At three-thirty in the morning, Diana Niptucker called. The office number, as usual, was switched through to the phone on my bedside table. I was startled awake by the noise of its ring, which sounded so much louder in the darkness. Groping around, I found the handset and mumbled a hello.
"Kylie? Kylie Kendall? This is Di Niptucker, calling from Australia." Her voice was brisk.
I sat up, disturbing Julia Roberts, who'd been dozing by my side. "Dr. Niptucker! Thank you for getting in touch with me."
"What time is it there in the States?"
I squinted at the illuminated dial of my bedside clock. "Around three-thirty in the morning."
"Oh, then I woke you. Sorry, but I just picked up my e-mails, and saw your message. Been incommunicado at a dig in the middle of nowhere for weeks, and have just got back to civilization. Had no idea what was going on in the world. Oscar's gone, is he? Dead?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"Shame. Talented man. We were intending to publish a joint paper on the quokka megafauna link."
"Tided 'The Quokka Question'?"
Di Niptucker gave a snort of laughter. "Good grief, no. That was Oscar's name for it, but I, of course, would have insisted on the correct scientific language, both in the tide and in the body of the paper. No point in dumbing down things, that's what I say. I believe 'The Quokka Question' was what he was calling his keynote address to the GMS, however."
A hope sprang to life. "Dr. Niptucker, if you were writing a joint paper with Oscar Braithwaite, perhaps you had some of his latest quokka research notes."
"All of them," said Di Niptucker. "I insisted on it. Oscar had a fine mind, but he was scatterbrained with it. No telling if he'd include everything relevant, so I asked for a copy of all his recent research."
"I think I'd better tell you what's been happening here," I said. I gave her a brief outline of the situation, and she listened without a single interruption, until I mentioned my suspicions about Jack Yarrow and Oscar's death.
"Revolting man," she snapped. "I know him. Academic fraud. Capable of anything."
"If we had a copy of Oscar's research notes, they could be compared to the material Professor Yarrow is using for his keynote address this Friday."
"Say no more," she said. "What's your fax number?"
After I'd given it to her, Di Niptucker said, "I'll send them straight away. And keep me posted. I'd love to see Yarrow cut off at the knees."
After I'd thanked her and she'd hung up, I bolted out of bed and went to check that the fax machine had plenty of paper. Jules took this as an indication it was time for breakfast, so I indulged her with six prawn pieces and made a cup of tea for myself while I waited for the pages to come through.
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.
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!"