Dwayne directed a hard glare at James Moore, hoping it would make him stop objecting.
"This isn't fair," the suspect said angrily, completely oblivious to the glare.
Sasha put a hand on his arm, "James, dear... "
"I've got a plane to catch," Moore continued stoicly. "We've all got a plane to catch."
They weren't going to be able to keep them here for much longer. "And I'm sure you'll be able to get on that plane," said Fidel, through gritted teeth.
"Providin' you're innocent," Dwayne added, fed up of the insolence. When were Camille and the Chief going to arrive anyway?
"This is unnecessary," Roger Sadler put in. "We've answered all your bloody questions-"
"-Erm, not quite," cut in Richard, holding open the door for Camille, who entered the room with folded arms.
"Some of them we haven't asked yet," she said.
Fidel and Dwane exchanged a look of relief.
"Yes, see, I believe that DI Goodman had a theory," began Richard, walking into the centre of the room and beginning to pace around. "Feel free to sit down," he added in an undertone to James Moore, who sat, gaping. "I believe he sent home for evidence to corroborate said theory, and in doing so..." Richard glanced at Camille.
"... Solved his own murder," she finished smoothly.
"Precisely. Initially, the biggest problem we had was motive," Richard paused in his pacing to gaze at all four suspects. "Why kill someone you haven't seen for twenty five years?"
"It can't have been any of us," said Sasha confidently. "We were in view of each other the whole time."
"Apart from when Roger went to light the barbecue," Camille cut in icily.
"I hope you're not accusing me," Sadler said indignantly, standing up. Dwayne instinctively stiffened. "I didn't have anything to do with this!"
"No, you didn't," Richard supplied hurriedly, noting the suspect's attacking stance.
"I- what?"
"He said you didn't kill Humphrey Goodman," said Fidel. Richard shot the younger officer an approving look.
Roger looked briefly confused. "Oh. Well, thanks. I didn't. Kill him, that is."
"Indeed. So! That leaves the three of you." Richard looked at each of them in the eye, leaving the room silent. Sadler sat down awkwardly.
Angela cracked first. "Oh I just can't bear this! I could never have hurt him. I loved him." She looked beseechingly at Richard.
Richard looked at her for a moment. "I believe you," he said quietly, giving her a small smile before continuing. "And so, only the Moores remain." He paused. "The second problem we had with this particular case was opportunity. Like you said," he gestured towards Sasha. "You were in full view of each other the entire time. How could any of you have done it?"
Sasha Moore nodded stiffly.
"We had to figure out who did what, and in what order," Richard said briskly. "Angela, you approached Humphrey first, to ask if he was okay and if he wanted a drink."
"Yes, yes. He wanted a tea," replied Angela quickly, evidently distressed by the building tension.
He nodded and glanced at Camille, checking if she'd registered it yet. "We believe he was still alive when you left. So, what happened next?"
"Sasha took him a bowl of crisps," Camille replied slowly, and from the way she spoke, he could tell she was close to figuring it out.
"She did," Richard continued. "Oh, and, on a side note: who suggested playing the game of charades?"
"It was you, wasn't it Sash?" Angela asked innocently.
"Well I suppose it might have been," Sasha responded huffily. "Why?"
"Because you needed Humphrey alone," Richard said. "So you could brutally murder him."
Noting that it had fallen open like a goldfish, Fidel snapped his mouth closed.
Sasha's face faltered. "I- no! It wasn't me." She quickly turned defiant.
"It can't have been her," Roger said. "He was still alive when she came back! He drank the tea, ate the food..."
"Ah," Richard replied knowledgeably. "Yes, I'm glad you brought that up. And, the answer is, not quite, because Sasha had an accomplice." He nodded at Camille.
"James," she said, beginning to comprehend.
He quirked his lips at her. "Angela, when Humphrey asked for the tea, did you take his old cup back?"
"No," Angela shook her head. "No, I didn't."
"Because Sasha did when she took him the crisps," Camille said crisply.
"And you didn't take him a fresh cup, James," continued Richard. "You took him back out the old one." He let this sink in. "All done to provide an alibi for your wife. So actually, once I'd worked it out logistically, the how was easy. It was back to the motive - the why - that baffled us the most. Why kill an old friend you haven't seen for a quarter of a century?" Richard began to pace the room. "Actually, according to this, Sasha was the least likely suspect."
"After all, she and Humphrey were incredibly close in college," Camille said.
"Yes, see, but that's how I knew it had to be you." Richard paused his pacing to stand in front of her. He surveyed her, noting the traces of fear in her eyes. "Humphrey Goodman wasn't killed by an old friend," he said quietly, just to her. "He killed by a relative stranger.
"What are you talking about," James said, standing up indignantly. Dwayne bristled.
"You're not Sasha Moore," breathed Camille, truth dawning on her fully. "You're her sister, Helen Reid."
"Sash?" This came from an agitated Angela.
"Only a year separated two sisters," Richard said, to the room, this time. "Sasha and Helen, attended the same university, only a year apart."
"The police file for the car crash you were involved in," said Camille. "There's a police report showing an earlier conviction of yours for shoplifting."
Richard looked at her approvingly. "Which is, interestingly enough, around the same time your sister Sasha founded her computer software company. Unlike her, you were unemployed and had no money. And even years later, after Sasha sold her company for a small fortune, you were still struggling."
Camille sat down next to Helen. "What happened after the road accident?"
"Two sisters. Both injured; one, fatally so."
"Did someone ask if you were Sasha?" Camille probed gently.
"Was the opportunity just too good to miss?" asked Richard darkly.
Helen cracked visibly: her expression broke and tears began to slide down her cheeks.
Richard turned to James, also now palloured paper white, trusting that Camille could handle the tears. "Had the affair with her sister already started? Or did it commence when she got control of your dead wife's fortune?"
Instinctively, Dwayne moved forward, but stopped at a slight glance from Richard.
"This is the real Sasha." The Inspector showed the room a photo. "And this is Helen, just next to her." At Fidel's evident surprise, he added, "Similar, aren't they? With a bit of cosmetic surgery, they look almost identical."
"You thought you'd get away with it," said Camille softly. "You hadn't seen each other for ages. Why would they suspect anything?"
"But then you came across Humphrey," Richard said. "And he was more than a quick-thinking detective - he was someone who'd known the real Sasha better than all of you. I think he was onto you from the start."
"No wonder you were cold with him." Camille looked at the weeping Helen coldly. "You hardly knew him at all."
"When you lost your temper with Humphrey at the restaurant on that first day," Richard said, turning to James. "You weren't jealous at all. You were merely trying to prevent Humphrey from talking to your wife."
Fidel scanned Roger and Angela's expressions: they looked speechless.
"At the end of the day," continued Richard. "There were two pieces of damning evidence."
"The book," said Camille.
"The book," he repeated, turning again to Helen. "That you said you hadn't read."
"I haven't read it," Helen repeated firmly, through tears.
Richard allowed himself a wry smile. "Which is rather the point." He produced a second photograph. "This is a picture celebrating Sasha's dissertation. It's quite hard to see but..." He pointed to an object. "That's the book."
James's eyes widened.
"It's why Humphrey brought it with him," Camille said. "A final test."
"When you realised he was onto you, I think you knew you had to act fast," Richard said.
Camille narrowed her eyes at them both. "You killed him."
"All of which could be purely circumstantial," Richard added, matter-of-factly. "Until we see the second piece of damning evidence, Helen's shoplifting report. Fidel?"
The young officer cleared his throat. "The prints on it match the exclusion prints we took after the murder."
Nodding, Richard said, "Therefore there is only one conclusion. Humphrey Goodman had to die, and he had to die that evening. You had to protect your secret."
Angela began to weep softly. Gleaming teardrops continued to stream down Helen's face.
"Dwayne, Fidel," Richard bowed his head. "Make the arrests." He turned as the officers began to handcuff the murderers, noticing that Camille had disappeared. Confused, he glanced towards the verandah: she was sat down, gazing quietly at the crime scene.
"Good one Chief," Dwayne said appreciatively. The inspector nodded in response, before hurrying to join his sergeant.
Are you alright? Can I help? "I'm sorry," he said instead.
Camille looked up at him. "It's okay. I just felt sad, suddenly. No-one deserves to die that way."
"You're right," Richard said, for lack of things to say.