Chapter Ten

When they got to City South, Jack spoke up.

"Straight to the interview room, please, Collins."

The sergeant grasped the subtext straight away - this canny operator was not to be allowed to speak to his partner in crime by being put in the same cell.

At first, though, it seemed that Allbright wouldn't speak at all - even to a quietly-spoken, faintly threatening Detective Chief Inspector.

Sitting back in his chair, Jack regarded the smaller man meditatively. And shrugged. "Oh, well, Collins, no-one can say we didn't try. Book Mr Allbright for the murder of the Reverend Hackle."

"Here, hang on a minute!" Allbright was finally provoked to speak. "You can't do that!"

"Oh, I can," Jack disagreed. "We have you at the locus and we know that the only other person there didn't commit the crime - so that leaves you, Lewis. That's the great thing about detectives - they're allowed to resort to good, plain logic when a key witness refuses to help."

"But he musta done it!" cried Allbright frantically. "He had the weapon!"

"What weapon?" asked Jack.

"The crowbar!"

"Oh yes - the crowbar," said Jack, as though grasping a distant memory. "Remind me, how did he come by it?"

A pause, while Allbright reviewed his options. Then there was a mutter.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"He bought it, didn't he?"

"But he didn't have any money, Lewis," Jack pointed out, unarguably. "And if he had, he would have bought food. So I ask myself why a hungry man would splash out on a crowbar?"

Silence.

"Did you give him the money, Lewis?"

Allbright paused, then exploded. "Yeah, I gave him the money. I didn't tell him to kill anyone with it, though, that was all his idea!"

Jack decided not to let his key witness in on his main point of ignorance, and stood up.

"Okay, Allbright - much as it pains me, I admit I believe you."

As he made his way to the door, he muttered to Collins. "Separate cells. And post someone to make sure they don't confer."

He was still pondering the problem half an hour later, when there was a minor explosion in his office - or to be more precise, a social call by Mrs and Miss Robinson.

In such circumstances, Elizabeth was normally permitted prime position on the corner of Daddy's desk. This time, she decided instead that he was looking sad, so she set herself to cheer him up, throwing herself into his arms with verve, enthusiasm and scant regard for the equipment that had brought her into being.

Jack went pale, choked slightly and rearranged her so that she was less angular in the places about which he felt most sensitive.

Phryne snickered. He scowled, for her benefit alone.

"Miss Fisher, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked in tones which suggested that if Elizabeth hadn't been present, he would have stuck his tongue out rather rudely.

Before Miss Fisher had the chance to respond, Elizabeth interrupted.

"I'm getting a new dress, Daddy!"

He smiled down at her. "That's nice, poppet." He looked up at Phryne. "But I'm assuming that wasn't why you came here – Collins is handy for many things, but sewing buttons is about as far as his expertise as seamstress goes."

"It sort of is," she replied nonetheless. "Your daughter is going to be having her first outing as a flower girl."

"Oh?" he said, interested. "Not …?"

"Indeed," she said smugly. "Mitton was simply no match for my persuasive abilities, once he knew that he had nothing to hide."

(It later transpired that Mitton's capitulation had had more to do with Tobias Butler's persuasive abilities than Phryne's, but no-one was going to let on and spoil her fun).

"Is Prudence happy?" he asked, as Elizabeth rolled and unrolled his tie. The happiness should have been a given, but Mrs Stanley had always been unpredictable.

"If you can imagine calmly ecstatic, that's Aunt P just now," Phryne affirmed. "It will be a quiet affair, just immediate family – after all, it's not the first time for either of them – but Elizabeth was eager to help." She grinned. "We've yet to have the discussion about the role that Nutmeg plays in proceedings. Your daughter thinks he's vital, but I'm not sure."

"He is, Mumma!" she exclaimed firmly. "He wants to be a flower girl too."

"Nutmeg?" asked Jack, confused.

"The pony."

"Ah." Jack wisely left that matter for others to decide. Brooding, he buried his nose in Elizabeth's fragrant bob.

"You don't disapprove?" Phryne asked carefully.

"What? Of the wedding? Absolutely not. He's an excellent chap, and your aunt deserves to be happy. No, it's my murder case."

"What's the problem?"

He frowned. "Neither of my suspects appears to have done it. One said he did, but definitely didn't; and the other claims he didn't, and is probably telling the truth, for once, because he thinks the other one did it."

Phryne sat in the chair opposite his desk. "Can I help?"

He shrugged. "I'd love you to, but I don't know how you can. I feel I'll have to start all over again. Go back to the scene. See if there were any other witnesses …"

She stood up. "Come on, then."

He looked up at her, then down at the bundle in his lap, which was trying the effect of his tie as a hairband, with fetching results.

"What about …? I can't exactly ask Collins to babysit."

"Oh, let her come too. She knows not to touch things if it's your work."

This was true. For all Elizabeth was a tactile young creature, she would happily clasp her hands behind her back if there was something exciting to look at but not touch.

He half smiled. It was bad enough keeping Miss Fisher's nose out of his cases. Keeping Elizabeth's out as well was going to be ten times worse.

"You will, collectively, drive me to distraction," he remarked; but as he was already rising to his feet, hoisting his daughter to his hip, his acquiescence was a given.

"I do hope so, darling. I've been trying to for years, after all," she flung cheerfully over her shoulder, as she sashayed out of the door.