Thank you for the reviews!! Also, a note that from here onwards, mistakes are all my own!! :')0000000000
"It's weird," said Fidel, setting a stack of sheets down on his desk.
Dwayne grunted obligingly, sensing that his friend wanted to talk.
"Having him back."
"The man's been away for months, Fidel. Of course it's gonna feel strange," Dwayne replied - in his traditionally matter-of-fact manner - adjusting his feet which were propped up on his desk.
The younger officer conceded.
"I suppose." He picked up his papers again and looked at them for a minute, before putting them down again distractedly. "He is... back, isn't he? I mean, for real this time?"
The older sergeant snorted. "If he leaves again, I don't doubt that Camille will murder him."
An unusual kind of strangled gasp came from Fidel's throat.
"Sorry. My bad. Bad. Bad joke," Dwayne said hurriedly. "But really. Think about how much worse it must be for her."
"What do you mean?" This was queried with feeble attempts to feel productive, aka Fidel squinting at his computer screen for effect, before realising it was turned off.
"Well," started Dwayne, slowly losing interest in the discussion, "They had a t'ing, even if they won't admit it."
"Ah, yes," Fidel chuckled and then immediately looked mortified. "Poor Camille!"
"Exactly. And if you think about it, Poole won't ev- Chief!" interluded Dwayne hurriedly.
"Dwayne," muttered the Inspector distractedly by way of greeting, speedily weaving between the station's desks to reach his own.
The French DS stalked into the room. Fidel offered her a little wave. It went unseen.
"So, logically," murmured Richard, "We have to rule out the possibility of an intruder being the culprit." He whipped a blue board pen from his pocket and scrawled this at the top of the whiteboard.
"Why?"
Camille shot Dwayne a look. "Well, realistically, it's impossible to reach the villa without being caught on cctv - invisibility doesn't exist, you see - and then commit a violent and passionate stabbing in front of four eyewitnesses, each with a clear view of the verandah, don't you think?" She folded her arms defiantly across her chest.
Richard's eyes widened at her prickly sarcasm, but Dwayne remained unruffled.
"Well, maybe they was all in it together," came the nonchalant reply.
"Maybe... but why?" Fidel hesitated when all eyes turned to him. "I- I just mean, why would they all four of them suddenly have a desire to kill him after 20 odd years of being on the other side of the world from him? Quite literally. It just... Doesn't make sense, I don't think... Don't you think...?" He trailed off, uncertain.
"You're right," Richard stepped in. "It's illogical - "
"Not everyone's meticulously logical like you," inputted by Camille, under her breath.
Oblivious, the inspector continued. "- which is why I don't think it can be all four of them either." Poole wiped his face with a crumpled hanky. "Dwayne? Is the fan fixed yet?"
"Thursday, Chief. Guy's coming on Thursday. There's only one guy on the island," he responded airily, flicking through a leaflet advertising holiday homes in Saint Lucia.
Richard shuddered. "In that case; Fidel, remind me what happened on the eve of the crime?"
The young Sergeant cleared his throat and opened his notebook. "It's 4pm. Humphrey arrives at the reunion, courtesy of Camille, armed with his jacket and the book we saw at the crime scene - La somethin.."
"..Le rouge et Le Noir," supplied Camille brusquely, leaning back against her desk.
".. That. Yes. This next bit's based on witness accounts only: He has a cocktail, gets a headache and has to step outside for some fresh air. By this point, the others have decided to start a game of charades. Sasha takes him a bowl of crisps; later, James delivers him a cup of tea. Both these items being empty suggests that Humphrey was alive to digest them both-"
"-but what if they took him an empty cup and an empty bowl?" Dwayne smacked the leaflet down onto his desk dramatically and directed an accusatory finger towards the whiteboard.
"Traces of his saliva were found on the mug of tea, meaning he must've eaten the crisps as well," cut in Richard. "Carry on?"
Dwayne frowned and lowered his finger, before picking up his leaflet again.
"There's not much more, Sir. Angela then goes to check on Humphrey's wellbeing and... Well," Dwayne mimed slicing his throat with a finger. "They called the police and, well, here we are." Snapping his notebook shut, Fidel stood up straight.
The Inspector, who'd been unconsciously staring at her since Fidel had started talking, watched Camille massage her eyes with two fingers and yawn widely.
He glanced down at his watch: 5.30.
They could continue work until 6, but that seemed futile and they'd already achieved a lot today. And honestly, Richard himself felt unusually exhausted, too.
With this in mind, he addressed the team, "Good job today, team. First thing tomorrow, we'll go out and interview our witnesses individually. You can head home for the evening - I'll lock things up here."
There was a general shuffling as papers were pushed rapidly to the side, mugs were hurriedly deported to the sink, computers were switched off. Dwayne left first, trotting eagerly down the station steps and draping each of his arms around two ladies clad in vibrant floral upon reaching Honore's marketplace. Not long afterwards, Fidel waved his goodbye, leaving Camille and Richard alone in the station.
"Camille?"
His voice made her pause - stiffen - in her walk to the sink. Determinedly, and flexing his knuckles for courage, Richard decided to take her silent back as an invitation to continue.
"The book - the one Humphrey took with him to the reunion," She'd started walking again, "Do you know it?"
Depositing her empty glass in the sink, she turned around and made for her desk, avoiding eye contact. "Yes, I know it."
There followed a short silence.
Just as Richard was beginning to think he'd have to prod her for further information, she spoke again.
"It's called Le Rouge et Le Noire. We studied it at school. Classic, and all. It's about a carpenter's son who rises through the ranks of society in the 19th century - a satire."
He tried not to focus on the sound of her voice (when had French accents suddenly become so attractive to him!?) and instead on the content it was providing.
"And uh, Humphrey. He could read it? I mean, he read it?"
"No." She looked at him directly. "He couldn't speak French."
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He'd gone to Catherine's bar out of curiosity. That, and the prospect that Camille might be there. The curiosity affair sounded better though - more sane and less... wildly-in-love. Except, upon arrival, it quickly transpired she wasn't there. He made to leave, awkwardly slipping in between tables, when-
-"Reeeshard!"
'Reeeshard' flinched visibly.
"Cath- Uh, Catherine," he said, coughing slightly.
"Reeeshard!" She'd reached him now, and he ran his gaze over her impossibly colourful appearance: bangles and charms adorned her wrists and fingers, a headband with a surreally large bow contained her brown hair and glossy amber stones hung from her ears. "Long time no see, hm?"
"Oh I- well uh... yes, I suppose," he stuttered politely.
"Come, come," Catherine wrapped her arm gracefully around his shoulders and ferried him towards the bar. "You haven't tasted a true Caribbean cocktail in ages," she winked maliciously.
Richard squirmed in her grasp. "Tha- that's very kind of you, Catherine, but I uh-"
"I want to talk to you," she said briskly, all traces of flamboyant friendliness vanished from her voice.
"O- Oh I- well.. it's-"
"Sit down," invited Catherine, as though it were a choice, and as though she were not simultaneously plonking the stiff Richard onto a stool at the bar. "I make you a tea, yes?"
"Bien."
As he watched the Frenchwoman sashay around with a teacup, the prospect of fleeing to his shack crossed Richard's mind approximately fifteen times. On the sixteenth, he'd finally gathered the bravado necessary to actually do it, but, just as though she sensed he was about to move, Catherine returned with a cup of tea and a small jug of milk.
"Alors," she began animatedly, sitting down next to him. "Why?"
Richard, who'd just picked up the teacup with feigned reluctance, paused with it halfway to his mouth. "Why what?" he asked idly, though he thought he already knew.
Catherine obviously thought that he knew as well, since she released a huge sigh. "Why did you come back?"
"The Commissioner asked me to," said Richard easily, taking a sip of tea. She narrowed her eyes at him so intensely that he couldn't help but add a defensive, "What?!"
"You could've said no," Catherine declared decisively, settling back against the bar.
Feeling the hot liquid caress his throat, Richard nodded at her over the top of the teacup.
"But you didn't."
He nodded again.
"You like her."
Richard spluttered and the teacup made a hasty collision with the saucer, a little of its contents splashing onto the surface of the bar. Coolly, Catherine observed the inspector as he coughed into his hanky, obviously having choked on his tea. How peculiar he was! She'd quite forgotten the extent of his absurdity.
"Sorry," he murmured, gesturing to the tea splash on the bar.
"Don't avoid the subject at hand, Reeeshard," she replied coldly.
"I don't-" he swiped frantically at the tea with his hanky, ears blushing fuschia-pink, "-li... Like your... Her. I don't like her."
He received a snort of derision for his response: that was probably for my pathetic tea-wiping, thought Richard desperately.
"Yes you do."
"I'm not- it's- no, I don't."
"You lie," Catherine hissed, leaning forwards and staring at him with her dark eyes, causing his green ones to widen in alarm.
"No, no I- well, okay. She's a fantastic Sergeant - best I've ever had, really," said Richard honestly.
"As a person?" probed Catherine.
"Sorry?" Hesitantly, Richard approached the tea again.
Catherine groaned. "Do you like her as a person?"
"Well I-"
"I knew it," she muttered. "Okay, okay, you are free to go." She got up, whipped the teacup from him and turned away towards the bar.
"I- what?"
"Well, you are clearly in love with my daughter. But you aren't quite ready to admit it yet." And then, in an undertone, "Eli was right."
"I.. In love?!"
Catherine swivelled to shoot him a knowing smile.
And then Richard really did flee.