BILL HAMMONS: WRITING AND RUNNING IN BOULDER, COLORADO
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"Yes, that's her."

Bradford Bettmann lowered the photo back onto the large desk in the small room the security personnel at the Johnson Space Center had provided him, and then he reached for the parking lot photo.

"Miss McCormick--"

"Maddy, please--"

"Maddy, you said you watched this woman being driven away by a man in a Porsche. Did you get a good look at him?"

Madison shook her head silently.

"But it was a guy, wasn't it, Maddy?" Lisa Goodall asked her friend. "That's another thing--"

"Miss Goodall, let me do the interviewing here. Maddy, could you tell the sex of the driver?"

Maddy stared into the agent's eyes once more, then at the full head of gray. "The driver had a haircut just like yours."

Bettmann managed a smile from his position on the far side of the desk. "Fine, it was a man. Now, Miss Goodall--"

"Lisa, please--" Lisa insisted with a sideways glance at her friend.

"Fine. Lisa, you were saying, 'That's another thing'?"

"It's all so strange--this beauty trying to pick up Matthew Katzberg--I mean, he's sweet, trust me, but he wouldn't be my first choice if I wanted to sleep with a Colonist--" Lisa's voice trailed off as she blushed under the agent's gaze.