The Castlemaine Murders by Kerry Greenwood Page B

stockings did not go together. Someone else approached.
    ‘Here you bloody are!’ exclaimed the woman. ‘Never a bloody copper around when you bloody need one! You want to bloody do something about this! Some fucking bastard just ran this lady down.’
    ‘Name?’ asked an official voice.
    ‘Dot Williams,’ said Dot. Her vision was blurry. All she could see was blue serge and buttons. The space above the buttons gave a gasp.
    ‘Miss Williams? You’re Hugh Collins’ intended, aren’t you? There’s going to be hell to pay over this. Mabel, did you see it?’
    ‘I bloody did,’ declared Mabel. ‘He come off the road there, just at the corner, and came bloody roaring down here as though there was no next bloody Wednesday. And I’ll tell you another thing for free. He was bloody aiming at her.’
    ‘You sure?’ The policeman sounded sceptical. The arm around Dot stiffened.
    ‘Of course I’m bloody sure. I got his number, if that helps the constabulary in their bloody enquiries.’
    ‘You got his number, Mabel? Good girl. What was it?’
    ‘MW 471. Saw it clear as bloody day. Now if you’re quite bloody finished, I gotta get this lady home before she bloody expires on the pavement. If you don’t bloody mind.’
    ‘Can you walk, Miss Williams?’ Dot could see the policeman now. He was a young man with a concerned, grave face. ‘I can call for a car but it’ll take a while.’
    ‘I’m nearly home,’ said Dot. ‘If Miss Mabel would come with me, I can walk that far.’
    ‘I can bloody do that,’ said Mabel. ‘Come on, love. One foot in front of the other.’
    Mr Butler received his third shock of the day when Dot limped up to the front door, leaning on the arm of a lady of the night and accompanied by a policeman. Phryne and Eliza jumped up when they came in. Dot was as white as her dowry bed-linen and Phryne was horrified.
    ‘Sit down, Dot dear, ask for anything you want. Tea for Dot, Mr Butler, and stiff drinks all round. Do sit down, Constable. Hello, I’m Phryne Fisher, nice to meet you.’
    Mabel, already uneasy in this elegant parlour, took Phryne’s hand gingerly.
    ‘Well, I’ll be off, love,’ she said to Dot.
    ‘No, do stay. Have a drink and tell us what happened. What’s your fancy?’ asked Phryne. She grinned at Mabel and Mabel suddenly felt better.
    ‘Gin and orange, dear, if you’re having one. Well, it was bloody awful,’ began Mabel. ‘I come from the Town Hall where Carmel the Comm, I mean, Miss Shute, gimme a lecture on how the workers’ revolution would triumph, two bob and a food voucher. Then . . .’
    Phryne listened carefully. The constable made notes. By the time she had absorbed two stiff gins, Mabel had lost her fear. While Phryne turned her attention to Dot, Mabel found herself talking about her life to Eliza, the other lady, who seemed sympathetic and was so good a listener that Mabel forgot she was in a lady’s parlour and talked as she would to her girlfriends.
    Phryne gave Dot a swift physical once-over, took off her stocking and bathed her skinned knee and sat down beside her.
    ‘Try to drink all that tea, Dot dear, you’ve had a shock,’ she urged.
    ‘I can see it when I close my eyes,’ said Dot, proud that her voice did not tremble. ‘The bike getting closer and closer, the wind of it as it passed.’
    ‘Yes, the thing to do is let it run, like a ciné film. After a while it will slow down and then it will stop and go away forever. But if you resist and order your mind to forget it, the sight will lodge in the back of your head and give you nightmares. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. Now drink up,’ urged Phryne.
    ‘There’s brandy in this tea,’ protested Dot.
    ‘There certainly is, and as soon as you finish it you are going to bathe and lie down until you feel better. And when I lay hands on the bastard who did this, I am going to make him really wish that he hadn’t.’
    Dot drank the tea. The immediate effect of brandy in