Author's note: Sorry for the delay, laptop and life fails conspired against us. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and PM'd to check up on me. You keep me writing, when all else fails.
Recap: Rich Watson fought with his family, went out drinking, and then was killed. He wasn't getting along with his disobedient little brother or his demanding wife. Though the family had alibis, Jack and Phryne found a secret passageway that could have allowed someone to sneak out. In it, they found Rich's wife's missing wedding ring. That was exciting, and in their...exuberance, they fell right through a wall into the parlor, to land at the feet of Jack's father and the elder Mr. Watson.
Chapter 11
Not again, Jack thought, as he looked up at his father from the floor. His father was upside down from Jack's perspective, but even so, Jack could clearly see him seething.
"Good morning Mr. Robinson." Phryne said brightly, apparently deciding the liberal application of charm couldn't hurt. "Mr. Watson, we haven't been introduced. I'm Phryne Fisher." Still sitting astride Jack's waist, Phryne offered her hand to Rich's father. The shadow of a leer crept onto his rat-like face as he shook it.
"I feel as if I know you already, Miss Fisher," Edward Watson said, still holding Phryne's hand. "Which is probably for the best, as you've just burst through one of my walls, riding my godson."
"Yes, well, these things do happen," Phryne said. She tugged on Mr. Watson's hand, using it to lever herself to her feet.
"Not to most people," Jack's father growled.
"Most people lead boring lives," Phryne replied carelessly. "I can pay for the damages."
Jack sat up and winced, though he wasn't sure if it was for the awkward situation or for his throbbing head. As he gathered himself to stand, Phryne's hand found his chin, tilting it so she could look down into his face.
"Take a moment," Phryne said. "A handkerchief might help with the dust in your eyes." She swept her hand across her lips in a deliberately casual gesture. Jack's ears began to burn as he realized his face must be covered in her makeup. He took her hint and scrubbed his mouth with his handkerchief.
"I must say, Henry," Mr. Watson commented to Jack's father, "I'm relieved to see your perfect son is just as fallible as my family."
"My what?" Jack's father asked, disbelieving.
"And yet," Phryne interjected as she helped Jack to his feet, "The Robinson family aren't murdering each other." Yet, Jack thought.
That wiped away Mr. Watson's gloating grin, but Phryne leaping to his defense only made Jack's father angrier. One could probably poach an egg in the steam coming out his ears.
"Mr. Watson, either Rich's brother or his wife could have crept down here without you seeing," Phryne said, dusting off her skirt. "We've heard that he was fighting with both."
"Fred and Ruby loved Rich," Mr. Watson said.
"Sometimes the people we love cause us the most pain," Phryne said, glancing at Jack.
Jack nearly lost the thread of the conversation, wondering what her look meant. "Er...we found a ring in the passage," he said. "Does it belong to your daughter-in-law?"
Phryne held it up and Mr. Watson's eyes widened in recognition. "The thief must have dropped it in his haste to escape," he said.
"He stole the silver from the kitchen," Phryne said. "Then he came all the way across the house, found a secret passageway, snuck upstairs and stole the ring. Then he dropped it, and after all that trouble, he left it behind?"
Mr. Watson's mouth opened and closed wordlessly.
"We need to talk to both Fred and Ruby down at the station, as soon as possible," Jack said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Jack and Phryne arrived at the station first, though Mr. Watson had sworn he would follow with Ruby and Fred after he picked up his son from the law firm. Jack wouldn't have believed him, but as his own father had taken the man firmly in hand, Jack had no doubt they'd arrive as soon as possible (and on their best behavior).
Phryne did not share his confidence. Jack was in the midst of an uncharacteristically incoherent explanation of his father's indomitable willpower and reliability, which Phryne was ignoring completely, when they walked into the station.
"He has this effect on people..." he trailed off, coming to an abrupt halt in the center of the room. Jack hadn't been to the station since his abduction, and his first thought was that he'd never realized how many men worked at City South. Sergeants, constables, other detectives, and even a few men from other stations were crowded into the stuffy room. Some were shuffling papers idly, pretending to work, but most were just standing around with expectant looks on their faces.
Jack looked over his shoulder, and then back at the mob, eyebrows raised. What on earth...?
"Welcome back," Will separated himself from the crowd, arms outstretched. Jack just managed to keep from backing up as the portly detective marched up to him and grabbed his hand, pumping it enthusiastically. Jack's face began to heat as the rest of the men burst into applause, crushing in around him to shake his hand and slap his back. He nodded politely, but even if he could have gotten a word in edgewise, he wouldn't have known what to say. In some ways, all this fuss was even more embarrassing than landing at his father's feet with Phryne's lipstick all over his face.
Phryne had drifted away towards his office. She smiled at Jack as he tried to shuffle through his colleagues to her.
"Enough, enough," Jack finally managed, knowing his stern tone was utterly contradicted by the abashed smile on his face.
"You heard the boss," Will boomed. "Break it up, back to work. It's like he was never even gone!"
There were chuckles and grins at that, and with only a few more handshakes, they dispersed to their duties. The room was soon as empty as usual. Jack glared at Will.
"You're welcome," he said. "My advice to you is to bask in their adoration, because two men with 'commissioner' in their titles are waiting in your office, and..." Will leaned a little closer to Jack, studying his neck, "...and you have what appears to be lipstick on your collar."
"Lipstick..." Phryne mused, stepping up to Jack and brushing at his collar ineffectively.
"A lovely shade," Will said.
"Thank you," Phryne replied absently. Jack scowled at Will and then narrowed his eyes at Phryne in a question.
"It may be nothing," she said.
"I trust you'll let us know, if it turns out to be something," Jack said.
"Of course, Inspector! And in the meantime, I think I'll wait for our suspects outside."
"I'll keep the lady company, if she doesn't mind," Will said.
Jack fought back a wave of resentment as they left, arm in arm. Neither Phryne nor Will would be welcome (or particularly helpful, Jack suspected) in whatever discussion the Commissioner and Deputy Commissioner had planned. Jack resolutely straightened his jacket. After all, he knew how to navigate the world alone. He just hadn't had to…for months, really. It was a pleasant thought.
Jack opened the door and strode into his office.
"Gentlemen," he greeted the Commissioner and Deputy Commissioner. The Commissioner was sitting in Phryne's usual chair, and the rotund Deputy Commissioner was sprawled in Jack's chair with his feet crossed on Jack's desk. Jack firmly shushed the Miss Fisher voice in his head, that was sputtering in very un-lady-like language at the man's easy arrogance.
"Robinson," the Deputy Commissioner said. "We wanted to welcome you back."
Jack would have felt more welcome bedding down in a nest of poisonous snakes. "Thank you," he said.
"We also wanted to express some concern about your current case," the Commissioner said. He stood, strolling over to Jack with his hands in his pockets. "Alfred Watson is handling a significant portion of the Sanderson case. We can't afford to draw it out any longer."
"If the man murdered his brother, he needs to be brought to justice," Jack said. "It's no less important than any other case."
"Wrong, Robinson," the Deputy Commissioner heaved himself to his feet and rolled across the office. "Like it or not, some cases are more important than others."
"We're not saying you should let a guilty man walk free," the Commissioner clarified, his eyes lingering on Jack's collar. "Just, get to the bottom of this case quickly, and more importantly, do it quietly."
Jack tried very hard not to think about Phryne's investigative style, which was only even remotely 'quiet' when it had already crossed the line into 'illegal'. The two men put on their hats and made as if to leave, but the Deputy Commissioner paused on the threshold with a sneer on his face.
"And Robinson, you've got something on..."
"Leave it," the Commissioner snapped at the shorter man, who shut his gaping mouth with a click. The Commissioner nodded to Jack, and then they were both gone. Jack wobbled over to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, rubbing his forehead.
If it's not one thing, it's another, he thought.
Phryne greeted the Watsons as if they were guests at one of her intimate dinner parties, and not suspects in the murder of a loved one arriving for police interviews.
"Mrs. Watson, I'm so sorry for your loss," she told Rich's widow, shaking the woman's hand. She was overdressed for a police station, in a rich plum colored frock, with strappy heels and an elegant hat.
"You must be Miss Fisher," she said. Her voice was hoarse and her eyes were puffy from crying. Her brother-in-law, Fred, offered her an arm, though he was hardly in better shape. Both were pale and clearly exhausted.
Phryne escorted them to the interview room, meeting Jack there. He held the door open for Mrs. Watson, and then stepped between her and the other men in her family.
"Just Mrs. Watson, please," he said.
Fred scrubbed his face with his hands. "I'll wait with Kenneth by the car, then," he said.
His father pulled his thin lips into a frown. "Ruby might need support through this horrid ordeal."
"Too right," Jack's father agreed.
"Then you'll be more comfortable in the lobby," Jack pointed out.
"And still within shouting distance," Phryne added, with an innocent flutter of her eyelashes. The older men ignored her. Jack sighed and opened the door a little wider so Phryne could slip in, following her and shutting it behind them without ever meeting his father's accusatory stare. Phryne searched his face for some hint of what the Commissioner and the ball of flesh he called a Deputy Commissioner had wanted, and was rewarded with an eye roll and a headshake. Too complicated, later.
Phryne sat down at the table as Jack held out the chair for Mrs. Watson. After she was situated, he went to lean on the wall behind Phryne, deep in the shadows of the room, his subtle invitation to Phryne to do the talking.
"Mrs. Watson, I can't imagine how you're feeling..." Phryne began, before she realized it was a lie. She'd never been married, but she could very well imagine what losing a partner felt like, having briefly misplaced hers, not too long ago. Phryne swallowed hard.
"It's like my life has ended," Mrs. Watson continued for her. Phryne began to fish around in her handbag for a handkerchief, sensing a storm of tears brewing on the horizon. It never ceased to amaze her how much a good woman could love a bad man.
"I'm sure Edward will provide for his grandchildren, but he's got no obligation to me," Mrs. Watson said. Phryne paused, looking back at the woman across the table from her in disbelief.
"And with it being a murder, and now I'm a suspect...no one will ever have me, after this. My life is over," she finished, choking on the last few words. Jack emerged from the shadows to hand her a handkerchief.
"Surely the death of a dismal life can't be mourned forever," Phryne said. He hit you, he hit your children, she thought.
"A dismal life? I had everything," Mrs. Watson said. "Rich wasn't perfect, but I had all the connections and…and the clothes a woman could ever need." She wiped her face on a clean corner of Jack's much abused handkerchief, a smudge of her purple lipstick joining the raspberry-colored stains already there.
"And for love, you had someone else," Phryne said, her mind finally connecting the dots between dirty collars, lipstick colors, and earnest young men. Her sympathy for the woman evaporated.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mrs. Watson said, nervously folding and refolding the handkerchief.
"Then you aren't having an affair with your family's driver, Kenneth Johnson?" Phryne asked, knowing full well there was no innocent way for her purple lipstick to have ended up on Kenneth's collar.
"He was visiting his family the night of the murder," Mrs. Watson said, avoiding her question and defending the young man.
"Which leaves you no alibi and an excellent motive," Jack observed.
"Motive? That's ridiculous. Kenneth was just a diversion," Mrs. Watson said.
"Does he know that?" Phryne asked, thinking of how he'd tried to protect her from her violent husband.
"He should." She sniffed disdainfully. "Our kind doesn't mix with theirs, not in any meaningful way."
Phryne's lip curled up. "It's meaningful to Kenneth," she said. "And I'm not one of your kind."
Jack grunted in agreement. He pulled out the chair next to Phryne and sat down, folding his hands on the table.
"So you used the secret staircase to see Kenneth," Jack said. "And you dropped your wedding ring at some point. I suppose it would be bad taste to wear it when seeing a lover, even one you don't particularly care about."
Phryne continued his thought unbroken. "The real question is: did you also sneak out to kill Rich? Maybe not for Kenneth, but we know you and your husband fought constantly."
"Did our gossiping maid, Anna, tell you that?" Mrs. Watson asked. "That's where you should be looking for someone with motive to kill Rich."
"Anna?" Jack said in surprise. Phryne tried to picture the slight young woman heaving Rich's hulking corpse up into a fountain to make a statement, and failed.
"Not Anna," Mrs. Watson said. "Freddie. He wanted to marry the worthless girl!" Jack winced, but didn't seem surprised. Phryne gestured at Mrs. Watson to continue.
"He stirred up a fuss about it at dinner; quite traumatized his poor father, but my Rich would have none of it. The last thing I heard Freddie say to him was that he would convince Rich to see it from his perspective, one way or another."
Phryne exchanged a meaning-laden look with Jack. Fred Watson had wandered out of the station twenty minutes ago, completely unaccompanied. They stood in unison and rushed outside.
Kenneth was leaning on the hood of the Watson's expensive car, smoking and contemplating the sky. He was considerably less rumpled today, in a neat driver's uniform.
"Where's Alfred?" Phryne asked him.
"Don't rightly know, Miss. He came out, said he had some business to see to before the interview, and then he left."
"Damn it," Phryne said. Their best suspect had been right beneath their noses the whole time and they'd let him just walk away.
"You don't know the half of it," Jack said.