*Here is collaboration between Isainparadise and Sweepeaspatch that started out as an off-hand comment and grew into something else. I have to say it was a lot of fun meshing our styles and hammering out the details. I also have to say that Isa is grace itself when dealing with a stubborn partner. I thought the story-line was complete until Isa added a lovely twist that made all the difference. Thanks, Isa, for being so patient. Let's do it again! haha, S/P*
The Foul Murder of Richard Poole
Part 1 of 6
Camille wakes up in her little apartment and stares up at the ceiling for long moments and puzzles over something that makes no sense before realizing what's wrong. The ceiling; the ceiling is the wrong colour. Her bedroom ceiling is a soothing blue. This ceiling is pale green.
If the ceiling is green that means I'm in the living room. She sits up and a bomb goes off in her head! "OW" she cries, a hand flying to her right temple where fingertips find a big bump, swollen and tender, and a dry scrim of crusty blood.
She totters upright and staggers into the kitchen where she drinks right from the tap like a neglected dog then shuffles up the stairs to her room. Her bed has not been slept in. She stares down at herself. Her clothes are soiled and wrinkled and from yesterday.
She frowns. She spent the night on the sofa but she doesn't know why. She tries to think, making her head hurt all the more, but comes up empty. Nope. Nothing. She has no memory of last night at all and for some odd reason this upsets her quite a bit! Like there's something wonderful that she SHOULD remember… but can't.
She sniffs. I need a shower! Bad! She strips and spends long moments examining her temple in the mirror. Oh, yeah, that's gonna leave a mark! She hunts down a pot of skin-toned concealer. This isn't the first time she's had to hide bruises. As she steps into the shower, she tries again to remember something – anything – about last night. Again, no luck.
She shrugs. Oh, well, I'm sure someone will help me out. The last thing I DO remember is leaving the station and heading for La Kaz. After that… nothing. If Dwayne and Fidel can't jog my memory, there's always Maman!
She showers, plaits her hair, dresses, and hunts for her shoes. They're not by the front door, not in the living room, not in the kitchen, not anywhere! Finally, she digs out her next favorite pair because she's going to be late if she wastes any more time. Slurping down a hasty mug of instant coffee, she hurries out the front door, locking it behind.
She waves to Jim, her next door neighbour, where he prunes his beloved china roses in the tiny front garden they share. "Morning, Jim, the roses look perfect today!"
"Thanks, Miss Bordey," he calls back. "You got in awful late last night. How's the head?"
She fakes a smile, "Thumping, have to hurry, late for work. See you later."
The old man waves a gloved hand and she rushes off hoping like hell the two old biddies across the road, aka 'The Snoops', didn't hear any of that. They already think I'm a man-crazy floozy with the discretion of a she-badger (or do I mean a she-mink?) so adding 'drunkard' to my list of sins wouldn't be much of a stretch. Thankfully neither of the lace curtains across the way twitches. Thank goodness for small mercies, she thinks and hurries away.
She gets to the station and rushes up the steps, dreading the disappointed green eyes that await her. He expects punctuality from his officers if nothing else and she really hates to let him down. Just outside the west door, she pauses, takes a deep breath, straightens her spine, and strides in like a she-tiger! Four steps later, she stutters to a halt. Richard's desk is vacant.
She wheels about, sees Fidel and Dwayne at various tasks… but Richard isn't here, his missing briefcase is solid proof. She frowns at Fidel, "OK, where is he? It was his turn to open up."
Fidel shrugs, "He didn't show. I had to open."
Her frown deepens, "That's not like him at ALL! He's almost an hour late. Did you call him?"
Dwayne nods, "Twice a'ready, he's not answerin' his home phone or cell. We wuz wonderin' if we should be worried but we thought we'd wait fer you. Whatchoo think, Sarge?"
But Sarge is already listening to a steady stream of unanswered rings in her ear. She hangs up and dials the cell phone number. More rings. Well, beeps actually but it all adds up to the same thing; Richard Poole is not answering. That mere fact makes her scalp tingle. As she sets the hand-set down, she bites her lip.
OK, Camille, no need to panic. He's obviously away from his phones. He MIGHT be in the shower but not for this long. Maybe he slept in or took the day off? Yeah, right! Maybe he's walking his beach and working on his tan… NOT! Her concern ups another notch. I've always thought that beach-house was too isolated! Sure, it suits HIM fine, he's a hermit, but ANY awful thing could happen there and no one would know! There's no one nearby to hear or see!
Her head snaps up as another thought pushes in. He got sick that time, didn't he? If Fidel hadn't checked on him… That does it! Her alarm is loose and running free. "Fidel!" she barks, making the young man jump, "you'd better drive out there and see if he's OK."
Fidel nods with relief, "Right! I didn't want to say anything but his fever could be back, couldn't it?" He's already half-way to the door, Jeep keys in hand.
Dwayne calls after Fidel's retreating back, "Phone us soon as you find 'im! I wanna listen to the polite British swear words." Fidel waves over his shoulder and is gone. Dwayne turns back to Camille, "I'm sure everythin's OK, Sarge. Fidel will get an earful fer interruptin' whatever the Chief is doin' and that will be that. You watch."
She DOES watch; she watches the clock hand sweep around and around, unable to look at anything else. Until Richard Poole is back in his rightful place, the world feels off kilter.
When the phone rings, both Camille and Dwayne jump in reaction but it is Dwayne who grabs up the hand-set a split second ahead of her. "Fidel? You there? Did you f… what? Are you sure? Well, go outside and look, willya?" He waits a bit then shakes his head, "Naw, he wouldna be inna woods, not the Chief. Oh, oh, OK, just a minute."
He covers the ear-piece and looks to Camille who is hanging off his shoulder, "Fidel says the Chief ain't at his house. One of the beach doors wuz open a bit and that's how he got inside. He says the Chief's briefcase is sittin' on the table." Now Dwayne's frown matches Camille's, "The Chief don't go NO-where without his briefcase! Fidel thinks somethin's wrong and now so do I! Whadda we do?"
Camille's blood is rushing too fast as she blurts out, "Tell Fidel to search the beach then you fire up the bike, we're going over there right now!"
Dwayne nods grimly, "Right you are, Sarge!" He relays the message, hangs up, and they begin locking up as he mutters, "The Chief might yell a bit 'bout us panickin' like this but…"
She nods just as grimly, "Right, better to be safe than sorry. He taught us that didn't he? And for good reason. Let's go." They thunder down the steps and leap onto the bike. Within minutes they are slewing sideways beneath Richard's trees.
Fidel runs out the kitchen door with worried eyes, "Am I glad to see you! I've been looking around and I think something happened. All the clues point to something strange!"
END – part 1