Chapter 8: Waltz
With a sigh, Inspector Jack Robinson sank behind his desk. It was barely 9 o'clock, but he had been in the office since the early morning, cleaning up all paperwork on the suicide case which still cluttered his desk and going through the weekend's sparse events with Constable Jones. Now, there was barely anything left to do. It was time for a murder.
That wasn't a particularly nice thought and he pushed it aside quickly. Yet, Jack was well aware that he needed to fill his day with something other than thinking of his unsatisfied body and Phryne dancing. He had taken her home around 11 o'clock, his wife tipsy and bubbly, he himself filled with the pleasant feeling of a hint too much whisky and absolutely determined to shut out all screaming infants and nosy maids and make love to her through the night. They had barely made it to the bedroom before he had lost both his pants and breath, but once again, Fortuna hadn't been on his side. This time Mr. Butler had been the bearer of the bad news. Phryne's cousin had taken ill with the family doctor unreachable and a worried Mrs. Stanley insisted on talking to her niece on the telephone. Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Robinson had succumbed and Jack remembered waiting in bed for her to return, while he listened to her quiet voice trying to calm her hysterical aunt, promising to call Mac out of bed in the middle of the night. He didn't remember a whole lot after.
The Inspector rubbed his face with both palms, trying to shake off his embarrassment. He truly wasn't having a good run at the moment.
In fact he had awoken in the early morning, shivering and aching all over. Phryne had been lying on the other side of the bed, curled up as if she was pouting. A gentle kiss to her neck hadn't woken her however, and neither had his tenderly caressing fingers and so he had finally given up and had resolved to having a cold wash in the first grey daylight, while his wife hadn't so much as stirred.
The Inspector played with his pen as he replayed the events in his mind, resisting the urge to hurl the ink-pot against the wall before finally resigning himself to draw his name under the last report. Done. Now what?
In the same moment the door flew open and a cloud of French perfume entered, followed by Mrs. Robinson.
"Good morning, Jack," she trilled. Her husband was stunned for a moment, then cleared his throat.
"Miss Fisher? Isn't it too early for you to be awake? And in such a frightening good mood nevertheless?"
"That is true, Jack. However, Mr. Butler informs me that my husband left the house without breakfast and I'd be a terrible wife if I let him get away with that."
With those words she climbed onto the edge of his desk and uncovered the basket she had brought.
The sweet smell from the collection of pastries wafted through the office and caused the Inspector's mouth to water.
"I doubt I will be able to eat all of this," he protested for good measure, a boyish grin appearing on his lips.
Phryne knew exactly what food was doing to him. In the long, lonely years as a married-on-paper bachelor he had gotten used to eating dry bread or quite often, nothing at all. Policing wasn't particularly well matched with more than the most basic of housework and while he possessed some cooking skills he had hardly ever bothered. There was no real joy in sitting down to a nice meal on your own. In that respect he envied Phryne. She had never seemed to mind life as a unmarried woman, whereas he had struggled with the notion of waking up in an empty bed and spending his evenings alone in his tiny sitting room in the company of books and a mouse that lived behind his stove. Being fed by Miss Fisher with the most delicious food was still a treat after all this time and yet it wasn't just that. It was a gesture that told him she hadn't taken his nodding-off personally.
"I'm sure your officers won't mind the leftovers," Phryne quipped, reaching out and casually brushing her hand over his cheek. Jack's eyes sought out hers, wondering if he should apologize for his series of missteps, but found to his annoyance that his body had registered her touch and was announcing its longing with full force. He cleared his dry throat.
"You are probably right," he agreed weakly. "How is your cousin?"
"Better, according to Aunt P..."
While she told him all about the medical emergency in the Stanley's house with Arthur running a light fever that had disappeared overnight, Jack kept considering the pastries before pulling the cloths back over the basket. He was hungry for other things now, but the sober part of his mind pointed out clearly that he couldn't have them. Not here, not now! He had allowed himself once to lose his head within his office and even though it had been even more mind blowing than in his dreams, he had sworn to himself that it wouldn't happen again. He was a police officer, for God's sake! He flinched when her fingers touched his shoulders, Phryne having suddenly appeared behind him.
"Where were you off to?" she asked, warm air brushing his neck as her hands gently rubbed his tense muscles. Jack suppressed a groan, instead peeling her hands off himself in fear of losing his mind and licked his dry lips.
"Nowhere interesting, Miss Fisher," he lied, retrieving her from his back and gently guiding her to her place at the edge of the desk. But she wasn't going to give up this easily.
Even though Phryne would have never admitted it, she was somewhat confused. When she had finally managed to calm down Aunt P and return to the bedroom and what she hoped was a Jack sans any clothes, she had indeed found him naked on the bed – fast asleep. She hadn't had the heart to wake him, considering that his week had been long and the last night near sleepless. Yet her desire had almost gotten the better of her as she'd watched his slumber with a warm feeling in her chest and so a retreat to the other end of the bed had been the final option to not disturb his sleep. But waking up alone this morning, despite his desk being all but empty was an even stranger occurrence than his retreat in the last two nights and now he refused her peace offering and her nearness. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was retreating, hiding. And Jack keeping secrets wasn't ever a good sign. She made a firm note to have a serious talk with him as soon as she was able to share a room with him without feeling as if her body was going to catch on fire.
The Inspector currently had no idea about his wife's worries. He was busily trying to keep his own desires in check and think up something to manoeuvre Phryne out of his office before he lost the battle. Nothing came to mind, especially not when she smiled at him cheekily.
"Your shirt is crooked, Inspector," she pointed out.
His hand flew up, attempting to straighten the fabric before she had a chance to. He truly didn't think he could currently bear her touching his clothes. But his effort was in vain.
"Allow me," Phryne purred, leaning in and flooding his senses with the smell of her perfume and the warmth radiating from her neck. Instead of just fixing his collar however, her fingers lingered. Jack felt his breath hitch, as they slowly trailed over the front of his shirt, down to the edge of his vest.
He watched her pulse beat underneath the porcelain skin of her neck, fighting down the overwhelming urge to brush his lips over it. There were people right outside his door, he desperately reminded himself. Officers looking up to him! His body didn't care in the slightest.
"Phryne, please," he tried, his voice just a gravelly rasp. His wife retreated somewhat, her pupils huge, despite the bright daylight.
"There, all straight," she said, for good measure, taking her hands from him. Jack breathed a sigh of relief while he mourned the absence of her fingers.
"Are you intending to come home for lunch?" she asked sweetly, while getting to her feet. Her eyes promised him many things to come and Jack couldn't help but smile.
"Save the occurance of somebody dropping dead, I believe that can be arranged."
"You better make sure nobody drops dead then," Phryne whispered, pulling him into a kiss. "I'd hate to postpone this meal any longer."
Jack almost lost it then and there, but thankfully she twirled out of his arms without giving him a chance to succumb to his wants, just when a knock sounded. The Inspector had to clear his throat before he managed to call the officer in.
"The telephone for you, Inspector," Jones explained before retreating again. The Constable was smart enough not to interrupt any more than absolutely necessary when his superior was alone with his wife. And just as a safety measure knocking loudly and waiting until he was invited.
Phryne by now had almost reached the door but hovered for a moment longer than necessary. Jack grinned at her thinly veiled curiosity while he picked up the telephone. He listened, still smiling at her, then his face fell.
"Jane. Jane, calm down. What happened?"
Phryne was back by his side a moment later, watching the creases on the Inspector's face deepen in breathless silence. After what seemed an eternity of quiet listening the Inspector promised to come as fast as possible and rang off. He was already fishing for his coat before Phryne had a chance to open her mouth.
"She's all right. But I fear we might have to postpone our lunch after all."
X
Hugh Collins woke to the sweet sound of his son crying downstairs. He sighed, desperately glad to be on a late shift today. It had been a rather short night, even though there hadn't been too much of the bone-chilling screaming from the night before. Dorothy seemed determined to be the perfect mother, pampering little Thomas before he had a chance to be lacking anything worthy of crying about. Yet, he had whined along all through the long hours. Hugh, unable to sleep without Dottie in his arms had offered several times to give her a break, but she had shooed him back to bed with a tense smile and the reassurance that she was perfectly fine. He didn't like it, didn't like it at all. Now he was traipsing downstairs with bare feet, yawning broadly and finding both his wife and his son on the sofa, she rocking him desperately.
"Please," she begged, completely oblivious to their audience. "Please be quiet."
"Give him to me," Hugh offered, watching her flinch.
"I'm fine," she tried but looked up to realise that he wasn't going to argue this. Hesitantly she handed the bub over.
"I'll make you some breakfast," she mumbled, scurrying away into the kitchen.
Hugh tenderly looked at his son, who didn't pause for breath or to consider the change of arms.
"You know, you'd do better to stop screaming at her. She's a lovely woman, your mother," he said with a smile, rocking the little boy in his arms. Thomas seemed little convinced and just continued. Hugh slowly walked up and down the sitting room, remembering a goodnight song his mother had always sung to him. Little by little the boy calmed down and after a few minutes the crying turned into a tiny gurgling. Hugh tenderly grinned down and found a pair of curious eyes looking back up at him. Then the baby smiled a toothless smile.
"Little Tommy," he cooed, rocking the baby who seemed to enjoy his attention. Turning, the Constable realised that Dottie was leaning in the door frame leading to the kitchen, her face unreadable.
"He stopped crying," she said.
"Yes, and look how lovely our son is, when he isn't all red and crinkly," Hugh answered, too enthralled in his son's first smile to notice that her comment had sounded like an accusation. Dot stepped closer, hesitantly having a closer look at the lovely couple standing in the middle of the sitting room. It was hard to not feel warm and fuzzy at the sight of Hugh in his pyjamas, holding his little boy with the absolute pride of a new father. Yet, she was too envious and exhausted to truly enjoy it. Thomas seemed absolutely determined to love everybody but her. She couldn't figure out just what she was doing wrong.
"How do you feel about me asking Mr. Butler to look after him for an hour or two, Dottie? I have to go to work soon."
"Why?" she asked, her eyes big as she was shaken from dark thoughts. "I am going to be here."
"You haven't slept at all, Dottie," Hugh protested, feeling that he was losing ground fast.
"I'll have you know, Hugh Collins, that I am perfectly capable of taking care of my son."
As if to prove it, she took Thomas from his father's arms and carried him upstairs to his crib. She only made it half-way before the little boy returned to crying, but she kept walking with angry tears burning in her eyes.
X
Phryne was already running up the stairs towards the entrance, while Jack was still turning off the motor of the police car. He chased after her, taking two steps at a time, his coat fluttering in the cool morning wind. It was a grey day, all spring forgotten, but neither of the Detectives currently cared. Jack reached his wife in the hall where she halted, as if not certain she wanted to carry on.
„Come," he said, extending his hand as if it was the most normal gesture for a police officer attending a crime scene. His wife looked at him stunned for a moment before she accepted. They both knew that his rush stemmed from being a father more than a policeman, and Phryne felt her heart ache with the familiar feeling of desperate love for him, while they rushed up the stairs together.
There weren't many people left in the red salon where the Debutantes were supposed to freshen up on their slow waltz this morning. They were nowhere to be seen, save one, at this point in time. But the room was far from empty. Madame Claudine stood leaning against the wall, the colour of her skin almost the same as the whitewash behind her. In the far corner Julian Riley was attempting his hardest to calm down the piano player who had broken down in tears. And then there was Jane. Jane who was sitting on a chair, staring at the body as if she was guarding it from any harm. Of course, it was too late for that.
In the middle of the chaos lay the naked man. The Inspector didn't have to look twice to recognize him. He crouched down beside Nicolas Steeger and felt his pulse but Jane had been right. He was dead as a stone.
"Would you all care to leave, please?" he asked, his eyes seeking out Jane, who was quietly whispering with Phryne. "This is a crime scene."
The teenager didn't protest, neither did she refuse her foster mother's hands when they ran soothingly over her hair. She just nodded and made her escape. The last to leave was Madame Claudine. She turned in the door as if she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Silence crept into the room.
"He came running in during lessons, highly agitated and confused," Phryne said quietly, crouching down beside the Inspector, picking up a discarded pair of undergarment from the floor and dropping it again a moment later. Jack nodded. He had gathered something similar from Jane's frantic explanation on the telephone. „And with a distinct need to return to his state at birth," she added with a cheeky smile, letting her eyes sweep over the toned backside of the naked corpse. She was somewhat disappointed at Jack's lack of reaction but her husband was enthralled in thought. A brief inspection of the body was all he could accomplish before the rest of city south arrived, but he had his suspicions.
"She also described him seizing," he murmured.
"Poison?" Phryne asked, dropping the still warm but lifeless hand back onto the floor.
"It could be any illness of the brain," the Inspector answered while taking his hat off and lowering his head almost to the floor in an effort to get a better view of the deceased's face. "Anything that could cause hallucinations and arousal."
Phryne swallowed down a cheeky comment and instead followed Jack's attempts to inspect Steeger's wide open eyes with a faint smile. She knew exactly what he was looking for.
"The dilated pupils however do bring something to mind," he stated calmly, retrieving his hat from the floor and dusting off his coat, before stretching out his hand to help her up.
