Chapter 27: Peace Lily

Phryne turned with the office chair, causing it to squeak and watched Detective-Inspector Robinson at work. Currently he was sifting through a pile of letters, trying to find one that Madelyn Spencer had written herself. But the Assistant had been rather attached to her typewriter.

Miss Fisher yawned. She was wondering, why Jack was so obsessed with investigating all of a sudden. She had hoped to be back at the Villa by now, enjoying some much needed privacy and maybe return to earlier intimacies without the hard stone at her back.

"Nothing," he sighed. "How can someone work for months in an office and not leave a single example of their handwriting behind?"

"Modern times, Jack," Phryne smiled, tenderly running her fingers over the shiny typewriter. To her disappointment, the Inspector wasn't watching her though. With a huff he slapped down the papers.

"Why did the killer let her body disappear? And what was her sister doing here? Walter doesn't know anything about a business appointment, so someone lured her here under false pretenses."

"Someone she trusted," Phryne said slowly, chewing on her lip.

"Her husband would be the obvious choice, but he was in Sydney. Are we really sure about that though, Phryne?"

"Chloe confirmed, that Mr. Barton was having breakfast with them, while his wife died. She wasn't quite certain, if their run-in was quite as coincidental as he made believe. But he was definitely in Sydney."

Jack rubbed his face with both hands and sighed.

"So that leaves who? Sam? Fred? Crossley? And Walter."

"Your Uncle?" Phryne asked. "Why on earth would he want to kill Miss Spencer. Let alone Mrs. Barton?"

Jack leaned back with a tiny shrug. He looked tired, she noted.

"If he realised that someone forged his books, he might have suspected his Assistant."

Miss Fisher frowned at this.

"But to kill her without proof for a few dollars? I don't think so, Jack."

The Inspector didn't have an answer. For a long moment it was silent.

"What about your cousin?" Phryne asked. "Laura. If Fred had an affair with Miss Spencer, it could have been an act of jealousy."

"Possible. But why would she kill the sister?"

"Shock?" Phryne pondered. "Maybe we are wrong and Mrs. Barton's death was an accident. If our killer was convinced of having murdered Miss Spencer and was suddenly confronted with his victim walking and breathing, he or she might have freaked out."

"That would mean that the killer was walking around with a pistol in their handbag though," Jack grinned, sweeping his eyes to the embroidered piece, that was lying innocently on the desk.

"Since you, to my knowledge, did not have an affair with Miss Spencer, I would have little motive to shoot her or her sister, Inspector," Phryne smiled.

"I find that very reassuring, Miss Fisher," Jack said with a small grin, closing the file he had been riffling through.

"We had better call it a night."

Phryne pulled herself to her feet, happy to finally get back to their bed. It had been a very long day. After locking the door behind them, they silently walked down the corridor, each lost in their own thoughts on the case. A shimmer of light caught their attention. Jack frowned, checking his watch.

"I didn't think anyone was still awake. It is after midnight."

Phryne wasn't listening though; she had snuck up to the small gap in the door. Jack stepped quietly behind her, about to make a joke about her curiosity, when the picture she was watching, hit him. John Robinson sat, a full tumbler in his hand, staring at a piece of paper in his hands.

"He's not supposed to drink," Jack grumbled. "With his heart it could kill him."

The Inspector looked like he was about to storm the room and make a scene. Phryne felt inclined to lay a soothing hand on his arm.

"He's all grown up, Jack."

The Inspector huffed, watching his father throw back the drink as if it was water.

"He seems upset," Phryne pointed out.

Jack had a comment lying on his tongue about alcohol not going to solve the problem, but realized how hypocritical such a statement was just in time. He was himself prone to drinking too much under pressure, he had to admit. There was probably good luck more than good management that had kept him from slipping too deep to recover. And Phryne had a point. His father was looking upset, clutching onto the letter in his hand and currently refilling his glass, without looking at the tumbler.

The Inspector pushed the door open, before he could stop himself.

"Father?"

Phryne breathed a sigh of relief. The coldness had gone from Jack's voice, something had finally clicked in his head.

"Jack?"

John Robinson sounded like he was drowning. There were no tears, but his eyes were suspiciously red all the same and Jack felt a pang of guilt and worry. Then something changed in the old man's face, as if he had remembered, who he was and pulled up his defensive shields.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was actually wondering the same thing," Jack said, sitting down beside him.

"Nothing much, I just couldn't seem to go to sleep."

Phryne watched in astonishment, as the old man subtly placed his hand over the envelope, as if trying to hide it from the curious eyes of his son. But Jack Robinson had been a policeman for a very long time. Without a word, he pried his father's hand off the paper and snatched it up. Then his mouth fell open.

"This is a letter from Mrs. Barton! Addressed to you!"

His father looked at the floor.

"She came to see me this morning," he admitted.

"And you didn't feel the need to tell me this?" Jack spat, all anger returning at full force. "You do remember, what obstruction of investigation means, Father, or have you forgotten all you learnt as a Police Officer?"

Phryne couldn't stay in her hiding place any longer. This was not quite the reconciliation she had hoped for. She fished for the letter, without either of the men protesting.

John Robinson buried his face in his hands. He sounded tired, when he spoke again.

"Believe it or not Jack, I did not know. Miss Fisher neglected to mention the sister's name when she explained the connections to me."

Jack glanced at Phryne, opening his mouth to tell his father, that he better not dare trying to pin this on Miss Fisher. But his fiancée didn't seem to care. She was currently reading his father's mail as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do.

"You didn't recognise her? You were kneeling beside her body this morning!"

"I've never met the woman before, Jack. I have shared a few letters with her, she wanted to meet me here."

"And you agreed? To meet some random woman?"

"Not quite, Jack," Miss Fisher's voice cut in their heated discussion, causing two pairs of grey eyes to fly up. "It seems, Abigail Barton was your cousin."

"What?"

"I was not actually sure, if it was true," John Robinson explained. "She sent me a letter, about three months ago, claiming to be one of the girls Sophie sent us pictures of and said she knew where my sister was. I was naturally suspicious."

"As you should be," Phryne said, while Jack stayed silent. But she could imagine what was happening in his head right now.

"She was rather secretive, wouldn't tell me where Sophie was or how she had found me. But she wanted to meet me here and I thought it made sense to see her and figure out if she really knew anything. Of course, I did expect her to knock at the front door, not sneak through the gardens."

Jack jumped to his feet, starting to pace the room.

"And when a young woman died, while you were waiting for one, it didn't occur to you that it might be the same one? I had thought you a better policeman."

John Robinson didn't seem to hear the cutting remark.

"She was identified as the missing Miss Spencer. Why should I have questioned that? I'll admit I was slightly distracted by my son acting like a pouting child or I might have drawn the conclusion somewhat earlier."

Phryne rolled her eyes at the two men. She was getting tired of their continual sniping at each other.

"Your son was busy with a murder investigation that you withheld vital information from."

"I could hardly jump up in the middle of dinner and yell, 'I knew her, I knew her', could I?"

"You could have approached me afterwards," Jack said pointedly, turning on his heels to make another lap around the room.

"I was waiting for a quiet moment to talk to you," John explained. "And then you vanished for over an hour. God knows, what you've gotten up to and honestly, I do not want to know."

Jack couldn't help the light blush spreading from his ears down his neckline, but opened his mouth to make a cutting remark all the same. Then he looked at Phryne and something changed. It was subtle, but Miss Fisher knew her Inspector well. He went silent for a moment and when he spoke again, his voice had returned to normal.

"You know what I was doing, father? I was speaking with Phryne about our wedding. We would like to have it here and I want you to be there and be nice to people and pretend that you are happy for me. Do you think you can do that?"

John Robinson stared at his son as if he had just grown a second head. Then he cleared his throat.

"Yes. Yes, of course, I can do that."

Jack sat down, grabbing for Phryne's hand in a gesture that was as much an obvious display of affection as an appeal for support.

"Because, I will be honest with you, I am tired of this. It's been a decade. And I have no idea, what I have done to you, but I do know that I want my father back."

John opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish - nothing came out. Jack pressed Phryne's hand, thanking her in silence for her support. Whatever came out of this tonight, it would move him forward instead of letting him stew in his own juice any longer.

Miss Fisher leaned over, brushing a kiss to her Inspector's hair. They had won the battle, now the patching up was up to him. Jack let go reluctantly when she excused herself, but he knew it as well. Silence settled over the two man, while they sat, looking at each other.

"You have done nothing, Jack," John finally uttered, calmer than he felt. "You just came back from the War and I could see the emptiness in your eyes. I believe your mother missed it at first, but I didn't."

Jack rubbed his face with both hands, while his father continued quietly.

"And all I wanted to do was shake you awake and yell 'son, you are back. It's over. The sun is shining and your wife is happy to have you again and why the hell aren't you happy too?'"

Jack tried to take that in.

"So you thought insulting me would make me happier?"

John shrugged at this. He looked embarrassed.

"The words went away, but the urge to yell and shake you, was pretty persistent."

They smiled wryly at each other. For a long time, the ticking of a clock was the only sound in the room.

"Did you notice Phryne's ring?" Jack finally asked. If his father was surprised by the change of subject, he didn't show it.

"It's rather hard to miss. I was wondering if you'd sold your house for that."

"Actually, the house is still very much mine. I only choose not to live there."

Jack stopped for a moment, wondering if he should share what was on his mind. It was rather intimate. But they were finally talking and the words just wanted out.

"The stone in the ring is a symbol, father. Of the day I finally made my peace with the War."

John looked at his son. His eyes were dark in the dim light and he didn't say a word, but he was listening with his whole body. Jack wrung his hands in his lap. It was hard to explain this particular moment without details that you didn't share with your parents.

"It was Phryne. She gave me my peace back. That same night I decided that I was going to try and convince her to marry me."

He smiled at the memory, before tearing his eyes from his hands. To his astonishment, he noted John wiping at his eyes. Then, as if finding a sudden resolve, the old man fished for something in his pocket. Jack looked at the small familiar item in his father's hand in stunned silence.

"I do not know if you want it. If your Miss Fisher wants it, more like it. But," he smiled. "it could be the symbol of the night she gave you your father back."

Jack swallowed, tears glittering in his eyes. Then he tenderly took the ring from his John's palm,

locking their gaze. "Are you sure you want to part with it?"

The old man shrugged.

"She would call me a fool for carrying it around in my pocket after all those years."

"That she would."

Jack played with his mother's wedding ring like he used to when he was little. He ran his finger over a familiar scratch.

"There is no obligation attached to this, Jack. If your fiancée wants something less old fashioned I understand. But I do believe your mother would like her to have it."

Jack stored the precious gift carefully in his shirt pocket.

"Thank you."

John shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's what father's do – or so I'm told."

His son grinned and finished the Whisky, before his father could do anything stupid.

X

The man on the bed snored quietly. Laura wasn't sleeping. She hadn't slept in days. Not that Fred had noticed, she sighed to herself. He didn't seem to notice a whole lot about her. She slipped onto the bench under the window of her old childhood room and clutched a pillow to her nightdress clad chest, looking out at the moon. Laura was grateful that her little boy seemed to have decided to sleep through the night, so she had a chance to chase after her dark thoughts in peace. Her husband turned in his sleep. He did seem to sleep less peacefully since she had died. Of course, he had to be mourning. Laura wondered silently, if he had been in love with his her or if what they had was just physical. She had noticed the tension between them months ago, yet she couldn't bring herself to ask.

Laura pulled her knees to her chest. Deep down she should probably be grateful to the murderer for relieving her of the dark secret threatening her marriage. But Jack would have to find out, wouldn't he? And he would expose it to the world and make her look like the pathetic, betrayed wife that she was. Laura couldn't help the angry tears in her eyes. She wondered if he would stay once his secret became known? Or would he up and leave? Or worse? Had he murdered Miss Spencer himself? Laura wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and stubbornly stared out into the night. It couldn't be. Fred was a kind-hearted man. He might have gone astray, but he would never hurt anyone. Or would he? Maybe if he really loved a woman, more than he loved her, he would be passionate? Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and a tiny sob escaped her throat that she stifled quickly, before it could wake her husband. Another pair of eyes, just a few metres away, stared into the darkness in silence. Fred didn't move a muscle, while his heart broke in his chest. He had to resolve this, but he didn't know how. All he knew was that he couldn't lay awake another night listening to his wife crying.

X

Hazel could hear the floorboards creak under her feet in a sound that seemed to echo of the walls. As much as she tried to remember which were the loose ones, she just couldn't seem to miss them. But it had been worth it, her pounding heart and the silly smile on her face reminded her. Her first night with Mac had been everything she had hoped for and more. Despite the fact that she had to sneak out of the warm bed and the Lake Villa before even dawn could set in. It was still a dangerous adventure, especially with Mrs. Stanley knowing. And Jack slept behind the next wall. Even though from some sounds in the past night, she had a slight suspicion there had not been too much sleeping involved over there either. Hazel's grin evaporated, when she bumped into someone soft, sneaking through the shadows.

"Hazel?"

She froze, as Iris' sleepy voice sounded through the dark corridor in a confused whisper. Seconds later, light was flaring and the two sisters stared at each other in confusion. Iris looked like she had just snuck out of bed to use the bathroom, her hair tousled and her feet bare under her nightdress. Her sister looked very much like she had been not on her way to the bathroom but sneaking from her lover's bed in the middle of the night. Possibly she could pretend, that she had just gotten dressed to get some fresh air, Hazel considered. But then Iris had known her all her life and also, there was a telling smear of lipstick on her face, barely concealed by the blush that spread over her cheeks. She stayed silent, praying that she was having a nightmare.

"Oh my God," said her sister, after sizing her up in silence for a second. Then her voice turned into an excited whisper. "You have been with the Doctor haven't you?"

Hazel found herself speechless.

"I..we...I brought her home," she finally admitted sheepishly. Surely she could just have fallen asleep and rubbed Mac's lipstick onto her face in her sleep accidentally. In another world. But when she looked up, her sister didn't look appalled at all. Instead she was pulled into a tight, bone crushing hug.

"How did you know?" Hazel finally heard herself asking into Iris' shoulder, trying to blink the tears away that threatened to overwhelm her.

"You are my sister," Iris said quietly without letting go. That Hazel couldn't deny. Instead she wrapped her arms tightly around the other woman, holding onto her as if she might drown.