Phryne
It was right there. On the tip of my tongue. Jimmy. Jimmy. Who was Jimmy? I knew that I knew a Jimmy. A Jimmy that felt like he would be the type to do something like this. But I couldn't quite put my finger on who I was thinking of! If I had access to a decent meal, a warm bath and a finger or two of whiskey I knew I would have solved this already but as it was, I was chained up, sore, tired and bleeding, starving, thirsty, and rather out of my head. I couldn't concentrate! I couldn't think! I just needed to focus and yet all I could fixate on were the beads of sweat dripping from my temples, the ache in my shoulders from being tied up at this odd angle, and the pain in my abdomen, begging me to eat. Jimmy who! I closed my eyes. It wasn't any of my socialite friends, of that I was certain. I had gone over every party I had been to in the past year (I had a lot of free time down in this pit and nothing much to do, so I found that particular activity a waste in the slightest.) And ran over every name. A few of my acquaintances bore the name James but none of them would have dared to be called 'Jimmy', far too common for the Earl of Ashbury and the new money heir to the Rigby cattle fortune. (He wanted to get as far away from his rather 'common' roots as soon as possible. It was to be James Elrond the Third and nothing less when addressing him.) I moved my way down the social latter. Mr. Butler had a butler friend named Jimmy Rathbone but he was simply the most jovial of men and even if he had a rather menacing streak and hated me and wanted to punish me for some reason, I still couldn't see the 60 year old man upset at being kept waiting. Once he had waited patiently in our kitchen for Mr. B to finish packing for their gentlemen's trip North, amusing himself the whole while by telling made up stories to Jane and Dot, trying, with varying degrees of success, to convince them that they were all true and that he indeed was a bull fighter in Spain for three years before he became the youngest man to ever climb Kilimanjaro in less than an hour. No. It wasn't him. It was someone else. I could feel it. I knew him. I knew this Jimmy.
Cec and Burt had a friend who had once been introduced to me as Jimmy but who had very soon after corrected me, claiming he hated his name (he had been named for an alcoholic and absent father) and much preferred his nickname, Slippy. (How he had come to claim such a moniker had never been properly explained to me.) No. He wasn't the type. It was someone else. Who else did I know named Jimmy? Who was Jimmy?
I cursed as again my mind fell short of the answer. Damn him. Well whomever he was, he was an ass. And the moment Jack Robinson found him, he was going to be a very sorry, ass.
Jack
"Rosie." Johnson repeated in a monotone voice. "As in your ex-wife Rosie. What the hell are you talking about, Robinson?"
"I locked the supposed 'love of her life' up in prison. I took him away without so much as consulting her first. I took him, and I had to shoot him to keep him from hurting her," Somehow, without saying me saying it, Johnson seemed to understand that when I said her the last time I was no longer talking about Rosie. "All of a sudden she was miserable and lost and heartbroken and she blames me. Of course she blames me. What if she's doing the same thing to me? What if she's taken Phryne and is going to hurt her?"
"You know how you asked me to tell you if you were crazy? Well here it is Robinson. You're crazy. No way in hell Rosie was able to overtake Phryne Fisher, kidnap her and lock her up somewhere."
"Maybe not but she resents me. I wasn't able to be a good husband. I wasn't able to have children with her. But then after we divorced, I became the man she had wanted all along. I play the role of father with Phryne's child. I love her in a way I couldn't love Rosie, I am there for her in a way that I could never be with Rosie. Then I lock up her second chance at love along with her father and you don't think she would have enough anger to hire someone who could? She has the resources."
"Jack, you can't be serious. It's Rosie."
"That's exactly my point, Johnson." He was quiet for a moment before sighing.
"I don't think you're right. But at the same time I won't ever forgive myself if you are right and I convinced you not to trust your gut and check up on her. I'm not saying we bring her in, Jack, I'm saying maybe we take a moment and go talk to her. You know her well. If she is lying or hiding something I suspect you'll know." I nodded.
"Fine. But we do it now."
"Jack," Johnson called out as I hurried to fetch my hat and coat. "If you're right, you have to keep your head. Let me arrest her. Let me handle it. You won't remain calm. You'll do something you regret."
"I'm not so sure I'll regret it."
"Jack Robinson, promise me." I took a deep breath. I knew I was right. It didn't matter how it happened. I would have Phryne back soon. I nodded.
"Fine. When I prove I'm right, you can arrest her." I stalked out the door, hurrying to the nearest car. "But God her if we don't bring Miss Fisher back."
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