They arrived at the flat at the same time as Mac. Jack banged on the door.
"Mrs Richter! Police! Open up!"
Miss Fisher grimaced.
"Maybe not quite the approach to be taken, Jack," she scolded, already fishing for the key Archie had handed over with shaking fingers. The fact that he may have poisoned his own wife seemed to actually cause him some strife, in difference to his powder likely having killed Geoffrey.
"I don't wish to hurry you, but if there is a victim of thallium poisoning, we have no time to lose," Mac said calmly, smudging her lipstick with her finger. Phryne rolled her eyes at her.
The door gave way with the quiet moan of angles which hadn't been oiled in their lifetime. The three pushed their way through a hallway littered with clutter into thick semi-darkness. The first two rooms they entered were empty. The third was the bedroom. A small, thin frame was lying underneath a dirty blanket, completely still.
Mac was already by her side, shaking the woman's shoulder. Glassy eyes stared back at her.
"Mrs Richter, can you hear me?"
A groan was the only answer she received. Mac pulled herself to her feet after the briefest of examinations.
"We need to get her to the hospital," she said. "Right now."
Jack didn't hesitate. He slipped his hands underneath the woman, ignoring both the wetness they brushed and the stench of vomit and unwashed sheets and pulled the almost weightless frame into his arms. Miss Fisher and the doctor followed them through the dusty hallway and outside, where Mac held back her friend by the arm.
"You know there is little we can do," she whispered. "What she needs is a miracle."
Phryne nodded, pressing her lips together. "You may have to work one then," she smiled thinly. The women traded a knowing look. Miracles were incredibly rare to come by in this world.
X
Mr Butler had arrived at the station by the time the detectives returned. They had left Mrs Richter in the capable hands of Mac's staff with the knowledge that her future was hanging on a very thin thread. The butler was currently talking to Hugh Collins, who interrupted the conversation as soon as he saw his superior officer's expression.
"Sir, Mr Butler here has brought a change of clothing for Miss Fisher and Mr Bricelli," he announced."
"Good afternoon, Inspector, Miss."
Mr B's eyes dropped down Jack's front, which couldn't deny his brush with a woman who had been lying uncared for in a variety of bodily fluids.
"Is Mr Bricelli in a presentable state by now?" the Inspector asked, accepting a folder from Hugh.
"He has dried off, Sir," Mr B explained, adding carefully: "I happened to bring a spare suit as I wasn't certain of the exact size, Sir. If you allow me to say, you might want to consider a change as well."
Jack's dull eyes seemed to take in the state of his clothes for the first time.
"Duly noted, Mr Butler." He opened the door to his office. "And probably not an offer I can refuse in good conscience."
Mr B followed him.
"Your clothes are here, Miss Fisher," Hugh explained airily. "The Interview room is empty at the moment."
"Thank you, Hugh," Phryne said, tearing her eyes away from the Inspector's office door, resisting the urge to go after him. She felt thoroughly shaken by their latest brush with death and something about it drew her into Jack's proximity. Which was nonsense, of course, she could hardly linger in his office while he got washed and changed, he wouldn't stand for it. And while her own trousers had mostly dried by now, her underclothes still clung damp to her skin which was the most dreadful feeling. She rather hoped she hadn't caught herself cold in the Yarra. Deep in thought she entered the interview room and sat down the pile of folded clothes. Shedding her garments here of all places seemed very odd, but she made quick work of it. If she didn't think too hard she could almost ignore her fancy fashioning Jack standing at the window, watching her with inquisitive eyes.
"What are you doing, Miss Fisher?" imaginary Jack asked.
"I'm changing out of my very damp clothes," she said stubbornly.
"Not quite what I meant."
He stepped closer, touched her cheek, as she buttoned her blouse.
"Surely you don't intend to just give up on me, Phryne?"
His voice was coloured with a low rumble that always sent shivers down her spine.
"I'm doing no such thing!"
She heard herself sound like a stubborn child, even in her own mind. A knock tore her from her dream and snapped her back into the reality that her trousers still needed buttoning.
"Are you decent, Miss Fisher?" Collins' voice called.
"As decent as I'll ever be," she returned. He entered slowly as if scared to find her still sans clothes and she simpered at his flushed cheeks.
"What is it, Hugh?"
"This report just came through, Miss. It's the results from the powder..."
Miss Fisher snatched the folder from her fingers before he had finished the sentence.
"Cocaine laced with thallium, just as Jack suspected." She hummed underneath her breath. "Poor Mr Geoffrey never stood a chance." She tried not to think too hard about Mrs Richter.
"I took the statement from Mr Richter, just as the Inspector asked," Hugh added carefully. "He said he had a tip-off where the cocaine was being stored and helped himself to some, thinking a few sleeves wouldn't be noticed."
Miss Fisher sighed.
"He'd probably been right, had it not been poisoned. How many of those sleeves did he sell already?"
"Only three, Miss Fisher, aside from the one he gave his wife. Luckily it was a slow week." Hugh's face fell. "But the other woman has also passed away. I spoke to City East this afternoon. She was found Saturday morning."
"So, that's murder charges for Mr Richter..." For some reason the fact that the man would lose his freedom on top of his wife was depressing to Phryne.
"He's locked up downstairs, Miss. Along with Mr Bricelli."
Her head snapped up.
"Why on earth would Mr Bricelli be in a cell?" she asked hotly. Hugh shrugged helplessly.
"The Inspector ordered..."
Phryne was already halfway down the hall, ripping the Inspector's door open in righteous anger and finding him in shirt sleeves with his trousers still unbuttoned. He hurried to at least rectify the latter, flushing deeply.
"Miss Fisher?" he asked the frozen lady detective. "Would you care to at least close the door if you must burst into my office unannounced as usual?"
Obediently she let the door fall shut behind herself. The feelings flooding her body and brain were, of course, erotically tinted, she was a woman of flesh and blood after all. But astonishingly it wasn't the dominant notion. She watched him finish getting dressed in a slightly too big suit, battling the annoying urge to stop his hands in their feverish work. Jack was always so very proper and in control, it was too easy to forget he was a vulnerable human being. She'd caught glimpses at times of him losing his composure, of his armour slipping. They were rare and always too brief.
A burning, cruel thought wondered dimly how much Concetta had seen, how much he had willingly shown her. And how little he would be prepared to share with herself as he drifted further away. A distance of his own design, she knew. They couldn't stay who they had been. The loss felt suffocating.
As if he'd sensed her thoughts, she raised his eyes to her, looking at her with a soft, dark expression while his fingers slipped over his necktie. Phryne pressed her lips together in order to not give into her urge to touch him. She rounded the table, now standing near the fireplace and attempted to find anything else but to look at him. She saw it too late, the photograph of Concetta on his desk. It hadn't been there the other day, she was certain. Like he had erected another wall between them.
Bitter jealousy and desperation slammed through her with so much force, it threatened to knock her off her feet. Instead she sat, folded her legs neatly and clutched the folder onto her lap with trembling fingers. She would not lose her head over a man's silly decision to marry. It wouldn't do. Jack sat, finally finished and she realised that they hadn't spoken a word in several minutes. He looked at her as if he could see right through her and she stubbornly stared back, not even trying to hide her emotions.
"Why did you feel it necessary to lock up Alessandro?" she heard herself say. Not the conversation starter she had intended, but it would do. His expression changed instantly.
"I didn't trust him to not run again the minute I turn my back," Jack said.
"He is a free man, he may go wherever he wishes," Phryne argued with a forced smile.
"Mr Bricelli is a suspect in a murder."
"Hardly."
They angrily glared at each other, neither backing down.
"Alessandro did not kill his brother."
"How can you be sure? Was he tugging you into bed at the time?"
Phryne felt her composure slip.
"And what if he was, Jack?" she asked hotly. There was a pause, in which he swallowed hard.
"I don't trust him," the Inspector finally said, aiming for a sober tone, which enraged her even more. "Which is entirely reasonable, considering his entanglement with the Camorra."
"How about your own entanglement? Marrying the daughter of the padrino hardly counts as keeping your distance, Jack."
That one had hit home, she could tell. He visibly retreated.
"My wedding is not up for discussion, Miss Fisher," he said coldly.
"I'm well aware of that, Jack."
He raised his eyebrows at her.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Clearly my opinion on the matter is irrelevant. It was never asked for."
He seemed to gasp for air.
"What would that have accomplished? I already know your opinion, Miss Fisher."
It was Phryne's turn to run out of breath.
"I knew I couldn't expect you to be thrilled with my decision, even before I reached it," Jack said, much quieter. "But you've made it abundantly clear that I do not possess what it will take to satisfy you."
Miss Fisher opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again.
"So I will give myself where I am wanted."
There was a quiet resignation to his voice which rendered her momentarily speechless. He couldn't possibly be serious. Jack dropped his gaze to his fingers and she sensed something very akin to tears in his tone when he spoke again.
"All I ask is that you accept my decision, Phryne."
She felt her own vision blur.
"Jack, I..."
The door flew open with the briefest of knocks.
"Sir, you have visitors," a visibly frustrated Constable Foster announced. Phryne's head turned to watch Concetta and Antonio Strano enter. Jack's fiancee measured her with a long, curious look. Phryne checked her emotions as well as she could, but she feared they were written all over her face. Unseeingly she watched Jack greet Concetta with the restraint he would use at his work place, even for his spouse, and her replying in kind with a tenderness that rendered Miss Fisher nauseous. She rose, again stepping towards the fireplace in order to not have to look at them together, attempted to sort her racing thoughts.
"Mr Strano," Jack finally said, his tone changed. "I was waiting for you."
He pointed towards to the now empty chair in front of his desk. Papa Antonio glared at Phryne, but sat all the same.
"I'm only here for Concetta," he said, uncomfortably moving in his chair. "What is this?"
The Inspector briefly fiddled with his notes.
"Is this at all familiar to you?"
Miss Fisher recognised the letter Alessandro had been sent. She'd never gotten a chance to tell Jack about its meaning.
"Mr Alessandro Bricelli received this letter shortly before his brother was murdered," the Inspector explained. Phryne noted dimly that Concetta was standing behind him, her hand resting casually, possessively on his shoulder. Strano stared at the piece of paper, then threw it on the desk.
"What is this nonsense. I never wrote any of this! You are trying to frame me."
Miss Fisher cleared her throat.
"I believe Mr Verdi is trying to frame you," she said calmly.
Three pairs of eyes stared at her in astonishment.
"Alessandro Bricelli is of the opinion that another high ranking Cammoristi is responsible, in a bid to set the Bricellis against Papa Antonio," she added with a glance at the Inspector, then returned her attention to Strano. "But a comparison of your hand with the letter should make things clearer."
Strano huffed under his breath, while Concetta grasped for the letter.
"This is not Papa's writing," she said, then her eyes widened as she read the message. "This was sent to Sandro?" she asked, paling. "Is he…?" She left the sentence hanging in the air as if she could not face to even to speak the words. Jack touched her hand in a calming fashion and Phryne found herself inspecting an interesting trophy on the mantle.
"Mr Bricelli is perfectly safe," Jack said, then called, "Collins?"
Hugh appeared in the door, obviously wishing to flee as soon as he became aware of the collection of people in the room. "Please escort Mr Bricelli up here," the Inspector requested.
Hugh agreed and fled.
"Now that that's sorted," the Inspector said calmly, peeling the cocaine sleeves from their evidence bag. "I'd like you tell me about this."
Strano shrugged.
"What would you like me to say?"
"Did you send those to Sydney today on a ship called the Louisa?"
Another shrug.
"I may have. A little medicine has never hurt anybody."
"In this case you are very wrong," the Inspector explained through gritted teeth. "This cocaine is laced with a deadly poison?"
Strano started.
"What?!"
"Two people are dead," Jack said coldly. "Another one is in the hospital, fighting for her life. Dying of your cocaine!"
Instead of an answer, Strano raised his eyes to his daughter, whose face had turned to stone. Phryne watched the scene unfold as if through a haze. Angry Italian words were exchanged at a rate that made it hard to understand. But it was clear that Concetta was very, very angry.
"You cannot pin this on me," Strano finally spat. "This is my cocaine, yes, but I know nothing of poison."
"You may have known, but you do not care," Concetta accused him quietly. "You always talk about the famiglia, but you never stopped Mama from going to the opium dens. You let her kill herself and now you kill more people with your business. You do not care..."
Strano jumped to his feet, taking a step towards his daughter.
"Concetta, your mother was a silly woman. How many times did I try to stop her, but she would not listen..."
His daughter took a step backwards when he tried to touch her.
"I do not wish to see you anymore," she said quietly. Strano looked as if she had struck him. Miss Fisher felt almost sorry for the old man.
"Fine," he said, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, you all may turn your back on me."
Concetta ignored him, grasping for Jack's hand, who had stood to support her.
"Please Gianni, let us get married. Pronto. I do not want to wait any longer."
Jack swallowed hard.
"It is only another week until the 18th," he tried weakly, but she shook her head.
"Please," she said, her voice teary. "Marry me in the morning and take me away from this dirty city."
The Inspector hesitated or maybe Phryne was just imagining it since her own world seemed to have ground to a screeching halt. Then he nodded and pulled his crying bride to his chest. Over her shoulder he ignored the scowling Strano, his eyes finding Phryne's. She thought she saw doubts flicker through them, but it may just have been her desires playing tricks on her mind.
It was not the perfect time for Alessandro Bricelli to enter the room, but then life is hardly ever perfect. He stared at Concetta wrapped into the Inspector's embrace, the pain in his expression all too familiar to Miss Fisher. He caught himself quickly.
"What is happening here?" he asked with a faint smile. Miss Fisher tried a smile herself and failed miserably.
"Congratulations are in order," she declared, the effort of sounding happy straining every ounce of her acting abilities. "We are celebrating a wedding in the morrow."