A thanks for all the kind reviews and for Sweepeaspatch for helping me with this chapter (:

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Upon entering the station the following day, Richard was surprised to see Fidel already sat at his desk, rifling through a few official-looking documents. On second thought, Richard determined that he wasn't surprised. He'd forgotten quite the extent of the young officer's promising diligence.

"Fidel," Richard said, raising a hand in greeting.

"Chief," Fidel looked up at the greeting and smiled hesitantly.

Richard nodded awkwardly and walked stiffly over to his old desk. Having been tidied and organised meticulously, the desk now emanated comfort and familiarity - Richard was grateful for it. He plonked his briefcase onto the surface, pulled out the chair and sat down. A harsh grating noise caused him to look up and see that Fidel was slowly manoeuvring the whiteboard out of its dusty corner of the station - he was struggling.

"Need any help?" Richard arose from his chair.

"Oh," Fidel said hurriedly, "I think I got it, Si- ouch," he concluded grumpily.

Together, the pair of officers moved the offending object to the centre of the station, Dwayne's scrawl still on it from the previous day.

When his superior whipped a board pen from his jacket pocket, Fidel found himself stifling a laugh. The man hadn't changed a bit - he was still an entity of pedantic organisation and meticulous routine, the youthful sergeant thought cheerily, as he passed the Inspector a wad of bluetac. That the two of them were working seamlessly together already had to be a good sign. Ah, the brisk nod of the head - that meant 'get the mugshots' to place beneath the written names. Fidel smiled smugly.

"Give me the rundown Fidel," said Richard presently, "Who did it?"

Fidel started at the inspector's apparent desire to chat - not discuss or talk business, just chat... meaninglessly. Well, perhaps the man has changed a little since returning to London...

"The uni sweetheart, of course," he replied smoothly. "It's always the lover."

Richard snorted. "That's a mere trope, Fidel. This Roger Sadler looks pretty murderous to me in this picture."

"They're mugshots Sir! Everyone looks murderous in their mugshot! If we went by that, we'd have to arrest everyone and our cells would be stuffed to busting," uttered Fidel in outraged laughter.

Richard shrugged, and allowed himself a small smirk.

So engrossed in talking, the duo failed to notice a figure looming in the station doorway.

The Commissioner smirked idly, contemplating exactly how funny on a scale of 'one to ten' they would react to him making his presence known. A nine, he decided, clearing his throat loudly and masking his emotions with his traditionally elusive and illegible expression - an impassive, slightly stern, countenance.

Fidel and Richard didn't disappoint. They both straightened instantly, as if electrocuted, identical emotions of horror and shock clear on their faces in their widened eyes and goldfish wide-open mouths.

Yep, definitely a nine, thought Selwyn, his mask slipping a little to reveal traces of gleeful humour in his eyes.

"Chief."

"Sir!"

The Commissioner waved off their greetings with an elegant swoop of his hand.

"Good morning, team."

"Morning!" "Morning," came the replies.

"Where is Dwayne?"

"Oh I wouldn't worry Chief," began Fidel swiftly, quick to defend his friend, "I'm sure he's on his wa-"

"Mmmhhhhhrrrrrmmmm."

Richard's eyes popped. Fidel bit back a laugh.

Commissioner Patterson raised his eyebrows.

Dwayne traipsed into the station and dove for his desk, clutching the table like a lifeline with his right hand and clasping his head with his left.

"Mmmmhhhrrmmm," he repeated, the groan resonating throughout the room.

"Officer Myers," said Selwyn wryly.

"Mmmhmm," moaned Dwayne, groping for his desk chair.

Richard tuned out of the conversation. Where was Camille? It was uncharacteristic of her to be late. Well, to work, at least -any other social event and Richard knew she was quite apt to arriving hours after the start time. Not that he'd been to nearly enough social events with her. He should try and organise mor-

"Where's Camille?" asked Fidel.

Richard's colleagues were evidently thinking the same thing.

"Ah, yes. Camille..." murmured the Commissioner, "She called in sick."

"She's ill?" Dwayne lifted his head from his hands and looked with sudden interest at his boss.

"She called in sick."

"That means she's ill, though, right Chief?"

"She called in sick," repeated the Commissioner.

"You're lying," muttered Dwayne, burying his head in his hands again.

"What was that, Dwayne?"

"Nothing," came the hasty muffled response.

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"Camille? Should you not be at work, cherie?" asked Catherine in concern, flinging a tea towel over her shoulder and placing a sparkling glass down onto the bar counter.

"Oui, I should," sighed Camille. Trust her mother to interrogate her. "But I don't want to go, today."

"Pourquoi pas?" Catherine slid around the bar and sat on a stool next to her daughter.

Camille shrugged. "I am thinking of him."

" 'umphrey?" Camille shook her head vigorously. Catherine's eyes narrowed, "Reeeshard."

"He's back, maman." Camille averted her gaze.

"Reeshard??!!"

"Yes, Richard. The Commissioner has got him back to solve Humphrey's murder."

Catherine's eyes narrowed further until they were slits of dark brown. "Selwyn did this? I will talk to him."

"Later, maman, please," murmured Camille.

"I won't forget," Catherine assured her daughter vehemently.

"I know, maman."

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"The door," groaned Selwyn Patterson, breaking away from kissing his wife at the sound of their doorbell.

A loud crash sounded.

"The door!" repeated Elinor Patterson, shocked confusion coating her pretty face.

"Catherine?!" asked Selwyn incredulously, gaping at the imperious Frenchwoman standing in his living room doorway.

"Selwyn," growled Catherine, stalking towards him.

"Catherine!" said Elinor, smiling at her friend.

"Ah, Eli," Catherine's demeanour softened as she greeted Selwyn's wife, but hardened with her next declaration, "Your husband is a manipulative, evil creature."

Selwyn frowned, offended at the crude description.

"He is? How so?" quizzed Elinor, seemingly uncaring of the presence of her husband in the room.

"I really rather thi-" began the Commissioner.

"Shush, Selwyn," Elinor said dismissively, while Catherine gave him a death stare. "Come, sit down." She patted the sofa cushion next to her invitingly.

Selwyn squinted at the pair of women sat on his floral sofa. He knew when to leave.

"He organised the return of Richard Poole! He knows how much he meant- means, to her," said Catherine indignantly.

"And how is she handling it?" asked Elinor idly.

"She isn't! She called in sick at work today. He has a bad effect on her, Eli!"

"It could be good for her, Catherine."

"Good? In how way is having to deal with a lovesick, stubborn daughter good? Ce n'est PAS bien!"

"You are seeing it from your perspective and hers. What about him? He is surely in a much worse state, non?"

The two women talked for an hour or so, breaking the time up with beer and pineapple chunks, moods loosened by the former and sweetened by the latter. And so, when Catherine left the Patterson's living room, she apologised grudgingly to Selwyn. She had new views on the returned Richard Poole.

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