S1E6-Fever Deux

Part 1 of 5

It's after 6 pm and Camille 'mans' the station alone, enjoying the quiet and a nice cuppa as she sits out on the veranda watching the sun kiss the horizon. The off-shore breezes have started and she sighs as her curls lifts off her brow. She sits back with a satisfied grin and looks down into her mug.

Yeah, it's his tea, alright, and didn't he have an absolute snit-fit earlier today about 'missing private property'? She'd kept a straight face and denied knowing anything about it and watched with glee as he slammed cupboard doors and stamped his little heels and grumped a blue streak. She knew she was his first (and only) suspect because Dwayne hated tea and Fidel would never dare!

"Maybe you drank it yourself and forgot?" she'd offered helpfully.

He'd given her a thunderous look and growled through gritted teeth, "I know ex-ACT-ly how much tea I drink, Sergeant, and how many teabags should be in MY tin!" She'd merely shrugged and watched as he began going through the trash bin. She hid her smile behind a folder. Let him look. I threw the used bag up onto the side roof. No one EVER checks the roof! It's almost a rule!

Now she sits contented, enjoying her purloined tea, never realizing that it tastes so much better because it's his, when the phone rings. She groans, sets down the cup, and goes inside to answer it. This better not be an emergency, she thinks, because I'm beat! The men are off-duty and Richard won't thank me if I have to call him back in. She pauses, thinking, I hope I don't have to call him, he didn't look too good when he left here tonight. She crosses her fingers and picks up the phone.

A familiar voice quacks into her ear, "Is this th' station? Camille, izzat you?"

Her brow furrows, "Yes, it is, who's this?"

"It's Perse."

"Oh, hi Perse, is there a problem, I hope not?"

Perse's voice hesitates then says, "Um, well, I dunno, mebee. I thought I'd better call 'cause… well… 'cause the Inspector wuz actin' funny when I dropped him off at his place an'…"

Camille's hand tightens on the phone, "Funny? What do you mean? Funny how?"

"Well, he had trouble openin' the cab door then he almost fell out onna ground an' when I asked him if he wuz OK he shouted at me t' mind my own damn business… which you gotta admit don't sound like him atall."

Camille's little inner voice pipes up, Unless you work with him – then it sounds exactly like him! She squashes the voice and says instead, "No, it doesn't. Do you think he's alright?"

"Honestly, Camille, I don' think so. He wove all over th' place tryin' t' get t' his back door an' when he got inside I heard a crash. I woulda gone t' check but he slammed the door an' I… well… I called you. I'm kinda worried 'bout him."

"Are you there now?" she asked tersely, picking up her purse.

"No, I got a call an' I'm waitin' fer a fare but I thought I oughta give you a ring, just in case."

"Thanks, Perse, I'll check on him… and I won't tell him who tipped me off in case he asks, OK?"

"Yeah, great, thanks, Camille. Here's my fare, gotta go, hope everythin's alright," and he hangs up.

Camille immediately dials Richard's cell phone. She waits and waits but he doesn't pick up. It doesn't even go to voicemail which means he didn't think to do it which means… he's in trouble! She grabs up the Jeep keys and hurriedly locks up and posts the notices. If everything turns out to be OK, she'll be back within 20 minutes and no one will be the wiser.

As she drives to Richard's beach, she really hopes nothing is wrong but when she parks behind his little house she knows something is very wrong. His kitchen door is ajar. Perse said Richard slammed it but now it's open. She rushes the door, knocks, calls. No answer. She pushes the door open, gasps, and races inside to where Richard is collapsed on the little stairway leading to the upper level.

As she skids on her knees to his side, her hands on his shoulder and arm register the deadly heat pumping out of him. She presses the back of one hand to his forehead and whips it away again. He's burning up! She runs her hands down his arms, takes his hands. He's soaking with oily sweat.

She levers him up and he comes to some sort of sludgy awareness as she whips off his tie and wrestles him out of his jacket. His hands bat feebly as she peels his sopping shirt off but he misses and almost topples off the stairs instead. His momentary imbalance gives her enough time to peel off his shoes and socks before she lays him back down and leaps to the kitchen sink. As he groans and mumbles, she runs water into a mug and onto a dish towel, bringing them back to him as he tries to sit up.

"Here," she whispers, "drink this, drink it all." His eyes are fever-bright and cloudy, she's not even sure he actually sees her… but he registers the water and greedily gulps it down as she scrubs at him with the damp towel. Her eyes run over him as she works. His normally pale skin has a very unhealthy reddish colour, not his usual rosy hue at all!

As he slumps back onto the steps, she dashes to the sink and rewets the towel, coming back to continue rubbing him down; his forehead, his face, his neck, his shoulders, his arms… she hesitates briefly before chastising herself and continuing down onto his chest and belly before rolling him slightly to do his back. She is just swiping at his feet when his eyes roll up and he begins to seize in a series of tiny jerks.

Her blood pressure sky-rockets! She drops the towel and grabs his shoulders, "Richard! Richard, can you hear me? Richard, what should I do?" The ridiculousness of that question shakes her out of her panic and she is on her cell to Doctor Johnson within seconds.

"Paul! This is Camille Bordey, I'm with Inspector Poole at his home and he's having little seizures! I found him lying on the floor, soaking wet with sweat, and he's burning up! I've given him water and washed him down but… I don't know what else to do!"

Paul Johnson says calmly, "Keep giving him water, strip him down to his shorts, and get him into a cool, not COLD, shower. I'm going out my door as we speak. I'll be there within minutes.

She pockets the phone blindly and catches Richard around the shoulders, trying to lift him but he's too heavy! "C'mon," she begins to wheedle, "stand up for me, Richard! That's a good little Inspector, c'mon, you can do it."

Something in her voice gets through to him because he rouses and starts pushing with his bare feet, inching his way up the stairs. She gets him to his knees and then they more or less fall upstairs and onto the floor where he rolls onto his back and slurs, "Thass De-TEC-tive In-sspecter t' YOU!"

END – part 1