14

Jack opened a drawer in his office desk and rifled through a stack of papers, finally pulling out a certificate, signed by one Miss Phryne Fisher. He struck through the end date of her earlier service and signed his initials with a flourish. He held it out for her to read with a small smile. "I hereby reinstate you as my special constable."

Phryne grinned as she took the certificate from him. "I believe I shall frame this and hang it at Wardlow. I'll pull my badge out of my jewelry box so I can be completely official when we're investigating."

Pleased that she had kept his treasured trinket, his smile warmed. "Now, down to business." He picked up his phone receiver and requested to be put through to Births, Marriages, and Deaths. He watched her as he waited to be connected. "Hatch, Match, and Dispatch might be closed already, but it's worth a shot."

She inclined her head. "It's the most obvious place to start."

Closing his eyes a moment, Jack whispered a quick request to whomever on high might be listening that there would be one employee lagging behind the registry's time clock.

"Hullo."

Relief washed through him. "Yes, this is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, City South Police. I have an urgent request for documentation."

He explained the issue, giving Sully Murphy's name and other pertinent details.

The clerk on the other end heaved a heavy sigh, but went to work. "Might take some time, Inspector. When do you need it?"

"Now. We're hunting a murderer who has already killed four, and we need to make sure there isn't a fifth." It was a slight fudging of what he and Phryne had determined to be true, but anything to light a fire under the sleepy man.

"Murderer, you say? Well, then. Hold the line."

Jack stood, holding the receiver to his ear, as the clerk disappeared. Phryne opted to settle into her chair for the wait. The minutes passed in silence, the air in his office tensing with every tick of the clock.

Finally, the clerk returned to the line. "Sullivan Murphy. Born 9 September 1901. Father, Michael Paul Murphy and mother, Norma Kay Murphy née York. That what you need?"

Jack ran a hand over his face, quelling the knee-jerk sardonic reply. "Did he have any siblings? Are his parents still living?"

"Oh, that sort a thing. That'll be in another file."

The line fell silent again, and Jack shook his head. He covered the receiver. "This could take all night."

Phryne flashed a grim smile. "As long as we have information by nine tomorrow morning, he can take all the time he needs."

Jack nodded, allowing her logic to calm him. The Commissioner had said he only needed a suspect in custody, not the entire case solved by then.

"Inspector, I pulled Norma Murphy's records. Turns out Michael Murphy was her second husband. Her first husband was a man by the name of Patrick Goodall. Killed in the Boer War, 29 October 1899."

Jack's jaw dropped. Goodall. No. It couldn't be.

He cleared his throat. "Would you check to see if she had a child by the first husband? Possibly named Roger?"

Phryne's eyes widened at Jack's request. She grabbed the O'Rourke case file off Jack's desk and flipped through the pages.

"Ah, yes, she did. Roger Goodall was born 3 November 1895."

Jack's mind ran at a sprint as he scribbled the details into his notebook. "Thank you very much. You have just helped us crack the case."

The clerk cheered. "Perhaps you could put in a good word with my boss, then?"

"More than happy to. Good night." Jack hung up before the man could continue his reasons for the request.

Phryne pointed to the autopsy reports. "Roger Goodall is the Assistant Director of the Shanghai Municipal Police and a former member of the Egyptian Expeditionary Force. Would either of those stations teach the knife skills he'd need to inflict this type of damage?"

Jack bobbed his head. "I don't know about the Egyptian unit, but the Shanghai Municipal Police certainly would. Compliments of the British, specifically, a Captain Fairbairn and a Sergeant Sykes."

Phryne's lips pursed. "Those are awfully specific details to know, Jack."

He grimaced and took the files from her. "There was an article in the Weekly Metropolitan Police Bulletin around the time of the Shanghai riots. One of the sections detailed the knife fighting tactics that were used by the officers to defend themselves—it was noteworthy given our constabulary offers no such training. I don't remember the particulars, however, I do recall they were not only effective, but brutal."

Phryne sat forward, her lips thinning into a grim line. "Then Roger Goodall did it. He had the training, so there's the means. And the opportunity. You said yourself he's been in the country since a few days before the murders started."

Jack shook his head as he tried to make the evidence fit the man they'd met at the ball. "But what about his motive? He's a police officer. Sworn to uphold the law."

Phryne gestured widely. "His half-brother was railroaded into a conviction, and then killed in jail. When the law and personal goals conflict, who wins out? I know for you with Sanderson it was the law, but perhaps Goodall isn't such an adherent? Maybe he felt vengeance was his to repay?"

She fell silent, studying the wall as if searching for more condemning evidence. "When were the Shanghai riots?"

"Started in April 1927 sometime, but the fighting lasted well into the summer."

Phryne sat forward, a light gleaming in her eyes. "That explains why it took him so long to take his revenge. He was tied up with work."

Jack slowly nodded as he followed her logic. "Until the gaol riot, Murphy was simply in jail for a crime he might not have committed. Goodall could have worked through the appeals system from Shanghai to get his brother released."

Her voice warmed to the theory, excitement edging the words. "But once Sully was killed in the gaol riot there was no other option for redemption. So it became a quest for revenge."

Jack pulled her out of her chair and gestured for her to precede him out of his office. "We need to get back to the ball. Even if he isn't there, the commissioner will know where he's staying."

He flipped off the lights and locked the station door, pointing to the Hispano.

Phryne paused by the driver's side, surprise parting her mouth. "You're letting me drive? Isn't this police business?"

Jack huffed as he moved to the passenger side of the Hispano. "We need the speed. As you are now my special constable I dub the Hispano Suiza a special police car." He opened the door and climbed in, sending her wry look. "Now can we be going?"

Phryne whipped the Hispano Suiza around corners, dodging late night traffic and peddlers heading home and shaving almost ten minutes off their return to St. Kilda Town Hall.

Jack leaned out the side of the car, peering into the dark. "There!" He pointed to a bulky figure walking along the sidewalk just past the Town Hall. "That's Goodall."

Phryne pressed the pedal to the floor, and the Hispano jerked into another gear. Moments later they'd nearly overtaken Goodall.

"Stop, police!" Jack cried, opening the door.

Phryne slowed, but as Goodall seemed to register Jack's command, he bolted down the alley.

Jack jumped from the car, turning and pointing down the road. "Cut him off!"

Phryne nodded and gunned the engine as Jack disappeared down the blackened alley. She scanned the sidewalks and road as she drove, then paused as something caught in her headlights.

The same bulky figure. She jerked the car into park. Gabbing her handbag, she tugged out her gun and gave chase. Soon enough she'd reached the end of her headlights' glow. Wishing she'd thought to grab her torch, she blinked, forcing her eyes to adjust. Though she had excellent eyesight in the dark, such a quick transition needed assistance.

The shadows began to coalesce into familiar shapes. She took a quiet step, then another.

A hand wrapped around her mouth, dragging her back against a hard, thick body. The other hand wrestled her gun away. Her muscles immediately opted for judo defensive moves. But the hard edge of a knife against her neck stilled every motion.

Goodall's low voice gloated in her ear. "I don't know how you figured it out, but I can assure you, no one else ever will."

She struggled against his grip, gaining just enough space from his hand to speak. "If you kill me, Jack will never stop looking for you."

A chortling laugh reverberated against her cheek. "Ah, but I don't plan to only kill you. And you've provided me the perfect motive for your murder-suicide."

Phryne breath caught in her lungs, dread washing over her. Jack.

"Newly returned as I am, the Commissioner happily filled me in on your reputation, Honorable Miss Fisher. You have quite the revolving bedroom door. Then you paraded your relationship with Robinson for everyone to see. All I need to do is say you propositioned me. Inspector Robinson caught us together …"

Horror filled her voice. "And in a jealous rage, he kills me then himself?"

Goodall tossed her revolver onto the cobblestone and dragged her deeper into the alley. "He's a man in love with a woman who has a wandering eye and an open bed."

Phryne's heart sank. He was absolutely right. Thanks to her previous parade of men, to the general public—and even to the majority of the constabulary—Goodall's fabrication would be completely believable.

Hugh and Dot would have their doubts and were sure to make them known. But against the word of a man as respected as Goodall—a man who had the ear of the Commissioner—their word wouldn't stand a chance.

I'm so sorry, Jack.

Jack scrambled through the back alleys, revolver in hand. Goodall had to be here somewhere. He turned the corner and into the fading beam of Phryne's headlights. The Hispano was parked at the end of the alley. But where was Phryne?

Surely, she didn't chase after Goodall on foot? But even as the thought formed, Jack knew the answer. Yes, she certainly had.

Dread welled in his stomach. Goodall was a trained killer and more than double her size. Phryne's judo skills—as good as they were—would be nothing compared him. He hurried up the alley, his foot kicking something on the cobblestone. Glancing down, he caught the gleam of gold in the headlight.

He leaned down, terror rushing over him. Phryne's revolver. Oh God, no.

"Kick it away and toss your own." Goodall's cultured tones echoed off the brick walls.

Jack looked up. Goodall eased into sight, clasping Phryne in front of him like a human shield. A silver blade pressed to Phryne's neck. For a man with his skill, he'd only need the slightest flick of the knife and she would be gone forever.

Jack's blood chilled. With no other option, he kicked Phryne's revolver to the side and tossed his own with it.

"Good. Now we're all going to take a little drive back to Miss Fisher's house. Where we'll end our association."

Jack spread his hands wide, forcing a cool authority into his words. "Let her go, Goodall. You do whatever you want with me. Just let her go."

Goodall guffawed. "What sentiment. You're besotted. But that's what will make my plan perfect." He pointed to the Hispano. "Let's go."

Jack met Phryne's steady gaze. Her eyes shifted to their guns, then back to Goodall as if his knife weren't still tight against her throat. Jack wanted to tell her no, to tell her to just go along with Goodall, that they'd think of something else. But the calm certainty, the deep love in her eyes, silenced every word. And he simply nodded.

A heartbeat later, Phryne slammed her heel into Goodall's instep. Goodall loosened his grip. She slipped from his arms and dove for the guns.

Jack hurled a direct blow to Goodall's hand. The blade fell with a clack. Jack tackled him. A shot rang out. Breath whooshed out of Jack's lungs as he and Goodall landed in a heap on the cobblestone. A low moan sounded between them. Something wet and warm oozed against Jack's hand.

Blood.

Was it his or Goodall's?

Jack forced his mind to focus. No searing pain from a bullet tore through him. Again, a low moan. Goodall. Jack shoved himself off of the man, dragging Goodall's arms behind him.

Goodall screamed. "She shot me!"

Jack glanced up.

Phryne stood over them, gun trained on Goodall. "I certainly did, and I'm an excellent shot. So be glad I was only aiming for your shoulder."

Jack pulled his handcuffs out of his tuxedo pocket, tucked in as they'd rushed from his office. Locking them into place, he rose and hauled Phryne into his arms. He closed his eyes, her warmth seeping into him as he kissed her temple, her forehead, her lips.

Alive. She's alive.

Phryne sank into his embrace, returning his kisses with her own.

Slowly, he released her, his gaze catching on the blood on her neck. He pulled out his kerchief and held it against the thin cut. Bile rose in the back of his throat. He'd come so close to losing her. Needing more reassurance of her safety, his eyes met hers.

Serene confidence, in herself and in him, gazed back at him. His galloping heart rate slowed. He lifted the fabric, finding the bleeding stopped. She was safe. Jack took in a long, stabilizing breath, then glanced down at Goodall, lying face down on the street. "Special Constable Fisher, would you like to make the arrest?"

A wide, beautiful smile wrapped around her lips. "Gladly, Inspector Robinson."

Goodall sat stock still at the City South interrogation table. Phryne sat across from him, Jack leaning in the corner by the window. Silence lay heavy on the room. For all his earlier threats and plans, Goodall had said nothing since Jack had first handcuffed him.

Adrenaline now gone and fatigued by the silence, Jack pushed off the wall, his voice edged with irritation. "We've got you dead to rights on attempted murder of myself and Miss Fisher."

Goodall said nothing.

Phryne added, "And you have motive, means, and opportunity in the murders of four members of the Victorian constabulary."

Still, he sat stone faced.

Jack stood behind Phryne with his arms crossed in a valiant effort to keep from throttling the man. "I don't understand your silence, Goodall."

He forced calm and respect into his voice, overriding the anger and derision that fought for supremacy. "You are obviously a man of great honor. These killings were honor killings. You were avenging your brother's wrongful arrest and subsequent death. Why would you now stay silent instead of claiming them?"

"Doesn't your brother deserve more than a coward's silence?" Phryne's low, cultured question lit the fuse.

Goodall slammed a hand on the table. "My brother deserved to live the rest of his life."

Phryne flinched, but held firm.

Jack swallowed his dark pleasure. The man had finally cracked. Well done, love.

He moved to Phryne's side, placing a hand on the table and leaning forward. "You were helping to defend the Shanghai International Settlement during Chiang Kai-shek's offensives. How did you learn about the officers who were involved in your brother's arrest? It wasn't as if the case was international news."

Goodall spat onto the floor, hatred fueling his dark eyes. "Our mother attended the trial. She wrote me every day about who testified and what they said."

He shook his head. "When Sully was convicted, she was heartbroken. I learned from neighbors she'd died from a heart attack in the courtroom." He slammed his fist against the table again. "From neighbors! Not even a telegram from the Victoria constabulary."

Phryne lowered her voice to a soothing murmur. "My condolences about your mother. But your brother was found holding the bloody knife after O'Rourke was stabbed. What makes you believe he didn't do it?"

Goodall slashed the air with his joined hands. "Sully was an innocent. Wouldn't hurt a fly. I requested the trial transcripts after he was convicted. Sully told them on the stand, under oath, someone shoved the knife in his hands after O'Rourke had been stabbed. He didn't know who it was, but Sully swore he'd never touched the knife until then.

"That damned, lazy inspector … he didn't even bother to look for another person. Sully was holding the bloody knife, and that was all the evidence he needed. He wouldn't even listen to the possibility Sully was innocent. The others under him just followed his lead."

Goodall's voice trembled with rage. "Nobody, nobody questioned what they saw. And my brother died because he was in the exact place he should never have been."

He fell silent, piercing Jack and Phryne with a long, assessing look. "So yes, I avenged his death. And by doing so, I also took four incompetent officers out of the ranks. So maybe next time something like this happens, an innocent won't be railroaded for a crime he didn't commit."

Jack returned to his office after locking Goodall in a cell. Phryne sat in his chair, feet again on his desk, eyes closed and her head tilted back. The thin red line on her throat had darkened as the blood had dried and scabbed. But it remained a blatant reminder of how their evening and their life together had almost ended.

He grabbed her hand, tugging her out of his seat and into his arms, then turned and sat down, cradling her in his lap. Phryne tucked her head into the crook of his neck, and they sat in silence. At length, she stirred, meeting his gaze with a soft loving look. The slightest hint of teasing flashed in her gray eyes. "This is lovely use for your chair, darling. Though I'd still enjoy trying my idea one day."

Jack chuckled and squeezed her to his chest. This wonderful, maddening, brilliant, stunning woman was his. Forever. How could he have been so blessed? He brushed a kiss against her forehead. "I won't put anything past you, love."

Phryne's soft smile turned impish, then she sobered as her gaze caught on the window behind him. He swiveled the chair, his own eyes finding and understanding her reaction. Dawn had arrived. Nine o'clock fast approached.

They had a suspect and a full confession. But would he still have a job?