Quokka Question

by Claire McNab

  I took my mug with me and watched greedily as the fax machine spat out each page of Oscar's research notes. They were indubitably genuine, as Di Niptucker had scrawled across the top of the facing page: "Comments in spidery handwriting mine. Illegible writing, Oscar's."

  When the last page had been faxed, I gathered them up and took the bundle back to the kitchen. Reading through it I found much was double Dutch to me, but the structure and headings were enough to provide a template against which I could compare Yarrow's material for his address.

  I couldn't even think of going back to bed. I photocopied every page twice, put one set in the office safe and the other on Ariana's desk. The faxed pages I put in a large envelope to take to UCLA with me.

  Ariana wouldn't be in until mid morning, as she was seeing a prospective client. Perhaps I should call her and tell her what Dr. Niptucker had supplied: the evidence giving Yarrow an excellent motive for murder. But Ariana was likely to tell me to hold off until she saw the pages herself, and time was of the essence. I knew where Yarrow's notes were, and if Georgia's office was unlocked, I could get to them easily.

  As my mother would say, strike while the iron is hot.

  The campus was barely waking up when I arrived. I'd left Ariana a note clipped to her copy of the faxed pages that outlined the situation and told her what I intended to do. This made me feel better. I might not have called her, but I did tell her what was going on.

  It was so early I had to kill time drinking coffee in the student union, but at last the hands of my watch crawled around to a reasonable hour, and clutching my precious envelope, I set off on my quest.

  The biology department was deserted, and the door to Georgia's office was closed, indicating she hadn't yet arrived. I tried the handle anyway and was surprised when the door opened. I hadn't thought of the cleaning staff. Perhaps they unlocked the doors every morning to empty the wastepaper baskets.

  I slipped in, closing the door behind me. I checked, but there was no way to lock it from inside the room. It took only a moment to find the key to the bottom drawer of the desk and take out the pages Georgia had been working on yesterday.

  I sat down in her chair and opened the envelope I'd brought with me. My plan was to do a quick comparison and, if the similarities looked convincing, to call the UCLA Campus Police and tell them I'd * discovered stolen scientific papers in Georgia Tapp's office. The officers would certainly confiscate all the pages until the matter was investigated, which would effectively stop Jack Yarrow from disposing of damning evidence.

  It was quite silent, the only sound the pages as I flicked through them, looking for correspondences. And they were there, over and over.

  It seemed Yarrow had lifted Oscar's work word for word, convinced it was safe to do so, as he held the only copy of the research.

  My heart lurched as the door to the office opened with a soft snickering sound. I expected to see Georgia, but it was Winona Worsack who stood there, a look of cold surprise on her face.

  "I'm waiting for Georgia," I said, "and catching up on research for my paper with Dr. Wasinsky."

  She nodded as if convinced and closed the door again. I frantically collected the faxed pages, cramming them into the envelope. I looked around for something to conceal Yarrow's notes in, and found a manila folder. Better to call the campus cops from Rube's office-I'd feel safer there.

  I'd got to my feet, stuffing the material for Yarrow's address into the folder, when the door opened again, and Jack Yarrow stepped in. His high, domed forehead was beaded with sweat. "What are you doing here?"

  "Waiting for Georgia."

  He looked at the folder in my hand, at the half-open drawer of Georgia's desk, and his eyes widened. "Give me that!" he said, attempting to snatch the folder from me. Pages cascaded to the floor.

  "Pick them up," he said, "and give them to me."

  Playing for time, I bent down to retrieve the pages. As I did so, Yarrow picked up my envelope and ripped it open. He clearly recognized the contents immediately. "Christ! Where did you get this?"

  I shrugged, all the while desperately trying to find a way out. I could push past him and run. But that would leave the evidence with him, so I should snatch up as many of the papers as possible, and then get out of there. I could-

  I saw with total astonishment that Yarrow was now holding a gun. Small and silver, it seemed impossibly melodramatic. "You're going to shoot me?" I said, incredulously.

  "Indeed I will, unless you do exactly what I say."

  I couldn't believe he was serious. "I'm not keen," I said. "Let's call the whole thing off."

  "Amusing," said Yarrow, stone-faced. "We're going to walk out of the building together and make our way to the nearest parking structure. Nothing will be out of the ordinary. It'll all be very smooth, very calm."

  Behind him, the door opened yet again. This time it was Georgia Tapp. She bustled into the room, then stopped dead, her mouth open, when she saw the gun. "Professor Yarrow!"

  "Everything's under control, Georgia."

  She'd gone a pasty whitish-gray, probably the color I was too. "Professor Yarrow," she repeated, this time as a whisper.

  Sweat was running down his face. He licked his lips. "Forget you saw this, Georgia. Kylie and I will be leaving in a moment, and you must carry on as though nothing has happened. Can I trust you do that?"

  Georgia just stared at him.

  "That's asking a bit much of an administrative assistant," I said.

  "Shut up," he snapped at me. To Georgia he said, "Go into my office and wait there. I'll be back shortly and explain everything to you."

  She ducked her head in a quick nod, then scuttled out of her office.

  He jerked his head at me. "Your turn. Start moving."

  "And if I don't cooperate?"

  "I'll kill you. It won't be convenient, but Georgia will back me up. She'll agree you burst into my office, frenzied, this gun in your hand. Incidentally, it cannot be traced to me. In fear of my life, I struggled with you for the weapon. It went off. Tragically, you died instantly."

  I said, "Make a bit of a mess of your carpet."

  He regarded the floor pensively. "True, but carpet can always be replaced." Suddenly peeved, he snapped, "Look, I didn't want to get involved in all this violence. It's been forced upon me. First Oscar Braithwaite with his wild accusations. Now you."

  "Seems to me if I agree to do what you say, you'll take me somewhere more convenient, and then kill me."

  Yarrow pasted a sincere expression on his face. "I assure you that's not my intention. I merely want you out of commission until the Global Marsupial Symposium concludes. Then it won't matter. No one will listen to the ravings of an unbalanced graduate student determined to get revenge when I spurned your advances."

  "If that's the case, why spirit me away? According to you, no one will pay any attention to me anyway."

  His smile was cold. "Sophistry will get you nowhere." He gestured with the gun. "Turn around."

  "Crikey," I said, "you must think I came down in the last shower. I'm not going anywhere."

  His face became a hard mask. "Listen, you bitch," he ground out, "you've got two choices. Walk out on your own two feet right now, or be dragged out, unconscious, in the middle of the night. The first gives you the opportunity to stay in one piece. The second means I'll have to beat you unconscious-an unappealing option-and stash you under my desk until I can arrange to have your body collected."

  "Do you have duct tape handy to restrain me if I wake up?"

  That got me a wintry smile. "Indeed I do."

  "I'll take the walking option," I said. I didn't believe for a nanosecond that Yarrow had any intention of letting me live, but at least I'd have some slight chance of getting away from him if we were out in the open air.

  My Complete Handbook noted that most people were dreadful shots, especially with handguns, and that it was preferable to run and take your chances, rather than allow yourself to be put into a vehicle.r />
  I was prepared to do this, but as soon as we were out of Georgia's office, Yarrow locked one arm around my shoulders, and rammed the gun against my ribs with his other hand, his jacket coat hiding it from view. We strolled like lovers down the hall, clattered down the steps, and outside into the warm morning air. My heart was hammering and I felt light-headed. Perhaps I could pretend to faint? Perhaps he'd shoot me, if I did.

  "Let me make this very clear," he said, once we were on the wide concrete walkway leading to the parking structure. "If you cooperate, nothing unpleasant will happen to you."

  He emphasized this comment with a sharp jab of the barrel into my ribs. "Winona is waiting for us at the car. When I give the word, you will climb into the trunk. Winona will drive you to a friend's place. You'll be his guest until after the symposium. You'll be quite safe. Nothing will happen to you."

  "This friend wouldn't be Wally Easton, would it?"

  He was momentarily surprised, then smiled thinly at me. "How perspicacious of you, my dear. I'm sure you'll enjoy his particular brand of hospitality. I must warn you, however, not to rile Wally. He can be impulsive, I'm afraid."

  The thought of being in Wally Easton's clutches was too horrible to contemplate. I looked around, frantic to find some way out before I lost any option to escape. There were a few students around but no one close to us.

  "Don't do anything stupid," Yarrow hissed. He tightened his arm around my shoulder. "Try something and I'll pull the trigger. I won't hesitate."

  We were getting dangerously close to the parking structure. I had to do something-now. I'd take my chances at being shot. Anything was better than the fate Yarrow intended for me.

  "Judy! Hey, Judy! Over here!"

  Twenty meters away stood Clifford Van Horden III, cast in the unlikely role of my knight in shining armor.

  While Yarrow swiveled his head, obviously wondering where the hell this Judy was, I summoned up what I hoped was an alluring smile. "Cliff! Darling! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

  The "darling!" did it. He came rocketing over. "Here I am, Judy, ready and willing."

  "Meet Professor Jack Yarrow," I said politely. "He's intending to murder me."

  Clifford Van Horden III blinked at this but still thrust out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

  "He's got a gun," I yelled, breaking Yarrow's hold on me.

  My would-be rescuer's eyes were wide. "A gun?" he said, shrinking back. Not hero material at all.

  As though I rehearsed it every day, a move from my self-defense course at the Wollegudgerie Police Club came back to me. With every bit of strength I could muster, I whacked Yarrow across the bridge of his nose with the side of my hand, then jabbed him in both eyes with my extended fingers. Blood spurted from his nose; he fell to his knees, the silver gun spinning away from him.

  I became aware that Clifford Van Horden III was gazing at me, openmouthed. "Judy," he said at last. "Judy!"

  TWENTY THREE

  I'd broken a bone in my hand and had bruised ribs from being poked by the gun barrel, so I was in some pain, but it was nothing to the pain Jack Yarrow was feeling. Not only had I fractured his nose and given him two black eyes, but his faithful administrative assistant was singing, as Lonnie said, like a yellow canary. Yarrow had been arrested on suspicion of murder, and Winona and Easton were under intensive investigation with charges likely to follow.

  Pen Braithwaite came close to snapping my bruised ribs with a huge hug; Di Niptucker sent congratulations from Australia; even my mother admitted I'd done a bonzer job. Everyone at Kendall & Creeling was pleased with me, except Ariana. Oh, she commended me for solving the case of the quokka question, but it was cool praise. A chilly curtain seemed to have come down between us.

  Fran chose this point to stage a surprise disaster drill. Everyone was involved: Ariana, Bob, Melodie, Lonnie, Harriet, me, and, of course, Fran herself. The drill did not go well. Fran was seriously displeased with us, observing acidly that if this had been a genuine terrorist attack or natural catastrophe, we would all be stone-cold dead.

  Her main ire was directed toward Lonnie, who had finally got his gas mask in place and was doing a jerky robot-walk while repeating "Take me to your leader" in a machine-voice monotone.

  It really was funny, and we all laughed, except for Fran. She smacked Lonnie across the side of the head with a first aid kit, no doubt to jolt some sense into him, but it had the opposite effect. Lonnie did a theatrical swan dive and thrashed around on the floor, saying, "System crash! System crash!"

  Even Ariana had tears in her eyes from laughter, and Bob, who when keenly amused, gave out the most disconcerting, braying cackle and came close to choking. Fran, her hands on her hips, surveyed us stone-faced until we had laughed ourselves out.

  "Wonderful," she said. "Brilliant. I'm calling a repeat drill at five o'clock. Perhaps by then the importance of disaster preparedness will have sunk in."

  "We can't," said Melodie, still giggling. "Tonight's the play reading. We've got main parts, Fran. We have to leave early."

  That wiped the smiles off several faces. This evening there was to be a reading of Quip's Laughter Under Luna in front of an invited audience. Quip had called each one of us to make sure we would definitely be attending. Harriet had shamelessly played the pregnancy card, saying her need for regular bathroom stops would be too disruptive to an audience grappling with an intensely dark tragedy.

  The rest of us had no escape, although I halfheartedly tried the fact I had a damaged hand as an excuse. It didn't work: Quip had begged, and I'd given in. Having been exposed to the lines Melodie and Fran had been learning, I had the gloomy conviction we were all in for a very long night.

  As convictions go, this one turned out to be only partly accurate. We all dutifully arrived at the theater, which was small, shabby, and cramped, and joined the other members of the audience, none of whom seemed particularly enthusiastic. I did my level best to snaffle a seat next to Ariana but was foiled by Lonnie on one side and a total stranger on the other.

  Settling in my singularly uncomfortable seat, I recalled that Harriet had said that Quip intended LUL to distill the angst of the early twenty-first century. She'd been laughing when she'd said it, and as the reading began, I saw why. Quip had unintentionally written a funny deep tragedy.

  The muffled giggles started almost immediately. Full belly laughs took a little longer. On the stage, Fran, Melodie, and the rest of the cast, all arrayed on high stools with leather-bound copies of LUL in their hands, seemed more puzzled than upset.

  Melodie, apparently believing the levity had been caused by some lack of depth in performance, upped her lines to such searing intensity that the audience howled. So it turned out to be a long evening, but definitely an entertaining one.

  In the crush after the performance, I looked for Ariana, but she had slipped away and no doubt was on her way home. For one mad moment I thought of getting in my car and following her there. I had a fair idea why she was giving me the cold shoulder and needed to have it out with her.

  Good sense prevailed, and I returned to Julia Roberts instead. I went to bed, brooding. My hand hurt, my ribs hurt, my heart hurt. Jules inconsiderately had a full-scale wash on the bed around three o'clock in the morning. All in all, it was a miserable night.

  I got up early, went into Ariana's room, and left a note on her desk. I'd labored over the wording for ages, trying several versions out on Julia Roberts. With her help, I'd finally ended up with the simple, "We need to talk."

  People arrived. The day began. About nine-thirty Ariana came into my office. Shutting the door behind her she said, "That was reckless of you. Irresponsible."

  "Rash," I said. "Impulsive."

  "Don't laugh at me, Kylie. I'm serious. The first rule you learn in law enforcement is backup. You went in alone."

  "I had to."

  "You didn't."

  "OK," I said, getting up and coming over to her. "I wanted to impress you. Prove to you I could
be a crash-hot P.I., a worthy partner in the business. Maybe I went a bit far-"

  Ariana gave a rueful half laugh. "I'm not altogether sure I can take the stress of having you as a partner."

  "Do you notice a flock of little pink pigs circling the room, their tiny wings flapping?"

  "I don't believe so."

  "Until you do, I'm not going anywhere."

  “I see.”

  "And I'm not hanging around expecting you to ever fall for me in any big way." I couldn't resist adding, "A small way would do, if you could manage it."

  "Kylie…"

  "And if you're counting on me losing interest and giving up, you've got Buckley's."

  Up went her eyebrow. "And Buckley's would be?"

  "Buckley's chance, which is no chance at all. You're stuck with me, Ariana."

  "I'll try to cope."

  "And I won't stop loving you, no matter what."

  Ariana looked at me for a long moment. "I wouldn't want you to," she said.

  Claire McNab

  ***

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