Claire McNab - Wombat Strategy

Another dazzling smile from Lorelei, and she was gone in a swirl of perfume and stardom. I'd been brushed by fame.

As soon as I'd arrived this morning I'd been taken through the session routine. Before each patient arrived, Oscar Sherwood double-checked the recording equipment. The moment the session ended, the therapist removed the disk and placed it in the patient's file. The normal procedure was to leave files in the therapist's office. At the end of the day there'd be a pile of them waiting for me to take to the walk-in safe, where I'd put each one in the appropriate drawer.

This wasn't really good enough, having files hanging around all day, where they'd be even less secure than in the open safe. It would be extra work, but I intended to put away each patient's folder as soon as the session ended. If Dave Deer wanted to review something, I'd go and retrieve the file.

Lorelei Stevens had been the first patient of the day, so I hopped up and went to get her file from Dave Deer's desk. It was gone!

I heard a faint click as the door to the therapy room closed. I flew over to open it, only to see the other door of therapy room swinging closed. I had to see who had the file. I bounded across to the second door and cracked it enough to look out.

Disappearing down the private corridor was Randy Romaine, anonymous accountant, a large manila folder casually tucked under one arm. In it, I had no doubt, was the missing file. He disappeared through another door leading to the main office.

Okay, I had to catch Randy red-handed. But if I nabbed him now, he was sure to come up with some convincing story about how he needed the file for accounting purposes. What I had to do was observe him and see what he did. If Randy hid the file, that might be enough. It would be better, though, if he tried to take it out of the building.

I meandered in the direction of Randy Romaine's cubicle. He was behind his desk, stuffing the manila folder into a battered brown briefcase. It looked like this time he was taking everything, not just therapy disks. I slipped into the cubicle next to his-fortunately empty at the moment-and waited for him to make a move.

"Chantelle?" He was on the phone. "Forward all my calls to Gloria. I'll be out for the rest of the day." He left his cubicle and headed ever so casually in the direction of the lift.

Holy cow! It was time for the little lady to holler. I tried Fred's extension. No answer. I dialed his mobile phone. Got voice-mail. As a last resort, I called the doorman. "Jim? This is Kylie Kendall. Is Fred Mills there?"

"Fred's just stepped outside for a smoke. Want me to get him for you?"

"I can't stay on the line. Promise me you'll give him a message. It's mega important."

"Sure. What is it?"

"Tell Fred it's vital he meets me right now in the parking structure, level three. It's really urgent, Jim. Really, really urgent."

"Will do. Parking, level three. You've got it."

Then I ran like a mad thing through the office, shot past Chantelle, who gave me a startled look, then dramatically slowed when I saw Randy getting into the lift.

He looked surprised, but not alarmed, when I joined him. He hadn't put the briefcase down but was clutching it so hard his knuckles showed white. He'd already pressed the button for the level three parking, and when I didn't punch a button for another floor, he said, "You're leaving early?"

"Dentist."

"A problem?"

"Wisdom tooth."

He nodded. "They can be nasty."

I looked at him sideways. Randy Romaine looked the same as yesterday. A mild, inoffensive accountant. I felt a shiver of alarm. He'd been an amateur stalker, and there were no reports of any harm coming to the objects of his obsession. But maybe he'd done more than stalk and not been caught. A physical confrontation with him would not be a good idea. Fortunately I could leave that to Fred.

With a pinging sound the door opened at level three parking. Randy got out briskly and set off at a good pace. I looked around for Fred, but he wasn't there.

Bloody hell! I had to stall Randy somehow. Once he was driving off, it'd be too late. He looked back at me, puzzled, when I called out, "Randy, wait," and took off after him.

"Look, Kylie, I'm in a hurry."

He'd reached his vehicle, a white Toyota sedan. Just the sort of car I'd expect Randy to drive. He unlocked it with his remote key, opened the door, and tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat.

Still no Fred. Time to improvise. Randy was parked close to a concrete pillar, so he couldn't fully open the driver's door. Before he could get in, I inserted myself between Randy and the door. He looked at me with amazement. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I wanted to have a word with you, in private."

"I'm in a hurry right now. Some other time."

Where the hell was Fred? I looked over Randy's shoulder, ready to yell, "This way!" but no ungainly figure in a crumpled uniform appeared.

"Shit," said Randy, "just get out of the way."

He attempted to move me bodily by grasping my upper arms, but I resisted. "I'm thinking of buying a Toyota. Would you advise it?"

"Get the hell out of my way."

Someone slammed a car door and took off in a squeal of tires. This was desperation time. Randy was stronger than I was and was plainly about to shove me to one side and get the evidence safely out of the building.

He wasn't taking me seriously, so I found it easy to reach over and snatch the keys from his hand. He was astounded, more than angry. "Give them back to me!"

He tried to grab them, but I put my hand behind my back. "Randy, we have some things to discuss."

"Like what?"

"Like Lorelei Stevens."

Bad move. His face reddened. Squeezing my shoulder painfully hard, he snarled, "This is so fucking stupid. Stop playing games and give me the keys." When I didn't comply, he slammed me hard against the door. "The keys, you bitch!"

"Don't make me hurt you," I said.

This got an incredulous laugh. "You? Hurt me ?”

A final, desperate look around convinced me Fred wasn't going to be my knight in shining armor. Everything depended on me.

Randy had really lost it now. My ears rang as he backhanded me. "Keys, or I'll break your arm."

Back in Wollegudgerie, when I was doing my self-defense class at the Police Club, the instructor had said, "If you're about to get creamed, there's no point in being squeamish. You do what you have to do."

Looking at Randy's contorted face, I agreed with the instructor wholeheartedly. I dropped the keys and did my best to kick them under the car. Randy punched me. My nose blossomed with blood.

It was clearly time for the Christmas hold. Back in the 'Gudge, we'd all laughed at the name-Christmas hold equals a handful of nuts-but I wasn't laughing now. Tears were running down my cheeks and my nose was spurting blood.

I squinted, trying to see him clearly, and said, "Randy, you're really asking for it." Helped by the fact he didn't consider me a worthy opponent, I took a deep breath, bent my knees, and grabbed at his crotch. Taking a firm grip, I followed the instructor's advice to pull and twist.

It was astonishing how well it worked. Randy bellowed and fell to his knees, then toppled over-helped, I confess, with a push from me.

The lift pinged. Fred came strolling out, thumbs hooked into his belt. His expression changed as he saw Randy groveling on the floor. He hurried over, saying accusingly, "What did you do to him?"

I indicated my nose. "What did he do to me, you mean."

Fred's closer inspection of the groaning Randy brought a glare of disapproval. "Could be permanent damage. That's assault, you know."

I fished around and found a tissue to hold against my bleeding nose. "Take a look at the front seat. Randy's got stuff taken from patient files."