Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

by Kerry Greenwood

  The heads nodded in a row. Bert and Cec went to reclaim their cab. A sudden thought struck Bert. He came back.

  ‘What did you want to do to that cat?’ he asked. Jim looked up from the old envelope on which he was taking orders for lollies.

  He told Bert what they wanted with the cat. Bert roared with laughter.

  ‘You’re supposed to wait until they’re dead!’ The children blushed.

  Seconds before the last of Phryne’s sinews gave out, the car arrived at its destination. It stopped in a dark spot under the gum trees. Phryne untied herself and fell backwards onto the road, before the roar of the engine died. Ann and Sidney got out of the car without noticing her, and walked into the house.

  Phryne was bruised all over, and her hands and feet were cramped and pinched. For a minute she lay still, unable to move, then gently she flexed and stretched until she was able to get to her feet.

  There was still plenty of paint in the bladder. Lavishly, she traced a big cross on the road. The plane flew over and dipped both wings in salute.

  Success. Phryne shook her shoulders and the folds of her jacket fell into place, loaded with equipment. She drew a line to the front gate of the house, and crept around it like a Red Indian tracking a particular scalp. The only light she could see came from the back of the house. She guessed it was the kitchen.

  Sidney opened the front door with his key and took the gun out of his pocket. Ann was behind him, soft-footed. The house was silent. Just three shots, thought Sidney, and I’m home and dried.

  The kitchen door creaked and woke Mike. It also woke Candida who was lying curled up against his back, her thumb in her mouth and the singlet doll clutched to her chest.

  As Sid crept in, Mike said contemptuously, ‘I thought you’d try that. Put it down, you murdering swine.’

  ‘You were right,’ agreed Sidney. ‘In a few moments the whole five thou. will be mine.’

  ‘You double-crossing bastard,’ spat Ann, standing in the doorway. ‘You promised you’d take me, too.’

  Mike shifted his concentration from Sidney, to his wife, then lunged at her. But he was too late. Sidney had turned as she spoke and fired at point-blank range into her heart. She fell, and instead of strangling his wife Mike was now cradling her lifeless body in his arms. Sid swung round to take wavering aim at Candida. She shrieked, Mike dropped his wife and dived across the kitchen, shattering the back door with his shoulder. He pushed Candida out into the night. ‘Run!’ he yelled. ‘I’ll deal with this bastard.’

  Sid fired. The bullet scraped along Mike’s arm and buried itself into the mistreated door. Then Mike had hold of the gun hand. Sidney was the smaller and weaker, but he was a tough street fighter. Mike could not get him down.

  ‘Excuse me,’ came a clipped voice from the back doorstep. ‘Could you possibly hold up the gun hand?’

  It was an indescribably dirty young woman. Her face was streaked with blood and mud, and her features could not be told, but she had a steady hand and held a pearl-handled revolver with it. Mike gaped briefly, then hauled the gun wrist up until Sid was nearly clear of the ground.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Phryne coolly, and placed a neat hole in Sid’s wrist. He dropped the gun. Mike knelt on him and tied him up with the length of rope that the surprising young woman produced.

  ‘I really should tie you up, too,’ she commented. ‘Except that I saw you rescue Candida. We’d better go and find her.’

  ‘I told her to run,’ frowned Mike, kicking Sidney in the ribs as an aid to meditation. ‘She might not have stopped yet.’

  ‘I’ve got a lure that will bring her back,’ smiled Phryne, and produced the teddy bear from the sling.

  ‘Is that Bear?’ asked Mike. ‘That’s good.’ He was contemplating his wife’s body.

  ‘I gather she gave you a hard time,’ said Phryne.

  ‘It was my own fault,’ said Mike ruefully. ‘Candida!’ he called. ‘The lady has brought Bear.’

  A small voice spoke from somewhere close. ‘I don’t believe you. Put him on the step.’

  Phryne placed Bear reverently on the step and a rustling was heard in the bushes. A small dirty hand shot out, seized Bear by the leg and dragged him off the step. There was silence. Phryne began to be rather worried.

  ‘Candida? Daddy and Mummy are on their way. They will be here soon. Come inside and er, no, don’t come inside. Go out to the car and I’ll meet you there.’ Phryne heard a faint, relieved sobbing, muffled in teddy bear fur.

  ‘Oh, Bear, I knew you’d come. And now Daddy is coming and Mummy is coming and my lollies are coming and the nasty man is caught and the nasty lady is dead.’

  Phryne went back into the kitchen. Candida was fine where she was.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked the big man.

  ‘Mike. Mike Herbert. I didn’t want to be in this, but I had to support my wife.’

  ‘Did you? Why?’

  ‘She liked pretty things and I couldn’t afford to buy them — I lost my job, the factory closed down. I’m a carpenter. She borrowed some money off. . a certain person. . and then she couldn’t pay it back, and I couldn’t either, so. . the certain person was going to send the boys around, and. .’

  ‘Break both her legs, eh? Let’s have a look at her. Where did she fall?’

  ‘In the bathroom. I think that she’s dead. Poor Ann. She should have been born rich.’

  Phryne bent over the body, supine on the oilcloth. She felt for a heartbeat in the cooling breast, and found none. The flesh was clammy and limp against her palm. She stood up and wiped her hands on her trousers.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Mike. ‘She can’t have felt anything, you know, the bullet drilled her heart.’

  Mike knelt, drew his wife’s skirt down until it covered her knees, and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  ‘Goodbye, Annie,’ Phryne heard him say as she tactfully withdrew. ‘I would have done anything to make you happy, but it never worked. You shouldn’t have got involved with me. I can’t even bury you properly.’

  After about ten minutes, Mike came back to the kitchen, where Phryne was bandaging Sid’s wrist lest he bleed to an untimely death. He whimpered as she handled him and she observed with pleasure that her aim had been perfect. The hole was in the exact middle of the wrist and had not even chipped a bone. The tendons were, as she had purposed, cut neatly though. He would not use that hand to molest any more children.

  Mike came into the kitchen and took Phryne by the shoulder, turning her carefully towards him. ‘I never meant to hurt the little girl,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Well, she doesn’t need you any longer,’ commented Phryne. ‘So now we must decide what to do. I think that I shall cast you as heroic rescuer. I think I’d better bind up your arm and give you some money. Then you can have a wash and a shave, go home to dear Mrs O’Brien, and report your car stolen. You thought your wife had it, but she’s not come back, and you’re afraid that something has happened to her. Did you write the note?’

  ‘No,’ said Mike through lips numb with astonishment.

  ‘Good. Now let’s wash this wound. It’s little more than a scratch, just keep it dry. I’ll take off this disgusting hat and find my face.’

  Phryne put her head under the cold-water tap and scrubbed vigorously. She emerged as a young woman of some distinction with a bleeding cut over one eye. Phryne dabbed at it with her handkerchief.

  ‘You need a bit of sticky plaster,’ offered Mike. He found some in the cupboard and applied it neatly. Phryne washed her face again. She was aching all over.

  ‘Henry, I’ll try to give you as much altitude as I can, but I think this is a silly idea,’ yelled Bunji as she hauled the plane into another turn. ‘You can’t even see the ground. The moon’s down.’

  ‘I can see that dirty great cross that Phryne’s drawn on that road and I’m going to come down right in the middle of it,’ said Henry confidently. ‘There’s no wind. If I haul in the slacks I should drop right on their heads
.’

  ‘Oh, all right, old chum, far be it from me to stop a friend anxious to break his neck. Careful as you go over, don’t catch anything on the wing. Merde !’ yelled Bunji. ‘Now!’

  She had judged it nicely. The man’s body fell out of vision. A pale flower blossomed, cutting off her sight of the luminous cross. Right on target. Bunji drank another mouthful of the luke-warm coffee and looked for a place to set down.

  Candida, who occasionally did as she was told, had taken Bear out to the road and was sitting quietly on the running board of the Bentley. She looked at the road. It was glowing.

  ‘They must have awful big snails here, Bear, to leave a trail like that. Big enough to ride on. Perhaps we can catch one and ride home.’ She yawned. It had been an exciting evening.

  Dropping out of the sky into the centre of the snail tracks came a man clad all in leather. Candida froze. He cursed a bit as he loosened the parachute cords, and Candida and Bear edged closer. The voice was familiar. Then the man tore off his flying helmet and she saw his face in the lights that were now streaming from the house.

  ‘Daddy!’ shrieked Candida, and flew to him, scaling his body and settling back into his embrace. She held him as tight as a limpet for five minutes as he stroked her hair, then she looked up.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked severely. ‘Why did you let those people steal me?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I met murder on the way

  P.B. Shelley The Mask of Anarchy

  Phryne found a bottle of rum and two glasses, and lit her first gasper in hours. She leaned back on the draining board and smoked luxuriously.

  ‘You’d better hit the road, Mike. Don’t forget to report the car stolen.’

  Mike, dressed in a clean shirt and combed and shaved, looked like a respectable working man. Phryne peeled off a hundred pounds from her wad of notes.

  ‘This should take care of you for a while. I’ll look after Candida. Her family will be arriving soon.’

  Mike knocked back the rum and pointed at the bundle, which was Sid, on the floor.

  ‘What about him? He’ll sing like a canary.’

  ‘I’ll take care of him,’ said Phryne quietly. Sidney, hearing her, winced.

  ‘Don’t look back,’ she advised Mike. ‘Keep going. There’s the right woman, and children, waiting for you yet. If you need any help with a job, come to me.’ She tucked her card into his pocket with the money, and let him out the front door.

  They were both arrested by the sight of what appeared to be an angel, fallen from the sky. He stood tall and shapely, draped in his billowing wings. Candida and Bear were in his arms.

  ‘Mike,’ squealed Candida. ‘Daddy’s come.’

  Mike walked over to her and took her hand.

  ‘Well, everything’s worked out then. I’ve got to go, Candida. I’ve come to say goodbye.’

  Candida, who always associated goodbyes with kisses, turned her cheek. Mike bent and kissed her. Then he took Henry Maldon’s hand and shook it firmly. He turned away and walked into the night.

  ‘Mike!’ cried Candida, ‘you’ll get lost in the dark.’ But his step did not falter.

  Phryne walked over to Henry. ‘I think you’d better get off the highway, dear man, or you’ll be run over by the rescuers. Excuse me for a moment.’

  Phryne went back into the kitchen and propped Sid up against a cabinet. ‘I want to talk to you,’ said Phryne. ‘What will you take for keeping your mouth shut?’

  ‘Why should I? I’ll swing as soon as the cops lay their hands on me.’

  ‘Yes, you will. But I might be able to gratify any last wish.’ Her voice contained a hint of perversion.

  Sidney licked his lips. ‘Can you smuggle me a girl before I go to the gallows?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Phryne.

  Sid wriggled. ‘I mean my sort of girl. A child.’

  ‘Perhaps. How old?’

  ‘Twelve at the most.’

  Phryne thought of her friend Klara, a lesbian who got a great kick from getting money out of men. Especially men like Sid. She dressed in a gym slip and looked almost prepubescent. The child-molesters who constituted most of her clientele fuelled her loathing, and it would not be the first time her little-girl’s body had been purchased by one who was about to die.

  From her extensive knowledge of the underworld Phryne knew that it was no great matter to smuggle anything into a prison. All that was needed were a few timely words and more than a few coins of the realm. She recalled that the orgy which preceded the death of the Carlton murderer Jackson had been described to her in great detail by the prison guard who let the three girls in, disguised as prisoners. He said he had stayed to ‘supervise’ and fend off any inquiries. What had been his name? Briggs, that was it, a Northern Irishman of flexible morality and an ever-open palm. He volunteered for the duty which the other warders avoided; sitting up with the man to be hanged on the morrow. Stranger things than Klara had been taken into Pentridge for the comfort of those about to die, though the strangest was probably a bushranger’s horse. He had wanted to say farewell to it in person.

  ‘I think I can manage that, yes,’ she agreed.

  ‘In the death cell?’ bargained Sidney. Phryne wondered how long he had been in love with death. Perhaps the desired culmination of his whole career would be his judicial execution at the hands of stronger men. She poured out some rum and helped him drink it. Sidney, dispossessed of his gun, was a pathetic creature.

  Ann was less pathetic because she was so very dead. Phryne stood over the corpse and looked down on her. The expression of surprise had faded. She looked now as if she was asleep. The thirsty spirit had gone, presumably back to its maker. Phryne collected up the few personal belongings that pointed to a second man having been present and stuffed them in her pockets. Then she went to sit on the front step and wait for the car. She was aching and bruised and tired out but pleased with the night’s work.

  Phryne offered Henry a cigarette and lit her own. Candida and Bear were wrapped up in the parachute. They were awake, but warm. The lights of the big car approached. Tree trunks sprang into visibility.

  ‘Here they are at last,’ said Phryne. ‘I’d kill for a cup of tea. Look, Henry, it’s picanninny daylight. The sun will be up in an hour.’

  The car drew up, and disgorged Dot, Molly, Jack Leonard and Bunji. They saw two bedraggled figures sitting on the front step of the small house. They were smoking. Next to them was a bundle of white silk, in which one could see a straggling head of pale hair and a bear.

  ‘Is it all right, Miss?’ asked Dot, breaking the silence. Molly flew to Candida, who embraced her frantically.

  ‘Daddy came down out of the sky and the lady brought Bear so I knew that it was all right,’ she informed Molly. Then she wriggled down and laid herself out across Molly’s knees.

  ‘What are you doing, Candida Alice?’ asked Molly fondly.

  ‘I want my spanking, and then I want my lollies!’ said Candida.

  Molly laughed, sobbed, and delivered five moderate slaps. Candida sat up and Dot put her bag of lollies into her hands. The child checked through them carefully. The whole threepence worth was there, even if somewhat muddy. Candida filled her mouth with mint leaves and began to cry.

  They all piled into the car as the sun was rising and took the road for the town. Phryne laughed aloud at the sight of them, all dusty and streaked, and reflected she must be the most bedraggled of them all.

  ‘What’s the best hotel in Queenscliff?’ she called to Molly.

  Molly could not reply because she had unwisely accepted Candida’s offer of a toffee and her teeth were glued together.

  Henry said, ‘The Queenscliff Hotel is the best, but we can’t go there looking like this.’

  ‘Yes we can,’ said Phryne flatly. ‘You should have seen the state in which we once entered the Windsor. I’m positively overdressed by comparison.’

  Dot remembered it well. Phryne looked a lot more respect
able in her present attire.

  They drew up outside the Queenscliff Hotel and climbed the stone steps wearily. There, Phryne’s money, charm and air of authority obtained three rooms, one with a bath, and breakfast as soon as it should be laid. Phryne saw that her guests were settled in front of a hastily lit fire in the drawing-room, then sent a boy out for a roll of brown paper and some string. She wrapped Sid in the paper, using knots taught to her by a young sailor she had loved briefly during the Great War. By the time she had finished, only Sid’s head was free. With the help of the hotel porter, she then carried Sid to the police station and deposited him on the counter.

  The desk-sergeant looked up, blinked, and dropped his pen.

  ‘What’s all this about, Miss?’

  Phryne sank wearily into a chair and pointed at the uncomfortable felon.

  ‘Read the label,’ she said.

  The desk-sergeant called for a constable and walked around into the room. He surveyed Sid carefully and read the label aloud.

  ‘“For Detective-inspector Jack Robinson, Russell Street, Melbourne. A present from Phryne Fisher.” Aha, we had a message about you, Miss Fisher. They telephoned from Geelong. Every cooperation, they said. You are a respected person, evidently.’

  Phryne smiled faintly.

  ‘His name is Sidney Brayshaw, and you’ve been looking for him for some time, I believe. You’d better get a doctor fairly soon, because I had a little trouble picking him up and he got damaged. Detective-inspector Robinson is going to be furious if you let him bleed to death.’

  The sergeant ripped off the paper and led Sidney away. As Sidney was leaving the room, he broke the silence he had maintained throughout his humiliation and called to Phryne, ‘You better not forget, lady. Remember — I’m not dead yet.’

  ‘You look like you could do with a doctor, too,’ suggested the young constable. ‘You seem to have taken a bit of a battering. I’ll just give the local man a call, shall I?’

  ‘Yes indeed, if you want Sidney to live to hang. He is undoubtedly the most unpleasant person I have ever met in my whole life. How I would love to squeeze the life out of the little rat. Have you heard of him, Constable. .’