Wombat Strategy

She nodded. 'Several disks are missing. They haven't been misplaced, as all the patients' records have been checked.'

'Blackmail?'

Ariana leaned back and regarded me with a genuine smile. It was only a tiny one, but definitely more than a twitch of the lips. 'Very good, Kylie. Blackmail it is. Two patients have session disks missing: Bart Toller, who's an up-and-coming actor, and Jarrod Perkins, who's-'

'The Aussie film director,' I finished for her.

Jarrod Perkins had started off his career in Australia with a horror movie called The Dead! The Dead! I'd never forgotten it, because it had scared the living daylights out of me when I'd seen it at the Regal in Wollegudgerie. A couple of minutes into the story and I'd stopped noticing the spring in my seat digging into me, or that Raylene was holding my hand. Even the yobbos up the back of the cinema shut up when the body pieces started flying and the blood really began to flow.

That movie became a cult thing, and it made it overseas, so Perkins got larger budgets for his next movies. Soon Oz was too small for him, and he hit Hollywood in a big way with a weird musical called Shitstirrers' Spring, although I'd heard in the States it was advertised as S***stirrers' Spring.

In an interview on Entertainment Tonight Jarrod Perkins got all het-up and yelled, 'What the shit is wrong with Shitstirrers' Spring as a name?' I remember reading he got his knickers in a real knot when it was broadcast as: 'What the BLEEP is wrong with BLEEPstirrers' Spring as a name?'

'So what's happening?' I asked.

'Yesterday a letter came through the mail claiming to have the material from the files and indicating a large sum of money will be required for the return of the audiovisuals. No specific sum was mentioned. This was the first anyone knew anything was missing.'

I'd seen enough blackmail stories to know what to ask next. 'Who could have got to the files?'

Ariana gave an exasperated click with her tongue. 'That's the point. Before this happened, security was slapdash. The door to the walk-in safe was frequently left open during the day.'

'You're looking at an inside job, then?'

Again, Ariana almost smiled. 'Nice use of P.I. lingo. And, yes. Almost certainly someone in the organization.'

'Dave Deer didn't call the cops, did he? Too much publicity.'

'Exactly. He can't afford to have his celebrity clients learn their deepest, darkest secrets may not be safely locked away. If this got out, he could kiss his successful practice goodbye.'

'I reckon Jarrod Perkins is screaming blue murder.'

'Mr. Perkins doesn't know anything about it.' Her tone was neutral, so I couldn't tell if she approved or disapproved.

'Blimey. What if he gets a blackmail letter direct?'

With a wry quirk of her lips, she said, 'I imagine things will get very interesting.'

I was finding her mouth very interesting. Hell, I was finding all of Ariana interesting. And a few minutes ago I'd set eyes on Harriet Porter and thought she was crash-hot, too. All this so soon after Raylene had mashed my heart.

Was I fickle? Not so, I decided. This was a search for an antidote to the pain Raylene had inflicted. Then I had a little smile to myself: I could rationalize anything.

'Something amusing?'

I became aware Ariana was contemplating me with raised eyebrows. 'Oh, sorry. Off with the fairies for a minute.' I put on my best grave, paying-attention look.

Picking up her phone, she said, 'Dave Deer sent over a demo disk of his Slap! Slap! technique as background for our investigation.' She punched in a couple of numbers. 'Lonnie? Ten minutes. I want to see the Deer demonstration disk. Get Harriet in too. Okay?'

She got up in one fluid movement. Harriet might be super-sexy, but Ariana was fascinating, in an unsettling sort of way. 'Come with me,' she said, walking into the hall. I puppy-dogged after her.

'This was Colin's office.' She opened the door just down from hers. I remembered this room from my security patrol last night. It'd been the only one with wall-to-wall carpet-a charcoal-gray color. The furnishings were pretty spartan-a lighter gray metal desk, with matching bookcase and filing cabinets. There was a flat-screen computer on the desk. A small pile of cartons sat on the floor. As there were no identifying photos on the wall, I hadn't known until now that it had been my father's office.

Ariana pointed to the cartons. 'I packed Colin's things away, figuring I'd be sending them on to you.' She opened the top drawer of the desk. 'I was going to package this separately.'

It was a framed photograph of me and Dad I'd never seen before. It had to have been taken in L.A., before my parents broke up. The background was a suburban garden. Dad was sitting on the grass with me, a little girl, standing within the circle of his arms. I was squinting into the camera because of the bright sunshine. In the photo he was looking at me with such affection that seeing it now, my eyes filled with tears. I stood the photo up on the desk, took out my hanky, and blew my nose. 'Dust,' I said.

'This can be your office.'

'I get my own office?'

Ariana seemed mildly amused. 'There's a problem?

'No prob, but won't the others think I've got a bit of a swelled head, having this when I'm only a trainee?'

'You need the tools to be a P.I., and a space you can use as a base is one of them. Another is a car. You can't exist in L.A. without one. For surveillance you don't want a vehicle that people remember, and you certainly must avoid anything that looks like a police car. A four-door sedan in a dark shade would be perfect.'

'I've already got a car. Dad left me his, but I don't know where it's kept.'

There was an odd pause, then Ariana said, 'In the garage at the back.'

'Good-oh. Then I'll drive that.'

Ariana blanched a little. 'That car was your father's pride and joy. It's a fully restored classic Mustang.'

I had no idea what that was, but her tone said it was something special. 'Gears or automatic?' I asked.

'Stick shift, I'm afraid.' Ariana seemed pleased to tell me this. 'You'll be needing an automatic. You don't want the distraction of changing gears while you're driving in an unfamiliar city.'

'Not just that-it's also the other side of the road to what I'm used to.'

Her expression showed she thought the matter was settled. 'That's all the more reason why a stick shift's a bad idea.'

'I'll see how I go. It was Dad's car, after all. Driving it will make me feel a bit closer to him, I reckon.'

Plainly Ariana wasn't delighted. 'What color is it, by the way?' I asked her.

'Red.'

'You beaut! Never had a red car.'

'It's not a color I'd recommend for surveillance.'

'What did my dad drive when he was on a job?'

'He borrowed my car or used a rental.'

'Can't I do that too?'

Ariana sighed. 'We can discuss this later.'

On the way to Lonnie's room, she said to me, 'If at any time you change your mind, my offer's still on the table.'

I opened my mouth to say I'd never change my mind but then shut it again. For all I knew, I might find being a P.I. wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Maybe I'd be pleased to sell out. 'Fair enough,' I said. 'If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know.'

Lonnie had an alcove in his work area set up for viewing, which was a good thing, as there was hardly any clear space anywhere else. Harriet was already in place, head bent over a textbook. 'Got an exam tomorrow,' she said in explanation. 'Torts.'

'Everyone who sees this demo has to sign a confidentiality agreement,' said Lonnie, passing Ariana a clipboard.