Chapter One

"Lennox? Come through."

Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson offered the infinitesimal hint of a smile which let the rookie detective know that, while not precisely God's Gift to City South Police Station, he was sufficiently sorely needed to be in with a chance of making it through his first week unscathed as long as he was prepared to take his turn at making the tea.

(If the reader is in doubt about the amount of information that can be contained in a smile, they haven't met Jack).

The door closed behind them; Constable 'Chalky' White turned back to his work, and tried not to look too obviously for the response from Sergeant Collins, who was busying himself with the kettle.

The pot was scalded, and filled. While it masked, Collins strolled to run a quick eye down the day book; and as he didn't seem to be particularly worried about anything, Chalky nerved himself to ask a question.

"What do you think of the new bloke, Sarge?"

Without looking up from the ledger, Collins answered mildly, "I think he's the new bloke, and the DCI's glad to have him, so take them a cup of tea, Constable."

Chalky went to start clashing crockery, but wasn't satisfied with the answer. "Shouldn't we be looking for detectives from our own men, though, sir?"

Collins' raised an eyebrow at the ledger, and put down his pencil.

"We should, and we do, Constable. And in the meantime, we have Lennox. If he's happy to spend hours standing round in alleyways instead of doing a useful job of work, and the Inspector's prepared to pay him to do it, Lennox is welcome to the job." He picked up the pencil again, but was aware of hesitation from the kitchen skivvy. "What's the problem?"

"What does he take in his tea?"

Collins gave a smile remarkably similar to the Inspector's.

"Milk and two sugars, same as everybody else." He turned back to the ledger and muttered under his breath. "If he wants something different, he can try asking nicely."

His words, though, were half buried under the strident ring of the telephone.

"City South Police Station, Sergeant Collins speaking? What? Okay, when? We're on our way."

He put down the telephone, and looked at it for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, and went to the Inspector's door. He knocked briefly, and walked in without waiting for a reply. Both the occupants of the room looked up, startled, but he only looked at the Inspector.

"Sorry, sir, but you're going to want to come – there's been a shooting. A man killed. At the library."

Jack was already on his feet, beckoning Lennox to join him.

"Drive us, please, Collins, I want you there too." The glance was swift, but understood. With a rookie to deal with, Jack also wanted a safe pair of hands.

They pulled up outside the library and parked nose to nose with a beautiful, gleaming Hispano-Suiza which just happened to turn up at the same moment from the opposite direction. Jack's jaw dropped for a moment, and he swung a glance to Collins, who shook his head in vehement denial that he'd invited the Inspector's spouse along.

"Miss Fisher," Jack acknowledged her curtly and turned to sprint up the steps, his men at his heels.

The Honourable Phryne Fisher had become, over the years, accustomed to doing without life's little courtesies from Melbourne's Finest; but her alter ego, Mrs Robinson, was a little taken aback at Mr Robinson's abrupt greeting. Never one to hang back when excitement might be in the offing, though, she took the opportunity to share in their welcome from the librarians and scampered after the policemen as quickly as possible.

They were led by a librarian at a spanking pace to a stack room on the first floor, overlooking the street; despite its purely functional nature, it was a room of exceptional beauty, even without the lining of books on all the walls, and three lovely, long, free-standing shelves dividing the floor from door to the bay windows. To their right, they could see what appeared to be a trickle of blood emerging from beneath the bookshelf on that side. The blood was already starting to congeal.

There was a plain bench seat let into the window, with a young woman sitting on it. When Jack entered the room, he stopped so suddenly that Lennox and Collins bumped into his back. Phryne spotted the obstruction, but edged cannily round it, with a polite touch to a shoulder and ducking under an arm. It was therefore her face that the young woman saw first when she looked up from the gun in her hands to the party at the door.

"I didn't do it, Phryne," said Jane, in relaxed, conversational tones.