But her mouth was set in a smirk, and those same eyes were cynical and assessing. She had a clean record with base security, but they didn’t list ‘congenitally untrustworthy’ as a possible demerit charge.