Chapter 10: High Sun

Inspector Robinson was not overly surprised, when Phryne Fisher wandered into the South City Police Station shortly after 12 o'clock the next day, a basket hanging of her arm that she set down on his desk before slipping onto a chair.

Around three this morning, staring sleeplessy onto the dark ceiling of his old bedroom, Jack had realised that he had no doubts considering her honesty. Logic demanded this much. Miss Fisher was too smart a woman to assume that she could lie to him about something regarding his case and also: she had never hidden her flings before. But the strongest reason to believe her was simply that he wanted to. They had shared a deep trust for a long time, possibly even more sincere than their love for each other. If there was any person in the world in whose hands he would lie his life willingly, it would have to be hers. So to question her word would be simply ridiculous. He might as well start to mistrust his picture in the mirror.

"I am quite certain, I told you to stay away from this case." The Inspector said for good measure, finding trouble to hide the humour in his voice.

She smiled at him innocently and cocked her head, while pushing the basket in front of him, that smelled of heavenly things probably made my Miss Williams loving hands.

"You said you couldn't live under a suspects roof. However, there can hardly be an objection to you questioning a suspect in your office, I'm sure."

"Well put, Miss Fisher." He liftet the cloth covering his lunch, keeping his face as straight as humanly possible. It took quite some effort to accomplish.

"So, Jack, can we be friends again, if I tell you everything about Marcel Denier and myself?"

He tore himself away from the food and leaned back in his chair, raising his brows.

"I wasn't aware there was an everything to be told."

He searched her eyes, humour suddenly gone. More secrets? She took a deep breath, seemingly collecting her thoughts.

"What if I told you that I have known Marcel not since I got back to Australia, but since the summer of 1920?"

Jack nodded darkly, not saying a word.

"It was shortly after Paris, I had ended up in a small village in the Normandy and happened to befriend Pauline Beaumont. She was the daughter of a tradesman, quite influential family, but the war hadn't left them with overly much. Mind you, still a lot more than most people had at the time."

Miss Fisher locked eyes with the Inspector, who was hanging on her lips in silence. What she saw appeared to be satisfactory as she continued after a small pause.

"At a dinner party we were introduced to Marcel Denier. He has been a charmer, back in the day, didn't own more than he was wearing on his body but knew how to smile at a lady."

Jack couldn't help the temptation to clear his throat. He felt a silent stab of completely unreasonable jealousy to a dead man who had been charming Phryne Fisher nine years ago. She seemed oblivious, save for a tiny sparkle in her eyes, as she twisted her lips into a cheeky smile.

"He was already fond of moonlight bathing back then."

"I assume you experienced that first hand." He stated dryly.

"Yes, I did. It was fun. A little cold maybe."

Miss Fisher snapped out of happy memories just as Jack opened his mouth to speak. He was cut off, before he could utter a word.

"And before you even ask, it was only a casual liaison. After Dubois I was not interested in love and Marcel definitely wasn't the settling kind. Or so I thought. Because two month later he was married to dear Pauline."

The Detective-Inspector picked up a pencil, twisted it in his hands, trying to sort his thoughts.

"So, it is safe to assume that Mr. Denier skinny dipped not only with you but also with his wife-to-be at the same time. Does she know?"

Phryne shrugged nonchalantly.

"I do not know if Marcel has ever shared this with her. I never kiss and tell. Unless it's murder."

Jack pressed his lips together, pondering.

"Collins?"

Seconds later, another Constable showed in the door, his face red with embarrassment.

"Sorry, Sir, Collins is on late shift today."

"So he is, Jones. Could you please call in Mrs. Denier for questioning. Thank you."

Phryne waited till the door was pulled closed behind the Officer. Then she shared last nights events in Collingwood with the Inspector.

"Ryan Binley is our man, there's little doubt about it." She finished, peeling the pearls out of her handbag. "But I wonder how he could have known about Marcel's swimming habits? About the safe, the goblet? As a stable hand he wouldn't have exactly spent a lot of time inside that part of the house."

Jack nodded thoughtfully, cracking the pencil in half. He dropped it.

"So he had an accomplice. Someone who collected all the information, so he just had to go and pick the valuables like pieces of ripe fruit of a tree."

"Hasn't there been a strain of robberies lately?"

"Yes, the West Station is actually investigating. But I will call them and find out if there are similarities. Maybe one of our guests is a travelling thief."

A knock ripped them from their conversation. Constable Collins didn't wait till he was called.

"Sir, did you find my notes?"

"Good afternoon to you, too, Constable. What notes?"

"Mrs. Sinclair was here last night, Sir. She had some information on our case."

They waited, but the younger policeman seemed to be finished.

"Are you intending to share said information, Collins?" Asked the Inspector finally.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I've written it all down."

A inpatient look left the Constable stumbling over his words."

"Miss White... Miss White, Sir, and our victim. They were, on the night of the celebration... together sir."

X

"You wouldn't happen to know, where the left over pie from last night has gone, Dorothy?"

Dot didn't look up from rolling out her shortbread dough, yet again. She really needed to get done with this, if she wanted to supply anything into this Sundays bake sale still.

"Miss Fisher took it, while you were out shopping. I believe she's making amends." She whispered with a smile, embarrassed to be gossiping, but nevertheless needing to share the information. Mr. Butler grinned into the refrigeration machine and closed it gently.

"Is she now? I am glad to hear it."

Miss Williams stopped, rolling pin in hand.

"Do you think, they will figure it out, Mr. Butler?"

The servant picked up a knife, starting to slice carrots into thin rounds for a stew, he suspected the Inspector to be particularly fond of. It never hurt to be prepared.

"They are a pair of very smart people, Dorothy. But also two very strong characters. They will find a way, given time."

Dot nodded and they resumed their work in companionable silence. Only the quiet noise of splitting carrot filled the kitchen.

"He couldn't stay, Miss Phryne said, while investigating in this murder." Dot added thoughtfully in direction of her flat dough, of course just to make conversation.

"Is that the reason then?"

Dot didn't need to look up to know that the Butler was smiling.

"I rather hope the Detective-Inspector will find the killer soon then, because this morning I wasted ten minutes of my time knocking down the door to an empty bedroom."

With considerable noise Mr. Butler fished a rather large pot out of the kitchen cabinet. Dottie Williams watched him, chewing on her lip. Then a smile lit up her face.

"You're right, Mr. Butler. It is time we find the killer." She took her apron off and hung it onto the nearest hook.

"And how do you intend to accomplish that, Dorothy, if you don't mind me asking?" The Butler asked, seemingly casual, while busying himself with the rest of the vegetables.

"I believe it is time for some Christian charity, Mr. Butler."

With that, the maid was gone. The servant looked thoughtfully down at the shortbread dough still sticking to his kitchen table, then he picked up his knife and started cutting it into even pieces, a little whistled tune on his lips.