Chapter 7: Evening Mist

The small collection of investigators had returned to the Inspector's makeshift office to regroup. DI Robinson sank onto one of the chairs and stared at the table, trying to shift the puzzle pieces into place, an effort that was interrupted by Miss Fisher hopping onto the wooden surface, crossing her legs and chatting right into his thoughts.

"So, we got a missing stable hand. Could be the killer. Or the robber. Or neither."

Jack gazed at her in a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"How very observant of you, Miss Fisher."

She brushed that comment off without an answer.

"Well someone drove that car that ran poor Hugh of the road." She pointed out with a smile.

"And it was definitely Mr. Prize's car, sir." The Constable threw in from the direction of the door. The Inspector looked up and sighed.

"So if Mr. Binley stole the car and drove wildly back to Melbourne he was probably running away. Leaves the question, from whom?"

"I would assume the police." Said Dottie, blushing furiously. Jack shook his head. She stood so far and quietly to the back, that he had almost forgotten that she was there.

"Or possibly the killer if he has witnessed something."

Phryne chewed on her lips. Somehow she didn't like the idea, that Ryan should be the killer. He was a nice kid, with a real talent to flatter a lady. Then again, you could never tell.

„If he witnessed the murder wouldn't he have left right afterwards though?" Pointed her companion out. The Inspector felt slightly left out of this conversation even though he had to admit that she was right. "But he waited till the body was found and the police arrived." Miss Williams pondered.

Jack stayed quiet and stared at his notepad. The rain against the window tapped into the resulting silence. Then the Detective cleared his throat.

"Let's assume, Mr. Denier was knocked out in his sitting room. Then someone undressed him and dropped him into the lake -"

"Probably the killer, nobody else would feel compelled to clean up after him." Hugh threw in, trying to join in somehow.

"- to cover up what had happened." Jack finished with a stern look in the direction of his Constable.

"That means he would have to leave the clothes somewhere and possibly some other evidence."

"Could have been a robbery gone wrong." Phryne speculated. "We need to find Ryan Binley. He either has done something or seen something."

"Well, the maid thinks our best chance is his mother, that lives in..." Jack studied his notes in fake interest..."Collingwood. That sounds like a job for you, Miss Fisher." Phryne didn't miss the twinkle in his eye, before he got up.

"And we, Collins, will try to find out how exactly our victim ended up in the lake. Even though every shred of evidence would be drenched by now. Talk to Simon Ellis again, I have a feeling he knows about everything that happens in this house."

After the Constable had left and Dorothy Williams had retreated so far that she almost blended into the wallpaper, the Inspector turned to Phryne.

"Meet at your house tonight to share information?" He said quietly enough for only her to hear. He wasn't quite sure if he meant only the case. Also, it occurred to him briefly, it was a strange thing to say, facing the fact that he lived in her house nowadays. She grabbed his coat for a second to pull him closer and brushed a kiss over his left ear, whispering.

"I like it when you go all authoritative, Jack."

With a mischief glitter in her eyes she bundled up her companion and pulled the door shut, before he had found time to blush.

X

The roads were still wet, but that didn't keep Phryne Fisher from her usual disregard of the speed limits. Miss Williams couldn't help but find that a convertible really wasn't a good place to be in drizzly weather with a maniac driver at the wheel. She still felt a bit shaken after her close encounter this morning, but nevertheless would have traded her vehicle back to the police car at any time. But what gnawed on her even now, as she was trying to hold the hat to her head in a death grip, braving the little raindrops splattering her face at high speed, was the tension she had sensed between her employer and the Detective. Something was going on and while she wanted to believe in her heart of hearts, that Miss Phryne would never have a dalliance while Inspector Robinson waited at home for her, she knew as well as him that her bed had been untouched this morning. And what made it worse was, that Dot had been long enough with Miss Fisher to know when she was hiding something. There was a big "Something" that remained unsaid today. Dot didn't like what was happening, didn't like it at all.

She had been so deeply in thought, that she was surprised as Miss Fisher pulled over and climbed out. The streets here were narrow, the rain still lightly falling onto the working-class cottages framing both sides of them, had been insufficient to sweep the stench away.

"Burning leather." Miss Fisher said, slamming the car door shut, as she noticed the face of her companion.

Dorothy Williams tore her gaze from a factory chimney over which curled dark smoke and looked at her, not daring to ask what was happening in the head of her Mistress just now. She knew that Miss Fisher had grown up here and that her memories were mostly not happy ones. In fact, Phryne felt a dark weight creep into her stomach. It wasn't only being back here that caused it. Here, where the memories swept over her like old, bitter oil, she felt the day creeping under her skin: the crying Pauline whose pain she couldn't let disappear; Jack's distrust, that hurt, despite knowing how much she hadn't told him; Marcel's blue, naked body, the dead shell of the man she had once known; the charming stable hand with the sparkly brown eyes full of humour that might hang for his death; and as always Janey, her dear Janey, that had died for her. She had to fend off the urge to sit down in the gutter and cry. Instead, she shook her head, fished the address out of her handbag and ushered Dot to follow her, missing the worried look her companion threw her, completely on purpose.

X

The little boats house lay quietly in the mist of the early evening as the police men approached. Jack had been right, Simon Ellis had been very helpful, including being able to answer where his master tended to undress when he went for his nightly swims. If the killer had disposed of the body here, everything pointed towards someone who had been for a round of skinny dipping with him before. The door was bolted from the inside and Collins decided to kick it out of its hinges. Jack watched him with tired eyes. He felt cold and weary. It had been a long day and he really just wanted to go home, have a hot bath and cuddle up to Phryne's warm body for some well deserved sleep. The case probably could wait till the morning and so could their chat. Briefly he wondered again if it was even wise to talk to her. He wasn't sure if he needed to hear what she would not say, maybe it was easier to leave things as they were. But Jack knew deep down that that wouldn't work. The Uncertainty would eat away at him, eventually turning his hurt to anger and his love to hate. Even if he handed her his heart to be broken, he needed to know where he stood.

The door gave way with a shower of splintering wood and Jack stepped through the gap with fresh resolve on his mind. He would talk with her in the morning. Collins followed him with a lantern in his hand, shining little light onto the sparse furniture. Near the dark waters that harboured two boats, there was a neatly folded pile of clothes besides two equally neatly set down shoes and a watch. It did look indeed like someone had been going for a swim. Jack knelt down beside his victims clothes, ran his fingers over the expensive fabric of the shirt. So his murderer was a very clever man... or possibly a woman. He suspected that skinny dipping was not a habit, Marcel Denier shared a lot with other men, but a "ladies man" surely would invite his female friends to his "wild and romantic" activities. Then again, a woman would probably not have the strength... A tiny blemish in the fabric caught his eye.

"Collins, get me some light here."

Obediently the Constable stepped closer and bent over to hold his lantern for his higher ranking officer. He watched on as Detective-Inspector Robinson ran his fingers over a small red stain, mumbling something to himself under his breath. Then to Hugh's pure astonishment, he pulled the fabric to his nose to smell it before suddenly getting up, nearly knocking the young police man over in the process and then, the shirt still in hand and a half hearted order to secure the evidence on his lips, stormed out into the dusk.