8

After swinging by Wardlow, Phryne and Dot sped through the streets of Fitzroy toward the home of Robert and Moira Carlisle, Phryne updating her investigative assistant on the latest murder and Carlisle's possible ties to Crossley. "I'd like you to look around while we're at the house. Ryan Carlisle still lived at home. There might be clues in his room."

Dot's, "Yes, Miss" disappeared in the wind as Phryne swerved around a milk cart.

They arrived at the run-down bungalow a few minutes later, finding two girls around age five playing dolls on the front porch. Phryne and Dot climbed the steps, offering smiles to the girls. Moira Carlisle answered the door with an even younger child on her hip.

Phryne quelled her cringe as she mentally recounted the woman's offspring. When she and Jack had interviewed her earlier, three others had been in the house. "Mrs. Carlisle, I hope you don't mind, but we have some follow-up questions based on what's happened in the investigation." She introduced Dot, who smiled prettily and reached a friendly hand out to the babe in arms. The child giggled, softening Moira's initial reserve.

"Come on in. I've got a kettle on, if ya'd like a spot of tea."

Phryne demurred the offer and settled on a loveseat, Dot beside her. "Can you tell us a bit more about Ryan? You'd said he wasn't really interested in the police force when we spoke earlier. So why would he choose the constabulary for a career?"

Moira set the child down to crawl over to a pile of wooden motorcars and play. She took a deep breath, tears welling in her eyes. "Ryan's funeral is tomorrow. The blokes at City Central 'ave all chipped in for his headstone. Good men, they are." She wiped them with her sleeve and apologized.

Phryne shook her head. "No need to apologize. This is a trying time, I'm sure."

Moira squared her shoulders. "I appreciate you helping to find out who did took my boy from me." She stared at a photo on the mantle for a long minute. "He was just twenty-one. My oldest boy. Jenna, his older sister, is married and living in Werribee."

The door banged open revealing the two girls who had been playing on the porch. One had red cheeks, fat tears, and a doll missing her head. The other held the head aloft daring her younger sister reach it.

Moira shook a finger at the pair, her voice rising with anger. "Mildred, what have I told you about teasing, Abbie? You don't put her doll back together right now, or I'll give you a good swatting and you'll both have something to caterwaul about."

Moira continued her recount of Ryan's history as Mildred's sullen apology followed a reluctant reach for the other part of the doll. Abbie watched, her thumb in her mouth, as the doll was restored.

"Never would have pegged Ryan for a copper. He was a good boy as it goes, but a flighty one. Ran with the Bootleggers, but more a tagalong, 'til he saw that man killed down on th' docks. Seemed to turn over a new leaf. Suddenly did a complete turnaround. Got out of the gangs and into the police academy."

Abbie, contented with her sister's repair clambered into Moira's lap. Phryne leaned forward, garnering the mother's attention. "Ryan still lived here, didn't he?"

Moira nodded. "His room's just down the way."

"Would you mind if my assistant took a look around? There might be something in his belongings that would help us."

'No, no. Go right ahead. Haven't had the heart to clean it out yet—even though we could use the space." She wiped her cheek again, then she straightened. "And don't mind the kiddies. They'll be curious, but harmless enough."

Phryne smiled her encouragement. "Don't worry about Dot. She's an angel with children." She tilted her head toward Ryan's room, and Dot rose, excusing herself. Mildred hurried behind Dot, chattering questions about the reason Dot was looking in Ry-ry's room. The little boy playing on the floor left his cars and trailed after them. Dot's sweet tones echoed down the hallway as they went.

Phryne turned back to Moira with another gentle smile. "Did Ryan ever speak about any of the other constables? Perhaps this one?" She pulled a photo of Bradford Edwards from her purse, offering it to Moira.

She studied it for a long moment in silence. "Can't say I ever saw him come 'round."

"His name is Bradford Edwards. Does that sound familiar?"

Moira shook her head. "But I do remember him running with an older copper for a while. Right after he got out of the academy and stationed at City North."

Abbie squirmed in her lap, thrusting her doll in her face. Moira leaned out of the way and pushed the doll and hand down.

Phryne's brow furrowed. "But Ryan was stationed at Central when he was killed."

"Yeah, but he started out at North. Worked there a few months, then moved to Central."

"Tell me about this constable friend. Do you happen to remember his name?"

Moira's lips twisted as she thought hard. Abbie swiveled around, pushing the doll toward Phryne. She smiled, but like Moira pushed the doll aside.

"Go check on ya' sister and brother, Abbie." Moira shifted the little girl to her feet and she toddled off.

Phryne leaned forward, prompting. "Could the man have been called Crossley?"

Moira's eyes brightened. "Yeah, that was it. An older bloke, but Ryan and him seemed to get on. Thought he might give my boy a bit of direction. Then somethin' changed, and Ryan was moved to Central. Never talked about that Crossley bloke again."

"Miss?" Dot's quiet request turned Phryne and Moira's heads. The children clattered about her legs, the boy running a car up her foot and the girls pushing their dolls toward her.

"Find anything?"

Dot flashed a brief smile to the children and stepped out of the boy's reach. She lifted a wooden kip and a small cloth bag. Coins clinked from the confines. "It was in the back of one of his drawers."

Moira rose from her seat, a tiger ready to defend her cub. "My Ryan was a good boy. If he was gambling, it was because someone else talked him into it."

Phryne laid a gentle hand on Moira's arm. "Yes, I'm sure that's true. And I have a very good idea who that someone was."

Jack had made the circuit from Russell Street to Central, North, and ending at Hawthorn and now sat at his desk surrounded by boxes of case files and personnel records. He'd started with the personnel files and had discovered all three constables had worked at City North for several months. Crossley had been transferred to Hawthorn early January 1928, right before Sanderson was found with the murdered hostess in his study. Carlisle went to Central a few weeks later, while Edwards started at North and eventually was promoted to Senior Constable at Central.

Fishy. Very fishy. Jack made notes of his findings, then located any cases the men had worked before the transfers. He poured through the investigative notes and reports, but found no overlap in all three men's work. Carlisle had worked with Crossley, but not Edwards. Edwards with Crossley, but not Carlisle.

Jack smothered a curse as he ran a hand over his face. There had to be some connection. Maybe it was best to focus on knife-involved crimes? He flipped through each case, sorting the weapons used into stacks and labeling them. Surprisingly, the knife stack remained the smallest, only three cases. And one was Carlisle's latest.

His door opened, and Phryne swirled in, driving jacket flowing behind her and eyes gleaming. He smiled as she plopped into what he'd come to think of as her chair. "You have news, I take it?"

Her lips, stained with a pale pink rather than their usual oxblood, spread into a grin. "Carlisle's mom said Ryan and Crossley were thick as thieves until something happened before Ryan was transferred to Central. And Dot found this in one of Ryan's drawers." She pulled the kip and bag of pennies from her purse and gave it a good shake.

"Winnings from gambling at the Rosebud, I presume?"

Phryne nodded.

Jack steepled his fingers in front of him. "But why would he have kept it? Surely he could have spent the money or given it to his family. And the kip he could have just dropped on the street."

She shrugged. "Moira Carlisle said he wasn't the sharpest lad, and Sanderson was cracking down hard on the brothels around that time. Maybe he thought it was better to hide all of the evidence of his gambling rather than run the risk of being seen spending it and getting questioned?"

Jack tilted his head, considering her theory. "Could be. I found out that all three constables served together at North before January '28."

"And?"

"The three of them never worked the same case."

Phryne's lips twisted. "And Arlo said he'd never seen Edwards with Crossley and Carlisle. That doesn't mean they didn't pal around other places, though."

"But there is this." He handed her Carlisle's burglary case file. "Carlisle's last case."

"Anything interesting?"

"Very. One of the suspects is wanted for an attempted assault with a deadly weapon, to whit, a knife."

Phryne flipped through the pages eagerly, devouring the details. When she reached the coroner's report, she shook her head. "Mac said the knife used to kill Carlisle and Edwards was five inches in length and two in width. The one found on this suspect is smaller, narrower."

"Doesn't mean he couldn't have used another one."

"This man is street thug, Jack. He wouldn't have the skill for the wounds inflicted."

Jack nodded, frustration seeping through him. "I'll still have Hugh follow up on his whereabouts during the murders. But I don't have high hopes."

Phryne plopped the file on Jack's desk and leaned back in her chair, irritation pursing her lips. "If Crossley and Carlisle were caught gambling and that was the reason for the transfers, then why wouldn't they have been censured as well?"

"And what links them to Edwards, outside of a brief stint at the same station?"

"We're missing something, Jack."

"Agreed. Care to dig a little deeper with me?"

Phryne rose from her chair and sashayed around his desk, leaning down to plant a sweet kiss against his lips. "What a lovely invitation, Inspector. I do believe I would."

Dot sat on the benches just inside City South's door as Miss Fisher breezed into the inspector's office without even a knock. Hugh held the phone receiver to his ear, listening to whomever was on the other end of the line and offering replies as needed. Deciding her best action was to wait, Dot considered Moira Carlisle's household.

Her husband had been at his factory job and the older children were at school. The Carlisles had nine in total and all leaned heavily on their mother for guidance and discipline.

Dot had always wanted three or four of her own, but what if they began arriving as soon as the wedding night? Mother said she'd gotten pregnant with Dot's oldest brother then or soon after. So it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

But there were options to put it off. Miss Fisher was a ready and vocal advocate of family planning. As was Dr. MacMillan. But would using an internal device and choosing when to have children put her in God's place? Would she be taking over his plan her life? If he'd planned for her and Hugh to have children immediately, wasn't not following his will a sin?

But wouldn't he want what was best for her and Hugh? They were just starting their life together. And continuing working felt right despite her desire for children.

She bowed her head. Dear God, you answered me so beautifully about Hugh. And now we're about to marry, I'm wondering about our family together. Will you help us make a right decision for us? I don't want your job, God. But I would like mine for a while longer.

Hugh's call ended as she lifted her head. His gentle gaze felt like a sweet confirmation from God himself that he'd heard her prayer. Now it was time to let Hugh in on all the news.

She rose and joined him at the counter. Excitement bubbled inside her, rushing her words as she told him about Miss Fisher's offer.

"Dottie!" Disbelief rounded his mouth. "It's only until the babies start coming?"

She squeezed his hands. "As much as I do want a family, I think it would be wise to wait. Miss Fisher is, as you know, not fond of babies, and we'll want our own place anyway once we start having children."

Hugh gulped as panic widened his eyes. "So you mean we marry, but not have … marital relations?"

"No, Hugh." She took in a stabilizing breath. She glanced around the station. Finding no one around, she dove into the topic. "What do you think about planning our family?" She searched his eyes, hoping he would catch on, but when he still seemed clueless, she added, "The way Miss Fisher plans to not have a family."

"Oh!" His cheeks pinked, but he slowly nodded, a relieved smile lifting his lips. "Yes, I understand."

Dot waited as the idea seemed to play across his own vision of their future. "That would give us time together, just us. And in a few years, I should be Senior Sergeant. The hours will be steadier, and we'll have more income to raise a family properly."

Dorothy grinned as he not only joined her in the idea, but seemed to embrace it. She longed to hug him, but that wouldn't be proper at his workplace. Not that the conversation itself had been all that proper.

Hugh threaded their hands together, fixing her with an imploring gaze. "I want to be a good father, Dottie. Teach our boys footy and boxing and take our girls to the foreshore so they can learn to swim."

Joy poured through her as their future unfolded before her. "You will be an incredible father, Hugh Collins. And I will be tremendously blessed to be our children's mother—when the time is right for us."

She closed her eyes and savored the moment. Thank you, God, for another answered prayer.

After several hours of combing through case files, Phryne had convinced Jack to return with her to Wardlow for dinner and a much-needed break from the investigation. Mr. B had outdone himself on their repast, and they'd spent a quiet evening sipping whiskey and playing draughts. Despite Jack's preoccupation with their lack of progress on the case, he'd won three out of the five games before Phryne dragged him by the hand up to her bedroom where they'd made love until they were sated and sleepy.

But what could only be a few hours later, Phryne rolled over and felt cooled sheets rather than Jack's warmth. She frowned and patted his side. She blinked awake. He wasn't there and hadn't been for a while.

She sat up, brow knitting together as she considered how quickly she'd become accustomed to his presence and how startling his absence could be. Mac certainly was right—though Phryne would never admit it. She had been domesticated completely by one Jack Robinson.

She smiled at the realization, contentment washing through her. But if he wasn't in her bed, then where was he? Surely, he would have woken her if there had been a break in the case. The softest combination of notes wafted beneath her closed door. Not the phone. That would have been louder and much shriller. She cocked her head to one side, listening closely.

Not a record on the phonograph. There was no scratchy accompaniment, and she knew all of her collection.

The piano? It had to be. She closed her eyes as the notes continued.

Jack.

She slipped on her kimono and padded down the stairs, taking great care to keep her steps silent. As she reached the first floor, the music grew louder. A dim light glowed near the piano, silhouetting Jack's somber face and lean, robe-clad body. His fingers caressed the keys much as they'd caressed her body, making each sing with pleasure.

Phryne leaned against the opening, allowing the notes and the emotion behind them to wrap around her. She'd known after they'd finished the radio station investigation he could play, but this music was nothing like she'd ever heard. It poured from his soul and out his fingers. She'd told him once she preferred a never-ending source of mystery, and he continued to be one. The depth and breadth of her love for him swelled, blurring her eyes.

Oh, how she loved this man.

She padded over to the piano, settling on the bench next to him and tucking her head against his shoulder. They moved together as he played, their bodies and hearts weaving in time to the music. When his hands finally came to a stop, Phryne looked up with a silent question.

He brushed a kiss against her lips, then murmured, "Playing helps me think."

She shook her head. "It was beautiful. Please don't stop."

Jack's gaze darkened. "You are beautiful, Phryne. And everything I could have ever wanted."

"Jack…"

He pulled her over to straddle his lap and lowered his mouth to hers. She poured all the words she longed to say, all the love she held for him, into the kiss. As he lifted her atop the piano, she knew he was everything she could have ever wanted too.

She broke the kiss, gazing into his passion-glazed eyes. She had shown him in touch and action over and over, but now it was time for the words to be spoken and she whispered the complete and utter truth. "I love you, Jack Robinson. And I always will."