Friday evening approached, and at Phryne’s insistence both she and Dot were wearing their new hats, with matching ensembles: Phryne in a maroon and crimson trouser suit, and Dot in her inevitable brown and beige. After an early dinner, they climbed into the Hispano-Suiza and motored along the well-trodden path to the cinema. The queue was long and colourful, and Dot looked askance at her employer. ‘Miss, are we going to wait in the line?’
Phryne grinned. ‘No, Dot. I think we should be fashionably late. After all, we know how the film starts, don’t we?’
‘Yes, Miss. It’s very strange to be seeing a film we saw them making.’
‘Indeed it is, Dot. I fancy the ice-cream parlour next door. What do you say?’
‘Yes, Miss.’
Inside the mock-Victorian ice-cream parlour, Phryne ordered a sorbet for herself and a chocolate ice-cream for her companion. Dot had no idea what Phryne was planning. Phryne had decided to keep it that way. Dot had no want of discretion, but she lacked the necessary sangfroid for the occasion. Explanations could come afterwards. Two tables away, Phryne saw Colleen O’Rourke holding court among a collection of boys, all of whom hung on her every word. The girl looked completely at ease, and was smartly dressed in a shortish skirt and blouse in contrasting blues. Phryne did her best not to listen in, and exchanged a look with Dot. They made the smallest of small talk in the intervals between shouts of laughter from the boys and Colleen, until the mass exodus began. They noticed the untidy-looking figure of Graeme Forbes hanging back from the other boys. He waited until last, gave Phryne a quizzical look, and walked outside. ‘Not yet, Dot,’ Phryne whispered, and followed the boy a good ten seconds later. As they stepped onto the footpath, Phryne whispered to her companion, ‘Dot, I may need to move around. Whatever you do, please don’t draw attention to me. It’s important!’
Dot nodded and closed her mouth tight, suspicion that her employer was Up to Something hardening towards certainty. The cinema queue had almost evaporated, and from the interior beyond the huge doors it appeared the newsreel had already begun. ‘Two shillings, Miss,’ said a uniformed girl behind the counter. She looked as excited as the patrons. The girl was remarkably pretty in a conventional way, with blonde hair, blue eyes and a small neat figure only partly disguised by her black, short-sleeved dress. Phryne handed her two florins and received her tickets.
They showed the tickets to an upright youth at the door, who gestured for them to pass inside.
‘Are the seats numbered?’ Dot enquired of him.
‘Not tonight, Miss. Sit anywhere you like. We’re only going to be two-thirds full.’
Within the darkened auditorium a flickering newsreel showed a bouncing kangaroo, whose antics seemed to produce ironic cheers. Phryne found a pair of seats near the door and motioned to Dot to join her there.
The newsreel wandered from marsupials to Sydney Harbour, where the bridge was still under construction, but the curving span was showing signs of looking pontifical. White letters across the bottom proclaimed the hope that the bridge would be open by 1931. ‘Fat chance!’ Phryne whispered.
In due time the scene changed to London, where a fiercely bearded King-Emperor was wrestling with a horse. The horse was temporarily getting the better of it, urged on by an obviously cheering crowd. The camera then zoomed in on the heir to the throne, a gormless-looking youth in a dark coat. He was smiling as if accepting the plaudits of the crowd.
‘What do you think, Dot?’ Phryne whispered. ‘He’s supposed to be very handsome.’
‘Looks like a bit of dill, Miss.’
‘Good for you, Dot. I don’t like him either. Prince Bertie would be a far better king, but I don’t suppose we’ll get him.’
Inevitably, a large flock of sheep then took centre stage from the royal family, and a series of mind-numbing statistics about wool were triumphantly announced. Dot’s attention wavered, and she noticed that Phryne was looking around her in the gloom. Dot sighed. She had her orders, and would obey them. She hoped Miss Phryne wasn’t going to do anything dangerous.
Finally, the newsreel wound down, and an unseen piece of machinery began to play some vigorous jazz music. There seemed to be some movement in the audience in front of them. Dot kept her eyes firmly ahead, but became aware that Phryne was watching carefully. The flickering screen now showed the familiar beach of Queenscliff, and enormous white letters proclaimed Benito’s Treasure. And there was Lily, standing on the beach in her white dress! In her excitement, Dot was only vaguely aware that Phryne had left her side.
Phryne, meanwhile, had found her quarry, who had moved to a seat next to Graeme Forbes, the young man clearly identifiable by his protruding ears. A stealthy hand was holding something, and there was no time to lose. She moved in front of the crouched figure and sat down in his lap, grabbing his left hand around the wrist. ‘Not so fast! I’ll take that, Mr McKenzie, unless you’d rather I broke your arm first.’ The man gasped, struggled for a moment and received Phryne’s right elbow onto his nose. ‘Play nice for me, you murdering louse, or I’ll hurt you even more.’
‘Shh!’ came an outraged whisper from behind.
Phryne removed the syringe from his fingers and stowed it in her handbag. ‘All right then,’ she hissed. ‘Tell me, purely for my own curiosity, why you murdered those innocent youths. Was it all about Annie?’
‘Beautiful Annie,’ the man breathed in her ear. ‘I wanted her pure and unstained. I just wanted to bask in the light of her perfect beauty. There was nothing improper in that.’
Phryne tightened her grip on his wrist. ‘All you wanted was to be kept in drink and idleness while the girls did all the work, and you were prepared to kill off Annie’s suitors to keep her under your roof. Because once she was married your business would lose its chief attraction, wouldn’t it? You loathsome little reptile!’
There was a sigh from the body jammed into the velvet cushion, and suddenly all the fight went out of the man. He subsided back into the chair, and Phryne removed herself from on top of him. ‘You’re coming along with me. Now.’
‘May I not stay and see the end of the fillum?’
‘Of course not! What do you think this is?’ Phryne dragged him out of his chair and frogmarched him towards the exit.
Outraged whispers followed them, as did the giant figure of Inspector Kelly. They emerged from the darkness into the light of the high street and blinked for a moment. It was all the respite McKenzie needed. He plunged his hand into his pocket, removed something, and thrust it into his mouth.
‘I won’t be hanged,’ he stated. ‘Cyanide in a capsule. It will take a wee minute to work, but there’s no stopping it now.’ He grinned at them: the proud grin of a man with nothing more to lose. He blinked at Kelly, who clapped handcuffs over his wrists. ‘How did you know it was myself? Three perfect murders! Who else can say as much?’
Kelly grunted. ‘If anyone thinks I’m going to stick my hand or anything else down your throat just to stop you dyin’ here and now, they can forget it. I might catch something and it won’t work anyway. Go on, Phryne. I’m listening.’
‘It was when we were playing cards.’ Phryne was watching the murderer carefully, but no symptoms had manifested themselves as yet. ‘A pleasant evening of bridge with the two girls. They all play well. But McKenzie here was altogether too good. In one hand, he pulled off a brilliant endplay which could never have been imagined by the drunken fool we all took him to be. Then, fearing he had given himself away, he proceeded to get drunk in earnest and started playing badly—so badly I should have realised at once. A man who could dream up that brilliant coup was nothing like what he seemed. And since I was looking for a criminal mastermind, and nobody else fit the bill, then I had him. Isn’t that right, McKenzie?’
The man grinned feebly at her. ‘What an artist dies in me,’ he murmured. Foam dribbled from his lips, and he fell onto the footpath like a sack of flour. His face suddenly contorted. ‘It’s not supposed to hurt!’ he screamed. ‘That�
��s not fair!’ The body writhed in agony for a second or two, then lay still. The face was a frightful rictus of infinite pain. Phryne felt that, contrary to the man’s last words, this was eminently fair.
Mick Kelly put a hand to the body’s neck, and nodded. He then proceeded to rifle through the corpse’s pockets, and grunted. His ham-like hand produced a sealed envelope, addressed to The Hon. Miss Phryne Fisher. ‘It’s for you. But I’m going to read over your shoulder.’
Phryne nodded, and slid her fingernail along the edge of the envelope. Inside were two foolscap pages, handwritten in an educated copperplate. And this is what she read:
My dear Miss Fisher,
It has indeed been a pleasure to match my intellect against that of the most famous sleuth in Melbourne. If you are reading this, you will have triumphed. I will find some solace in knowing that I gave you an excellent run for your money.
The world owed me, Miss Fisher. I was born poor. My parents hated me. Until I was twenty I had barely survived. Then I became a most accomplished sponger: just inoffensive enough to be tolerated, and never too importunate. But the war gave me my real chance, and I took it. I contrived, by the use of strategic malingering, not to be fed into the furnace which devoured so many. Unfortunately, I was wounded, though by no means as badly as I persuaded the world I was. And after? Then it was truly time for the world to pay me back for the privations I had endured.
I laughed at you when you thought Annie’s suitors were killing each other off. It was what I wanted you, and the world, to believe. So long as it was only our good town sergeant I had to fool, I was in clover and could lay my plans at leisure. Then you turned up, out of the blue. Was I going to stop, simply because the famed Miss Fisher was here? No. I matched my wits against yours and won. I killed those two boys right under your aristocratic nose.
You know about the boy I threw out a train window? Everyone said it was an accident. The truth was that a pretty girl waved at the train, and everyone turned to look at her. And I seized that stupid oaf and tipped him out on the opposite side. There were seven witnesses, and I fooled them all. I killed Mackay by McAlpine’s caber, and I put atropine in Hepburn’s drink. (Though why people leave their drinks unattended is more than I can tell.) I intend to kill that idiot Forbes tonight with an injection of strychnine. I expect I will get away with it, too. Murder in private is child’s play, quite unworthy of my talents. But murder under the noses of the multitude is a challenge worthy of a master.
Why did I do all this? You must have stumbled upon my secret, if you have at length beaten me. If I can’t have Annie, then nobody else shall either—especially not that muscle-bound fool McAlpine. Of late, I have begun to think Annie now prefers him above all others. I have a special fate already in store for him. If I perish, so also shall he, in a shower of ordure. It is no more than he deserves. Why should he have so much? Youth, good looks, immense strength, a winning disposition … I had nothing but my wits. It is fitting he should die, under circumstances of ultimate humiliation.
I have long pondered how I might talk Annie into yielding her wonderful body to me. I deserve no less! But while I still believe I might have sweet-talked her into it, Jessie would never allow it. I devised several means of doing away with Jessie, but the sad truth is that I need her too.
And I made elaborate plans to avail myself of the defence of insanity should I be captured and exposed. I have made a considerable study of mental impairment and had a workable scheme wherein I could be held, at a fair level of personal comfort, in perpetuity. It is not difficult to deceive doctors; they always want to think the best of their patients. You and I know better, of course.
But at the last minute I have rebelled. I do not care to live on, even in relative comfort, while Annie will inevitably go to another. For inevitable it is. Pitiless youth has little sympathy for age.
You may wonder why I did not kill her, and thus preserve her beauty unstained in memory? The thought did occur to me, many times. But Jessie watches her sister day and night with inexorable patience and vigilance. I do not fear you, Miss Fisher, but I fear Jessie exceedingly. Perhaps I should have killed her after all.
I should never have succumbed to the vanity of that magnificent endplay during our bridge night. But such a chance comes seldom, and it was too tempting to refuse. However, as the evening wore on I felt that I might have aroused your suspicions. If you are reading this, then that was my only mistake. I now depart, unconquered. The hangman shall not have me. You I salute, for you have conquered. But I have had my innings and revenged myself upon the young and beautiful who did nothing whatever to earn it. And none of the dead shall possess that superb body which I longed for daily and could not have. But I did gain her love. No one and nothing can take that away from me now.
Yours sincerely,
F.S. McKenzie
There was a sudden clamour of voices. Phryne whirled around. The first people she caught sight of were Kenneth McAlpine and Annie Tremain, who had followed them out of the cinema.
‘Annie!’ Phryne shouted. ‘Do not let Kenneth out of your sight, and do not allow him to go home until I return. Understood?’
Annie dimpled, and held both her hands tight around his mighty fist. ‘I won’t.’ She looked both shocked and happy.
Phryne looked around. ‘Dot? Where are you?’ Then she ground her teeth and turned to the inspector. ‘Damn! I told her not to move. Ah—Colleen!’
Colleen O’Rourke had also slipped out and looked up at Phryne with a face of alert enquiry. ‘What do you need, Miss Fisher?’
‘Colleen, please go back inside, find Dot, and sit with her. She is not to follow me. I will come back for her.’
‘All right, Miss. I can do that.’ With that, the admirable girl disappeared once more into the maw of the cinema. She turned back to find Mick Kelly giving instructions to a tall, dark-avised man she did not recognise.
‘Go and fetch Dr Henderson—or any other doctor you can find. And deal with this, will you?’ He turned to another bystander. ‘Put a cover over him, especially the face.’ Finally, he turned to face Phryne. ‘Where are we going now?’
She addressed the man beside Annie. ‘Kenneth, what is your address?’
‘I live on the main road, Miss,’ the giant answered. ‘Number four thirty-six, halfway to Sailor’s Falls.’
‘All right. Now stay right here and do not go anywhere. Annie? You understand?’
Annie gripped hold of Kenneth’s sleeve and held it tight. ‘No, Miss Fisher, I don’t. But we’ll do as you ask.’
‘Thank you. Inspector?’ Phryne said. ‘You’re coming with me. And nobody else is to approach anywhere near Mr McAlpine’s home. Is that clear?’
By now a reasonable crowd had assembled on the footpath and in the twilit street. She raked them all with a look, and a general sense of obedience seemed to be catching. Phryne nodded, and took Mick Kelly by the arm. ‘Come on. We’ll go in my car and with any luck we won’t get ourselves blown up.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring sects confute:
The subtle Alchemist that in a trice
Life’s leaden Metal into Gold transmute.
Edward Fitzgerald,
The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám of Naishápúr
The Hispano-Suiza tore around the main street and down the hill. If Inspector Kelly was outraged by such flagrant disregard for speed limits, he gave no sign of it. Within minutes they had pulled up outside a small, prosperous-looking farm. It was no more than four acres, but the grass was well-tended, the house newly painted and the horse in the back paddock looked abundantly fed and glossy. Phryne switched the motor off and gave her companion a smile. ‘I’m sorry, Mick. I only wanted to get here before anybody else did. And preferably while there’s still some twilight to see by. Now, I think we’re looking at a booby-trap. What do you think?’
‘Yeah. I reckon. So what, if anything, is you
r plan, Phryne?’
She grimaced. ‘Well, normally we’d send for the army, wouldn’t we? Except that I have no idea where the nearest base might be, nor if they’ve got any bomb disposal experts even if we went there. Bombs aren’t as prevalent as they used to be. And so …’
He grunted, ill at ease. ‘And so you’re intending to go in, find it and disarm it. Is that your bright idea?’
‘Unless you have an alternative plan to suggest, Mick?’
‘Yeah, I do. Have I mentioned I did some bomb disposal during the war?’
Phryne patted his arm encouragingly. ‘So does this mean you’re volunteering?’
‘If I tell you to stay in the car, you’re not gonna take orders from me, are ya?’
‘I might, Mick. But don’t you think it’s safer to have some backup?’
‘All right. If we’re gonna do something utterly stupid, then let’s do it together. What we’ll do is this. One room at a time, slowly and carefully. And if you see anythin’ you don’t like the look of, then you get the hell outta there and come and tell me about it.’
‘Right-o.’
They alighted from the car and examined the front gate. It did not appear to be attached to anything except the wire fence. They proceeded through it, closed it behind them, and approached the front verandah. There was a ginger cat asleep on it. He looked up for a moment, then went straight back to sleep. Phryne bent down and examined the ground beneath the wooden floor. ‘Mick, I really can’t see anything here. And he wouldn’t booby-trap the front entrance, would he?’
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