Melbourne - June 24, 1929

"Henry Morgan, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder for the deaths of Helen Baines, Edna Clarkson, and Ruth Nichols."

Inspector Robinson's tone brooked no argument. Henry wasn't surprised that the officer was bringing charges against him, even he had to admit there was an awful lot of circumstantial evidence to suggest his involvement, up to and including his own recent obsession with the Melbourne murders. Robinson hadn't seemed completely convinced of his guilt and certainly not ready to officially arrest him before he'd left the room, so it was obvious to Henry that something had changed, possibly something connected to the leather tome he currently held. So he wasn't completely surprised by this declaration. He was, however, somewhat bewildered at the anger blazing in the other man's eyes.

During Henry's 149 years, he had become an astute observer of human behavior and nature. He'd seen every version of every emotion a dozen times over on a hundred different faces. Anger was one of the most complex, second only to love. It could be felt at one's self and projected onto others, it could manifest as heated arguments or cold silence, and be felt at various different levels of a person's being without affecting the other levels: professional, marital, personal.

The anger that burned so hot in Inspector Robinson's eyes and the hard set of his mouth, wasn't the professional enmity of the cop versus the criminal, it was deeper than that, with a component of personal rage that didn't have anything to do with the man's job. And Henry couldn't place it immediately.

It wasn't until he heard Phryne stand behind him and come to his defense that he understood.

"Arresting him on what grounds precisely?"

Her tone held indignant disbelief and Henry saw the anger in the Inspector's eyes flare as she spoke. The reaction cemented the situation in his mind, Robinson's anger wasn't about Henry's supposed criminal activity, at least not only. This anger was personal, directed inward and at Phryne as much as it was at Henry himself. It was an anger born, he suspected given his observations during their earlier interactions, more of his and Phryne's relationship 13 years earlier than of anything else.

Before he could really contemplate that information in its entirety, his focus was drawn back to the matter at hand by Robinson's voice. The other man had turned to face Phryne, but Henry could still see the range of emotions playing across his face.

"I've just spoken with Miss Williams, who, at your request, had pulled all information the library had available regarding the London murders of Jack the Ripper." None of the anger in his expression bled into his voice. Instead, he spoke in a cold, unemotional tone which Henry recognized as the one he himself used in those moments when what he really wanted to do was scream or throw things or punch the nearest wall. It was the voice he used to retain his control.

The Inspector took in a deep breath before continuing, "She wasn't able to find much, but she brought what she was able to locate. No original newspaper articles, but a few books about the 1888 murders. They contain some text from the London newspapers as well as descriptions of the deaths. However, even those descriptions fall far short of the information that Dr. Morgan-" He turned back to look at Henry before continuing, "has already provided me about the current murders."

Henry could feel a slight sense of dread building in his stomach. Phryne was right. Robinson was a good detective and had taken in every word of what Henry was telling him, even if he had scoffed at the Ripper connection that Henry had tried to put forth. Henry risked a brief glance at Phryne, but turned his attention quickly back to the officer, not comforted at all by the 'I told you so' expression that painted her expression alongside confusion and guilt. As Robinson continued to speak, Henry felt a feeling of inevitability surfacing.

"Even if Sydney has a better source of information on these Ripper murders, I find it very difficult to believe that Dr. Morgan would have access to the amount or detail of information that he presented to me before you arrived, Miss Fisher." There was a slight coldness to the way the other man said her name, a coldness that had most definitely not been there earlier. He gave her a hard glare before turning back to Henry, "You also need to explain to me how you knew so much about this morning's murder when we don't even have an autopsy report yet."

As Robinson spoke, Henry knew that he was going to have to follow Phryne's earlier advice. He was going to have to trust Inspector Jack Robinson with his secret, otherwise there would be no convincing the other man that he hadn't committed the murders. There was no way of explaining his knowledge of all of the earlier cases let alone this morning's murder without telling the Inspector how he knew so much about the Ripper cases. Even his access to the morgue archives wouldn't be enough as cases less than three months old weren't archived or available to anyone not on staff. Henry didn't mind the idea of being falsely imprisoned for the horrible crimes nearly as much as he feared that if Robinson believed that he has his culprit, he would stop looking for the actual killer until it was too late. Until another body had been found while Henry was in custody.

He still wasn't sure that he could convince the Inspector with words, but at this point he was willing to prove his immortality the old fashioned way, though he certainly hoped that Phryne's word would carry enough weight to make that unnecessary. As much as he knew that dying wasn't a permanent state for him, it was still at best an unpleasant experience and usually a highly painful one. And Phryne had already seen him die once before her eyes. He didn't want to put her through the pain of watching him kill himself for the sake of argument.

Robinson had paused to glance back and forth between himself and Phryne, perhaps confused by the look of deep contemplation and resignation on Henry's face, perhaps just trying to further hit home his point. As Henry came to his final conclusion, he steeled himself for the consequences of his revelation, but the Inspector began speaking again before he could, directing his comments purely at Henry.

"So, you are under arrest, unless you can tell me exactly how you know so much about these murders." His tone made it very clear that he didn't believe for even a single moment that Henry would be able to do such a thing.

Henry took a deep breath, still not entirely convinced that this would end with anything other than him and Phryne locked away in an asylum somewhere, but could see no other option. He released it with a sigh as he stood, needing to be on his feet. Robinson took a step towards the door and pushed it closed, as though he expected Henry to try to make a break for it. With another deep breath, Henry spoke, his voice calm and even.

"I know about these murders because I know about the Whitechapel murders." He paused for a brief moment, "And I know about the Whitechapel murders because I was there." He saw the incredulity pass across the other man's face, but pushed on before he was interrupted. "I was a doctor in London at the time and was called in to examine a number of the Whitechapel victims. I have detailed journals; things that were in the police reports, newspaper clippings, as well as my own observations of the murders and the investigations."

He stopped speaking, providing a chance for Inspector Robinson to chime in, but he just stared at Henry, his mouth slightly agape and shock painted across his features. For a brief moment, Henry thought that the detective had believed him, that the shock was at his story, but then the other man's silence ended and Henry's hopes fell away.

"Do you seriously expect me to believe that you were not only alive in 1888," Robinson's tone was eerily calm, his face set as though made of stone. It was obvious from the contemptuous edge to his words that he didn't think Henry was crazy, instead he believed it was all a lie that Henry thought he was stupid enough to believe, "but that you were old enough to be practicing medicine at the time? I doubt you were even alive 41 years ago."

Under normal circumstances, Henry might have found the comment mildly flattering while admiring the man's excellent judge of age, but all he could think was that it really was going to take a demonstration to convince the Inspector of the truth. He wasn't looking forward to that, but would do it if necessary. He had made that decision before he'd even opened his mouth. Before he could explain or offer to show him, Robinson had turned to look at Phryne.

"And you." His tone softened only marginally as he spoke to her, "You were so convinced that he couldn't be our killer. And now? Are you going to defend this ridiculous attempt to escape justice."

He turned back to face Henry, obviously about to continue, but Phryne's response stopped him from speaking further.

"He's telling the truth, Jack."

This wasn't the forceful Phryne who had earlier demanded that he explain his grounds for arresting Henry. Her tone was soft, sincerity in every word. This was the Phryne that Henry had watched in the trenches; the woman who comforted dying men. This was the woman who he had once seen a potential future with, if they made it through the war.

Robinson turned to face her, his expression one of surprise and no small amount of hurt. Henry thought he could understand what the other man was feeling. He was so sure that Henry was lying and then to find Phryne backing the story. Henry imagined, given his interpretation of the man's earlier anger at their obvious past connection, that the detective felt betrayal; like she was choosing Henry over himself, even under such circumstances.

The two stared at each other for a long moment before she spoke again.

"He is telling the truth, Jack. Remember when I said I'd seen him die at Verdun? I did. A mortar shell exploded in a trench where we were treating some men. He shielded me from the shrapnel and then died right in front of me." Her voice was steady, despite the obvious pain the recollection brought with it.

Henry watched Robinson's face contort in confusion. This would be the real test he thought. Either the Inspector's trust in Phryne was absolute and he would let her explain, let Henry demonstrate. Or he wouldn't. He would do what Nora had done and lock them both up. Because there was no mistaking that Phryne believed she was telling him the truth, so Robinson would either have to believe or consider them both crazy.

"He died. I felt his pulse stop. And then…" She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "he vanished." Another pause as she studied the detective's face for anything beyond the shock that was so clearly painted on it. She must have found something that gave her some hope, because her voice was light as she continued. "His body vanished, Jack. Without a trace, like he had never been there."

She glanced over at Henry briefly before looking back at the stunned man, "I tried to convince myself that he hadn't been there. Succeeded even. It was impossible, after all. Just shock and the horror of losing someone important to me messing with my mind." A small smile graced her lips as she took a step towards the Inspector. "But it was real, the proof is standing in this room."

Henry watched the other man's face for a long, silent moment before speaking. He still wasn't sure the detective believed a word they were saying, but at least the shock and confusion were wearing away in light of Phryne's words. Doubt was still painted across his features, but his faith in Phryne was obviously causing him to at least pause and take everything in.

"I recognize that this is all both unbelievable and hard to take in," Henry's voice was calm and professional. It was the tone he adopted when he had to give patients or families bad news, one he had perfected over long years of practice. "But we are telling the truth, I assure you, Inspector."

The other man looked for a moment like he was going to speak, his eyes darting from Henry's own to Phryne's and back as his mouth opened for a long moment and then closed again. Henry pressed on.

"As far as I am aware, I cannot die. I have been alive for nearly 150 years and during that time, my heart has stopped a great many times - disease, war, accidents…" He trailed off, remembering in a heartbeat the the many times he had died over his years. He shook the memories off and continued, dreading his next offer, but knowing that there might be no other way to convince Robinson. "I am prepared and willing to demonstrate."

Henry watch both of their faces as his meaning sank in. The Inspector barely seemed to register the offer, his suspicion still strongly painted across his features. Phryne, on the other hand, reacted more dramatically, pain and horror etched in the furrow of her brow and the pained frown of her mouth. He had known this would be her reaction and as much as he didn't want to put her through his death and disappearance again, it was critical that the Inspector believe them. As he briefly locked eyes with her, Henry willed Phryne to understand and accept the necessity of his offer.

When he looked back towards Robinson, he found the other man's focus not on himself, but on Phryne. While the other man had not reacted strongly to Henry's words, he was certainly doing so as he took in the distress on Phryne's features. Henry watched as the two locked eyes for long minutes, a silent conversation taking place that he was only catching small parts of though he thought it might be falling out in his favor. It seemed that where Henry's offer had done nothing to convince him, Phryne's reaction to it certainly had.

And then the Inspector was turning back to him, his earlier suspicions not fully gone from his expression, but greatly diminished. In their place was a reluctant acceptance, his trust in Phryne apparently winning out, for the moment over his knowledge that what they were saying was impossible. He sighed heavily before speaking.

"A demonstration won't be necessary."

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw some of the tension leave Phryne's posture, her shoulders relaxing at the other man's words. He was about to thank Robinson, when the other man continued speaking as he took the few steps to his desk and chair, brushing gently past Phryne as he moved.

"I'm not saying that I actually believe this ridiculous story, but for the moment we'll hold out on your arrest."

He took a seat and gestured for Henry to do the same, which he did, glad that the situation seemed to be coming back to an even keel. Phryne gave him a small smile before she took a few steps to lean against the bookshelf. He answered with one of his one before turning his attention back to the Inspector.

"Now, Dr. Morgan, maybe you could start at the beginning."

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AN: Sorry this update took so long. I had a tough time finding the balance between these three at this point in the events. It'll get easier for me to write, I hope, as the story continues to unfold and things become simpler - well, not simpler, but less fraught.