One

It was bad enough that Detective Inspector Richard Poole, late of the Metropolitan Police, Croydon Branch Homicide Division, had somehow allowed himself to be persuaded in being dragged to a beach for a 'bbq' and a swim with his colleagues of the Saint-Marie Police. Never mind having to change into a tight pair of brightly coloured 'board shorts' borrowed from Dwayne Myers, since Poole had (deliberately) neglected to either bring a pair back with him on his last foray to the UK, or purchase some in one of the many tourist shops of the town of Honoré, Saint-Marie island's capital.

Or having to again run across blisteringly hot sand with his pale white European body slathered in factor 50 sunscreen. This was the last thing he had wanted to do. He was under no illusions about his looks, pale, pale with more pale, a head of thinning hair and in his opinion, skinny legs. Richard was fit enough in the sense he did exercise but was not exactly the the best example of beach physique and fully expected at some point to have sand kicked in his face. However he was relieved at the reaction of his colleagues. Apart from a first brief stare they continued with their activities without comment or notice. But *he* noticed and was embarrassed, but decided to be brave none the less.

After all whether he cared to admit it or not Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey , Fidel Best – now also a sergeant - and police officer Dwayne Myers, who showed no ambition at all but was a very good 'street cop' all the same – had gradually turned from colleagues to friends over the 8 months Richard had been stationed in Honoré. The least he could do now was try his level best to be more sociable. Of course it went deeper in regards to one member of his team. The object of Richard's discomfort and desire - not that he would *EVER* admit to it and who had been the cause of a few sleepless nights none the less - had flown past him in to the sea, wearing the same micro-tiny bikini he had first seen her in when investigating his first case.

Richard had not taken too much notice of Camille in her bikini back then as he had been more intent in apprehending her as a suspect in the Charlie Hulme case. Now he could not fail but to notice her fine athletic long legged physique as she splashed in to the water and then smoothly dive under the waves. His relief on albeit gingerly entering the balmy waters, was not so much escaping the heat of the Sun but also in dampening another type of heat of which Richard was doing his best to ignore.

No, the worst bit was now, stuck naked behind a bush where he had nipped to change back into his clothes. This part of the beach was meant to be secluded, private, only the small group but no one had noticed or even considered there could have been others. He had left his bundle of clothes off to one side as he stripped off the very tight trunks and started to dry himself off. But a sudden movement had made him jump. Turning swiftly round to the direction of the noise, Poole let out a strangled cry as his clothes suddenly disappeared into the foliage. He dived towards the spot, yelling even louder as the more sensitive parts of his body connected to the prickly undergrowth that protruded up through the sand. He then heard more rustling, and on turning his head saw that Dwayne's board shorts had also disappeared. His yell had also been heard by the others and they had quickly rounded the bush to find their Chief lying face down, naked on the said prickly sand.

Richard heard a cough which made him lift up his head up, to be confronted with Fidel staring wide eyed stating down at him. Dwayne was also standing there open mouthed and Camille's (oh, God! He was naked in front of Camille!) eyes wide for a moment, then one eyebrow raising and a sly smile growing on her lips. When Richard glared back, all three then moved around to the other side of the bush in order to give their chief some sort of privacy.

"Some bloody idiot has stolen my clothes!" Poole's embarrassment was now giving way to sheer rage as he stood up, his face puce with anger.

"Chief, why not put my board shorts back on?"

"Because Dwayne, I am sorry to say, those have gone too!"

Dwayne groaned loudly. The board shorts had cost him a pretty penny on the internet from a California based company.

His thoughts were broken by Richard's increasingly loud rant.

"Well don't just stand there all of you! Help me find my clothes! My keys are in my jacket!"

Camille turned round, her arms folded for a moment then waving her hands round in a sweep, her head cocked and with a scowl.

"Ok then, where do you suggest we start?"

Richard could see what she had meant, as he noted the large expanse of green and dry sand that did not hold footprints. The fact did not go down too well as he also began to feel the sting of the sun on his back. The factor 50 was wearing off and he just knew he would be 'lobster' by supper. The horror of having his clothes stolen, the sheer embarrassment of being naked in front of his colleagues and now being microwaved by the hot Caribbean sun got a little too much for Poole. He sank back down on to the sand with a loud groan, his head in his hands.

As much as Camille felt sorry for Richard with what had happened, by the time they had got him back to the shack his non-stop ranting made her want to silence him with a big stick.

"..my lightest suit too! Of all the bloody cheek! And that part of the beach was supposed to be secluded! You all reassured me it would be safe! Well fine bloody lot of use that was…!"

Dwayne also had by now begun to lose patience "..eh Chief, don't forget my board shorts went too! Cost me fifty dollars, got them all the way from California.."

The bickering ceased as the car arrived at Richard's shack. Pulling up beside the building, Fidel was the first to state what had caused Richard to groan yet again.

"The side doors are open…."

Richard scrambled from the ancient Land Rover, difficult to do as he was also trying his level best to maintain what tiny shreds of dignity he had left with a gaudy beach towel, running up the steps on to the wrap around verandah and froze as he peered in. The place had been well and truly trashed. The wardrobe had been pulled over, the bed on its side, papers all over the place. Resisting the urge to barge right in, Poole took a step back as Fidel appeared beside him.

"Stop right where you all are!" he commanded, "this is now a crime scene!" before visibly sagging.

The front porch doors had been smashed, the side doors opposite had the windows broken yet the entrance where Poole was standing appeared to be undamaged. He reasoned that whoever had done this, must have used the keys, plus the fact the other doors had all been forced outwards.

Stepping back and turning to face his colleagues, Richard quietly asked "..can anyone loan me some clothes..?"