/ / MONDAY - Mid Morning / /
"Collins, read Miss Thomas her rights and take her to the car while I search the building."
"Yes sir," Hugh nodded and he took Celia by the arm, leading her away firmly. She twisted in his grasp, yelling out.
"I didn't do nothing you filthy copper! You stay outta my house!"
Jack simply ignored her, stepping into the building and wrinkling his nose. The carpet was moth eaten, and already Jack could smell the mould in the walls, the thick layer of dust on every surface and something rotten coming from the kitchen.
"Phryne?!" he called out, stepping into the front room first. A vase of dead flowers sat on a wobbly table, and a sickly sweet perfume of some kind had been sprayed in the air in an effort to mask the smell of the house.
He moved to the dining room next, empty and dark, then the kitchen, completely putrid but also empty. The next room must have been the late Mrs Thomas's. The bed was made and the room itself was generally tidy, but it too held no sign of Phryne.
One room left at the back of the house, and Jack stepped across the hall toward it. When he reached a hand out to open the door however, he found it locked.
"Phryne?" he called, "Phryne are you in there? Are you alright?" No response. "Phryne!"
Taking a deep breath Jack called through the door, "Phryne, step back I'm going to kick the door in."
He took a step back as well and squared himself before -with concentrated effort- he raised his foot and kicked firmly at the door. It gave way under his force and fell open, letting Jack rush in, his heart pounding in his ears.
He looked around quickly, his eyes taking in the bed in one corner, and the small window on the wall opposite. But other than the furniture the room was empty. Phryne wasn't here.
"Damn!"
He marched outside and moved straight to the car, pulling open the door to lean inside. "Where is she?!" he demanded angrily.
"I told you I didn't kidnap no-one," Celia replied. "And I didn't kill no-one, neither."
Growling his frustration Jack straightened up and slammed the car door.
"Collins," he barked. "Take Miss Thomas back to Russell Street and process her. Then come back here, I'm going to search the house for evidence."
He stalked away back inside.
/ / /
The Fisher woman was asleep on the bed. Good. Taking care to be quiet, Stanley stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He hadn't bothered to give her anything to eat last night, but it wouldn't do him any good if she died here. Not yet at least.
He placed the jug of water and the roll of bread on the floor and was about to shake her awake when he saw she'd slipped her hands free of his rope.
Stanley cursed, the bitch had already tried to put up a fight, he didn't want to deal with more. Slipping from the room -and locking the door firmly behind him- Stanley went in search of more rope. He found a long coil in the shed outside and cut it into two pieces before heading back to the house.
She was still sleeping when he stepped back into the room, and this time Stanley locked himself in as well, tucking the key in his pocket. Stalking across the room he picked up her wrists and began to wind the rope around each one, binding them together. She stirred and her arms jerked away, but he doubled his grip and tightened the rope, looping again and again before tying the knot. There, he thought, let's see her get out of that.
He dropped her wrists without a care and she stirred again, her eyes starting to flutter open.
"What?" she mumbled blearily. "Where, I-"
Stanley watched as her gaze found the fresh (and hopefully painful) binding on her wrists and her eyes opened wide. She shot up, sitting in the bed and meeting him square in the eye. He smiled at her.
"Good morning, Miss Fisher," he grinned.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
Stanley just smiled, trailing his hands down her legs until he reached her feet. She squirmed under his touch, kicking out her legs and only just missing his crotch with her stocking clad foot as he grabbed her ankle and held it firmly.
"Oh," he said vaguely, "I'm just an old friend."
He pulled her ankle to meet the other and held them firmly together with a large hand so he could grab his second piece of rope.
Phryne kicked, trying to pull away, to disrupt him as he began to wind the second rope around her ankles.
"Let go of me!" she demanded, twisting and jerking on the bed. But he was stronger than she was, and after a near miss of her feet to his face he twisted her legs until she had no choice but to roll onto her stomach for fear of breaking a bone. From there he swiftly climbed up onto the bed and maneuvered himself to sit on her back, still holding her feet, her legs bent back at the knee.
She squirmed, helpless beneath him, her bound hands trapped under her stomach, her chest compressing uncomfortably under his weight. Still she tried to pull her feet from his grasp, but the ropes were tight and rubbing painfully against her skin, and his grip too strong.
He tied his final knot and let go. The moment he climbed off, Phryne rolled onto her back, ready to push herself up and... something. Anything to get her away from this place. Stanley turned around to see her glaring daggers up at him, her chest heaving with her every breath.
"You jus' don't stop, do ya?" he asked. And without a second thought he raised his right hand up to his shoulder and swung it down, hitting her square across the face. She fell back into the mattress from the force of it and he grinned, "Eat ya breakfast, Miss Fisher."
/ / /
By the time Collins returned to Miss Thomas' house on Otter Street Jack had searched almost every room. There wasn't a lot to find in any of them, but what he had found spelt Miss Thomas' certain fate.
"Do you really think she's the one who did it, Inspector?" Hugh asked as they returned to the car, carrying a single box of evidence.
"I do," Jack nodded. "Why? Do you doubt the evidence, Collins?"
Hugh flushed slightly and swallowed before hesitantly saying, "It's just… She looks so weak, sir."
"Hammond was shot. You don't need to be strong to pull a trigger."
"And Miss Fisher, sir? Surely she could overpower Miss Thomas?"
Jack considered this. The women were about the same height and both rather slim. But he knew from experience Phryne could hold her own; had seen her come out on top of men twice her size. And Miss Thomas was older than Phryne too, not at all strong or capable by the looks of her, she was almost frail -until you got her angry it seemed. Which would make her seem an unlikely threat, and easier to get under Phryne's defenses.
"She could have surprised her Collins, or drugged her. No one would notice a woman helping an infirm lady into a car."
At that Hugh nodded. It seemed true enough. Jack himself just sighed. They hadn't found a trace of Phryne at the house, not even the slightest sign someone had been held there at all. But where else could she be?
An image flashed in his mind's eye, a broken body lying limp in an alleyway, short black hair covering sightless blue eyes.
Shaking that thought away he cleared his throat. They needed to get Celia Thomas talking, and to do that they needed to get back to the station.
/ / /
Roughly an hour later he sat opposite her in the interview room, his back straight and his breathing consciously even. She was slouched in her chair, her arms crossed defiantly across her chest.
"Tell me about Francis Hammond," Jack said.
"What about 'im?"
"Let's start with how you know him and his family."
Celia shrugged, "I don't know what you're goin' on about, copper."
"I have a witness who saw you go to the Hammond's front door yesterday. What were you doing?"
"Nothin'. He just went to my church, and yesterday the Reverend says Mr Hammond's dead and how 'is kids will need our kindness to get by. I'm a kindly woman, copper, so I went to offer my sympathy to his family, but they weren't there."
Jack nodded. "What do you know about Mr Hammond's business dealings?"
"I told ya, I didn't know 'him. He just went to my church."
"So how do you explain his paperwork in your house?" On the other side of the table Celia froze, and Jack smirked slightly, standing up and poking his head out the door.
When he stepped back toward the table Hugh followed him in, carrying a box. He set it down and stood back in the corner. Celia blinked, her eyes flickering to the box then back to the Inspector.
Jack licked his thumb and began to pull out clipped together pieces of paper, laying them flat on the table for Miss Thomas to see.
"Every single one of these," he said, "was reported to be missing by Mr Hammond's business partner after someone searched their offices. And every single one of these files, Miss Thomas, is correspondence, planning, and drafting plans between their business, and a Sydney based business, Fisher Furniture. I found these in your bedroom, in your house."
Celia uncrossed her arms slowly, looking down at the evidence before her. Jack continued.
"I also found, in your mother's writing desk, a set of stationary matching a letter hand delivered to Mrs Hammond's house yesterday," he placed two alike envelopes on the table, one blank and torn open, the other unused. "Now I know it's fairly reasonable to conceive anyone could have the same set of letter paper, but this envelope contained a note, Miss Thomas."
Celia glanced up meeting Jack's eye. "You can't prove a thing," she whispered,
"You're right, anyone could have written this," Jack placed the letter on the top of the growing pile of papers, "but whoever did also took to writing in your rather sparse diary."
Jack fought the urge to grin, and instead looked collectedly across the table at Miss Thomas. Careful to keep his tone even Jack said, "You murdered Francis Hammond, and then you tried to implicate Orpheus Fisher. Why?"
Celia scowled, pushing the paperwork roughly away from her so it scattered across the table and fell to the floor.
"He deserved it."
Jack raised his eyebrows, "Hammond or Fisher?"
"Fisher! Coming here after all this time, stirring up the rumours again. Going around my old street where people know me, with his fancy suit and his title and his rotten father's money tucked into his pockets. Bastards, all of 'em are, those Fishers."
"Why is that, Miss Thomas?""
"Orphie Fisher ruined my life. And did he or any his family care at all? Not for a fuckin' second," she smirked then, her eyes glazing over with mischief. "Seemed only right to ruin 'is right back."
Jack looked over to Hugh saw him taking notes, then turned back to his suspect. "By framing him for the murder of Francis Hammond?"
"Look I didn't know, 'right, about Hammond and his family. I didn't know he had a missus and kids."
"Tell me what happened."
"What happened, was that bastard Fisher was asking questions!" Celia exploded. "I spent my entire life trying to live off the shame of what he did to me. No one wants to mix with the unmarried tart who got herself knocked up, copper. No one wants her 'round; not even him. He ran off to Sydney, didn't even offer to make things right, or to take me with 'im. I got stuck 'ere, no money to spare and everyone looking down their nose at me."
"What happened to the baby?"
"It died, and I didn't even get to see 'er! But it didn't matter. They all knew. And who'll marry used goods, huh? And those Fishers, do they try help me? Do they stick up for me when half'a Collingwood's rubbin' my name through the mud? Nup, they just shut up and get on with their lives. Some cousin leaves 'em in riches and off they swan to England, no thought for me. Not even though we helped 'em look for their Janey."
"What were you doing on Sunday last?"
"I was at church."
"And after that?"
"I went outside, and I saw Orphie there, waiting for somethin'," Celia's hands curled into fists on the table. "I hid back and watched Hammond go over and talk to him."
"Did you follow them?"
"No."
"So how did you come to be at H.A. Windows and Glass?"
"I looked it up, didn't I? Heard 'em talking about signing some deal and thought I might cause Orphie a bit of trouble and he'd run off back north and leave me be. When I got there though, the doors were open so I just walked in and Hammond was sayin' how he had some champagne to celebrate their deal, and how rich it'd make 'em all. And I heard 'em leaving, so I hid, but when I come outta my hidin' spot Hammond was still there."
"What did you do?"
"Told him Orpheus was a bastard and if he wanted to save himself some trouble he'd send him packing. But he wouldn't listen to me, he wouldn't believe a word I was saying, starting telling me he'd call the jacks on me for trespassin' and-"
"And?"
"And I saw his gun, in a drawer. And I grabbed it, and I shot him. Then I thought there's no way Orphie could prove it wasn't 'im, and it would serve him fuckin' right to take the fall."
Jack nodded. He could hear Hugh scribbling madly behind him, and cleared his throat. "Well then, Miss Thomas, now I have that clear why don't you tell me about Phryne Fisher?"
Celia glared, "She was a nosey little brat, even when she'was five. I seen her in the papers, the lady detective. Spoilt bitch is just as nosey as she always was, only now she charges by the hour," she smirked at her crude choice of words. "Should'a seen her copper, when she was a Collingwood rag like me. Wasn't so glamourous then, no fancy dresses for precious fuckin' 'Phryne', with her dad so drunk he didn't even name 'er right, and her mum runnin' off home to her sister every weekend. She used'ta come crying to me after Orphie first left, but she wouldn't look twice at me now would she copper?"
"Is that why you abducted her?"
Celia Thomas grinned and leant forward to smirk right in Jack's face, "I already told you. I don't have her, copper."