Chapter 29: Shadow Universe
"Open the gates, Police!"
Hugh flinched. He hadn't expected Morgan to be even able to yell at this volume. Lights turned on in neighbouring houses, a baby screamed.
"What's goin' on?"
An old, grumpy guard shuffled across the dark yard of 'Gabler's Textiles', a dog trailing behind him. Both looked like they had just woken from deep sleep. In the flash of several lamps, a bandage on his head woke in the Constable the suspicion that the man had made the acquaintance of Mrs. Robinson lately.
"Open the gate. Right now!" Sanderson bellowed.
"And who ya think you are then?" the guard asked, ignoring the horde of policemen.
"I am the Chief Commissioner of police and if you don't obey this minute, I will find a reason to lock you up for the rest of your life," Sanderson growled. It seemed to have little effect on the man, but he did unlock the thick chains closing the gate, all the time quietly mumbling to himself. Seconds later 20 armed men stormed into the quiet factory. Silence greeted them between the stopped machinery and the empty working tables.
Sanderson gave the sign to move forward. Tentatively, the men ventured through several doors and into a dark hallway leading to the offices and some storage rooms.
"Pack up everything you can find," Sanderson yelled. Hugh watched him from a distance, where he was shoving folders filled with pointless numbers into boxes. Of course, they needed prove. But they weren't really here for sly grog - none of them were. The Constable was wondering if Sanderson really cared about the alcohol trade right now or if he too was searching for the Robinsons. His question was answered by Sanderson pushing the last door open with vigour.
"They're not in here."
"Ya might wanna have a look down those stairs," the guard, who had shuffled in behind them, pointed out.
"What's down there?" Hugh asked, breathlessly.
"What ya looking for, I'm guessin'. Assumin' the Lady sent ya. Rather good aim she had, the girl."
He grabbed for his head wound and winced theatrically.
"Is she still here?" Morgan asked.
"Who?"
"The woman who hit you!"
The man laughed throatily.
"I doubt it. If they'd gotten a hold of her, they probably killed her by now. Sniffing around in the back is not somethin' Little Jacob appreciates. But what do I know?"
"What indeed?" Sanderson stated under his breath, but nevertheless waved his hand at Constable Collins, who was already at the top of the steps. Hugh slowly crept down the stairs, feeling Jones's breath in his neck. Even Dahle seemed to have lost every sense of his questionable humour at this point in time. The light of the lamps flitted over the stone walls, as they ventured further into the darkness. Beside a massive door frame, Collins' fingers found a switch. The light blinded him as the whole, windowless hall was dipped into brightness. By the time he managed to blink, he heard Morgan whisper by his side.
"Holy cow!"
Hugh wasn't sure, what shocked him more. The fact that Inspector Morgan knew words like this or the sight that showed itself to his unbelieving eyes. Sanderson pushed past the stunned men with a mumbled curse, then stopped himself.
"Well, I didn't expect that," he said quietly, staring at the rows of massive copper stills. Hugh thought it was a little bit of an understatement. Suddenly, the Chief Commissioner snapped out of his silence.
"Right. We are not here to gape. Bent and Worrick, guard the entrance. The rest: Search everything, see if you can find any evidence leading to the whereabouts of the Inspector and his wife!"
Hugh broke from his silent stance and found himself galloping through the massive factory hall in a crowd of other policemen. His heart was fluttering in his chest like a scared bird. This was big, he realised. This wasn't a little illegal grog, this was a massive business. And people who ran huge, illegal businesses didn't hesitate in ridding themselves of nosy witnesses.
There were more hallways, more doors. Yelling soon filled every dark corner as they discovered rows over rows of bottles, kegs and boxes – but no Robinsons. The last room at the end of the hall, had a tiny light shining through the door. A weak voice filtered through the cracks. The door was solid and locked.
"Move aside," Hugh bellowed, realising that he was yelling at Inspector Morgan, who however obediently shuffled out of his way. Dahle wasn't quite so lucky and was hit in the chest with an elbow, as Hugh tried to kick the lock in. It took him three attempts until he gave up. Sweat was pouring down his forehead.
"Not quite as heroic as imagined, is it?" Dahle grinned. The voice inside had grown louder, now openly yelling undecipherable things.
"Wait, I think I got a key here," a voice said from behind. The old guard shuffled closer, the dog still on his heels, dipping its head. The old man sorted with complete patience through the rusty keys, then he finally nodded.
"This one."
Hugh took the key from his hands before anyone else could and unlocked the door. A man sat, in half darkness tied to a chair in the middle of the room.
"Thank God, I thought I'd rot here," Oliver Cromms exclaimed. But nobody was listening to him. Morgan stepped towards him, taking the letter that was stuck underneath the rope wrapped around his big chest.
"It has your name written on the envelope, Sir," he stated slowly, turning to Sanderson. 21 men and a dog watched the Chief Commissioner grasp for the letter addressed to him and rip it open. He read in silence. Then he turned around and walked out without another word.
X
"I assume," Rose stated casually, "you would like to know, Inspector, that your former father-in-law should find a letter," he glanced at his golden watch, "right about now. If he values you enough, you might survive the night."
He laughed, jumping off the table.
"Then again, don't give yourself into any delusions."
Jack stared at him out of glassy eyes. Ever since Phryne had dragged him kicking and screaming out of his initial panic, he was starting to see the ironic part of this whole exercise and the endless talking started to get on his nerves. Especially since he was feeling rotten. The man came closer, suffocating him once again in his aftershave, lowering his voice to a threatening growl. But Jack knew the words already.
"You will not walk out of here alive, Inspector."
"I have a question, Rose," the Inspector said after a long moment. His captor looked a little confused, but snapped back quickly.
"Does insanity run in your family? Or was it caused by the alcohol fumes you've inhaled?"
There was something almost resembling a choked down giggle coming from the other chair.
He saw it coming, but nevertheless the sharp metal of Phryne's gun hit Jack unprepared. His head flew to the side, the scratch burning like fire, blurring Jack's sight for a long moment. He blinked, finding Jacob Rose pulling himself back to his full height.
"That was just to remind you of the sincerity of the situation, Inspector," he said happily, to Jack's horror walking around the chairs and for the first time focusing on Phryne.
"Well, Miss Fisher. You seem to find this little meeting very funny. I am glad, you do enjoy the company."
"Oh, I do enjoy male company," she purred. Jack wrapped his fingers tighter around Phryne's, trying to calm the raging anger he sensed in her voice. A thin line of blood was dripping down his chin, tickling. He regret that he had provoked Rose by now. But then it was hard to take this happy, pretty kid seriously, hadn't it been for the cold, brutal quality of his insanity. Like a knife hidden in a bunch of flowers.
"But then I enjoy a certain manliness in them," Phryne continued. "Tying people to chairs and waving around guns generally disqualifies them."
The man laughed and Jack reminded himself to keep breathing.
"Did you hear that, Inspector? Your wife is quite funny, isn't she?"
A gasp was all Jack could hear. He struggled, trying to see what was going on. The shadows told him everything and much more than he'd wanted to know. When the tight hand finally let go of Phryne's throat, she gasped for air.
"I hear that some people get a certain thrill asphyxiation," she quipped, her voice rough with strain. "But I personally must say, it does nothing for me."
The Inspector was holding onto her so tightly that he was worried of breaking her fingers.
'Please stop,' he silently begged his wife, while searching his brain feverishly for something that would distract the man from her.
"Oh, you really are funny, Miss Fisher. What I shame I am going to have to shoot you."
Jack twisted in his chair, staring in horror at the shadow of a weapon that was being raised.
"Stop, Rose, please," he heard himself beg. His head was swimming, he wasn't certain if with adrenaline or fever.
"Don't worry, Jack. He won't kill me."
Phryne was staring at the madman's face with as much calmness as she could muster. The man laughed again, without letting the weapon sink.
"True," he said. Then he pulled the trigger.
X
An angry Judge Banks stormed into Sanderson's office, followed by a rather embarrassed looking Mr. Easton, who stared apologetically at the Commissioner.
"What is the meaning of this, George? Are you aware what time it is?"
"I am in possession of a clock, Abraham. Please sit down. Something has occurred that we haven't considered."
Abraham Banks thought about this for a long moment, but the seriousness displayed on the policeman's features let him drop into the offered chair with an annoyed grunt.
"So, what is so important to warrant calling me out of bed at this time of the night?"
Sanderson didn't answer straight away. He folded his hands carefully on the table and stared at his opposite through slightly smudged glasses. Banks was growing impatient by the time his old friend finally spoke.
"The Robinson's were assigned to find a major Grog Baron in Collingwood. And they did."
"Surely that could have-"
"But he also found them!"
An envelope was shoved over the desk. Judge Banks took it and read in silence.
"He's playing us," Sanderson said. "Like puppets."
The men locked eyes. Neither of them liked that particular role very much.