Chapter 2: A Time To Die

When Jack finally did wake up, it wasn't to the desired effect. The pain cut through the fuzzy blackness surrounding him like a knife, before he managed to pry open his blurry eyes. His mouth was dry with the faintest hint of copper on his taste buds. Jack raised his head and tried to take in his surroundings. He was sitting in a chair which was not the obvious position for an unconscious man and a silent hint at the fact that whoever had put him there, wasn't too concerned with his well being. The other indication were his wrists, that were firmly tied behind said chair. The Inspector tested the ropes with the only effect that he further hurt his already aching arms. Whoever had fastened them had not done this for the first time. The policeman shifted in his seat as much as the rope around his hands and ankles would allow him, searching for a more comfortable position. So he had been kidnapped. Shot and kidnapped, the sharp pain in his abdomen reminded him. Obviously the shooter hadn't hit anything too vital or he would not have lived to this moment. But why? Even if he did investigate Victor Brownings death, so far he hadn't found out much. Beside his gut there was little indication that he even followed the right track. The interview with the brother of the deceased certainly had been of little consequence. Brad had denied any connection of Victor with the underworld of Melbourne but had made a point in offering a barely disguised threat to the policeman if he shouldn't do his duty and find the killer soon. However, Jack hadn't taken it quite seriously at the time. Brad Browning had obviously bigger fish to fry than a DI and other ways to punish the killer but by offing a policeman who failed to hunt him down. Maybe, underestimating his own importance to the case had been a mistake after all. The interview with the widow had brought him hardly any further either. Elaine Browning was a beautiful but rather quiet lady that lived in a big mansion atop a hill overlooking the Yarra. The moment Jack had set foot into her house he had felt like he had entered a museum. Every single piece of the carefully picked furniture and decoration was tasteful and expensive, yet, it felt untouched. Aquamarine coloured walls had flashed in front of his eyes uninvited; a yellow and white kitchen; rooms that were danced, eaten, drank and lived in, laughed, chatted, played... He's had to shake himself awake to return to the oversized doll house that Victor Browning had called his home for several years. Elaine had offered him a strong, sweet tea that he had taken thankfully before he had broken the news to her. She hadn't seemed shocked. Upset, yes, but not surprised at all. Of course when you married a drug baron and brothel owner with a horde of thugs and assassins at his disposal, you kind of expected him to get tangled up in the wrong crowd eventually. As you did when you tied your heart onto a lady detective with little fear or restraint, Jack thought bitterly. Heavy footsteps outside in the hall tore him out of his musing. This could get interesting. But they passed the door, vanished in the distance. Jack became aware that he was holding his breath, a fact that his stomach didn't take too kindly. It complained with a new stab of pain. In the dim light that fell through a barred off window, Jack inspected his body. His shirt had been cut open and would've been ruined if that wouldn't have already been accomplished by the dirty brown stain that covered most of the lower half. Underneath, hardly visible, was a thick dressing that obviously contained the bleeding even though there was already a hint of fresh blood seeping through it. Someone wanted him alive. He could only hope that wasn't a temporary state.

X

At the same time Miss Fisher wandered aimlessly between her aquamarine coloured walls. Something was off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Mr. Butler?" When she turned around her loyal servant had already appeared in the door frame. She was never sure if he actually waited to be called or just materialised a split second before he was needed. However, here he was and maybe his psychic ability could help her along.

"Mr. Butler, have we had any messages? Calls maybe? Appointments? I feel like I have been missing something."

In truth Phryne knew exactly what was wrong. Jack hadn't been here for more than a week ever since he had confessed with tears in his eyes, that he was going to give up on their arrangement. And she had let him go. While it broke her heart she could not change herself for him, bend into the shape in which society would have her. She's had this conversation quite often before with various lovers who'd lost their hearts and hoped that they would be the very one who could tame the untamable. It hadn't been too much of a surprise that Jack had developed feelings for her, but it had taken her off guard that he had no delusions as to their future. And somehow that gnawed on her. It was easier to brush off a man when she had clear ideas what he wanted. She had not the faintest clue what Jack desired from her, only that he would not give in to any of her flirtations and that he had run for the hills as soon as he had become aware of the depth of his feelings. Most of all it surprised her just how much it hurt. Granted, Jack wasn't just a fleeting affair, they shared so much more. They'd been chasing criminals together for over a year; he had been by her side, as she discovered Janey's grave; he had held her, when Dubois forced his way back into her life; he had become her confidante, her friend, her... Here Phryne stopped and waited. The thought that just had flashed through her mind wouldn't come back, but it had been clear as a bell. The polite cough of Mr. Butler brought her back to reality.

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

"Did you hear, what I said, Miss Fisher?"

"No, I'm afraid I was quite far, Mr. Butler. Would you care to repeat it, please?"

"You have an appointment at 1 o'clock with a Mrs. Walters... Miss?"

Phryne nodded slowly. „Thank you, Mr. Butler. Can you please ask Dot to get ready, I think we will go for a ride before luncheon."

„Very well."

The servant disappeared as fast and quiet as he had come. Miss Fisher didn't pay him any thought. She had to see Jack Robinson. The lady detective had read all about Victor Browning's murder in the newspaper, knew he was involved in the investigation. Phryne had stayed away, trying to respect the Inspectors wish for distance. But nevertheless she knew it was a dangerous lion pit he had walked into and something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

X

Jack would have been touched had he known that Phryne was thinking of him. However, he was too busy at this very moment, trying to breath. The huge man that had walked through the solid looking door less than five minutes ago had asked him many strange questions in a thick Slavic accent and while he could hardly make out the words, the brute was quite obviously mostly interested in the development of the murder case. DI Robinson couldn't tell him much to this accord, which was, as it had turned out, not the right answer. The punch into his wounded stomach let Jack almost bite through his lip in a hiss of pain. He clenched his eyes shut, gasping for air that just defied his tries to be sucked into his lungs. Red stars danced in front of his eyes. A second voice, this one a lot clearer, called out to the giant and little later the door fell shut heavily. Jack Robinson was alone again. He managed a rasping breath. And there he had believed his week couldn't get any worse, he thought with a tiny, sarcastic smile. This was probably about as rock bottom as you could get. Unless of course... Jack didn't have to look down to realise that his gunshot wound was bleeding again. Warm blood was trickling down his leg and a thin film of sweat had started to cover his forehead. He felt cold. There was no doubt in his mind about it. He was going to die.