Chapter One
"And that was Fats Waller with Ain't Misbehavin', which means it must be time for 3SK's weekly visit to the police station. Here to give us the low down on the lowdowns and just how they've been misbehaving is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. Good evening, Inspector."
"Good evening, Vernon, thank you for inviting me along."
"We're delighted to help in any way we can, Inspector. What have you got for us this week?"
"First, I must thank your listeners for their assistance over the assault outside the teashop in Lonsdale Street that we mentioned last week. Three separate witnesses came forward who recalled seeing someone of the description of our suspect in the area, and after some identity checks, we now have a man behind bars, awaiting trial."
"That's excellent news for the peaceable citizens of our great city, Inspector. But I hear we've had a robbery?"
"We have, Vernon, and a very brazen one. A gentleman of slight build, medium height and fair hair, came to the door of a property in St Kilda last Thursday afternoon. He wore a brown overall and a tweed cap, and claimed to be from the Electricity Board. He asked the householder to show him the fuse box, and then said he would go upstairs and try several light switches; he asked the householder to let him know if there were any sparks in the fusebox. Needless to say, the only sparks flew after the thief had left with all the valuables he'd found in the upstairs rooms."
"That's quite some brass neck, Inspector. What would you ask our listeners to do?"
"Firstly, we've asked the Electricity Board to make sure all their representative are carrying identification when they come to a private house, and they've agreed to do that, so please ask to see proof that a caller is who they say they are when they turn up at your door, especially if you weren't expecting them. Second, if your caller doesn't have identification, close the door on them and telephone the police – even if the caller doesn't match the description I gave out."
"Okay, Inspector, but just in case – you said medium height, fair hair …?"
"And slight build, yes."
"Then you know the routine, listeners – if you can offer any assistance to Inspector Robinson and his men, please get in touch either with Russell Street or your own local police station. Thank you, Inspector, and let's hope we can help make Melbourne a safer city!"
"That's the plan, Vernon – and thank you, and your listeners, for all your attention."
"Now let's hear from Ethel Waters – this is Sweet Georgia Brown."
Vernon Bushby placed the needle on the record, flicked the microphone off and sat back.
"Thanks, Jack. So you got the guy? That's great news."
Jack Robinson nodded. "It was a perfect fit with this slot, Vernon – we were pretty sure we knew who it was, but couldn't place him at the scene at the time. The Chief Commissioner's a bit unsure about this approach to crime fighting, but I've been trying to get him to see that we can prevent as much as we solve this way. If that jewel thief's prevented from committing another crime, we'll already have done a good job."
"I have to say, Jack, it helps that you cope with the microphone. So many people start to stutter and cough when they're faced with a red light and a live mic." Vernon grinned. "If it ever doesn't work out in the police force, you could always have a career in radio."
Jack grinned back. "You don't need to worry, Vernon – I'm pretty happy where I am."
He shrugged his coat on, slouched the trilby onto his head, and made his way to the front door of the studio. Yes, he thought, really quite happy. This experiment in public broadcasting had started well – if he was honest, he had to admit he was quite enjoying being allowed to be himself on radio, instead of the very uncomfortable cover story he'd had to wear last time he'd ventured on to the airwaves.
As he descended the steps, he saw a red Hispano-Suiza pulled up by the kerb, and recalled another reason to be happy. Getting in to the passenger seat, he turned to meet the glance of the driver.
"Miss Fisher."
"Inspector. How's my radio star?"
"Hungry. What's Mr B got for supper?"
"Fish pie, Inspector, and he's been experimenting with something called crème brulée – it's a recipe my mother sent him that seems to involve burning custard, but he promises it's very exciting."
"Then drive on, Miss Fisher, and don't spare the horsepower."
Miss Fisher was rarely in the habit of sparing the horsepower – what was horsepower for, after all? – and the Hispano left a noisy wake.
Neither sleuth took any notice of the shadowy figure which emerged from the doorway opposite the studio, and stood in the centre of the road, watching their tail lights recede into the gathering dusk.