Chapter Text
“Hello? Is this working?”
“Inspector? You need to turn on the camera.”
“The what? Oh, yes, hang on a tick. Now where the bloody hell.... oh there we go. Did that work?”
“Perfectly. Lovely to see you, Inspector.”
“Sorry. I’m not used to this yet. I prefer face to face meetings.”
“Really, sir? Because you always say most meetings can be emails.”
“Yes, thank you, Collins.”
“No problem, sir.”
“So is this everyone?”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry — am I late?”
“Don’t worry about it, Dot, we’re still working out the technical glitches.”
“Oh good! Well, not good that there are glitches, just... Anyway, I’m all set up.”
“Ready then? Here we go.”
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Jack stared at the screen, his own face, his constable’s, and two strangers staring back.
So this was police work now.
Great.
Jack cleared his throat and nodded.
“Well, first off, I’d like to thank you both for speaking with us today. I know this isn’t ideal timing, and we do appreciate the effort.”
“Of course, Inspector. Happy to help. When the Victoria Police Force calls, I answer.”
Jack arched an eyebrow. “Actually I believe it was the Australian Federal Police who called us both.”
The brunette with the lovely smile, smiled enigmatically. “Well either way we’re talking now.”
“Indeed.” Jack looked down and consulted his notes. “So, as I understand it, you’re working on a story about illegal drug trafficking - ”
“I was working on a story about illegal drug trafficking — I believe they’ve moved on to people.”
“Right. Which is why we’re speaking today. The AFP have come to believe your story and a series of incidents I’ve flagged in Melbourne could be linked. I’m Inspector Jack Robinson, this is Constable Hugh Collins.”
From his little box in the bottom left corner of Jack’s screen, Hugh gave an enthusiastic wave.
“And we are speaking with Miss Phryne Fisher and Miss Dorothy Williams, yes?”
Dot nodded quickly and Phryne tilted her head in acknowledgement.
“Good, good. Bit unorthodox conducting an interview this way. But since you can’t seem to make it to Melbourne anytime soon, I suppose we’ll all make do with it.”
“Funny how flights go both ways, Inspector.”
Jack ignored the not-so-subtle insinuation and continued. “Now, obviously there are certain procedures when working with a civilian that — ”
“Consultant.”
“Excuse me?”
Phryne quirked an eyebrow and smiled again, less enigmatic this time. “Consultant. Not civilian. Says so right on my badge.”
Jack suppressed an eyeroll. “You don’t have a badge,” he reminded her.
“No? Pity. Dot, see if you can get me a badge. And maybe one of those sirens for the car.”
The young blonde woman who had been taking copious notes up to this point nodded and added two more bullet points to her list.
Jack crossed his arms. “Miss Fisher, I know all this might seem somewhat sensational, and I appreciate your curiosity for crime — ”
“Well, every lady needs a hobby.”
“But this is not a game.”
At his tone — sharper than usual, but there was real evil at work in his city and he didn’t have time to coddle an amateur — the bottom of his screen froze. Or, at least it seemed to; in reality Hugh and Phryne’s assistant were just rooted in place in surprise.
Phryne, however, seemed unfazed.
She leaned back in her seat, and crossed her own arms. “And I’m not playing one,” she assured him.
“Good to hear,” he told her. “So let’s get started. Hopefully this shouldn’t take more than a few of these interviews and then we can all part ways.”
The brunette with the lovely smile, smiled skeptically.
“Inspector, I’ve been building relationships with my sources in Townsville for almost a year. I have over 200 hours of relevant tape and another 400 I don’t think is relevant but I can’t rule out. I have reams of notes, which, thanks to my marvelous assistant, Dot, are all annotated and filed, but that still won’t read them for us. Additionally, both Dot and I are extraordinary resources ourselves. The AFP came to you because I came to them, and if you still doubt the value of this avenue of investigation I would remind you that I have a Walkley, an ICFJ, and was nominated for a Pulitzer. I take my job very seriously and I was assured you do as well, which is, to be clear, the only reason we’re talking today. So…. let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”
So this was police work now.
Interesting.
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“Did you get all of that Inspector Robinson or did you need me to repeat myself?”
“No thank you, Miss Fisher, I believe we’re good.”
“It’s just, I worry there’s a lag in the connection.”
“Oh?” Jack hadn’t noticed one, but he’d been busy taking notes.
“Yes, you see it’s been four weeks and you’ve yet to act on a single piece of information I’ve given you.”
Jack gritted his teeth and swallowed his first response, which was ungentlemanly at best. It wasn’t that she was wrong, but she had no idea how delicate the situation was and her constant prodding was far from helpful.
Of course, how could she know what the situation really was when he hadn’t told her, a traitorous part of his brain reminded him.
He ignored it.
“We’ll act, Miss Fisher, as soon as I have something more than hearsay and conjecture.”
He felt the full force of her glare across 2,600 kilometers.
“Well I wouldn’t dawdle,” she reminded him, “or you might just wind up reading about it in the Sydney Morning Herald.”
“Goodbye, Miss Fisher.”
Jack ended the meeting on his desktop and rubbed his eyes, tired and grumpy and annoyed that neither feeling was unusual anymore. The delay in action was clearly getting to him too. Plus he hated ending calls that way, like he’d disappointed her, which, frankly, bothered him more than it should — which was, to say, at all. But he also wasn’t about to rush things — Jack was diligent and she hadn’t been kidding about how much information she had.
They’d been at it a month and Jack wasn’t convinced they’d even scratched the surface. Hours of interviews and stacks of papers and there was definitely something there but Jack couldn’t connect it all yet. He ran a hand over his face in frustration, then picked up a file folder off his desk; might as well work on something else while he waited for his brain to catch up with everything she’d thrown at him today. He was halfway through reading the witness statements when his phone rang. He glanced at the number, but he didn’t recognize it. He frowned and answered anyway.
“Hello?”
“Inspector Robinson?”
“Yes… who is this?”
“Sorry. This is Phryne. Phryne Fisher.”
As though he knew more than one Phryne.
“Uh, hello Miss Fisher. How can I… how did you get this number?”
“You’re a police officer, Jack, not in witness protection, it wasn’t that hard.”
She was being cheeky as usual, but there was a frazzled edge underneath that he could hear even through the phone, and it worried him.
“I see. Well what can I do for you?”
“I need… I need a favour.”
“From me?”
“No one is more surprised than me, Jack, but here we are.”
“Miss Fisher, I — ”
“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m just… there’s a girl being held at City North. I need you to help her.”
“Excuse me?”
“Her name is Jane. Jane Ross. I met her a couple years back doing a story on mental health reform in Melbourne. Her mother was one of the women I interviewed and we just… hit it off I suppose. I let her stay with me a few times when her mother was… struggling, and we’ve kept in touch since.”
“Is she alright?”
“Yes? No? She’s been arrested.”
“For what?”
“Shoplifting and vandalism. Which is… she’s a good kid, Inspector. Smart and savvy and a fierce protector of the vulnerable. And now… and now no one’s taking my calls at City North! I just…” Jack heard her take a deep breath. “I just need to know she’s ok.”
“Well calm down, Miss Fisher. Let me call, see what I can find out, alright?”
“Yes. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.”
Which, as it turned out, was two and a half hours later from his car.
Phryne answered on the first ring.
“Hello?” she called, slightly desperate, down the line.
“Jane’s fine,” Jack began without preamble, knowing what she wanted to know before any pleasantries. “She’s been released and is home with her mother. I just dropped her off.”
“Oh thank god. What happened?”
“Apparently there was an incident with some girls in her class. She confronted them after school in a shop, there was a mild altercation — which resulted in a display case being shattered — and Jane stormed out, though not before…”
“One of the other girls put some things in her bag.” Phryne sighed with the air of a person who had known her fair share of mean teenagers.
“Yes. Jane swears she was defending some younger girl named Marjory, and honestly I believe her, but that doesn’t make it right.”
“No it doesn’t. But she’s ok?”
“She is. The items are returned and I explained the situation to the shop owner; they’re going to drop all the charges and let her work off a new display case after school.”
“Just like that?” The surprise in Phryne’s tone was new — she never seemed surprised, and Jack would be lying if he didn’t find it a little intriguing.
“Well, I…” he coughed. “I fronted half of the money.”
“Did you then?” And there was that surprise again. “Interesting. I wouldn’t have picked you as one to get involved.”
Jack bit back a smile, despite the fact that she couldn't see him. “It'd be a tactical error to think you had me pegged just yet, Miss Fisher.”
There was a pause, and for no reason he could discern Jack shifted a little in the seat of his car because of it.
When she spoke again, it was warm and a little intrigued herself. “I'm very glad to hear it.”
Interesting indeed.
---------------------
Jack rubbed his eyes.
He was tired, but going to bed now would be an exercise in futility and he knew himself well enough not to waste the effort. He pushed send on the email he’d been working on and frowned. He debated opening up Netflix, but he wasn’t really in the mood for a movie. Maybe a book? He turned towards his bookshelf, but was stopped by a strange sound coming from his laptop. The noise was not unknown, of course, but felt out of place at so late an hour.
Someone was FaceTiming him.
He looked at the number and his eyebrows rose in surprise.
Jack hesitated, one, two, three seconds before pushing the accept button on his laptop.
“Miss Fisher?” he greeted, half welcome, half question.
The brunette with the lovely smile, smiled tiredly. “Good evening, Inspector.”
“Is… are you ok? Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine,” she rushed to reassure him. “I’m just… I’m up.”
Jack opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “I can… see that.”
“I’m up and I just got your email,” she added. “So I figured you must be up too.”
Jack frowned. “It’s very late, Miss Fisher.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” She cocked her head to the side, and pulled her knees up to her chest and into the frame. “Which makes me wonder, Inspector: why are you always emailing me so late at night?”
“Night owl,” he told her, still a bit off balance.
“Perhaps….” She looked at him intently, her gaze penetrating even on the monitor. “Or perhaps you’re working on this case in your spare time.”
Jack sighed. “How did you know?” he asked, lacking the energy for even a token denial.
She shrugged. “The late night emails and evasiveness whenever I ask about timetables. The AFP being surprisingly hands off about the whole thing. And it’s only ever you and Hugh on our calls. There really should be a task force on this by now. Unless…”
“Unless the top brass isn’t taking this case seriously and only allowed me to work it on my own on the condition it didn’t affect my regular caseload.”
She gave him a wry smile. “You sound a bit like Cinderella.”
He chucked. “I do, don’t I?”
“So why do it?”
He paused, giving her question the consideration it deserved. “Because the top brass is wrong. I’ve been a cop long enough to trust my instincts, Miss Fisher, and my instincts are screaming that there’s something here. And if I’m the only one who can see that for now, if I have to work the case on my own because of it… so be it.”
She looked at him consideringly for a long moment. “Alright,” she finally said.
And there was that need to shift a little in his seat again.
“Alright what?” he asked, slightly nervous.
“I’m going to help you,” she told him.
He raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t been?”
“I’ve been helping the case,” she clarified. “Now I’m going to help you.”
Jack narrowed his eyes slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why does that worry me, Miss Fisher?”
She laughed. “Because you’re a smart man, Inspector. And you might as well call me Phryne — everyone else does.”
Jack shook his head and uncrossed his arms. “Very well, Phryne. And you can call me Jack.” He rolled his eyes. “Although hardly anyone else does.”
“Excellent. I’ll phone you tomorrow — we can game plan.”
Against his better judgement, Jack smiled. “I look forward to it, Phryne.”
“Goodnight, Jack.”
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Phryne ended the call but continued staring at her screen for a few minutes after.
Huh.
That was… curious. She hadn’t really considered the action before calling him tonight — if she had, she almost certainly wouldn't have done it - but now that it was over she realized how differently she’d expected it to go. He hadn’t been dismissive once. Or rude. Or scowly.
Perhaps they’d reached a detente.
Perhaps there was more to the dour detective than met the eye.
Or perhaps it was late and she should go to sleep.
Phryne sighed, retrieved her whisky and D.H. Lawrence from the side table, and headed to bed.
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After that first evening, Phryne called him several more times late at night to discuss the case. Details she didn’t necessarily want on the record, but that might help him with his investigation. He was always unflappably professional, even though he was clearly at home: she could see a bike in the corner, photos hung on the wall, a bookcase nearly groaning under the strain. The overall effect was oddly charming. They kept the calls as short as possible, but friendlier than their official conversations on the record during the day. Still, they were always about the case and always initiated by Phryne.
The first time he called her was a surprise.
Phryne had just booted up her laptop — she was getting home late but she’d needed to unwind and luckily this town had a decent nightlife — when she heard the unmistakable sound of the video call.
She answered immediately.
“Jack?”
“Hello Phryne. Sorry to… is it too late?”
“Not at all. What’s happened?”
“Nothing related to our case I’m afraid. But I wanted…” He took a breath, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself, but continuing on all the same. “You worked at Women's Choice Magazine for a while, didn’t you? It was in your files.”
Phryne frowned at the non-sequiteur. “I did. Quite early in my career, though. Why?”
He looked down, a sad sort of expression on his face. “I’m sorry to have to let you know — Marcella Lavender was killed in her office earlier this evening.”
Phryne sat down at her desk. “Oh no. What happened?”
“We don’t know too much yet. But I didn’t want you to… I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Phryne smiled sadly. “Thank you, Jack.”
“Of course.”
“And it was definitely murder?” she asked.
“It was,” he confirmed.
Phryne slumped a bit in her seat. “Damn. Marcella was a hard woman, but I can’t believe anyone would… do you have any suspects?” she asked.
On the screen, Jack shook his head. “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with a civilian, Phryne.”
“Consultant, Jack, we’ve been over this. And maybe I can help.”
“From halfway across the country?” he asked, skepticism writ large across his admittedly handsome face.
Phryne crossed her arms and set her jaw. “To catch Marcella’s killer, I’d help you from space.”
Jack stared at her for a long second, then sighed in reluctant acceptance and Phryne resisted the urge to smile triumphantly. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “Tell me what you know about her.”
When Phryne hung up an hour later, she stopped resisting the urge.
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When Jack hung up an hour later, he had five new suspects and a growing suspicion this was becoming a habit.
But they were good leads and he was a good cop and so he followed up on them.
And it turned out she was right.
Less than a week later he had the killer in custody with a full confession. When he texted her to let her know the news, she insisted they talk that night so she could get the details.
Jack FaceTimed her, as promised, at 10 in the evening.
She didn’t answer.
He rolled his eyes and opened up YouTube, watching a few videos while he waited. 25 minutes later, he heard her call him back.
He closed the window and accepted the call.
“Sorry, sorry!” she began without preamble, removing her coat as she sat down at her desk.
“If you're going to demand a denouement, Phryne, the least you can do is turn up on time.”
“I had a meeting that ran late, Jack.”
“Mmmm. So do you want to know what happened?”
“Honestly?” She grimaced and wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather start with a drink. It wasn’t a particularly good meeting and I could use something medicinal.” She rose and disappeared from view for a minute, returning quickly with a liberally filled tumbler. She moved to take a sip of the light brown liquid, then stopped. “Join me?” she asked, with a voice softer than her usual tones.
Jack opened his mouth, prepared to decline out of habit, but stopped. He wasn’t on the clock, he was at home, and they weren’t even discussing an active case. Why the hell not? He nodded and moved into his kitchen, pouring a finger of whisky into a glass before coming back to his laptop.
“To justice and old friends,” she toasted, just a little sadly.
“To nightcaps with new ones,” he replied, surprisingly not sad at all.