"Okay, our victim (slaps photo on the whiteboard) Drake Anderson, 26, has been on the professional circuit for five years now. No criminal background as far as we're aware"

Richard briefed his 3-person team. He turns and nods his head towards Camille as a sort of visual cue to take over. Once again, it was becoming a chore to stand for too long. She chuckles and gets up from her chair, making her way over to the board. Much to the relief of the D.I., basically collapsing in his own at his desk. Looking over to see Camille shake her head and crack another chuckle.

"I'm so glad my misery amuses you. Perhaps you'd like to swap for swollen ankles, capricious bladder and an insolent houseguest"

Dwayne couldn't help but curl his upper lip in disgust. He'd rather not hear of his colleagues erratic waste-managing organs. She rolls her eyes.

"You're being so dramatic"

She teased concerning his bemoaning. He casts her a look but didn't feel the need to carry on with their little charade. She clears her throat and tacks another photo to the board.

"Amy Anderson, 24, wife of de deceased. Works out of home, got involved with various companies. Basically a, how you say?, pyramid scheme?"

Richard nods and sighs loudly.

"Ah yes, the bored housewife trying to turn a profit from overpriced rubbish. What about our "stress-ridden" sponsor?"

Camille's eyes suddenly perked up. As if she had just discovered the answer to a long, enigmatical mystery.

"Tom Hughes, 55. Originally from the U.K. but moved to Saint Marie permanently back in 2012. Takes on seasoned athletes as well as newcomers. Prior for assault 3 years ago"

Richard raises a brow curiously.

"Seems that Mr. Hughes conviently forgot to mention that when I spoke to him. As they always do"

The sarcasm in his tone now heightened. Just then he catches Fidel coming towards his desk with a couple folders in hand.

"Toxicology and coroner's reports just came back, sir. Both confirm our suspicions, victim died of strychnine poisoning"

"Good work, Fidel. However our million dollar question is, how did our killer manage to get a hold of it?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, shutting his eyes. Despite the fan it did little to keep him content. Especially considering his current state. Camille takes notice of his malcontent and makes her way over.

"Would a tea at my mother's make you feel better?"

His eyes lazily flicker open. Making a groaning type sound before picking up the perspiring bottle of water off his desk and placing it firmly against his forehead.

"Perhaps. Its the least you can do for putting me in this state in the first place"

Again she rolls her eyes and chuckles. Smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

"That is not all my fault you know"

Richard even manages a small smirk.

"You're French, Camille. One of these days you'll just have to accept it'll always be your fault"