Chapter Six
Phryne beat Jack out of the office door by a short head, to see a familiar face presented at the desk.
"Tom? Tom Derriment? What do you mean? What are you doing here?" she asked.
The young boxer turned to her, his brow clearing as he recognised a friend.
"Miss Fisher … er, sorry, Mrs …" he stumbled over the greeting.
"Miss Fisher will do fine, Tom," Phryne assured him hastily. "What's this about Hugh Collins? Do you really know where he is?"
"Reckon so." The young man recalled his purpose, and his face darkened with anger. "If it's not the Footscray Warriors, I'll eat my mum's hat."
Jack stepped forward. "Hopefully it won't come to that, Tom – you'd better come through to my office."
They ranged themselves around Jack's desk, Phryne perching on its edge as Tom refused to sit.
"So, why Footscray?" asked Jack.
"It's the only way they can win the tourney this weekend," said Tom. "It's the return bout. We beat them on our turf last month and we'll beat them this weekend on theirs, but we need our coach."
"You really think they'd kidnap a serving police officer just to win a boxing match?" asked Jack doubtfully.
"You don't know the half of it," replied Derriment. "They broke a bloke's arm from the North Melbourne Gym. Made out it was an accident. Like it's going to be an accident when a bloke falls down a flight of stairs and six of the Warriors were the only people there and none of them saw a thing."
Phryne and Jack exchanged glances.
"It's got to be worth a quiet chat at least, Inspector," she remarked, knowing full well that Jack would build a case for a search warrant in the blink of an eye if he could.
"Okay. Let's go," said Jack, reaching for his coat and hat. As Tom made to follow them, though, he held up a hand.
"Tom, we'll let you know how it goes, but I'm not about to start a new war by taking you with us. No," he repeated firmly as the young man began to object.
"But you might need muscle, Inspector," offered Tom desperately.
Jack quirked a reluctant grin. "I'll pass over your assessment of my physical fitness, Tom, and assure you, the conversation we're going to have won't need muscle. Leave a telephone number, where we can reach you, at the desk."
The boxer was plainly not happy, but could scarcely labour the point any further, and the two sleuths headed by common consent for the police car (the chances of the Hispano making it in and out of the rather colourful environment in Footscray unscathed being … limited).
The Inspector opened the door to what appeared essentially to be a disused warehouse, and allowed Miss Fisher to pass ahead of him into the gym.
She glanced around her, absorbing the atmosphere in the Temple to Testosterone, and smiled beatifically at Jack, who rolled his eyes.
"Try and behave yourself, Miss Fisher," he muttered sotto voce.
"I always do, Jack," came the sunny reply. "Just not necessarily in a way that you approve of."
Their arrival had caused much of the activity in the room to cease, and a loud check suit wrapped inadequately around the vast bulk of a man rather older than the rest made its way towards them.
"What do you want?" the occupant of the suit asked aggressively.
Jack tipped his hat back on his head.
"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. We're looking for a missing police officer."
The news didn't appear to disturb anyone in the room particularly, and certainly not their interlocutor.
"And you thought we might be starting a collection of them and came to volunteer? No thanks, copper," he sneered. "We don't need your sort round here."
"I'm delighted to hear it," replied Jack calmly. "What about coaches? Are you starting a collection of those too?"
"Dunno what you mean."
"The missing officer is Senior Constable Collins."
"The coach for South Melbourne Gym?"
"That's him."
Check Suit snorted. "This is the last place you'd find him – he'd have more sense than to show 'is face here."
"He might not have had a choice," replied Jack levelly.
The bruiser laughed dismissively. "We're going to beat South Melbourne hollow on Saturday – we don't need no dirty tricks to pound on 'em." His words were met with muttered approval and support from the rest of his audience.
Jack scanned the room, seeing a degree of suspicion of a police officer in most faces that was entirely normal, but no hint of guilt.
Phryne decided it was her turn to pipe up. "It wouldn't hurt your chances if Collins failed to show on Saturday, though, would it?" she remarked slyly. "You'd have everyone saying you only won because he was missing."
Check Suit's eyes narrowed. Then he grinned.
"Awright, I'm game. Whaddaya want?"
She gave him her sassiest smile in return. "What's your name?"
"Me mum calls me Alvin. This lot call me Al."
"And I'm Phryne Fisher. Consider me your honorary mother, Alvin. Not right now, but probably quite soon, I might need a search party. Quite possibly a … muscular search party. Can I count on your … support?" she asked airily.
He looked her up and down in a way that tested Jack's composure sorely.
"No worries, Miss Fisher – we'll give you a boost, won't we, lads?"
The ribald responses had Miss Fisher giggling even as the Inspector engineered her hasty exit.