Author's note: I know that last chapter was a bit rough :-( But how can you tell if things are really good, if they've never been really bad? No light without dark, mirth without grief, peanut butter without jelly…or vegemite without...honey, apparently? :-P
Silence is indeed terrifying. If you like a story, anyone's story, please review it. Never realized how much those mattered, until I…dunno, bared my soul to your judgment, or something :-)
Recap: Jack has fallen into the clutches of Robert Smith, who seems familiar, and wants to know what information our intrepid inspector has gathered. Phryne is putting together the pieces of the missing case file, and tracking down the owner of a car that showed up at their crime scene, one George Culver.
Chapter 4:
Although Phryne wanted to charge straight into George Culver's home demanding the return of her dour detective with her pistol drawn, the Jack-voice in her head urging caution prevailed. Besides, if she got shot or arrested threatening a man who might have nothing to do with his disappearance, she'd be no help to Jack at all.
Collins twitched and let out an inarticulate cry of alarm as Phryne pulled into oncoming traffic to pass a slow driver. Deciding they were near enough to the station not to bother with the proper side of the road anyway, she sped up the block and careened into a spot between two police cars. She had thrown open the station door and pushed through to Jack's office before Hugh had recovered enough to tumble out of the car.
Grasping the door knob to Jack's office, she nearly walked straight into the door when it failed to open. Someone had locked it.
"Hugh, come and unlock this door. Quickly, please," Phryne called. Propping one fist on her hip, she gave the door another irritated jiggle.
When Hugh didn't instantly appear at her elbow with the keys, Phryne turned to look around the station for the first time.
The whole of City South seemed to have gathered in the room: constables, sergeants and inspectors, off-duty men as well as the regular shift. They were looking at her with expressions that ranged from suspicion to open hostility. Phryne suppressed the urge to scowl. Surely she'd proven her intelligence, and if not that, at least her utility to the constabulary? Especially now, when she was trying to find their chief inspector, Phryne had hoped for more cooperation.
"If you could just hand me the keys, Henry," Hugh asked pointing to where they sat on the counter. Henry, a broad-faced young man with eyes that were too close together, picked up the keys, then looked to one of the inspectors uncertainly. The ranking officer jerked his head in a sharp refusal.
Phryne's hands balled into fists at her sides. She cast about in her mind, searching through and discarding a dozen different lines of argument, even as another part of her wailed in frustration at the delay.
"Miss Fisher is going to help us find the inspector," Hugh said, just as Phryne opened her mouth to tell them all to bugger off if they couldn't be useful.
"And why would we want this…woman…to help with anything?" the angry inspector said scathingly.
Hugh faltered, hating to argue with a senior officer. But his overwhelming worry for his idol won out even over his fear of his other superiors.
"The inspector would want us all to work together," Hugh said after clearing his throat nervously.
Several men shook their heads, and Phryne was surprised to see more than one lip curled in disgust. She knew that few men in the police force, or the rest of Melbourne for that matter, understood or approved of Jack's partnership with her. Sometimes Phryne herself couldn't explain why it worked so well, though she wasn't in the habit of trying. But the undertone of aggression in the room was new, and worrisome.
"Do you think he really would, Hugh?" Henry asked earnestly, still holding the keys hostage.
"He would," Hugh replied a little more confidently.
"The inspector always puts police business first. He always does the right thing for a case, no matter what happened," he continued, meeting the eyes of the men around him.
Understanding hit Phryne like a punch to the stomach. This wasn't about Jack's apparent concession to her every demand, or even about her unconventional…everything. It was about Wednesday morning's row at the crime scene. No doubt some of the men still thought Jack a fool for getting involved with her in the first place, but they had united in their outrage on his behalf. Phryne shut her eyes, trying to block out the accusatory stares of Jack's colleagues.
What had she said to Jack, in front of half a dozen of his fellow coppers? His words had haunted her for days, shadowing her waking hours and echoing in her restless dreams, but she'd studiously avoided recalling what she'd said to him.
"I'm just not sure how much help she could possibly be," the angry inspector continued, crossing his arms as he snarled at Phryne, "I'm not putting much faith in the investigative powers of some woman who has somehow deduced that Jack Robinson is small-minded and uneducated."
Phryne flinched as if he'd struck her. It had been amazing how quickly attempts at banter had devolved into needling little insults, and those had become full frontal attacks on each other's deepest insecurities.
She drew a deep breath to speak, but let it out without a word. Phryne had led an unapologetic life, and she had no intention of changing now. And the person who might, possibly, have deserved an apology was conspicuously absent.
"That's in the past, gentlemen. Right now, it's the inspector's future I'm worried about," she said finally.
A few of the men shifted uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances. She had them there, and they knew it.
"Excuse me, Miss?" an unexpected but very familiar voice asked from the door, "…I just thought, what with everything, I'm sure no one has had time to step out for lunch, so I brought one. Well, I brought as many as we could put together. Can't think straight with an empty stomach, and straight thinking is what the inspector needs."
Dot marched resolutely into the midst of the surprised men, putting sandwiches in hands and calling for tea cups as she went, ending the standoff with picnic baskets rather than bloodshed. Phryne shot her a look of gratitude, and promised herself that once this was over, she'd take her companion on a lavish retreat.
Henry handed over the keys in exchange for a biscuit, and Hugh was soon unlocking the door.
Jack's office looked exactly as it always looked. The battered trophies still lined the shelves and the surface of the desk was tidy; nothing was out-of-place except the pile of reports on the floor immediately inside the door. Something felt off to Phryne, but she couldn't place what.
She scooped up the papers and minced into the room, plopping herself down in her usual chair as she rifled through the folders for the coroner's report.
"Alcohol poisoning?" she exclaimed in disbelief, looking up and across the desk to Jack's chair. Her heart twisted in her chest to see it empty.
Hugh, who was still standing in the doorway, responded, "Yes, Miss. Just what it looked like. I don't understand what a dead drunk could possibly have to do with the inspector's disappearance."
"And you've no idea what else he was working on?"
"Well, no. I thought he was just finishing up other cases, following up on everything," Hugh said.
Phryne frowned. Mr. Butler said that Jack had dropped by to consult on a case. She had assumed that was Jack's euphemism for having a whiskey. What if Jack really had dropped by to talk about whatever he was investigating before the dead wharfie? It would be just like him, to feel he needed work as an excuse to visit.
Deciding there was nothing else of use to be learned from Jack's office, Phryne tossed the papers onto his desk and headed for the door.
"I'm off to the coroner's, Hugh," she said as he scrambled out of her way.
Pausing on the threshold, Phryne looked over the room one more time. There was nothing actually wrong with it, she decided. But without Jack in it, it was just an oddly shaped, institutional little room.
"While I'm gone…" she stopped. Although no one seemed ready to clap her in irons now, mostly because their hands were full of food from her kitchen, the men of City South were still gathered in the station, waiting.
"Something we can look into, Miss?" Henry asked. They all looked at her expectantly. Phryne didn't dwell on the change in attitude. Gratifying as it was, she suspected it had more to do with Dot's biscuits than anything.
"I think Jack left me a hint in…" too hard to explain why she'd been looking for case information in Jack's Shakespeare collection "…his house. Not that he was expecting me at his house…" really, it was impossible to explain without compromising Jack's dignity. And since when did she try?
"The rego, 314159, that we tracked it back to George Culver?"
Phryne blinked at the no-longer-quite-so angry inspector. She should have made more of an effort to learn the other inspectors' names, apparently.
"Yes. Perhaps we could find out a bit more about the man? Property records, profession, that kind of thing? Please?" she added experimentally.
There were nods all around. Phryne forced herself to acknowledge that the somewhat brisk reception she had received from them may have had as much to do with them feeling helpless as anything. And she couldn't afford to hold a grudge, not now.
"I'll ring from the morgue. I intend to go straight to George Culver's address from there," Phryne said, already moving towards the exit.
"Miss Fisher?" the inspector stopped her.
"Yes, Inspector…?"
"Taylor. Will Taylor. We informed the higher-ups, after you phoned from Jack's house. But you should know, it won't make much difference."
Phryne shook her head, utterly mystified. How could they fail to make every effort to track down one of their own?
"Oh, they'll do what they can, or seem to anyway. Jack has never been one to toe the line, but he didn't go looking for trouble. He probably thought everyone was as honest as he is, or didn't want to find out that they weren't. But after that last case…well any number of careers would be more secure, if Jack Robinson took a permanent leave of absence."
"Surely they wouldn't arrange to have one of their own inspectors…" Phryne couldn't finish the sentence. Despite the stuffiness of the overcrowded room, she shuddered. To squander a good man's life, for the sake of a career…the cruelty of it chilled her to the bone.
"I doubt any of them arranged it, I just wouldn't expect them to go out of their way to get him back. But we will. He's not always an easy man to have as a boss, but he's good one, Miss Fisher. He deserves better," Inspector Taylor said. He frowned as he eyed her, and Phryne wondered if the subject had changed. She lifted her chin and frowned back at him, before sweeping out of the station.
Phryne didn't see the glare Dot shot at her beau, but as she jumped into the Espano-Suiza Hugh was pulling himself into the passenger seat. She pursed her lips at the constable, but didn't object. Dr. Johnson, the coroner, had a silly habit of demanding things like badges and proper authority.
"No word on the inspector, then?" Dr Johnson demanded as Phryne invaded his morgue.
"Abducted by persons unknown, I'm afraid, Dr. Johnson," Phryne said, "Persons who will live to regret it, I assure you."
The old man nodded decisively, and looked almost approving. He blithely ignored Hugh's scandalized look.
"You'll be wanting to see the unidentified male from Wednesday morning, then?" the coroner spread his arms, indicating the body on the table before them as one might invite guests to begin a banquet.
Phryne quirked an eyebrow at the man's uncharacteristic eagerness and gave him her most winning smile. It didn't surprise Phryne that Jack inspired so much loyalty among the men he worked with (the honest ones anyway), but it probably would have surprised the missing inspector.
The lady detective turned her attention to the body before her.
"Alcohol poisoning," Dr. Johnson said helpfully.
"Smells like it. Degeneration of the liver?" Phryne asked with a wrinkled nose.
"No, none."
Strange. The man was a not chronic drinker, then. But he was clearly a chronic eater. He had a rounded paunch, pudgy limbs, and more chins than Phryne cared to count. Thin, greasy black hair ghosted across his shiny pate.
Phryne picked up one of his hands and examined his palms.
"Soft hands," she remarked, as much to herself as anyone.
"Strange for a dock worker," Dr. Johnson observed, echoing Phryne's thoughts.
"Anything else of note, Doctor?" Phryne asked, testing the limits of his new-found cooperation.
"No…" he said, but the furrow in his brow contradicted his words. Phryne forced herself to wait calmly for him to marshal his thoughts, as she knew Jack would have.
"It's not a particularly scientific observation, but his clothes just weren't…right. They wrinkled in the wrong places, and clung to his skin. His jacket wasn't buttoned correctly, either."
"Indeed! A very keen observation, Dr. Johnson," Phryne gushed. Dr. Johnson blinked, and she wondered if perhaps she'd laid it on a bit thick.
"Miss?" Hugh asked in confusion. Phryne had almost forgotten about the young man's presence.
"The dead are remarkably uncooperative, Hugh, especially when it comes to being re-dressed" Phryne said, "This man is no more a wharfie than I am. I'd bet my hat on it."
I'm not sure it'd suit me, she could almost hear Jack say. She swallowed the lump in her throat and thanked the coroner.
As she'd promised, Phryne rang Inspector Taylor the station next. George Culver was an importer; they were still working on the other details.
An 'importer' with an address in a very wealthy neighborhood, had Jack stumbled into another smuggling case?
"Concentrate on those property records, I'm headed to the Culver residence now," Phryne told Inspector Taylor.
"Please," she added belatedly. A snort from the other end of the line was the only answer before the connection was cut. Hanging up, she turned and nearly crashed into Hugh, who was standing at her elbow.
"You're not going anywhere without me, Miss," Collins said firmly. Phryne considered the young constable through narrowed eyes.
"I'm perfectly capable of conducting an investigation on my own, Hugh."
"I'd never question it, Miss. But the inspector will be very cross with me, when he gets back, if…" Hugh stopped.
When she got Jack back, Phryne didn't know whether she would kiss him or slap him. Probably both, repeatedly.
But she did know she was going to get him back.
"Alright, constable. But I'm driving."