Evening. Thank you again for your lovely comments. I hope the formatting will work tonight. Also, I apologize in advance for my terrible attempt at an Italian accent. Enjoy.

"I don't know what you want from me," Archiebald Richter moaned. "I haven't done a thing."

"You offered me cocaine in something that was not resembling a doctor's office nor a chemist," Jack explained calmly.

"You asked for it!"

The Inspector had a hard time not to roll his eyes.

"I don't care about who you sell your sleeves to," he said after a long moment.

"What I do care about is if you poison people with it. Which is why I've sent your cocaine off to be tested."

The short, stout man in front of him paled.

"Poison?"

Jack peeled a photograph from a folder in front of himself. Archie stared at Jonathan Geoffrey in all his dead glory.

"Do you know him?" Jack asked, though he'd noted the flicker of recognition openly displayed.

"What if I do?"

"How often did he buy cocaine from you?"

Archie shrugged.

"Now and then. Wasn't a regular if that's what yar askin'."

"Did he buy anything from you last week?"

Another shrug.

"I don't remember every business transaction, mate."

Jack's jaw tightened.

"I'd recommend you think hard. Otherwise you can cool your heels in a cell downstairs until your memory returns."

Archie lifted his hands, as if to fend off Jack's obvious anger.

"He dropped by on Friday afternoon. I only sold him two sleeves. That was all he wanted."

"And he was dead by Sunday," the Inspector stated.

"I have nothin' to do with that," Archie said hotly. "Good stuff that is."

Jack leaned back in his chair.

"Where exactly do you get your wares from?"

Archie nervously squirmed in his seat. He almost fell off it altogether when the door flew open, spitting a very wet lady detective into the room. Behind her, leaning in the doorframe, stood Alessandro Bricelli. Jack stared at the pair with his mouth open before he caught himself.

"Miss Fisher. You appear to have taken a bath." His eyes flickered over her blouse still clinging to her with a hint of appreciation. "In your clothes."

Phryne simpered.

"There may have been a slight tumble into the Yarra, Jack. Nothing worth mentioning. But I did find this."

She carefully placed a beautiful tea tin before him, embossed with Japanese Cherry Blossoms. Jack looked at it bemused.

"Tea, Miss Fisher?"

"Not quite."

He opened the tin and found, underneath a handful of very good Earl Grey, two mostly dry sleeves of cocaine. The pattern on it was distinct – and familiar.

Jack stared at it for a long moment thunderstruck. Then he stood and waved Miss Fisher outside into the hallway for a quiet word.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, looking up at Phryne, who appeared incredibly happy with herself.

"On a ship chartered by our friend Strano."

"And you just happened to stumble onto it, I'm sure," he said with a warning edge.

She simpered.

"Something like that. I assume this white powder is somewhat profitable for the Camorra."

Jack nodded.

"It's cocaine. And I suspect it's laced with poison."

Her face fell.

"Well, that's unfortunate. Because there is a whole shipment of it on its way to Sydney right now."

X

It took three telephone calls to convince the police forces surrounding the Rip to look out for the Louisa, but an hour later a sergeant from Queenscliff Police Station telephoned to inform Jack that the ship had been towed into Port Lonsdale.

The Inspector drew a visible breath of relief as he rang off. Miss Fisher, who once again had perched herself onto his desk, smiled.

"Good news?" she asked.

"They stopped the Louisa leaving the bay. Now let's hope that my hunch was right or I will draw Strano's anger onto myself for no gain at all."

"I believe that is a fairly common occurrence with parents-in-law. Not that I am an expert."

He rolled his eyes at her and returned to the interview room, where the two men were still sitting. Jack was in a good mood to have a word alone with Bricelli, preferably after a night in his cells, but he checked himself.

"Mr Bricelli," he said instead calmly, gesturing for the other man to get up. "You might want to put on some dry clothes before I'll question you on your brother's demise."

The other man nodded, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing. There was nothing said, but Miss Fisher watched the silent stand-off between the man with faint amusement.

"Can I go home now?" Archie asked from the back. "My wife's not well, she'll be wondering where I am."

Jack, who had spun to snap at him that he very certainly couldn't, frowned.

"What exactly is your wife's ailment?" he asked carefully, another hunch taking a hold of his mind.

The man shrugged.

"Women troubles, I suppose. She's been feeling quite ill for a couple days now. I've been trying to make some money so she could see a doctor."

The detectives exchanged a look. Then Phryne said: "Your wife, she wouldn't happen to be fond of the occasional use of medicine, would she?"

X

Concetta was pressing her wedding dress with a small melody on her lips, when someone heedlessly knocked at the door. She considered to ignore it. There was so much to do still until the next Saturday. Then it occurred to her that it might be Gianni. The Inspector usually called at night after he had finished his work, but sometimes his way led him to their part of town and he would drop in for a cup of caffe and a few stolen kisses. It was quite amazing how quickly things had fallen into place, she contemplated. As if he had always been there. Of course, he had been there, for a long time now. It had only been a few weeks into their acquaintance when she'd noticed how much she looked forward to the Thursday nights when he came to the restaurant, invariably late, invariably looking tired. Despite that there had always been a smile and a kind word for her and as time progressed she had begun to sit with him while he ate, pour his wine and listen to him talking about his day. He had been married still then and she recently widowed and it would have been inappropriate to think more of it. But she could wish. Wishing was free. And now her wishes came true. The butterflies in her stomach took flight yet again as she ran her fingertips over the white silk. Another knock tore her from her sweet daydreams. Concetta rushed down the hall, ready to fling herself into her fiance's arms, but stopped abruptly.

"Papa? What are you doing here?"

Antonio Strano looked a little worse for wear. She could sense something was terribly wrong, but her father had never been a man of an open disposition.

"I do not need a reason to visit my own daughter," he said. She chose not to point out that he absolutely did, instead stepping aside to allow him entry.

He followed her into the kitchen where she made caffe while he watched in silence, twisting an unlit cigarillo between his fingers.

"What is it, Papa?" she asked after they'd sat down. He fished for the sugar tin and took three spoons into his tiny cup before answering.

"Little Marco Bricelli is dead. His mother, she called me this morning."

Concetta sat down the cup she had just raised to her lips. Words escaped her, but they weren't necessary.

Antonio grasped for her hand.

"I am sorry to tell you, my Concetta. I know you played with them when you were little."

"Alessandro...?"

She swallowed, wishing he would understand her without her having to detail her thoughts. Antonio's hand retreated.

"Alessandro?! He just disappear." He stopped, his features darkening. "If he isn't codardo he will revenge his brother."

Concetta shook her head slowly, coming to terms with this.

"I need to speak to Gianni. He has to find Sandro, before he does something silly."

Antonio raised his hands.

"Do not be so dramatic, Concetta."

But his daughter had gone through a strange change within the last minute. She raised her chin in an unbelievable act of defiance.

"I will go see him right now," she said. Antonio stared at her, then threw back his drink and stood.

"Bene, I will take you. But I tell you, you are thinking too much. Alessandro is a grown man. He decide he does not need us – maybe now he change his mind, eh?"
Concetta didn't answer. She was already on her way to the door.