Chapter Text
Chapter 2
The sound of high-heels clattering rythmicaly echoed down the hallway of the Cowley Station House, blending in with the typing sound and the loud chatter of constables.
Miss Phryne Fisher, glamorous and elegant as ever in a pair of black high heels, a navy blue skirt suit, a purse and a white blouse, marched toward the back of the room with the confidence only She could muster. The Constables couldn't help, but turn their heads toward her, expressing their admiration in various degrees. There, in the last desk and backed by the old, big folders' cabinet, Morse was laser focused on a document, his blue eyes narrowed as he read. Golden sun rays passed through the window, making Morse's Ginger-coppery hair appear even lighter, high-lighting the golden streakes and roots.
The lady detective smiled, and when she arrived at his desk, She sat on the edge of it, one leg drapped over the other as She adjusted her skirt.
Miss Fisher: Hello, darling.
Morse( not looking up from his papers): Aren't You supposed to work?
Miss Fisher: As a private detective, I have the advantage to have a more free schedule...and more freedom.
Morse: More freedom to pester the others, actually.
Miss Fisher ( ruffling a curl from his hair): Why are You so grumpy, darling? You look like a kicked out hot English poet.
Morse( looking from his papers, deadpean): What do You want?
Miss Fisher ( playing innocent): Who says I want something ? Maybe I just dropped by to see You.
Morse: From what I know, You never come to someone unless You need Something.
Miss Fisher ( She places her hand next to his): Hm...maybe I came to see what hides beneath those crisp dress shirts ....
Morse( blushing slighlty, shifts uncomfortable): Just get to the subject, can't You?
Miss Fisher(rolling her eyes, taking a paper from her bra): Fine.You are no fun, sweetie.
Morse( leaning on his chair, arms crossed): Well? What do You need?
Miss Fisher: It's not necesarry about what I need, but about what others may need.
The Sergeant took the photo from her hands and took a better look. The photo was of a tall and well-built man, wearing an expensive navy suit with a black tie and white Button up shirt, Golden buttons gleaming from the cuffs, and black sleeked hair, looking every ounce of a rich and respectull man in his fourties.
Morse( looking confused, then titling his Head): And who do You Say is this man?
Miss Fisher leaned closer to Morse, her bows' tails brushing Morse's shirt sleeve.
Miss Fisher: Patrick Hatcher. He has a huge farm in Scotland and many properties across Wales, Scotland..
Morse: And Melbourne, I can Guess.
Miss Fisher: A woman needs what it needs, Morse. You can't stop a woman's needs, can you?
Morse: Don't deviate from subject.
Miss Fisher: Fine. Mr. Hatcher dissapeared two days ago from his vile at the outskirts of Wolverhamptom and his wife called me to find him.
Morse( turning the photo, looking at the Man): Why didn't She call the police?
Miss Fisher ( taking the photo from his hands and putting it back in the bra): Because She doesn't trust police.
Morse: And You Say his name is Patrick Hatcher?
Miss Fisher: Yes, darling. And I came at you because I can't access official reports and I need someone's help..
She trassed a finger down his shoulder to the arm, feeling the tense muscles from beneath, honed by years of training in ninjutsu and kenjutsu.
Miss Fisher:..someone who wants justice and isn't affraid to dive in some darker business..
She liked the texture of his dress shirt, the feeling of the heat coming from him... Morse gently took her hand and put it away from his shoulder, glaring at her.
Morse: Listen. I will help You, but stop playing your games. I'm not falling for You, Miss Fisher. For God's sake, You're ten years older then me.
Miss Fisher( sighs): Cameron was right when She said You're serious, disciplined and no-nonsense.
Morse( ignoring her comment): Anyway, I don't think your Patrick Hatcher is who he says he is.
Miss Fisher leaned closer, intrigued, her Green eyes sparkling with curiosity and a sane dose of mischief.
Miss Fisher: What do You mean?
Morse( leaning on his desk): I mean that the man You are looking for is the same person are we looking for: Bryan Garner. Two days ago, a woman named Melissa Fegley reported his dissapearence from their house in St Bernard's Road. Miss Fegley gave us his photo and told us he went missing after he left for work as a postman.
Miss Fisher: Isn't this interesting? A man with two lifes.
Morse didn't Hear her last comment as he opened his drawer and took out his laptop, placing it on the free space of his desk. He opened it fast and started typing on the keyboard like a pianist during a pianoforte song.
The Black haired woman got down from the desk and walked behind him, her skirt swishing as She moved, then leaned on the back of his chair.
Miss Fisher: What are You doing?
Morse( looking on the screen): I know it's not the most justified method. I use it only in emergency cases and told by DCI Thursday, but.. I feel like now it's one of those Times when hacking can help us solve the case.
Miss Fisher ( entartained): Oh, sweetie, I didn't know You have this side.
The sergent typed faster, the screen's blue light casting on his Slender fingers. It took him five minutes, but finally, he managed to acces the e-mails of the dissapeared man.
Morse: There it is. Our suspect has three e-mail adresses: Patrick Hatcher, Bryan Garner and ...John Dutton.( Quickly Reading the latest e-mails from the first two accounts). Nothing unusual here. Maybe we have better chances with the third one.
Shortly after he accesed the third account, both detectives were surprised by the fact that there were only 3 e-mails, all send by a single expeditor named ,, FC". Morse clicked on each of them, reading carefully the contents; but the third one was the most important.
( The third email message).
,,Go to Observatory Street, Jericho, to deliver the packet. You will be given further instructions."
Miss Fisher:..can You acces the ,,FC" account?
Morse( already trying): I can, but If I do it, they will be alarmed about my attempt to hack their e-mail account. And for this crime I can be arrested and go to jail.
The lady detective stood upright, adjusting her bow, while Morse closed his laptop and stood up, putting on his jacket and the trench-coat.
Miss Fisher( mischevious): Looks like You're ready for action, darling.
Morse( ready): Something isn't right with this case. I don't know why, but my instinct tells me that it's a darker and bigger stake then I initially thought..And we have to investigate.
The woman took out her car keys from her purse, dingling from her left index finger, suggesting the blond Man that She wants to drive. He sighed, and after a short round of arguing( mostly Morse arguing and Miss Fisher being the mischevious, playful lady She is), they agreed to go with her car , but Morse drove.
Miss Fisher: If You scratch my car's paint, You owe me a dinner; and a bottle of whiskey, of course( then She winked).
Morse rolled his eyes and revvived the engine, then started fast the Porsche.
To be continued....