The red Hispano shot through the streets with terribly little concern to the puddles still interrupting the road nor the people who got splashed in its wake. City South Police Station lay in the grim day like a haven of peace when the car stopped with screeching tyres, spitting a woman in a blue dress onto the sidewalk. She straightened her hat as she swept through the door and threw a brief greeting at the officer behind the counter, whose eyes followed her stunned when she stormed into DI Robinson's office without knocking.

"Jack, I need to speak to you urgent…"

Phryne stopped herself when she realised that Jack was not alone. He looked up from where he had been in conversation with a lady of about fifty, wrapped in a flowery dress, and gave her a grim smile.

"Good morning, Miss Fisher! Would you be so kind as to wait outside until I am done with Mrs. Johnson here?" he asked with a cutting edge to his voice, which she didn't dare argue with.

Mrs. Johnson also turned in her chair and looked at Miss Fisher with something very akin to annoyance. Phryne rolled her eyes, but turned on her heels and retreated outside, her hips swinging as she slammed the door behind herself. As soon as she was out of his sight, she leaned against the wall, let her lids slip shut and the cold stone calm her ragged breath. She hadn't stopped running since she'd realised that he might be in danger. How dare he be preoccupied?

"Is everything all right, Miss?" Hugh Collins' voice asked. Her eyes snapped open and took in the young policeman, holding a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

"Thank you, I'm fine," she said, taking the drink and gulping it down in one big swig. Hugh closed his mouth again, which he had opened in an attempt at protest.

"The brandy was for Mrs. Johnson," he said accusingly when Miss Fisher pressed the empty glass back into his hand. "For her nerves."

"I can't imagine she had a worse morning than myself," Phryne said calmly. Hugh knew better than to argue and went to pour Mrs. Johnson another glass.

"What's exactly happened to her nerves?" Phryne asked, when he again attempted to pass her and enter the Inspector's office.

"Somebody broke into her house," Hugh whispered, then opened the door to deliver his glass before it could again disappear. Phryne watched him through the opened door. Mrs. Johnson seemed to have moved closer to Jack within the last minute, gesturing heavily. Phryne could tell by the way he held himself, the lines around his mouth, that he was annoyed, but his patience never slipped for a moment. Hugh, on some errant or another bustled out the other door, leaving her to eavesdrop into the conversation.

"Here is a list of the jewellery, most of it belonged to my mother, God rest her soul, but some of it were presents from admirers."

Mrs. Johnson paused at this, looking meaningfully at the Inspector. Phryne bit her lip. If she knew that Jack was engaged to be married within the fortnight? Probably not. There were no telling rings on a man's finger, so the only way to know was to be privy to their thoughts - or to receive a wedding invitation in the mail. Jack seemed to sense her unbidden presence that very moment and looked up. His eyes hadn't changed. In fact nothing about him seemed to have altered at all. He was still Jack. Just not 'her Jack' any longer.

His eyes still rested thoughtfully on her, while he made some attempts at wrapping up the conversation in front of him. Mrs. Johnson struggled hard against leaving, but in the end the Inspector's firm promises to find the man and her stolen goods couldn't be argued with.

"Well, you had better make sure to find them. My grandmother's brooch alone would be such a loss..."

Jack gently maneuvered her towards the exit, where Phryne still stood, watching the scene with calm eyes. The lady glanced at her in passing and all but scowled. Phryne gave her her brightest smile.

Once one visitor was gone, Jack turned to the other.

"Miss Fisher, what a surprise."

He gestured for her to step ahead into his office, an invitation she followed before it had been completed.

"I assume you have come about the murder of Mr Geoffrey?" he asked, taking his place behind the desk. "In fact I was rather astonished when you didn't make an appearance at the crime scene."

There were many questions in his statement beyond the obvious. Miss Fisher stood somewhat lost in the middle of the room and bit her lip.

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about Mr Geoffrey," she said after a long moment.

He frowned at this.

"Not losing your touch, are you, Miss Fisher?"

There was a challenge in his eyes which she ignored.

"I've come to you about another, rather... delicate matter," she said. He gestured at the chair opposite his, but instead she sat down on the edge of his desk. She may have imagined his back stiffen at her proximity.

"Jack, how much is your future wife involved in the dealings of her family?" she asked after a long moment. His frown deepened.

"Concetta?"

"Do you have any other fiancees lined up I should know about?"

He shook his head slightly, his eyes staring blankly past her. His distance was beginning to infuriate her.

"Concetta knows nothing about her father's business dealings, she assured me of that."

"And you believe her?"

Finally his eyes found hers.

"Of course, I believe her."

"I see."

Phryne smiled brightly.

"Miss Fisher, why are you here? Other than to establish the criminal entanglements of my future wife?"

"Isn't that reason enough?" Phryne asked.

"It would be if there were any such entanglements," he said firmly. "Which there are not."

There was a pause in which he looked at her with a strange expression, questions written through his eyes. Phryne chewed on her lip, smudging the red colour ever so slightly.

"My newest client appears to disagree," she said. She pulled the photograph from her handbag and laid it down in front of Jack. He gulped.

"His brother is involved with the Camorra and he believes Concetta to be somehow part of their current plot."

The Inspector stared at the picture for a long moment, then handed it back to her.

"Do you have any evidence other than an old photograph and the word of a criminal?"

"Alessandro is no criminal,", Phryne protested, producing the small bound book. "This belongs to his brother. But I cannot make any sense of it."

"Mr Alessandro at least appears to be a thief," Jack said calmly, flicking through the booklet. Phryne rolled her eyes at him. Several minutes went past while he riffled through the leaves.

"I cannot seem to find Concetta's name here anywhere," he finally stated with some satisfaction.

"I told you, he heard her name mentioned on the telephone."

She hadn't told him, but that was of no matter. Jack stared at her for a moment, seemingly coming to a decision. When he talked again, his voice had changed.

"Maybe your friend misheard, Miss Fisher. They may have been talking of a different Concetta. Who knows, it might even have been part of a social call. I am well aware that Concetta's family is very much involved with the Camorra but as long as your friend Alessandro produces no solid evidence to point to her directly, I'd rather you and your..." he gulped, "...legs would not sit on my desk, spouting groundless conspiracy theories."

He rose.

"And now if you'll excuse me, I have a murder to solve."

Miss Fisher looked after him as he donned his hat and fled the office. Evidence? Since when did Jack need evidence from her for her 'conspiracy theories'? But if it was proof he wanted, she would find proof for him.