Pleased, Nimec sat back and regarded him with his old cop's eye for noting standout physical characteristics : straight brown hair worn in a step cut, gold wire-framed glasses, smallish chin, teardrop-shaped whisker under his lower lip. Wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap backward on his head, a Red Sox T-shirt to match, baggy khaki shorts, and Nike sneakers sans socks.

Nimec gestured to the insignia on his shirt.

"Take it you're a Red Sox fan," he said, seeking a bit of common ground.

Jeremy nodded. "I have a place on Sanibel Island about an hour's drive from where the Sox do their spring training, and fly down to watch them get primed every year."

Nimec gave him a curious look. "Sanibel's a couple hundred miles south and west of us, isn't it?" he asked. "You told me that you were going out on your cat' when Annie contacted you this morning ... how'd you make it here so fast?"

"Easy," Jeremy said. "Got a place in Orlando too. I've been staying there since Annie asked me to help with the investigation." He leaned forward and gave her a wink. "My girl beckons, I come running."

Annie smiled a little. "Jeremy and I met about three years ago when he arrived for payload specialist training in Houston."

Nimec tried not to sound surprised. "You," he said, "were an astronaut?"

Jeremy adjusted his glasses. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable.

"Not exactly," Annie interjected, moving in for an obvious save. "Non-NASA payload specialists fall into a unique category and are chosen by a sponsoring organization--usually a concern that's arranged to perform a set of low-gravity experiments or launch some orbital hardware aboard a flight. These would include chemical and pharmaceutical companies, educational institutions, military contractors, and communications outfits like your own."

"And the Spectrum Foundation?" Nimec said.

Annie nodded.

"At the time Jeremy was doing a study on crystal formation."