While Lucien showed Doug to the door, Jean went upstairs to check on the children. It was very late, and she wanted to be sure Li and Violet had finally settled down after at least an hour of whispering and giggling together. She found all four children sound asleep now. Tucking the blankets securely around each of them, she kissed their foreheads and wished them a whispered 'sweet dreams'.
When she returned downstairs, Lucien had just put the kettle on and was setting out the cups for them.
"Are you sure no one is listening now?" she asked softly.
"Quite sure, my dear," he told her.
Satisfied his assurance, she took over making the tea, and when they were both seated and cradling the warm cups in their hands, she said, "Where did you learn so much about listening devices?"
"When I first joined the army, they had me in training for the Intelligence Services," he explained. "I was only transferred to the Infantry Medical Corps later, when it became obvious that the Japanese ground forces were the greatest threat to the Commonwealth. In fact, if the Japanese advance hadn't been quite so rapid, I might never have been in Singapore when it fell."
"And we might never have met," said Jean, the realisation nearly taking her breath away. God works in mysterious ways, she couldn't help thinking. She shuddered to imagine how different her life would be; wondering if she and her sons would even have survived the camp without Lucien.
"It does make me wonder, though, how Jock Clement or his people got their hands on those devices," Lucien said.
"My guess would be they were Army surplus," said Jean. "I was speaking with a man at the market last week who said there was a sale in Melbourne recently. Everything from canteens to old vehicles."
"Yes, possibly. Let's just hope there were no munitions involved. That's all the police need to deal with, civilians with machine guns or land mines."
"Speaking of the police, do you really need to be involved in their operation to catch Jock Clement?" she asked. Knowing how impetuous he could be, she worried for his safety.
Lucien put down his cup to focus on her. "Jean, that man killed my mother, and he used me as a lever to keep my father quiet about it all these years. I need to do whatever I can to bring him to justice. But I promise you, I'll be careful."
"You'd better be," she warned him. "You have people who love you and depend on you, don't forget that."
"I won't. And besides all that, I made a promise to Jack to take him to see the footie day after tomorrow. I can't go back on that now, can I?"
Lucien stopped at the station first thing in the morning. He met with Doug, who promptly summoned Constables West and Hobart. "The doctor's father says Franklin kept a journal. I want the two of you to accompany him to the Franklin house and relieve Lawson on guard outside while Doctor Blake has a look inside to see if he can find it."
"You want us to help him find it?" Hobart asked.
"No, I want you to make sure no one else goes inside. The house isn't that big, I'm sure the doctor can find the journal if it's there. West, you take the front, Hobart the rear. Understood?"
Both men nodded. Doug gave Lucien a hard look of warning, then said, "All right, on your way."
Riding in the police car on the way to Franklin's house, Lucien made small talk to calm his own nerves and (hopefully) allay suspicion that this was anything other than what it looked like.
"I take it neither of you were acquainted with the deceased?"
"A toff like that? Not a chance," said West, a man in his late twenties who'd joined the force after spending time in the Military Police during the war. He still sported his army haircut and walked with a confident swagger.
"I think maybe my father met him once or twice, but I never had the pleasure," said young Hobart.
Lucien nodded, thinking that if the newest constable was on the take it was doubtful he'd confirm any connection at all to Franklin or Clement. If Lucien had been a betting man, he'd put his money on West as being the one compromised.
"I never met him either," he told the others, "although my father seemed to know him as well. I'm assuming a preliminary search was made of the house after the man died."
"Nobody reported seeing a journal, though," said West. "What's so important about it anyway?"
"Well, if the man had any enemies who might have wanted him dead, chances are he would have mentioned them in his journal at some point, wouldn't you say?" asked Lucien.
Hobart smirked at that, clearly thinking that much was obvious but reluctant to show up his fellow officer.
Lucien quickly changed the subject, not wanting to get on West's bad side. "Do you chaps follow the football? I'm taking my fiancée's young son to see the Big V. I've never been before and wondered if there's anything I need to know about getting in and out of the place."
West shook his head. "Sorry, Doc. Never been to see them."
"I have," said Hobart. "I go quite a bit. I'd be going myself except I'm rostered on. One of the players is a mate of mine."
"Is that right?" Lucien said.
"Tell you what, if you want I can call him and arrange so you and the boy can meet him after the match," Hobart offered.
"Jack would be thrilled, if you could do that. Thank you, Bill."
Hobart shrugged. "Always like to see a new generation of fans. Keep the sport alive."
"Indeed," said Lucien.
The car pulled up to the front of a rather imposing residence. "Here we go," said West.
Lucien noted that the man glanced all around, as though he were looking for something, or someone. Lucien himself nodded to Matthew, who turned the post over to West and headed down the street.
"I'd better get inside and start looking for that journal," said Lucien. Hobart walked inside with him to go through to the back door.
Once he was alone, Lucien looked around to familiarise himself with the house and get an idea of where Franklin might have kept the journal. When he saw the man's office, that seemed to be the logical place to start, and so he began going through the large desk. All the while, he kept his ears open, listening for indications that someone else was in the house.
It didn't take long to find the journal in the bottom drawer of the desk. Lucien pulled it out carefully and flipped to the end to see Franklin's last entry, dated the very day he died. He began to read quickly as he heard surreptitious footsteps approaching.
Looking outwardly calm, he closed the journal and folded his hands atop it. "Mister Clement," he said, moments before the man entered the room.
"Expecting me, were you, young Blake?" He held Lucien's service revolver in front of him, casually pointed toward him.
"When I heard footsteps, it had to be you, didn't it?"
"Very clever of you. I'd heard you were smarter than your father, and so you are. Just not smart enough, it seems."
"Oh? You're planning to shoot me with my own gun? You don't think that will look suspicious?"
"Oh, I'm not going to shoot you. You're going to do it. After all, you said it yourself in this morning's newspaper: we're going to see a whole lot of suicides as a result of the war," said Clement with a pleasant smile. "So very sad."
So that was the plan all along. Lucien admitted to himself that he hadn't seen it coming. Could he talk his way out of this now?
"No one will believe it," he said firmly. "In fact, in the car here I was telling the constables that I'm looking forward to attending a football match tomorrow. Does it make sense that I'd then come inside and shoot myself?"
"Except that no one will know you said it for sure. If young Constable Hobart tries to claim that, Constable West will dispute it."
Neatly done, Lucien had to admit. Studying Clement, he calculated his chances of taking the gun away. They weren't good at the moment. He'd need to keep the man talking and wait for a better opportunity.
"So tell me, when you killed my mother, was Franklin in on it from the start or did you blackmail him, too, like you did to my father? You see, I haven't had time to read all of this," he said, holding up the journal.
"Let's say he was a somewhat unwilling accomplice, but an accomplice nonetheless. The prospect of going to prison for the rest of his life was enough to keep him in line, until recently at least."
"So you had to kill him, as well." Lucien's voice was filled with disgust.
"Not that I wanted to. Neville was probably the closest thing I had to a friend, but I couldn't very well let him spill the beans after all these years, could I? What do you want from me?"
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "I want the life you took from my mother, from my father, and the life you took from me!"
"I don't like your chances," said Clement. "It was all so very long ago, and believe it or not, I was actually sorry I had to do it. Your mother was a beautiful, vivacious woman. If she'd only accepted my advances she'd still be alive today."
He didn't even realize that they were no longer alone in the room. Doug and Matthew had slipped in behind him and were listening to every word.
"She was a beautiful, vivacious woman who loved her husband," Lucien insisted, trying to draw Clement further into the room so the other men would have room to maneuver and take him down. "And you killed her because of that. You're pathetic, do you know that?"
"I think I've heard all I need to hear from you," said Clement. "Hand over the journal." He waved the gun at Lucien.
"Yes, and we've heard all we need to hear," said Doug from behind him. "You hand over the gun."
Clement spun around to see him, which gave Lucien the opening he'd sought. He moved toward the armed man, who began to turn back to him, but Doug grabbed the hand that held the gun.
The two men struggled for control of the firearm for what seemed like hours to those watching it, but then two shots rang out. Both Lucien and Matthew stepped in, Matthew grabbing Clement while Lucien reached for Doug.
Matthew managed to knock the gun to the floor and got Clement's arm twisted up behind him in a lock. But Doug was reeling back against Lucien, clutching his midsection where blood was already spreading across the front of his tunic.
"Doug!" Lucien lowered him to the floor, trying to get a look at the wounds. "Call the ambos," he begged Matthew.
Matthew fastened handcuffs on Clement, then grabbed for the telephone.
At that moment both West and Hobart came running in, having heard the shots. Not knowing if he could trust either of them, Matthew looked to Lucien.
"Constable Hobart, Bill, could you please take Mister West into custody?" Lucien told him.
Hobart, not sure he could take orders from the police surgeon, said, "Sarge?"
"Do it," Matthew barked.
Knowing he didn't stand a chance, West made a break for the door, but Hobart took him down with a flying tackle. Lucien might have been impressed if he wasn't so busy working to keep Doug alive. He tried frantically to staunch the blood all the while wishing he had his medical bag with him.
"Ambos on the way," said Matthew. "How's he doing?"
"Not good. Blood loss is substantial." Lucien looked down at his patient. "Stay with me, Doug. Come on, now. That beautiful little girl needs you."
If he just made it to hospital alive, Lucien was sure he could save the man. It seemed like an eternity before he heard the wail of the ambulance siren.
