by Claire McNab
On Friday everyone had received a memo advising that in the last days before the symposium, Georgia Tapp would be coordinating all administrative matters. From now on, first thing every morning, all staff concerned with the event were to report to her office for instructions. Because I'd slept in and stopped to talk with Ariana, I was running late, so I got my apologies ready.
Outside Georgia's office I ran into Zoran Pestle, who headed the committee set up by Yarrow to handle the organizational details of the symposium. He was the dark, intense sort at the best of times, but today he looked positively sinister. Gesturing toward Georgia's door, he hissed, "She's a fat spider sitting in the middle of her sticky web, pulling strings and railroading everyone who gets in her way."
For a moment I admired Zoran's mastery of mixed metaphor. "Georgia, you mean?"
His dark eyes narrowed until I wondered if he could see more than a narrow strip of light. "Yes, Georgia Tapp," he spat out. "What is she but a mere administrative assistant? I ask you, does she have a higher degree? Any degree? Has she the right, the knowledge, the experience to tell someone like me what to do?"
"Must be upsetting."
Zoran peered at me suspiciously. "You're only a graduate student," he said, "so you can't possibly appreciate the mores of the upper stratum of academia."
"Too true," I said.
As I spoke, Georgia's head popped out of her office door, giving us both quite a start. "What are you wasting time standing out there for?" she demanded. "Professor Yarrow has called an urgent meeting to discuss the tragic events of Saturday evening. You should be there now at this moment."
Zoran nodded. Obviously, he knew about Oscar Braithwaite's death. I hadn't had time to read the paper this morning, but guessed there would have been an item about a visiting academic's body being found on UCLA grounds.
As Zoran and I scooted off to join the meeting, he gave me the benefit of his advice. "Georgia can seem very sweet, but she's pure poison. You're inexperienced. You could be fooled."
"I'll do my best not to cross to the dark side," I said cheerfully.
Zoran shot me a puzzled look, as though he found it almost impossible to believe that I might be treating a warning from a man with a higher degree so lightly.
"We're here," I said, pushing the metal bar that opened one side of the lecture hall double-door. The room had raked seating, and we'd come in at the top row, so I reckoned we had a good chance of sneaking in unnoticed.
No such luck. Yarrow, standing at the front with a microphone stand, stopped in mid sentence to say sarcastically, "So nice of you to make it."
"G'day, Prof."
Someone laughed. Yarrow was not amused. His thin-lipped mouth turned sour, and his prominent eyes bulged a little more.
He cleared his throat. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Dr. Oscar Braithwaite's tragic demise must not be allowed to impact upon the Global Marsupial Symposium. Yes, it's true he was to deliver a keynote address, but I, myself, will step into the breech with my own original contribution to the quokka debate."
While he'd been talking, I'd been checking out the audience, looking for the future target of my charm, Erin Fogarty. I expected to find her in the front row, gazing adoringly at her hero, but finally spotted her skinny figure at the end of the second back row. It would be simple to manage things so I'd meet up with her as we were leaving the lecture hall.
"What about Penny Braithwaite?" a woman called out. "Are we sending condolences?"
"Of course," Yarrow said. "Dr. Penelope Braithwaite is a colleague- a rather notorious one, I'm afraid, but still a colleague. Arrangements will be made to send flowers and a suitable card expressing our commiserations."
"Deep commiserations," someone offered.
Yarrow scowled. "Oh, very well. Deep commiserations."
"How about deep, sincere commiserations?"
"That's quite enough discussion on the wording of our card of sympathy," said Yarrow firmly. He brushed his hands together in a we've-finished-with-this-topic manner. "And now-"
"How did Dr. Braithwaite die?" a grizzled old bloke called out. "The few lines in the paper this morning said he'd been found dead on Saturday night. No details."
Yarrow ran a hand over his high, domed forehead. "A fall, I believe."
Someone else said loudly, "I heard Dr. Braithwaite tumbled off scaffolding in a construction site on campus. Some of my students told me about it this morning."
A buzz of speculation filled the room. "What was he doing in a construction site in the first place?" someone asked.
Yarrow tapped his microphone, causing an irritating bop-bop noise, until the hum of voices died away. "If I may make a comment, I've had occasion, over the years, to spend a little time with Dr. Braithwaite. I don't believe I insult his memory to say he was not a cautious man, but he was a deeply curious one. I imagine he decided to explore the building undergoing renovation, and simply lost his balance, and sadly, fell. I gather he didn't suffer. His extensive head injuries made his death virtually instantaneous."
"But what was he doing in a building site at night?"
"I've no idea." Clearly, Jack Yarrow considered he'd spent enough time on the topic. "Now, on to more pressing matters. It's vital our global Marsupial Symposium be a resounding success. I hope I can rely on each and every one of you to pull your weight and make sure it is. And one last thing, if you haven't already checked your daily work schedule with Ms. Tapp, please go to her office immediately and collect the information."
I joined the stream of people exiting at the top entry doors, timing it so I'd end up next to Erin Fogarty. "Erin," I said, megafriendly, "bonzer to see you."
"Hello."
"I'm Kylie, remember?"
She nodded absently. This sheila looked like the weight of the world was on her narrow shoulders. Her face was all blotchy, and her nose was pink. Maybe, when Rube Wasinsky had seen Oscar and Erin together on Friday, they'd been getting together again, after the breakup in Western Australia, and now she was heartbroken at his death.
"Awful about Dr. Braithwaite," I said.
She hung her head. "Yes, awful." A few tears dripped down her front.
"There, there," I said, putting a sympathetic arm around her.
Erin lifted her head and looked at me directly. "I killed him," she said. "It's my fault."
EIGHTEEN
The detecting gods smiled on me, for when I got my assignment for the day from Georgia Tapp, I was rostered with Erin Fogarty, our task being to collate the individual information packets that were to be given out to each attendee at the first day registration.
After Erin's revelation as we'd left the lecture hall, she'd had a bit of a crying jag, and I hadn't been able to get another coherent word from her. She'd tottered into the nearest ladies' room to wash her face, and I'd headed for Georgia's office.
Actually, there was another surprise mere for me. I'd knocked politely on the door, and been told to enter. Georgia wasn't alone.
"Sorry," I said, "didn't mean to interrupt."
I'd never met the hulking man standing beside Georgia's desk, but I immediately recognized his too-small shaved head, his beady eyes, and his grossly overdeveloped body. In his photos Wally Easton, Yarrow's ex-brother-in-law, had looked unappealing-in person he was downright menacing.
"Come in, dear," said Georgia, all sweetness and light.
"G'day," I said to Wally Easton.
Easton's flat stare passed over me without interest. He didn't bother replying. I noticed he had disproportionately small, lobeless ears set flat to his skull. Somewhere I'd read that ears like that indicated antisocial tendencies.
"What are you looking at?" he asked belligerently.
He had a high, reedy voice. With a pulse of excitement I realized it was a good fit with Pen's caller on Saturday night.
Both Georgia and Easton were looking at me, waiting for my reply. It didn't seem safe to comment on his criminal ears, so I said, "I was just wo
ndering if you shaved your skull, or if you used one of those hair-removing creams."
"Is she for real?" he demanded of Georgia, who looked embarrassed on my behalf.
"Australian," she said to him, as if that explained everything.
He grunted. Georgia handed me my assignment, and I skedaddled.
I found Erin Fogarty in the lecture room temporarily assigned for symposium matters. She was listlessly sliding items into envelopes and checking off names against a list.
"Are you feeling better?" I asked. Her eyes immediately filled with tears. Apparently not.
We were alone, at least for the moment, so I went directly to the matter at hand. "How could you blame yourself for Dr. Braithwaite's death? It was an accident, wasn't it?"
She looked at me with tragic, red-rimmed eyes. "I hope so."
"You hope so?"
Erin sniffed loudly. "If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have been there. I'm sure that's true."
I tried a puzzled expression-not hard because I was. "I'm not sure what you mean."
"Oscar-Dr. Braithwaite-believed he was meeting me."
"You made a date to meet Oscar on the building site?"
Erin's weak chin trembled. "I did it for Professor Yarrow. How was I to know someone would get hurt?"
"Let's get this straight," I said. "Jack Yarrow asked you to set up a rendezvous with Oscar Braithwaite on top of the building he later fell off?"
Erin drooped her long neck, rather like a dispirited swan. "Not exactly."
Reining in an impulse to shake her until her teeth rattled, I said in a kindly, confiding tone, "Tell me all about it, Erin. You'll feel so much better when you do. My mum always says that a problem shared is a problem halved."
"What do you think of Georgia?"
"Georgia?" Crikey, I was sounding like an echo. "I hardly know her, but she seems nice."
'Nice,' I thought, was a safe word, which combined with 'seems,' didn't commit me to a definite view, so I could shift to agree with Erin, if necessary.
"Seems nice," said Erin. "Seems."
"This has something to do with Dr. Braithwaite falling off the roof?"
"Georgia took me aside and said she had a confidential task for me to do. She told me Jack-Professor Yarrow, that is-wanted me to meet with Oscar and tell him I'd realized I was wrong about Professor Yarrow and that he did steal Oscar's work." She sent me a fierce look, her cheeks glowing in pink indignation. "It isn't true. Dr. Yarrow was taking back what was his in the first place."
I clasped my hands and put an honest but naive expression on my face. "No! You're telling me Dr. Braithwaite stole research from Professor Yarrow? Why wasn't he denounced?"
"Denounced?"
Obviously Erin was developing my echo problem. "Why wasn't Oscar accused," I said. "Condemned, publicly humiliated, forced to admit his heinous academic sins?"
When she blinked at me uncomprehendingly, I spelled it out. "If Professor Yarrow believed his research material had been stolen by Dr. Braithwaite, why didn't he take steps to have this academic theft exposed? Why steal it back in an underhanded way?"
She looked relieved. "Oh, I see what you mean. It's simple, really. It was very sensitive material, a new discovery mat would turn quokka research on its ear. Professor Yarrow didn't want to provoke a scandal because the information would get out prematurely."
"I'm a bit lost," I said. "What has Georgia got to do with all this?"
"I think she's in love with him," said Erin, plainly bitter.
The sheila was getting me het-up, the way she was jumping all over the place. I calmed myself by mentally referring to Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook. There was a chapter on interrogation techniques. I recalled one piece of advice: Be a friend. Make the witness want to tell you everything.
"Erin," I said, "you've been through a lot. People have expected so much of you, but they haven't treated you with the respect you deserve."
She sat up straighten "You're right, you know, Carol. I wouldn't have said it myself, but yes, it's true."
"Kylie," I said. "The name's Kylie, not Carol."
She blushed, which together with her pink eyes and nose made her look positively rosy. "Oh, sorry. I'm just so upset I don't know what I'm saying."
To get her back on track, I said, "About Georgia-Zoran Pestle doesn't get on too well with her. He told me he thinks of her as a 'fat spider in a web.'"
Erin nodded vigorously. "He could be right." She clutched my hand, at the same time looking around the room for eavesdroppers. "I really believed Georgia was telling me what Professor Yarrow wanted me to do," she whispered, "but when I asked him face-to-face, he said he didn't know what I was talking about."
I was fed up with going around in circles. "Erin," I said firmly, "spit it out. What exactly did Georgia tell you to do?"
"I thought it was what he wanted," she wailed.
"Keep calm," I said, more to myself than Erin Fogarty.
She sniffed, swallowed, and thus fortified, began with, "Georgia asked me to get a message to Oscar that I wanted to meet him on Friday afternoon in the parking structure everyone in the department uses. I was to tell him that I…" She trailed off, blushing yet again.
"Yes?" I said encouragingly.
"I was to tell Oscar I still loved him and that I could get the evidence he needed to prove Professor Yarrow had stolen his research. I said I'd send a text message to his cell phone to say where and when we'd meet in the weekend." She snuffled and wiped her eyes. "Georgia told me to say we'd meet somewhere on campus, but it would have to be where no one would see me because I was afraid of Dr. Yarrow."
At last we'd got somewhere. For clarification, I said, "So you text-messaged Oscar to meet you at the building site on Saturday night?"
"Nooooo!"
I was startled. So was a meek-looking bloke on the point of entering the room, who gave Erin a horrified look and shot off.
"No? You didn't tell him that?"
"Georgia told me she'd handle that side of things. All I had to do was say I'd get a message to him." A sob racked her skinny body. "And I sent him to his death!"
I patted her shoulder. Surely she'd cry herself dry sometime soon. "This can all be sorted out," I said reassuringly. "You tell the police what Georgia told you to do, and they'll take it from there."
A few more body-wracking sobs greeted my observation. When she could talk, Erin cried, "You don't understand! When I saw Georgia this morning and asked her why, pretending to be me, she'd sent Oscar to that building site, do you know what she said?"
"Search me."
"Georgia said she didn't know what I was talking about-that we'd never had the conversation on Friday, that I was delusional and needed professional help urgently!"
" 'Strewth," I said, "you've been set up."
"You believe me? Jack didn't." She added quickly, "But he was very kind. He said I'd been working too hard, and had got confused."
"So Jack Yarrow said he knew nothing about this plan that he himself was supposed to have hatched."
"It's not his fault," said Erin, loyal to the last. "Georgia was lying when she said Jack was involved. He knew nothing about it, I'm sure. He's not that kind of man. Why, he-"
She broke off as Winona Worsack glided into the room wearing her usual long medieval dress, her dark hair loose on her shoulders. "You!" she exclaimed, pointing a long, imperious forefinger at Erin. "How dare you besmirch the name of Jack Yarrow! How dare you!"
"But, I-"
"Don't speak. I know what's been going on. You imagine yourself in love with my husband. Deluded wretch. Poor, sick creature. You are to stop pestering him immediately."
"He pestered me first!" shouted Erin, showing some spirit at last.
"That's why I fell in love with him."
"That's quite enough, you stupid little ninny."
I was admiring Winona's vocabulary, having never heard anyone use 'besmirch' in conversation before, and 'ninny' only rarely, when she turned her
attention in my direction. Crooking her finger, she commanded, "Kylie Kendall, come with me."
"Are you all right?" I said to Erin, not wanting to leave her distressed.
Anger had stiffened her spine. "I'll cope," she said. She shot Winona Worsack a mutinous look. "You don't understand him. You never have. Jack told me so."
Winona snorted. I felt like snorting, myself. Could Jack Yarrow actually trotted out that ancient cliche and said his wife didn't understand him?
Winona, of course, had to have the last word. "Idiot," she said and swept out of the room before Erin could respond.
"See you later," I said to Erin as I hastened to the door. I didn't want Winona to give me the slip.
"Jack can't leave her," Erin said. "He told me she swore she'll kill herself if he does. That's why he stays with her."
Blimey! This sheila had turned naive into an art form.
"And then," I said to Ariana, "I galloped down the hall after Winona Worsack, who gets a fair speed up on the wheels she seems to have instead of feet, since she glides so smoothly."
It was early evening. We were in Ariana's office, everyone else had gone home, and I was giving her a rundown of my day.
Ariana laughed. "A beguiling picture. What happened next?"
"Winona takes me to Yarrow's office. There he is with Georgia Tapp, both long-faced. 'We have a problem,' he says to me, 'and you appear to be friendly with Erin Fogarty, so you can be of assistance, I believe.'
"And I say, 'Anything I can do to help.' Yarrow looks at Georgia, and she says on cue, 'Erin came to me this morning with the most outlandish story. She accused me of being involved in Dr. Oscar Braithwaite's death. Even more outrageous, she also claimed that Professor Yarrow was the mastermind behind the scheme. I can only think the poor girl is unbalanced.'
"At this point, there's a fair bit of grave head-shaking all round, then Yarrow asks, 'Did Erin say anything to you while you were with her this morning?'
" 'Well, yes, she did,' I say, and I outline the major points of the story, a lot more straightforwardly than Erin managed to give it to me.