Locked Room
By robspace54
This is a work of fan-fiction, meaning that I do not claim any ownership or in any way mean to impugn the rights of the property owners or assigns. "Death in Paradise" is produced by an entire zoo (7 in all) of companies and if you want to know their names – look them up!
I don't like boats; not canoes, or punts, simple rowboats, inflated rafts or car ferries or cruise liners. But this – this twenty foot speedboat bucketing along from wave crest to wave crest bouncing teeth loose from my jaws – had to be the worst. I turned my head to see Dwayne at the tiller half laughing, pushing the throttle forward even more to make the thing accelerate.
"Richard? Isn't this fun?" shouted Camille Bordey over the scream of the motor.
"No," I gulped, trying to keep my breakfast down. I tugged the life vest straps until they were as tight as I could bear. I looked up at Camille who was standing next to me, her long and bare legs braced against the leaps and jolts of the boat, knees slightly bent riding the watercraft like a bucking horse.
Horses - another thing I didn't like. "How can you stand this… this… pounding?" A spray of spume came over the bows and I ducked, but got my suit dashed with saltwater anyway. Of course I was the only one wearing a life vest, but no matter. If Camille or Dwayne fell overboard they could sink or swim as far as I was concerned, as they likely planned this special torture just for me.
Camille dropped down next to me on the bare seat, perched there totally unconcerned while Officer Myers hooted and hollered behind us. "Richard, almost everyone on the island has a boat. Some even claim to have been born in one," her dark eyes flicked away then back while she grinned at me mischievously, "or conceived in another. And you look white as a sheet."
Breakfast was rapidly starting to go the wrong way, making me wish the sausages had been refused that morning. I clamped my mouth tightly, and breathed deeply through my nose, trying to think of the calming voice of Fiona Bruce on Antiques Roadshow. 'Now these are really exquisite vases, wherever did you find them?' she was asking in my mind, while the eggs and the fruit of today's first meal were tickling the base of my tongue.
Another plunge made the boat take more water over the bow as Camille laughed. "Isn't this fun?" She wiped water off her bare arms as I tried not to sneer at her multicolored outfit of flower print blouse, denim shorts, which were very brief and tight, and flip-flops. She often wore the briefest of outfits and though I'd tried to be diplomatic about her attire, I was duty bound not to make any criticism seem sexist. Given that most of the island paraded around in a lot less she could be considered overdressed.
I glared at her. "Detective Sergeant," I managed to yell in her direction, "this isn't fun! It's work. We're going to a murder investigation. Quit acting like it's a party outing."
She rolled her eyes. "Spoilsport." She muttered something else in heavily accented French, and I knew better than to inquire her meaning.
We rounded a headland and a small dock and curved beach came into view, just as Dwayne cut the throttle. The boat glided up to the white dock, obviously freshly painted, where Fidel Best, our young tech expert, stood with a grim look to his smooth face.
Camille threw Fidel a rope at the bow and he smartly damped our remaining momentum snub ing the rope on a davit.
Fidel looked down at me, "DI Poole," he said gravely, "it's…" he gulped.
"Come on spit it out, and help me up," I said as he pulled me onto the dock. Dwayne followed Camille and I had to fall to one knee as I caught my breath after the hellish boat ride. "Don't suppose I could have another pilot when we go back?"
Dwayne clapped me on the back and peeled the life vest from my sweating frame. "No Chief. I'm the best for you," he smiled showing a galaxy of white teeth. "Fidel likes to go faster than me and Camille, well…" he smiled even more, "she burns motors up left and right."
Camille laughed at the gibe. "I like it fast," she purred.
"Fine," I sighed. "So Fidel, what have we got?"
He shook his head. "Two… I think…" and stopping, bent forward at the waist and vomited into the sea.