Part 4 of 6

Fidel watches stoically as Dwayne takes Camille gently by the elbow and leads her back to the little house. Fidel photos the boat, the blood, the bottle, the glasses, the shoes, the tracks in the sand, and his own print for comparison. By the time he finishes his accompanying notes and goes up to the house, he sees Dwayne and Camille in earnest discussion, Dwayne recording everything on his own phone.

Fidel nods to Dwayne and goes inside to continue collecting evidence. After that is done, he comes back outside and collapses into a vacant chair, "Man! I don't ever want to do THAT again! It looks so incriminating! If it was anyone but you, Camille, I'd be yelling 'GUILTY'!""

Camille lifts tearful eyes, "It looks like I did it, doesn't it? Oh, Fidel, do you think it could be true? Dwayne and I have gone over and over it and I STILL have no memory of last night. I don't remember ANY thing about a fight and I certainly don't remember threatening him!"

She turns hopefully towards Dwayne, "But you've heard me threaten him before, right? I never mean it, you know that! I'd never really lay a hand on him." Not that I don't WANT to, and CERTAINLY not in anger, she thinks but doesn't say since she's not sure how well she's managed to hide her attraction to the boss from her two co-workers.

Dwayne is so very sorry but he has to shake his head, "That ain't strictly true, is it, Sarge? What about beside the Spa pool? You laid hands on him pretty hard THEN, hey?"

THAT memory scorches up and she claps a hand over her mouth. "Oh, god," she moans low, "I forgot about that! But I didn't mean anything by it! I was just being cheeky and… and…"

Fidel nods, "And he had to favour that arm for a week, Camille, we all know it." He continues with a cool reluctant voice, "No, we have to take into account ALL the evidence and the evidence points to something violent and unexpected happening here last night."

He turns to Dwayne, "Right, it's time to call the Commissioner. Even though Camille is second in command, we have to accept the fact that she is involved in what happened to the Chief based on the apparent facts. Protocol dictates that she cannot be working this case. Although the evidence doesn't necessarily indicate that she is guilty at this moment, it does point it out rather strongly. I don't think it´s necessary to lock her up... yet… but she will likely be under house arrest, I can't say for sure, the Commissioner will have to make that decision. "

Dwayne looks at him and answers, "Well, call him right now. We need an agent to watch over her while we work the scene of what I really hope is a big fat false alarm."

Fidel's arm feels like wood as he slowly fishes his cell phone out. His fingers don't want to obey. He has to grip the phone tight with suddenly nerveless hands just to hold it steady. He misdials twice, takes a deep breath, and the third time is the charm. He is listening to the tiny chirps in his ear, hardly able to hear them over the roaring of his pulse as he stares back at the two frozen people in front of him…

… and just as the connection is made and he hears a little tinny voice answering…

… he also hears an odd sound coming from behind, a kind of swishy thumpy draggy muttery ranty sound… and it sounds just like the Chief!

Fidel knows the exact moment when the other two hear it as well. All eyes are fixed in fearful hopeful dread… as DI Richard Poole stumbles into view around the corner of the house; shoeless, unshaven, disheveled, grimy, hair standing up in spliffs, a trickle of dried blood on one cheek, dragging the missing oar, and swearing a very English blue streak!

If he wasn't already stiff with shock, Dwayne would be scribbling down the flood of invective pouring out of his boss's mouth. Some of these words are brand new to him! AND multi-syllabic! Most impressive!

As soon as his bloodshot eyes espy the motionless team, the Chief erupts vociferously, "And where the BLOODY hell have YOU LOT been while I was fighting for my life out there in shark-infested waters all alone in the dark?! Sucking back beers at La Kaz? Playing cards at the station? Patting each other on the back to finally be rid of me?"

He drops the oar and stares down at himself like he wishes he could shed his skin and start over again. Then he darts a vehement glare at them, "Well, tough luck, TEAM, I'm back, and you are in for a good chiding NOW! Why did no one come for me? Did you hope I'd drown? Yes, get rid of the Englishman by feeding him to the sharks! That sounds like Island-thinking, all right!"

This slightly hysterical and totally mistaken diatribe is interrupted by three things.

One; the paralyzed trio erupts with shouts and squeals as they rush the ranting man.

Two; the ranting man is almost knocked off his socked feet by the back-thumps he gets from the men.

And lastly, but most definitely NOT lowest on the list of surprises; the ranting man is almost suffocated by the powerful squeezing hug and oxygen-depleting kiss he gets from the woman.

This kiss is almost overlooked by the back-thumpers (almost, but not quite) as they steady the now not-ranting man (he is more of a gasping man at this point) and guide him to a chair where he gratefully sinks down, lowers his head into his hands, and falls silent.

The team sit too and several moments pass as they wait. Finally the Chief lifts his head, clears his throat and croaks, "So… um… what happened here? Why didn't you come for me?"

Camille starts, her cheeks reddening, "Oh! Um, ah… that was my fault… but not really. We didn't search for you because we didn't know you were missing."

He gives her a suspicious look, "You didn't know? How could you not know? You were there! When I fell out of the boat you were…"

She jumps as her memory begins filling in the blanks, "Yes! When you fell out of the boat, I fell too! I hit my head." She turns to Fidel, "That's MY blood on the seat. When I came to, I was beached. I climbed out and walked home. I passed out on my sofa and woke up with a sore head." She turns to Richard, "I really didn't remember anything about last night. I'm so sorry. Were you badly hurt? Were there really sharks?"

Richard's eyes rove her face as if searching for something. The truth? Or something else? "Well, um, no, not really. I hit my head too but I didn't pass out, not completely. I had enough sense to hang onto the oar and I drifted. It got dark and the tide took me out then it brought me back in again and I woke up just a while ago. I didn't want anyone to see me like this so I ducked from tree to tree until I found my way home."

Dwayne has been listening to all this with a practiced ear and now he has a question. "How did you fall outta the boat, Chief? Someone as nervous as you onna water knows not to stand up inna boat so what wuz you doin' to make you stand up like that?"

Now Richard's eyes search the floorboards between his feet, "I was… I was… ah… attempting a vigorous activity of a… um… nautical kind… and I lost my balance… and over I went. Simple."

"I see," Dwayne muses, "Simple, hey?" Then he turns to look at Camille, "And what about you, Sarge? Wuz you helpin' the Chief with this naughty activity? Wuz you maybe…"

Richard jumps in his seat, spine snapping as he yelps, "Nautical! I said nautical!" This is met with knowing eyes from Dwayne, widening awakening eyes from Camille, and puzzled eyes from Fidel.

Then Fidel jumps in HIS seat, suddenly realizing what is maybe being discussed here and he wants NONE of it. He surges to his feet, "Um, OK! The Chief isn't dead and Camille didn't kill him! Our work here is done! Case closed! Mystery solved! Come on, Dwayne!" and he levers Dwayne to his feet, dragging him bodily away.

"OK, OK, stop pullin'," Dwayne grouses at Fidel then calls over his shoulder as he disappears around the corner of the house, "You two oughta get Doc Johnson to check your heads! You both sound cracked to me!" Then, with one final yank, he is pulled out of sight.

As he is marched to the motorbike, Dwayne scoffs happily, "So, the Chief is back, Camille remembers last night, and now they're gonna duke it out. Well, at least we don't hafta worry about them takin' 'Boaty' back out onna water."

"Why's that?" Fidel asks, fitting his helmet onto his head with speed.

Dwayne jerks a thumb over his shoulder, "'Cause I kicked the Chief's oar outta sight under his deck when Camille wuz tryin' to strangle him for real." He then sighs complacently as he dons his own helmet, "Let's you 'n me take the long way back to the station. I don't think we're gonna see those two any time soon."

Fidel frowns as he climbs into the sidecar, "You don't? How come?"

Dwayne nods with assurance, "'Cause once they're done fightin', they gotta make up, right? You're the old married man, Fidel, how long does makin' up usually take?"

Fidel huffs a little smile, "Depends, Dwayne, could be 5 minutes, could be hours and hours."

"Right," Dwayne mutters, swinging aboard, "Plus, they got unfinished business from last night, hey? No, you 'n me, we're IT fer the rest of the day as far as law enforcement goes. Hang on."

And the two men motor away, content in the knowledge that their Chief is alive and well and having a grand old time with his Sergeant as the rising decibels coming from the little house behind them attest to rather nicely.

END – part 4