Chapter 16: Black Hole

Grumpily Sanderson dropped his pen, spraying ink over the document he had just signed. The reason for his annoyance however was not the letter. It was the folded up newspaper, lying to the side of his desk. A hesitant knock caused him to look up.

"Come," he called.

"I was wondering if you needed anything before I am leaving, Sir?" Mr. Easton asked from his place at the door. Sanderson stared for a moment at the clerk, wondering if anything ever slipped through his attention. Probably not. Which was mostly the reason, the Commissioner had hired him in the first place.

"Close the door, will you?" he said, leaning back in his chair. The young man carefully came closer, sitting down in front of the desk.

"Any news from the DI?" George asked, while he watched his assistant fold his limbs under the table. He looked a bit like an uncomfortable spider in doing so. Jerrod Easton wondered for a brief moment if to ask, which Detective Inspector was being referred to, but it was a pointless exercise and he wasn't a fan of wasting his time.

"I'm afraid, they haven't found anything yet. But according to our man, they are doing just fine."

Sanderson nodded slowly.

"Tell me, Easton, do you think, I made a mistake in sending Jack Robinson away?" he asked, picking up the newspaper and throwing it back down onto his desk. The clerk chewed on his lip in thought, before answering.

"I truthfully don't, Sir. In three days Mrs. Browning will leave this earth and then he should be free to return to his normal life, with or without success in his case."

The Chief Commissioner seemed rather unsatisfied with the answer.

"If they hang her after all. The papers accuse me of having doctored the outcome of the investigation and the fact that DI Robinson has disappeared is not helping my case."

"With all due respect, Sir, neither would it be beneficial, if they discovered just how he trapped 'The Butcher'."

"That will hardly happen now that you gave the name of that poor sod of a Constable to the press. He's freshly married, I hope you took that into account," Sanderson grumbled.

"So his marriage should have a good chance to survive the little slip-up," Easton stated calmly.

George Sanderson surveyed his Assistant carefully.

"I feel your logic is sometimes a little scary, Mr. Easton. However, I also do believe that you are right. Jack and Miss Fisher are probably best off where they are. I do hope our man is keeping a keen eye on them?"

A thin smile lit up the Clerk's face, as he rose.

"Don't worry, Sir. He is watching them closely."

The men bid goodnight, but George Sanderson sat for a while longer in his chair, staring blindly at the newspaper. He knew that technically DI Robinson was just one of hundreds of police officers in his care. But he was also Jack, and George couldn't help but worry. Was Collingwood really the safest place for him right now? Finally the Commissioner turned off the light. There was little he could do right now. He would have to sleep on this.

X

Phryne slipped quietly out of bed, throwing a last look at the dozing Jack. Sleep was certainly something he needed. But she still had a date to keep. Silently she got dressed in the dark and snuck out into the kitchen, throwing another log onto the fire and tidying up the half emptied table, before pulling the door shut behind herself, with a small package in her hands. The streets lay quiet, the children had long since returned home for dinner. Gaslights behind the windows threw colourful shapes onto the cobbles. Phryne's heels clacked quietly over the floor, her skirt swishing in the cold evening wind as she hurried towards Gabler's. The factory was completely silent, but there were still some lights, which enforced her suspicion that there might be something going on here that wasn't quite legal. But that wasn't why she was here tonight. She rather feared that attempting to climb the fence at night would turn into a suicidal adventure.

"Bessie?" she called quietly, as a small shadow broke from the dark. The bitch came running, uttering an almost silent bark, before she realised just who was waiting on her. Phryne handed her the chicken head through the gate, patting her gently. The dog seemed satisfied with her treat and rubbed against Phryne's palm, before withdrawing to hide her treasure. Whistling, Mrs. Robinson got on her way back home. Three streets down, she just sidestepped a dog pile on the ground, when she bumped into someone warm and rather firm, who was retreating from a doorway. Phryne glanced at the face under the dark hat.

"Eddie?" she asked, before she could stop herself. "It's Eddie, isn't it?" she followed her slip-up for good measure, hoping that Wenbrock would just accept that she remembered his name from earlier. To her surprise, he looked just as shocked as her.

"Ehhh, yes, yes, it's Eddie. I'm sorry, I didn't see you in the dark."

He looked awfully flustered, hardly daring to hold her gaze. Mrs. Robinson threw a look at the house he had come from. There was still a small light burning, but she couldn't remember having seen the door open.

"So you live up here then?" she asked as nonchalantly as she could muster. He cleared his throat.

"Actually, I live further up the street," he offered. "I was just attempting to visit a friend. But she isn't home," he hurried to say. Phryne glanced at the light in the window.

"I'd better get going, Mrs. Turner. Goodnight."

With that he rushed off, before she could utter another word. Phryne stood for a long moment, pondering. Then she spotted something white in the dark. It was an envelope, stuck in the mail slit of the mystery house. Gently she pulled the letter from its place.

"Natalija Nowak," she read quietly, kicking against a flower pot. While she listened breathlessly into the darkness, there were steps approaching behind the door. When it was dragged open with some resolve, there was only a white envelope lying on the step. The old man grumbled, picking up the letter and retreating. Behind the corner stood Phryne, her heart pounding in her ears, cursing herself for having dropped the only thing that could have helped her to find out, just why Eddie had seemed quite so nervous about visiting 'a friends house'.

X

Hugh sat, his head buried in his palms. It had been a long day of searching through files over files, covered in dust. He had collected every shred of evidence on abortion rackets in the area of Collingwood, Abbotsford and even Richmond. But there seemed to be nothing that really helped him any further. Women shied away from sharing their stories, be it of shame or out of fear of punishment. Probably both in most cases. Yet, the lifeless eyes of the young Helen Kerby wouldn't leave him alone. How could he go home to Dottie and the baby in her belly, when the world was this terrible and there was nothing he seemed to be able to do about it? There were voices outside DI Robinson's office, where he had withdrawn to. The officer behind the desk had been approached by a voice that sounded awfully familiar. Hugh pulled himself to his feet and opened the door.

"Dottie? What are you doing here?"

She lifted a basket. The sight made him realise just how hungry he was.

"If the prophet doesn't come to the mountain, the mountain will have to come to the prophet," she explained happily, walking past him. "Or if my husband doesn't come home for dinner, I will have to feed him at work."

The guy behind the desk grinned and Hugh closed the door quickly.

"You didn't have to," he protested weakly, watching his wife set up a picnic on the Inspector's desk.

"I wanted to, Hugh Collins. And now sit down and eat and tell me what it is that won't leave you in peace."

Obediently he sat and shared the story of his visit.

"Poor woman," Dot said, unconsciously stroking her belly. "It must be terrible to lose your daughter like that."

Hugh nodded solemnly, his mouth filled with ham sandwich.

"I think even Mrs. Robinson felt terribly sorry for her," he added, after swallowing.

"A strange coincidence, that she would show up on a murder investigation," Dorothy pondered aloud.

"Maybe it isn't a coincidence at all," her husband stated, between bites.

"You think they are investigating an abortion racket?" Dot asked, with some disgust. Abortion wasn't really something she could appreciate, especially after her own experience as a bait some time ago.

"I don't know, Dottie," Hugh answered truthfully, but couldn't help being relieved at the idea that Inspector Robinson and his wife might be on the same trail as he was. While he grabbed another sandwich, Dot flicked through a random folder.

"Valerie Wright?" she asked. Collins nodded.

"It was suspected that she's had one. The woman broke down bleeding in the street in bright daylight. But she refused to talk and in the end the investigation was dropped."

Dot's eyes glittered when she looked up.

"I do know her," she grinned grabbing for a sandwich herself. "She is a member in my church."

X

To her astonishment, light greeted Phryne when she stepped into their cottage. It was falling through the bedroom door and made it a likely assumption that Jack was awake. Taking her coat off, she walked into the room and found the Inspector sitting up in bed, a pillow wedged in his back, reading a book.

"There you are," he smiled, successfully hiding that her absence had worried him somewhat.

"Just going for a walk," she fibbed happily, slipping her blouse over her head as the last piece of clothing, now standing beside the bed stark naked. The hungry look in his eyes caused her to grin. He'd never be truly sated.

A cough, however, forced Jack to turn away and Phryne used the time to don her nightdress, before slipping under the covers.

"What are you reading then?" she asked, grasping for his book. "The Poisoned Chocolates Case"? That sounds an awful lot like a detective story, Jack. I thought you weren't fond of those."

"It isn't really. Mac provided me with educational reading material," he grinned, turning the page.

"So it isn't a crime novel then?" she asked, a little disappointed.

"It is an attempt to highlight how easily a detective can misconstrue a murder upon drawing the wrong conclusion from evidence," Jack mumbled. "Or so I am told, I have only just reached page 15."

Phryne snuggled into her pillow.

"That sounds rather interesting," she pointed out, without the desired effect. Jack continued on his book without taking any notice of her comment for a long moment.

"You can read it for yourself, Miss Fisher. Right after I am done."

His wife frowned.

"I always share my books with you, Jack."

"If I remember correctly, I usually don't get much say in the matter."

He looked up at her, grinning broadly, then pulled her closer and snuggled her against his chest. Phryne slipped a casual hand under his pyjamas, feeling for a familiar scar between his ribs. Jack flipped the book back to the first page and started reading to her in his low, calming voice, while she slowly drifted off to sleep, comfortably cuddled into him.

X

Darkness surrounded him, nothing but darkness, swallowing every sound. The thin glimpse of moonlight pouring in through the barred window, was hardly enough to deepen the shadows. He couldn't move. Not even shift in his chair to release some pressure from his aching arms. Jack swallowed dryly. He was thirsty. Hot. She had been right, he was running a fever after all. And still he couldn't move. He opened his mouth to cry out for her.

"Phryne!"

It didn't come out as more than a whisper. His throat too dry, too hot. But it didn't matter. She wasn't there. Just him and the darkness.

"Phryne," he tried again, "please."

The door flew open, light blinding him. In a halo the silhouette of a woman stepped towards him. She was beautiful, even in the shadows, dark locks falling over her shoulders. Her hand stretched out, ran through his hair. He flinched. Her fingers were so cold that he shivered under her touch.

"It's so sweet, Inspector," she said. "You really believe you married her, don't you?"

Elaine leaned in, brought her scarlet lips to his ear.

"It's just your fever playing tricks on you. Nobody will save you."

Her lips brushed over his cheek on retreating, burning him like ice. Jack tore on his bounds, struggled against his fate. But the rope seemed to only get tighter, the more he tried to free himself.

"Phryne!"

It sounded like a sob. There was laughter, ringing in his ears.

"Jack! Jack!"

His trashing limbs finally managed to struggle free. The Inspector gasped for air. When the fog of sleep lifted, Jack realised that he was sitting in bed, Phryne staring at him and holding her cheek. His breath hitched in his throat. He wanted to reach out for her, but was scared she would refuse to be comforted by him. In fact, the angry glitter in her eyes seemed to make this a rather likely option. So instead he rubbed his palms over his face, pulling his knees up to his chest. His heart was still pounding in his ears.

"Dear God. I... was dreaming."

"I rather hope you were."

There was a trace of humour in her voice that relieved him beyond measure.

"Hitting me in the jaw with your elbow while I am trying to wake you, is not a habit I wish you to take up."

"I am so sorry, Phryne."

Jack reached out his fingers for hers while tears pressed into his eyes. He still felt shaken to the bone. A tiny smile around her lips accompanied Phryne's hand, when it came to wipe his guilt away. Seconds later it turned into a frown, as her fingers moved to his forehead.

"I think you are running a fever," she stated, her voice unreadable.

"I doubt it," he protested, shivering in the cold air.

Jack shook the dark thoughts off that still flooded his brain. It had just been a nightmare. This was reality!

Or was it?

'It's just your fever playing tricks on you,' a voice echoed in his ears. With his sleeve Jack rubbed the fine pearls of sweat from his forehead. He was feeling incredibly hot and freezing at the same time. What if he was dreaming? If his whole relationship with Miss Fisher was just the delusions of a dying man, slowly bleeding out onto a basement floor?

"That's enough, Jack! You need to see reason! And I am going to telephone Mac in the morning," Phryne insisted, somewhere in the blur. The Inspector watched her blue eyes stare at him and shook his head at himself. She was real! Of course she was. Phryne had visited him a hundred times in his dreams - many of them of a rather erotic nature - but she certainly had never yelled at him for being unreasonable. He swallowed dryly and nodded.

Carefully, he slipped back under the covers, pulling the blanket up to his shoulder. Phryne, obviously startled by his sudden defeat, watched him for a long moment, then lay down on her own pillow, turning to her husband. His hand came to cover her up properly, but on it's retreat, grasped for her fingers and briefly pulled them to his hot lips, before bedding their entwined hands between them. While silence crept into the room, they looked at each other in the darkness.

"What have you been dreaming?" Phryne asked.

"Just nonsense," he whispered after a moment's thought. His wife said nothing.

She didn't point out that he had been screaming her name in his sleep, had begged her to help him. Also, she had seen what page of the newspaper he had been studying the longest; it was creased on the edges. The trail of evidence led Phryne Robinson, Lady Detective, to a simple conclusion: Elaine Browning's pending execution had brought up memories. Memories that Phryne herself had rather forgotten. Why, she wondered, watching her husband slip back into the land of dreams without letting go of her hand, had they never talked about this?

Probably for the same reason they never talked much about Janey or her parents. It was entirely to painful to remember. And yet... And yet! She glanced at Jack's sleeping frame, then carefully shifted onto her back and stared at the moon hanging from the dark night sky like a lantern. Jack's hand twitched in hers and she wrapped her fingers tighter around his. What would he think if he knew really everything about her? If she just allowed herself to show the dark, the hidden and the weak? He had never judged her for losing Janey. Never seemed worried about her lifestyle. Never asked anything that she didn't want to share.

About five months ago, he had found a man's sock wedged underneath her bed. Instead of doubting her for a second, he had teased her. Granted, there had been more than a hint of dust collected in the fibres, but Phryne knew men for long enough to be aware that most of them didn't bother with things like reason, when they saw a chance for jealousy.

Jack wasn't most men. He had promised her a long time ago that he would never ask her to change for him. And while change had come and she had embraced it, she had never felt like he wanted her to be anything that she wasn't. Neither had he ever tried to be anyone but Jack Robinson. And it had always been more than enough.

And yet, here they were. Hiding. Pretending.

Phryne couldn't help but wonder if he could see through her act, the same way she could see through his. The answer was obvious. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her – Jack was comforting her, even when he just shared her dinner or held her in bed. She couldn't hide the shadows, and Phryne wasn't really sure if she should be angry or relieved about that. She tore her eyes from the amber globe in the sky and turned her face towards Jack, who was breathing calmly. His coughing seemed to have subsided together with his nightmares. When Phryne felt for his forehead, he commented with a quiet groan. His skin still held unusual warmth, but it had cooled down somewhat. Phryne allowed herself to let her eyes fall shut and the sound of his breathing coax her back to sleep.