Back at 221B the Esplanade, Jack and I were taking full advantage of our solitude and had made as much of a racket as we wanted. Solving the case, that was. After pouring some whiskey for the pair of us, I led him to my desk and provided him with a notepad. I knew he liked to write things down to fully grasp them. Taking my place perched on the edge of his writing space, I spoke through my theory.

"The cuff links were new, Jack. Someone bought them just for this murder."

"Reasoning." He demanded, writing down my words as I spoke.

"Graves' had his own cuff links shoved into his mouth after he'd been long dead and washed up. It was a message to someone, even if we don't know who is sending or receiving such a message, it is certainly a message. Yes?" Jack nodded and motioned for me to continue. "That man in the water was a ragamuffin if I ever saw one. His clothes were torn and I'll be damned if he ever thought about owning a french cut shirt. He didn't own cuff links. He would have no place to wear such a thing. And they looked flawless! If a man like that did own cuff links, an heirloom, a foolish purchase, they'd be dented and dinged halfway to Asia, they wouldn't be that flawless. Besides." I paused dramatically. "They perfectly fit a design that was only released a few weeks ago at Dameon's downtown."

"And you know that how, Miss Fisher?"

"Because your mother and sister went there around then and were gifted a catalog to replace the cuff links they said they were after, and we went over it together. It was a brand new design, mounded gold. Simple, modern, and the catalog had a release date written next to it. Last Thursday."

"Well that's cheating."

"How so?" I replied, indignantly.

"Neither you, my mother, nor my sister shred this catalog with me."

"As if you tell me every detail of your cases!" His eyes widened and he gaped at me suddenly.

"The nephew."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I forgot to tell you... a man came into the station yesterday. Said he'd seen something suspicious but he didn't want to get mixed up so he kept it all to himself, but it had been bothering him, disturbed, he called it, and said he had to get it off his chest so he could go back to his life."

"What?" I cawed. "That's quite a thing to 'forget to tell me', Jack Robinson! You owe me!"

"We can discuss pricing at a later time, my dear." He replied wryly. "He said he saw a man come up through the crowd, as if he knew what he'd find when he got there, and lean down and fiddle with the dead man's sleeves. Some woman fainted then, and so he was distracted, but when he turned around to tell the block to head off, and to leave the body for the police, the person was gone."

"And I take it his description matched the nephew?"

"More than that. He saw a photo of the nephew in the paper the next day. Positive ID."

"Young Mr. Graves did not deny that he had already heard of his uncle's death. He even admitted that he'd gone to see the body on the beach when a maid came shrieking in with the news. This additional information doesn't even place him as a liar, but..."

"He didn't mention touching the victim. He said he was so sickened by the sight he had been forced to leave immediately to retch and that the police had been and left by the time he felt well enough to return, his uncle's body gone. He had then gone home to right himself and hadn't even thought to go to the police until the constable demanded his presence." I rolled my eyes. At the time I had done the same. It was astounding how stupid people were sometimes. When you're involved with a dead body - particularly the dead body of a relative, you should always go to the police! It was mind boggling how often people didn't think of that.

"This fits in with my theory!"

"Go on."

"Those cuff links in our new victim were new. They were bought to send a message but if it were the same killer sending the same message, surely he would have been prepared before last Thursday at the earliest? Surely he would have had some other cuff links that wouldn't be so easily traceable when no more than a few dozen men could possibly have purchased that particular set yet?"

"Perhaps he's an idiot?"

"Or, perhaps it was rushed. Thrown together."

"A copycat? Or an attempt to throw us off with a second body?"

"A response."

"Sorry?"

"A response, Jack, the first pair were so deliberately placed after the dead body had been washed up, but the second had pierced his tongue, ensuring that they would stay there after floating around the sound for days. They were placed differently, by different people. Mr. Graves was killed and a message about his death sent. This new body, another message. Back to Mr. Grave's nephew, or whomever demanded he move the cuff links."

"This is all merely a guess, Phryne. The pieces fit but so would a dozen others."

"I admit it's a guess, but it's more of a guess than what we've have before. And my guesses, as you know, are often rather close to the truth."

"I blame your vivid imagination."

"Blame what you will, I think it's a different murderer. And I think this overkill was meant to signify that the body was related to Mr. Graves in the first place. A signal that these murders were related so that the messengers could catch wind of it at all. Drowned, a knife in the chest, and a fishing spear sticking out of his head? How different is that from drowned, a stab wound in his torso, and some sort of slicing through a neck?" Jack frowned.

"Not just some sort of stabbing..." He muttered, his fingers sketching something out on the wood of the desk.

"The fishing spear that was stuck in our new victim's head... it has a narrow shaft and a narrow spear end, but it isn't the universal design. If a spear had an arrow shaped spear head, a wider model, used for large fish..." He trailed off and looked intently at his notes. "A shot at the head, if it missed but just by a bit, if it hit the neck at the right angle, it could potentially decapitate someone."

"Or nearly decapitate them."

"The range would have needed to be close, for force like that, to slice through so much, esophagus, windpipe, skin, and blood, and not get jammed, to not get stuck in side but to cut cleanly through-"

"It missed the spinal column completely, a person at any range isn't likely to be able to completely impale bone and have the entire spear keep flying. The again, the handles on wider spears are long, even if the spear head had made it through his neck, would it have been impeded enough to keep the device stuck? Did someone go in to retrieve the spear?"

"Maybe? Or he was floating around enough that it was dislodged and separated from the corpse."

"In which case the spear is still in the bay."

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, loosing a curled strand from it's pomade prison and I grinned. Not that I didn't like buttoned up Inspector Robinson. I just liked that I got to see relaxed, unbuttoned Jack when everyone else did not.

"Its a theory Phryne. A good theory." He amended instantly, seeing my expression. "But..."

"It's a lot of moving parts. The only part that isn't swirling around aimlessly seems to be the nephew. Shall we bring him in?"

"Sure. When you find where he's holed up, let me know will you? Then I can fire the four constables who are currently sussing him out."

"There will be no need to fire anyone. It isn't their fault that it takes time to learn." I kissed his cheek and leaped to my feet. Besides, you've just given me an excellent task for tomorrow!" He groaned and buried his face in one hand.

"What have I done?" He teased. I only laughed.

"Come." I took his hand and led him towards my staircase. "As fascinating as it was to watch you use my desk for a change, I have another piece of furniture I'd like you to claim."

"How so?" He asked, allowing me to drag him.

"By fucking your fiance on it, of course." I grinned lasciviously at him and broke off into a run, laughing gaily.

He ran after me, laughing alongside me, pulling his outer layers of clothes off as we ran. I hoped it would always be like this. Him and me against the world. Always solving crimes together. Always desperate to be touching skin on skin. Even if it wasn't always quite so desperate, though, I knew we would be all right. Even if our bodies stopped wanting each other so much, my soul would always cry out for it's partner. My Jack.

Okay so it got a bit cheesy at the end but ignore that a minute... initially I had a plan for these murders, but somewhere around my second massive break I completely forgot what that was. I used my own detective skills, the clues PastElsa laid for us, and attempted to come up with a theory. Thoughts? Does it make sense? PLEASE review and PM!

Also, I'm going to try REALLY REALLY HARD to keep up with this story and not let you all down with another de facto hiatus due to my inability to focus.

Also, ALSO - should I write the smut scene that follows this one, or would you rather I stick to some more plot?

xoxo - E