Not beta-read. All mistakes are mine. Mea Culpa.

They end up following Dwayne and Fidel around for a while. Richard tells her that's what he's been doing all along. This, Camille things, explains a lot of things suddenly. Clues that weren't there before, pointers that suddenly became clear when they were on a case...

"You're still solving crimes," she observes, making him roll his eyes in a way that's more reminiscent of her.

"You always were an astute observer," he remarks dryly, at which points she shows him Camille Borday is still the mistress of eyerolls.

Impressive at that.

"I'm going to hit you if you keep that up. No, I mean... Maybe that's what we're supposed to do? It's not as if the retired DI's they keep sending to St. Marie are any help at all."

Richard ponders this for a moment. Then makes it clear his train of thought, as always, isn't following hers by asking, "Can one ghost hit another?"

Camille eagerly tests this theory by hitting him the arm. Hard. Gleefully and with a glare. "Richard!"

He sulks at her, rubbing his arm. He should have known that it would, since he can /still/ feel the bloody heat! At least he wont have to worry about dying of a heatstroke anymore. Hah.

"Alright! Alright! Let's just... refrain from getting physical, please." He doesn't notice the look she gives him at that as he ponders her theory. "So you think we're still here to... what? Solve crimes?"

Camille shrugs. "Could be worse? I guess." She doesn't know how much worse... No, that's a lie. She does know how much worse. It could really, really be worse. Like Hell worse.

Richard takes a deep unneeded breath. Camille has a point, it could be worse. He's never really been a religious man. His experience with the nun's has him turning away from his parent's... faith. And he certainly didn't think much of this voodoo nonsense.

In fact, Richard Poole thought that when one died, there would be nothing. Boy, was he wrong. But, he thinks, he could have ended up in Hell. He knows he's not an easy man and he's done some things he's not proud of. He's only human after all.

Hell, for him, probably would have ended up with him back in Croydon, with all his deceased colleagues, taunting, mocking and excluding him every chance they got. Things could definitely be worse than being stuck in Paradise after Death.

The irony of it all doesn't escape him.

"Right! Then we had better start on our very first crime. Because as I told you, the one they are arresting for your murder? Didn't do it."

Camille's eyes go wide, lips parting a few times before she stammer uncharacteristically, "Okay."

A wince ripples over Richard's face as he once gain realized his foot in mouth habit. Just because he ran around solving his /own/ murder, doesn't mean everyone else does. Even though this was pretty clear, despite the fact that there were no witnesses.

"I uh... Sorry. I didn't think..." He shrugs, pulling out his handkerchief, - and he marvels at the fact that no matter what, he can always pull a freshly folded, pristine handkerchief from his pocket – to dab his face. "It's the heat."

Camille shrugs. "It's okay, I want to know what happened, because I can only vaguely remember that. So..." She pushes her fingers in the pockets of her jeans and looks at him hopeful. "Let's get to work?"

A firm nod as he reaches for his, even in death present attaché case. "Yes, let's get to work." He shimmers out of sight, leaving a blinking and gaping Camille behind.

"Richard!" How did he do that? Could she do that? Ugh! She had so much to learn... and the only teacher she had was... Her old... new? Boss. Richard Poole.

Things... could be worse. A lot worse.