Many thanks to Seldarius for pushing for a better resolution to the 'Crime' thread. I hope this meets with general approval.
Jack watched as Phryne read over the typed copy of her statement, marked and initialled a couple of minor amendments, then signed it with a flourish. She pushed the paper and his pen towards him and smiled.
"Now, about this raid."
"You will not be participating." It was a flat prohibition, and he had already made up his mind that this time there was no objection she could make that would cause him to budge. Not after last night. "This is a major police operation, Miss Fisher, with a high possibility of violence. You are not a police officer, and there are some aspects of police work in which you simply cannot be involved."
She opened her mouth to object, and he played what he hoped was his trump card. "And if you turn up unannounced, I will have you escorted back to the station in handcuffs. And it won't be me who does the escorting." He had debated whether or not to add that last threat, but had felt that it was the only way to underscore just how serious he was. There was no point in pretending that their close association meant that he would be anything other than a soft touch in carrying out such a threat himself, whilst the idea of ending up handcuffed in the custody of an unknown officer, one who would likely be far less sympathetic to her charms, would, he hoped, be enough to give even Phryne Fisher pause for thought.
It seemed to work, because she folded her arms and glared at him across the table. He allowed himself to soften slightly. "If you stay out of the way, I promise to phone you with details at the first opportunity."
She regarded him for a moment. It wasn't what she wanted, but for once she had to concede that he was right. A police operation on this scale really wasn't something she could involve herself in. And the phone-call was a thoughtful gesture. "Fine. But if my telephone hasn't rung by 2a.m. I'll come looking for you."
The expression on his face at her words reminded her that he wasn't planning a walk in the park, and for the first time in their discussion she felt a stab of concern for him. If the raid went badly, she might find him in the hospital – or the morgue.
He nodded. "At the first opportunity," he reiterated.
...
It was a relief not to have her there, he thought, as Collins killed the lights on their car later that night. After the way Simpson had looked at her the night before, he wanted to keep her as far away from the man as possible. Phryne Fisher seemed to attract the attention of madmen like a magnet, and he didn't want to have to worry about yet another deranged killer fixating himself upon her. And, he reminded himself, a police raid really was no place for a private citizen, not even a self-styled 'Lady Detective.'
One of the guards at the door recognised him from the previous night.
"Well, look who's back. Where's your girlfriend then, mate?"
He smiled holding up his badge in one hand and his gun in the other. "She couldn't make it." He nodded to the officers who had moved up soundlessly behind them, and in a moment the two men were shackled and being escorted to a prison van while two of Jack's men took their place.
"Excellent work. Now remember, if anyone else arrives, let them in. They'll be arrested once they come through the doors." He looked around as the shadowy figures of more officers took up their positions ready to enter the warehouse behind him. Others, he knew, would be covering the rear exit by the lavatories. More than twenty men would be involved in this operation: Jack was taking no chances. He nodded once. "Alright. Go."
They burst through the doors with guns already in hand "This is a raid! Nobody move!" He had entered with his gun and his gaze orientated towards the table where he had gamed with Smyth and the others the previous night, and was relieved to discover that he did indeed have Simpson in his sights. He hoped that the man wouldn't try anything – and yet another, altogether darker, part of him hoped that he would. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed as, with chaos erupting around them, Simpson just stood there and regarded him levelly, a slight smile on his lips. Never taking his eyes or his gun off the murderer, Jack called over his shoulder "Collins, Mackley, that's our man. I want him in cuffs and transported to the station immediately. Two guards at all times, and keep him in a separate cell from the others." He would not give Simpson the opportunity either to escape or to intimidate the witnesses whose testimony would, with any luck, be enough to hang him.
...
An hour later, Jack returned to the station. They had made almost thirty arrests, and he had left officers at the scene to gather evidence and scoop up anyone else foolish enough to show up.
"Do we have photographs of Simpson yet?" he asked Collins.
"Uh, yes sir. They should be ready soon."
"Good. I want copies ready to circulate as soon as possible."
"Yes sir. How widely will we be circulating them, sir?"
He considered what he already knew of Simpson. "Internationally, Collins. Internationally."
The young constable's eyes widened. "Yes, sir."
Other officers had already begun processing the suspects. "Sir?" one sergeant called out, approaching him.
"I hope it's good news, Weatherby?"
"Yes, sir. I just took a statement from a John Bradford. He's admitted to participating in an assault on your murder victim a couple of days before he was killed. He also confirmed that Frankie Simpson told them they should have killed him, and when they objected, immediately stormed off to the Majestic Theatre to-" Weatherby consulted his notes "-'take care of the dirty rat' himself."
Jack was impressed. Such a statement this early on would be very useful indeed. "Good work, Weatherby."
"There's more, sir. According to Bradford, he headed to the theatre himself, hoping to warn Parsons that Simpson was after him. He attempted to enter through a back door, and saw Parsons running towards him-" notes again "-'like the devil himself was after him.' When Parsons saw him, he turned and ran back the way he had come. Bradford never got a chance to deliver his warning."
Jack nodded. "That explains the second man at the theatre. Get that statement typed up and signed. I'll be in with Simpson."