"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 wondering 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."