Publishing from the sickbed today!! Hoping everybody's staying safe and healthy xxxxxx
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The following morning had Richard Poole planted firmly in the middle of the police station: marker in hand, damp cloth on forehead. His jacket lay on his desk chair and he was staring angrily at the whiteboard, in the hope that some hidden detail would spring out at him and crack the case of Humphrey Goodman's brutal murder wide open. Nothing had sprung out at him so far - and he'd been standing there for forty minutes.
"It doesn't make sense," he declared for the fifth time that morning. (Dwayne was keeping a tally on the corner of a bit of paper).
Camille glared at the wall and suppressed the first response that came to her mind. He's repeating himself over and over. We're going round in circles.
"Why did he have to die?" Richard mumbled obliviously.
Camille bristled.
"Right." Richard clapped his hands. "Let's get back to basics."
Fidel and Dwayne exchanged a glance.
"Means," said Richard, indicating to the team that they should offer suggestions.
"That's easy," said Dwayne. "Everyone had access to the ice pick." There were nods of agreement.
"Motive?"
The room was silent.
"We'll come back to that," Richard decided briskly. "Opportunity."
"They all went out at one point or another," said Camille with a shrug.
"Right. Back to motive?"
"Why would they wait all this time to kill him?" asked Fidel. Confusion riddled his voice. "It doesn't make sense for it to be any of them."
"Yet we know it wasn't an intruder," said Camille.
"So why? Why kill him?" Richard scrubbed his face with the cloth.
"Something must have happened after they arrived on Saint-Marie, then," she said.
"Something that provided a motive..." he continued her trail of thought. "Yes! Perfect! That must be it!"
"You know what I'm confused about," interrupted Dwayne, squinting at the whiteboard. "Why kill him at the villa? The man lived on a shack on a beach miles away from anyone. Why not just do 'im in there?"
Richard turned to face the older officer, eyes wide with appreciation. "You're right," he declared.
"I am? I am." Dwayne directed a smug expression at Fidel.
"The killer felt they had no choice but to kill him at the party," Camille put in.
"Okay, good, but why?" said Richard, beginning to pace around the whiteboard, imaginary puzzle pieces clicking into place in his mind.
"Maybe he was about to expose something?" suggested Fidel quickly, frowning at Dwayne.
"Expose something... Or maybe..." Richard picked up the photo album from Camille's desk and waved it at them all, before beginning to flick through it, "...Someone."
The other three officers looked at each other, sensing he was close.
"He knew something," muttered Richard, setting the album on his desk to examine the photos. "He knew something and he sent home for these for a reason." He turned to Camille gesturing wildly with his hands. "The note! Remind me what the note from his mother said."
She scooped up the scrap of paper, confused. "Dear Humph. Hope what you're looking for is in here, love mum," she read aloud.
"Looking for. Something here was going to prove what he knew," Richard said decisively, bending down by his own desk to rifle through a drawer for a magnifying glass.
The phone began to ring. Fidel, ever-prepared, picked it up. After a few minutes, he set it back down.
"That was the clerk at Angela's law firm getting back to me," he said.
Noting that Richard - glaring determinedly through his magnifying glass at a photo - wasn't about to show an interest in this particular bit of information, Camille murmured a questioning "Oh?" at the diligent officer.
"She said that Angela hasn't been in any kind of relationship since she started at the firm 8 years ago."
Camille nodded vaguely, rubbing her chin with her thumb.
"And the police report from the traffic incident that Sasha Moore was in came through," said Dwayne, flapping a sheet of A4 paper.
Camille looked at Richard: he was utterly engrossed.
"What's it say?" she asked Dwayne.
"That the lorry involved had a puncture and was driving in two lanes." She nodded idly as he spoke, beginning to leaf through a sheaf of her own relevant paperwork. "The sister was driving and there was nothing either of them could do. Helen was killed instantly."
Camille threw a wad of paper at her superior. Richard flapped a hand in acknowledgement.
"It also says here that only Roger and Angela had social media sites," she said brusquely. He seemed to be paying attention now, at least. "There's a bit about the reunion on them, but nothing else releva-."
"-Why did he need the book?" said Richard, suddenly.
Camille, startled into silence, forgot to frown at him. So much for having his attention.
Hesitantly, Fidel began, "Well, I- we don't quite know, si-"
"-And why the stuff he sent for?" The Inspector said, half to himself this time.
"Uh.."
"We can come back to this after lunch," said Camille.
"Yes. Okay. Good." Richard wiped a drop of sweat off his forehead. The case wasn't the only thing playing on his mind.
"We're off then Chief," Dwayne said, grabbing his hat and adjusting his belt in preparation for the lunchtime patrol.
Fidel waved and the pair set off.
They spoke simultaneously:
"Uh, Camille, I-"
"I'm heading to La Ka-"
"You first," Camille said graciously, pleased with thinking of her mother's bar.
"No no, if you-"
"-I don't."
"Oh, well, I, ahem," Richard cleared his throat. "I think we should uh, talk."
Camille arched an eyebrow. "We're 'talking' right now."
"Well er, yes, I know. But I think we should talk properly," he said, trying his hardest not to stutter.
"Okay...?" She motioned him to continue with her hand, the other putting her shoulderbag back down onto her desk. This wouldn't take long - she could head to the bar in a few minutes.
Richard took a deep breath. "What's happened?"
Camille stared at him blankly, thoughts of La Kaz evaporating in her bewilderment. "I don't know, what has happened?"
"You," Richard gestured awkwardly with a hand. "And me."
"Me and you?" Camille repeated, raising the other eyebrow.
"Was it me? Did I... You know, do something?"
Camille stifled a snort of laughter as she vividly recalled a previous rendition of herself thinking Richard to be perceptive. She shimmied herself onto the desk and looked at him thoughtfully.
"You left this, Reeshard," she said eventually, accent thickening slightly as she spoke; looked him up and down. "You haven't told me why you returned - you haven't told any of us anything. How do I know you won't leave us, this, again?"
"The Commissioner asked me to come back," Richard said slowly. "'One last case' was the expression he used, I believe."
Maybe if I don't reply, he'll elaborate. He probably needs time. Camille wasn't entirely sure when in the last 2 minutes she'd gone from despising the man to (almost) pitying him, but somehow, miraculously, it had happened. And luckily for her, time - it soon became apparent - was exactly what the inspector needed.
"I accepted his offer," Richard continued carefully. "For a variety of reasons."
Camille waited.
"London seemed..." Richard coughed. "Dull, when I got back from Saint-Marie. Work was boring."
She let her patience slip, "So it was London being bad that led you to come back here?"
"I also," he spoke as though she hadn't said anything. "Missed the island. I missed Harry."
Camille laughed openly. "You missed your lizard?"
"I missed... The shack?" offered Richard, corner of his mouth turning up in a hesitant smile.
"Anything else that doesn't spend all its time on the beach that you missed?" She grinned at him. Her eyes widened as she realised how nice it felt.
"The team?" His smile was growing and he could feel a flush spreading across his cheeks.
What did she have left to lose? Camille slid off the desk. "That all?"
"You may also have been a... small factor."
"A small one?"
"You may also have been medium-sized factor," relented Richard.
They'd edged towards each other, she noticed. "You know," she whispered conspiratorially, "I wouldn't mind if you-"
"Chief," shouted Dwayne, panting aggressively.
Richard whipped his head around.
"They've booked the next flight out of here," Fidel said breathlessly, materialising in the station doorway next to Dwayne.
Camille looked at Richard, wondering what he was going to do.
There was a brief pause, and then, "Gather the suspects at the villa," Richard said shortly. "We'll be there in ten minutes."
The pair of officers nodded and then exited.
"Photos?" His Detective Sergeant offered him the album.
He accepted the book and began to flick through it again. "Thanks."
Camille busied herself with rereading the facts on the whiteboard. Funny, how they could snap into work-mode so quickly after... Whatever had just happened, she thought, scanning the mugshots of James and Sasha Moore.
Her gaze drifted to the photo of the crime scene.
"The book was on the floor," she said, puzzled.
"Hm?" Richard looked up. "Oh, yes. Yes, it was on the floor. Bit odd, really... Oooh!"
"You got something?"
He beckoned her over. "Look. No, not there - there."
Camille turned to face him, tilting her head and asking a question with her eyes. He nodded at her, smirking in satisfaction.
"Alors. We should get moving!"