He sat on the edge of the bed, like a school boy who had been caught sneaking a nasty insect onto Madame's chair. Miss Fisher stood, leaning against the wall, making the best of her still missing clothes.

"You are right, of course. I used to be Camorristi for many years. I told you the truth about Concetta, we grew up in the same village, she was more at our house than her own." He laughed. Phryne noted the way his eyes lit up at the memory.

"I thought..." he trailed off. "I dreamed we would end up marrying when we were children. But we grew up."

"And Concetta married Fabrizzi," Phryne said into his thoughts. He nodded.

"Her father, he wanted her settled nicely when we got of the boat. It came at a prize, of course."

"The Camorra?"

His features darkened.

"We all were sucked in. Papa Antonio rose through the ranks in no time at all, Fabrizzi made sure of it."

"And you were, of course, entirely innocent," Phryne said, not attempting to hide her sarcasm. He frowned.

"Nobody is innocent who is part of the Camorra, Miss Fisher, I do not have to tell you. I only turned my back after... I became a widower."

Phryne remembered her well, the beautiful, beaming bride in the photograph. She finally sank into a chair, right across from him.

"What happened to your wife?"

"She died in a shoot-out. A Christening… Someone didn't like the father of the unfortunate child. My Emiliana was one of three women who died that day."

His eyes had dropped to his hands, again kneading them on his lap. Phryne reached out her hand to still them.

"I'm so sorry," she said. Alessandro looked up, his eyes glassy. "That day I swore I would change my life," he explained quietly. "And I have. My brother though..."

"He worked for Strano as well?"

Alessandro shrugged.

"Sometimes. There was also someone else. Stefano Verdi. He is much more dangerous than you can ever imagine, Miss Fisher. Papa Antonio is loyal, he looks after his people. He was like a father to me. Verdi does not care about anyone but himself."

"A father who threatens you with death?"

Alessandro made a gesture like throwing away her argument.

"The note was not from him, it's ridiculous."

"Why do you say that?"

"I know Papa Antonio, the way he handles things. Death threats in the mail? He wouldn't sink that low. And he cares for me, has cared since I was a little boy."

Phryne nodded at this.

"So, who do you think sent the note? And to what effect?"
"Isn't it obvious? He is trying to turn me against the Stranos. If he convinced me that Antonio had done something to my brother, I might kill him. And that would allow Verdi to execute me as a traitor, as he has been itching to since I broke rank."

Miss Fisher let this all sink in. It made all a terrible sense. Then she realised that Alessandro was still talking.

"So, that's why I need to find my brother, Miss Fisher. Before it's too late."

Phryne bit her lip, trying to win time.

"There's something I have to tell you."

His shocked expression informed her that he'd caught on before she had spoken a word.

X

"Why are your prints on the knife?" Jack asked, again. Malcolm Geoffrey stubbornly said nothing.

"Your silence isn't helping you, Mr Geoffrey. Were you attempting to murder your brother?"

Nothing.

The Inspector sighed, watched the tall, handsome and very silent man in front of him in a mixture of contempt and despair. He'd tried to question the man for over 20 minutes now and not a word had come over his lips. A knock at the door gave him a moment's relief and briefly the hope flitted past his mind that Miss Fisher might be on the other side of it. She had an amazing talent to draw things out of people and he by now almost regretted to have sent her home. But it was only Constable Collins.

"Sir, there is a lady who would like to speak to you."

Jack frowned.

"Mrs Geoffrey, Sir," Hugh whispered in a way that was completely audible through the whole room. The Inspector threw one last look at Mr Geoffrey, realising that his face had turned even stonier if that was at all possible and slammed the door shut. Mrs Geoffrey was waiting in the Inspector's office, her back stiff with worry.

"Mrs Geoffrey, what can I do for you?" Jack asked, slipping behind his desk. She was ash grey, her eyes huge. She mustn't have slept in days. He wondered if she mourned her husband despite it all. Or was it a murder on her conscience that didn't allow her to find rest?

"You are interviewing my husband's brother?" she asked. "His housekeeper told me."

"That's correct. But so far, he is not forthcoming," the Inspector said. "Even though the evidence suggests..."

He left the end of the sentence hanging in the air. As long as the knife wasn't the actual murder weapon they still had nothing, but he wouldn't tell her that. She may have witnessed something that would help him. The woman in front of him seemed to battle with herself. Then she fixated him with big eyes and said: "It was me, Inspector, I killed Jonathan."

Jack was briefly stunned. He caught himself quickly.

"How? Tell me how you killed him?"

Her hands moved on her lap in a nervous flutter.

"I've.. just had enough," she said quietly. "I went to this chemist on Bourke St, and I bought a box of rat poison, arsenic as it was. I told them I needed to kill some rats in my shed."

Jack nodded slowly.

"And then?"

"I stirred a spoonful into his coffee the next morning. I was really scared that he would taste it, but he didn't, so I gave him his coffee every morning for a week, until he died."

She raised tear stained eyes, trembling with fear.

"Do you think I will hang?" she asked quietly. The Inspector shook his head.

"No, I don't think you will."

He stood.

"You are free to go."

She stared at him in utter shock.

"But.. I murdered my husband."

"No, you didn't," Jack said and sighed, opening the door for her. Maria Geoffrey hesitantly stood, looked up at him in a mix of confusion and quiet pleading as she walked past. The Inspector closed the door firmly behind her and sat back down. He felt annoyed and shaky. The sleepless night was beginning to catch up with him along with the lack of food in his stomach and he had made no headway whatsoever in this ridiculous murder – a murder that wasn't even on the forefront of his mind right now. A memory announced itself. Food. Concetta had packed him plenty of food. He pulled open the bottom drawer where he had stashed the bulging package as soon as he had arrived. As he laid out bread and prosciutto onto his desk, his eyes fell on a book. The collected works of Shakespeare accusingly stared back at him. He hadn't spend much time reading lately and took the book from it's place with a sense of guilt, as if cradling a neglected child. Surely he couldn't. Not with Geoffrey in his interview room and two unsolved murders on his desk. But then, he had been on his feet for more than 30 hours. And Geoffrey could be perfectly silent without him. He might allow himself a little break until Papa Antonio showed up. Still with the niggling of guilt, Jack sat, pulled the book towards himself and began to flick through it for his favourite passages. And so it happened that when Collins entered ten minutes later to inform the Inspector that Strano had gone out to attend to business and was not expected back until the afternoon, he found his superior deeply enthralled in both, a great sandwich and the sonnets of Romeo and Juliet.