Chapter 8: Sunset

Her knock seemed to go unheard. It occurred to Phryne that attempting this in a glittering blue evening robe might not be quite appropriate. Then again, nothing stashed into her wardrobe would be really fitting here. The smell of burning leather had only gone stronger, hinting at the fact, that the Binleys probably weren't rich people. The crumbling stonework also didn't hide the shortage of money in this house. One could probably be tempted if confronted with a place like the Denier Estate, the lady detective mused quietly, when there was finally some shuffling from the inside of the little cottage. An elder lady opened the door, at least that's what Phryne thought. On her second look she realised that Mrs. Binley couldn't be much more than 50. But her hair was grey, her do loosened up in the way it would after a long day of physical labour, if it wasn't done in perfect fashion to start with. Her dress was the familiar shapeless and colourless cotton and her attitude pure Collingwood.

"What d' ya want?" She mumbled under her breath.

Phryne Fisher switched on her brightest smile.

"Good evening, Mrs. Binley."

She made a point of extending her gloved hand for the woman to shake, which her opposite did after a moment of wide eyed hesitance.

"We were wondering, Mrs. Binley..." She said, pushing past the woman into he house, were the stench was almost unbearable, "...if you have seen your son lately? Ryan went missing today and his employers are worried."

Phryne let her eyes sweep over the room, she could not see anything suspicious. No men's clothes, only one plate on the table. Maybe they had been wrong.

"Haven't seen Ryan in weeks." Mrs. Binley grumbled. That was her mistake. No mother sounded like that when her son had gone missing without a trace. Phryne locked eyes with her. Especially not, while her face betrayed her fear for the kid. Miss Fisher's smile faded but she made sure to put all the patience and understanding in her voice she could muster, when she stepped towards the elder woman.

"Mrs. Binley, I don't want Ryan to get into anymore trouble, but I need to know where he is. He might be in danger."

She could see the emotions working on Mrs. Binleys face. She must have once been a very pretty woman, before life took that away from her. Phryne swallowed. Life wasn't a fair game partner. Finally, the dices seemed to have fallen, with a weak gesture Mrs. Bingley pointed to the only other door in the kitchen and stepped aside. Gently, the lady detective pushed it open; it lead into a bedroom. A gush of cold, wet wind blew into her face, as hasty steps outside vanished into the evening. Phryne ran over to the open window but she only spotted a glimpse of the young man vanishing around a corner. She had come a moment too late. Deflating, Miss Fisher closed the window, when something gleaming caught her eye. She knelt down and fished the string of pearls from the mouldering floor boards.

"I think we have our thief." She said to Dot, who had quietly stepped behind her. It held no triumph.

X

Constable Collins was not a happy man right now. The Inspector had in his haste, left him behind without a car and he had depended on Pauline Deniers kindness to be driven back to the station. And if that was not embarrassing enough, he had stepped into a puddle waiting on the car and his right shoe was still dripping. He was cold, annoyed and miserable. Most of all though, he was sure, that something was going on behind his back. He could sense Dotties worry and the Inspector was behaving oddly. Miss Fisher was... well, Miss Fisher. Nothing seemed to ever shake her. With a bit more harshness than necessary, Hugh smacked his Hat onto the counter besides the collected evidence. He seriously doubted, that a pair of expensive shoes would help them any further in this case but then again, the shirt seemed to have stirred something in the Inspectors memory. Once again Hugh wondered just what had brought about his sudden disapperance. But it appeared to have become a habit for the Inspector to always run off here and there, chase after the killer with Miss Fisher or persuit Miss Fisher in a race against the killer, without leaving his Constable so much as a note to make sure he could follow. Hugh Collins sat down onto one of the hard wooden chairs owned by the City South Police station and steamed in his anger about the unfairness of it all. His shift had long since ended but the thought of heading home didn't seem particularly tempting right now. On the other hand he was quite sure, there was still a waterlevel in his left boot. In his musing, he didn't see her enter. Collins jumped when Annabel Sinclair set her bag down and said:

"Good evening, Constable."

It took him a moment to regain his breath and wits enough to return her greeting.

"I would like to report something else on the murder of Marcel Denier." She explained, her face serious. „My husband didn't want me to say, but I caught him with one of the guests last night. In a..." Mrs. Sinclair had the decendy to blush; "...rather compromising situation."

X

Miss Fisher longed for sleep. No, a hot bath and then some sleep. Preferably within the arms of a handsome policeman. She wasn't quite sure if that was an option tonight, however. While Jack had been mostly busy finding a murderer, while still setting aside time for some polite smiling and flirting, she had sensed the tension between them. Phryne was well aware that she needed to clear the air. But it was incredibly hard in the middle of a case with people all around and the truth was, she really wasn't that good at open conversation. Maybe she should wait till they had found Marcel's killer. She wasn't quite convinced she wanted to live that long without his arms around herself, though. How needy she had become, she huffed silently, pushing her bedroom door open and feeling for the light switch. While her surprise was immense when she found Jack Robinson sitting at the end of her bed, she hid it quickly.

"Jack, you're earlier than I expected! I assume you found something of interest?" Phryne said with more enthusiasm than she felt. Her heart was beating in her chest. This didn't bode well. He raised his eyes to look at her and the unconcealed pain that shone through, threatened to take her breath away. To her surprise he held out a white piece of fabric he had been cradling on his lap.

"You tell me, Phryne."

She took it. Turned it. Looked at him in astonishment.

"It's Marcel Deniers shirt." He stated dryly, watching her every move. "And that on his collar is your lipstick. It also smells of your perfume. Is there anything you want to say about this?"