Lucien watched as Patrick Tyneman escorted his damaged son from the station house. Edward had been cleared of the crime of murder.
William Munro was in custody and would face charges of corruption and obstruction of justice.
Doug Ashby was dead, and Jock Clement was in jail for killing him, even though he would never be charged with the first murder he'd committed, that of Genevieve Etienne Blake forty years earlier.
It had been a physically and emotionally exhausting day, and Lucien felt that he could finally catch his breath for the first time since he'd left the house that morning. The house...
Then it hit him that Jean's bus would be leaving for Adelaide this very afternoon. He glanced at the clock. In fact, it would be leaving momentarily. He had hoped to see her off, and maybe find a way to tell her, well, tell her that he understood her need to help her son (just as he would drop everything if Li requested his assistance), but that Jean would always have not just a job but a home here with him in Ballarat.
He shook his head. No, that wasn't enough. He had to tell her more. He had to tell her that home wasn't only in his house, but also in his heart. He had to make her understand how important she was to him, and not just for her housekeeping skills or her cooking or even her invaluable assistance in solving cases. It was her kindness, her bravery, her sense of fairness, her sheer brilliance, all the things about her that made him want to be a better man, to make her proud of him.
He couldn't begin to imagine how empty his life would be once again without Jean in it. She filled in all the cracks in his soul that had opened when he'd put Mei Lin and Li on that boat out of Singapore all those years ago. Cracks that had widened to gaping fissures that no amount of whiskey or risk-taking could ever mend. But somehow Jean had mended them.
He wasn't completely sure how she felt about him, but he knew for a certainty that the only way he'd ever find out was if he told her first. He was often clueless about the power dynamics of society, but even he realized that as his "employee" (not a way he'd actually thought of her for a very long time) Jean was not in a position to initiate such a conversation. It had to start with him. But first he would have to get to her. Before she left him for good.
He sprinted up the stairs and out of the station, not even pausing to grab his hat. The bus station was two streets over. Run. Run!
He burst out of the side street just as a bus was passing him. It had to be Jean's bus. Abandoning all dignity, he waving frantically until he caught the driver's attention. Yes! It was pulling to a stop.
Lucien hurried over when the door was opened, and he climbed aboard. As if drawn by magnetic force, his eyes immediately locked with Jean's, which had widened in surprise at his sudden appearance. Surprise or not, she slid over on the seat to make room for him, which was certainly a relief to Lucien.
He reached for her hand, and she gripped his tightly.
"Jean, I..." he began, but she hushed him.
For a second he thought he'd misread her entirely, but when he tentatively lifted an arm to place around her, she not only allowed it, she leaned her head against his shoulder. He could feel her trembling slightly, but he was fairly sure it was not in anger or fear, merely the intensity of the moment.
He would give her the time she needed to adjust. And when she was ready to listen, he would find the words to tell her what was in his heart.
I think I'm gonna be sad, I think it's today, yeah
The girl that's driving me mad is going away
She's got a ticket to ride.