Claire McNab - Quokka Question

"He's dead, Pen. Oscar's dead."

Ariana arrived at UCLA before Pen, Rube, and I did. I had volunteered to drive, as Pen was so shaken and Rube was so distracted that they would have been a danger on the roads. Rube knew Oscar's body had been found near one of the university buildings presently being extensively renovated. I'd become familiar enough with the campus to make an educated guess where this might be.

As it happened, we didn't have to search for the site, as the irritating strobing of the emergency lights of several patrol cars and the white glare of spotlights made it obvious. As the death had occurred on campus, UCLA's police force was also involved. I parked quite illegally next to sign that read NO PARKING AT ANY TIME and had scarcely stopped the car before Pen was out and rushing toward the lights. Rube and I caught up with her when she slowed suddenly at the edge of the crowd that had gathered. I was sure I knew why. Pen was imagining, like I was, the horror mat would be waiting for her.

Spectators, mainly students, watched everything with avid eyes. They were clustered outside the scaffolding enclosing a red-brick and sandstone four-story building. They were held back from the action by police tape, which was strung around the floodlit area.

Ariana was just inside the police tape talking with a heavily built man with a world-weary expression. Everything on his face had a downward droop)-his eyelids, his cheeks, his long nose, the corners of his mouth, the flabby jowls that blurred the definition of his jaw.

Ariana gestured for us to join them. The curiosity of the crowd was aroused when we were allowed to duck under the tape. Ariana introduced us to Detective Lark, a name that seemed singularly inappropriate for him. As Lark made a perfunctory statement of sympathy, Pen looked past him and shuddered.

I felt like shuddering too. It wasn't like the movies or TV-Oscar's body hadn't been decently covered. I recalled reading somewhere that contamination of a crime scene often occurred when bodies picked up fibers from the material used to hide them from curious eyes. Oscar lay facedown, his limbs splayed. Around his bushy head a dark stain- surely blood-had seeped into the dry earth.

Pen swayed, and seized Rube's arm for support. Obviously fearing she might collapse, Lark took her other arm and together he and Rube helped her to the nearest patrol car.

"Pen shouldn't have seen that," I said.

"Could you have stopped her from coming here?"

I shook my head. "Of course not."

Ariana looked grim. "As next of kin, she'll be asked to identify the body anyway."

I had the unreal feeling I was a character in a script in a TV crime show and that any moment the director would yell, "Cut!"

I said, just as my TV character would, "What happened?"

Indicating the scaffolding looming above us, Ariana said, "It appears Oscar fell from somewhere up there."

I could see figures on the roof silhouetted by the flashlights they were using. "What could Oscar possibly be doing on a building site?"

Ariana shrugged. "As a cop, I found people do the strangest things," she said. "Without a thought of personal danger, they get themselves into hazardous situations. Sometimes it's fatal."

My gaze was drawn magnetically to Oscar's body. If he would only get up, and laugh, and say, "I fooled you, didn't I?" But he would never shake that shaggy head again or exclaim, "Bloody Yarrow!"

"Ariana, are you saying this is just a stupid accident?"

"It's much too early to come to any firm conclusion, but I get the impression Ted Lark is leaning that way."

"You know Detective Lark?"

"Very well. We worked together several times when I was on the force."

I looked over to the patrol car. Rube and Pen were in the backseat, and Detective Lark was leaning through the open door, talking to them. "Something happened tonight that maybe he should know. Pens stalker called the program and said she'd be getting a lethal message."

My skin tingled as Ariana touched my arm. "Can you tell me exactly what he said?"

I repeated the call as best I could remember. "It's recorded, of course."

"I'll tell Ted."

As she went to walk over to the patrol car, I said, "Isn't the question to ask whose advantage it is that Oscar's dead?"

Ariana turned back to me. "You're thinking Jack Yarrow? You see the eminent professor luring Oscar to the top of this building, men shoving him over?"

"Well, yes," I said. "I can, actually."

I didn't get upset until I was back home at Kendall & Creeling. It was almost dawn, and I felt as though I hadn't slept for days. Julia Roberts was my undoing. If only she hadn't purred the moment she saw me. I swept her up in my arms and buried my face in her fur. "Oscar Braithwaite's dead," I told her. Then the tears came.

"I don't know why I'm crying," I sniffled to Jules, who was being remarkably good about the whole thing. "It's not mat I knew him well, but Oscar was my client. And he died in a horrible way."

A vivid picture of Oscar's sprawled body kept appearing in my mind. How long would it take to fall four stories? Only a second or two. Did Oscar have time to realize he was about to die, or be terribly injured? Were his last thoughts for himself, or did he think of his sister?

I'd stuck around and finally driven Pen home while Ariana drove Rube to the radio station to collect Pen's car. Pen had been beside herself with grief. It was somehow shocking to see someone usually full of bold life now so distraught. I'd stayed with her until Rube arrived, feeling totally inadequate. What could I say to comfort her? Not a thing. For want of anything else to do, I'd made her a cup of tea.

I squeezed Jules a little tighter. "Poor Pen," I said to her. "Can you even imagine how she feels?"

Jules yawned. Empathy wasn't her strong suit.

When she struggled politely, I put her down. After Jules had groomed her wet fur into a semblance of order, and I'd managed to pull myself together, and was contemplating a hot shower before I fell into bed, Ariana called.

"That was rough," she said. "Are you OK?"

Tears immediately filled my eyes. "I was until you asked me."

"Are you up to seeing her later today?"

Pen had demanded a meeting this afternoon, insisting that both Ariana and I attend. Rube had said he'd come too. We'd established we'd meet at three o'clock here at Kendall & Creeling.

"I think so." I blinked rapidly. "Sorry to be such a sook."

"Oh, Kylie, don't be so hard on yourself."

There was such warmth in her voice, I said, "Stop it!"

"What?" She sounded startled.

"Don't be so nice to me. It'll make me cry more."

A soft chuckle came down the line. "I'll try to be harsh," she said. "But it'll be difficult."

"I want you to stay on the case, Kylie." Pen Braithwaite was adamant. "Oscar would have expected it. Nail Jack Yarrow as a plagiarist…" She paused, then added, "Or worse."

As it was Sunday, and much quieter than usual in my office, all I could hear of the outside world was a distant siren and the soft rumble of traffic on Sunset Boulevard. Pen, Rube, and I sat around the coffee table I'd recently purloined from Lonnie's office, where it'd been buried under a blizzard of files and papers.

I had the errant thought of how nice it would be to do what I'd originally scheduled for myself-spend the afternoon planting Australian-native bushes in the backyard. I'd only had time to give them a quick watering, so they'd have to survive in their pots another week.

Ariana leaned forward in her chair. "You believe Professor Yarrow had something to do with your brother's death?"

She was casually dressed in what looked like the same well-worn blue jeans she'd been wearing on Friday night. I felt a totally unseemly tug of desire.