S1 E5 - The Perfect Murder

"Hey, sir?" Fidel is reading over his boss's case notes on the Leon Hamilton case and a phrase has caught his eye. He looks up to see cool green eyes looking back. "You told Leon Hamilton it would have been the perfect murder, his killing Vincent Carter, and you would never have caught him except he then went on to kill his wife. So now I'm wondering, do you have ideas about 'the perfect murder'?"

DI Poole says with a world-weary huff, "Of course, Fidel, I don't imagine there's a detective anywhere worth his or her salt that hasn't." His team stops whatever they're doing and turn to look at him. He hears the silence and looks up, "What?"

Camille stands up, crosses the room to his desk, pulls out his chair, and forces him to his feet. She gently takes his elbow, picks up his mug, and steers him to the break area table where Fidel and Dwayne join them with fresh coffees. Camille refills her boss' mug then all three officers lean forward onto tented hands and just regard him expectantly.

He rather knows what's coming. It gives him an unexpected warm feeling, like he belongs, like he's esteemed, but, of course, he can't let this show so he simply takes a sip of hot coffee and says casually, "I repeat my question… what?"

Three pairs of brown eyes meet before his team sits back with a collective sigh. It's Dwayne who breaks the silence, "Come on, Chief, you know very well whut! You have t' tell us! How would you pull off a perfect murder?" His eyes deke sideways to Fidel, "Not that we're takin' notes or nuthin'." Fidel freezes then surreptitiously slides his note pad and pen back into a pocket.

Poole smiles to himself. He never experienced this kind of banter and camaraderie in his other life. Indeed, he's accepted is as actual friendship. He likes it. In fact, he's decided not to go back to his old life at all. His place is here… at this station… with these people… and especially with… He barely suppresses an admiring glance to the beauty beside him. Not now, Poole. This is 'work' and they're asking me to share a bit of my mind. They trust me and I trust them and that's the truth of the matter.

He puts on his 'professor-face' that he knows amuses them… her especially... but not in a mean way. He shies a discrete wink to her that he hopes escapes the attention of the men… but he doubts it. They are a sharp pair of knives now and getting sharper all the time. I joke about 'ESP policing' but it isn't far off the mark anymore. Persons of crime beware! The Sainte-Marie team is on watch and on guard. Woe betide the bad guys… as Dwayne likes to say.

"Well, now," he begins, "that depends. Are we talking premeditated, accidental, or spontaneous? Single, multiple, or acts of mass slaughter? Long-term or opportunistic? With or without infrastructure damage? From a distance or up close and personal? Poison, weapon, vehicular, scientific device, or acts of nature? Alone or with an accomplice?" He takes another sip of coffee and watches their reaction.

There is a very long silence as they work their way through his questions and he can't help adding, "And, just recently, I've opened another mental folder labeled 'Things I Can Blame On The Loa And Pirate Curses'… just so you know."

She's laughing quietly to herself and giving him SUCH a look. He nods. Oh, yeah. This topic is going to be revisited later… in private… and in greater detail. A little shiver runs down his back. He quirks a tiny smile to her and she nods back. Oh, yeah, her interrogation techniques are a constant revelation and I enjoy my captivity most enthusiastically.

Dwayne is first to speak once more, "Um… yah know whut? I don' think I really want t' know. No offense, Chief, but I like t' think yer above that sorta thing."

"Thank you, I like to think that too."

"But… HAVE you? Really?" murmurs Fidel, his mind whirling with possibilities. If I had a whole list of murder methods lined up in my head, wouldn't I recognize the signs at the crime scene and know the truth like the Chief did with the Anderson case? Yes, I would. Oh, what an advantage that would give me! He leans forward eagerly, "That's what you did back in Croydon, wasn't it? You read over cold cases and started seeing patterns, didn't you?"

His Chief nods, "Yes, Fidel. It's pretty depressing but a good officer keeps a mental file and tries to notice everything during those first few moments when at a crime scene."

Fidel nods back, "Mmm-hmm, I've seen you do it. Will you teach me how at our next crime scene?"

"Of course, Sergeant, it will give you a leg-up for when you go for Detective."

Fidel sits back with satisfaction. Detective! Oh yes, definitely, I'm going to be Chief someday… as soon as we can manage it.

Camille smiles, "And Fidel will learn it the way he should… with positive reinforcement…" then she frowns, "not the way you had to learn it, right?"

Richard frowns briefly but those old memories don't hurt like they used to. "That's right, I did it out of loneliness and despair… never realizing that I was in training for Paradise." He actually smiles at her, breaking cover and making a major public display of affection… for him.

She sees this and scoffs. Honestly! How repressed can one Englishman be? She shakes her head and returns the smile. He drops his gaze, suddenly shy, and her pulse quickens. She closes her eyes and calls herself sharply to heel. Not for the first time she marvels at his ability to arouse her without the slightest effort. When she opens her eyes she sees he has coloured slightly. Oh, yes, she thinks, we will continue this conversation to a MUCH greater length… latermmmm

Fidel breaks into her reverie, "What's the strangest method you've ever thought about?"

His composure once more in place, Richard huffs a breath, "Hmmm, well, it would have to be the exploding egg."

That got everyone's attention. Even Dwayne can't help laughing, "Really? As much as I don' wanna know… tell us!"

"The theory is… you prepare a hard-boiled egg just so then wait for someone to heat it up in a microwave of just the right configuration to just the right time and temperature… and make sure you are well out of the explosive corona when your victim bites into it."

This is greeted with stunned amazement.

"Where do you come up with these ideas?" whispers Fidel, starting his own mental file on the spot labeled 'Watch out for the Chief!' outlined in red.

"An'… would that actually kill a man?" wonders Dwayne, striking boiled eggs off his menu forever.

"Don't know, really. It would take a lot of experimentation. I'll let the YouTubers figure it out. It's not exactly rocket science but interesting none the less, don't you think?" He takes another sip of coffee, "And, of course, it's rather hit and miss. more of an exercise in entertainment and not really a good way to remove someone with prejudice."

"Yeah," Dwayne murmurs, " it kinda give a whole new meanin' to the sayin' 'havin' egg on yer face' but it's also sorta slow. Got any faster methods?"

The Chief studies him contemplatively and Dwayne suddenly remembers he owes the man $5 for yesterday's beer. As he gets out his wallet and lays the bill on the table, the Chief chuckles, "All kinds, Dwayne. Perhaps we can start team sessions over lunch?"

Camille comes to life, "As long as it's lunch and not supper, OK?"

A long look of unambiguous understanding passes between the two detectives then he nods, "Right, Friday lunch will now include discussion on how to get away with murder, agreed?" Everyone nods and the men go back to their desks. Camille stays by his side, a mischievous smile flirting her lips and he just knows she's going to say something sassy.

She doesn't disappoint as she bumps shoulders and whispers, "Any ways to kill someone in bed?" He returns her look with intense stillness. She doesn't think he's going to answer… but he does.

"Camille, you explore that avenue all the time. One day you will discover your own version of the perfect murder… and you will have a perfectly happy victim."

She purrs, "Happy? Perfectly?"

He colours again. She thinks once more how perfectly happy he looks in these unguarded moments. "Yes," he mouths just before he turns away, "perfectly."

She watches him return to his desk, his movements lyrical. She alone knows the leashed power and unexpected ardor hidden beneath that suit. Thinking about it makes a small rill run down her spine but there's nothing she can do about it right now, not here at the station. She settles into her chair with determined self-control. Still, a small sigh escapes her. This is echoed from up the room and they share one last look of communion before buckling down to get through the work day.

The coming night now, that'll be something completely different.

END