S1 E8 - The Truth, The Whole Truth, and Nothing But The Truth

Part 1 of 3

It has been a long, hot, arduous day putting the Nadia Selim case to bed; paperwork, phone calls, faxes, reports in, reports out, dust, and not enough coffee. A weary Richard Poole plunks the empty coffee pot back down, stares into his vacant mug, hangs his head, and sends a completely rhetorical question out into the distracted, disjointed, dispirited air of the room.

"Do you know what really irks me?"

There's a beat or two of grumpy silence behind him which he expected. He can practically HEAR the eye rolls. It's when he reaches up to get a coffee packet that he hears something he DIDN'T expect.

Dwayne's voice mutters, "Havin' t' spackle yerself with 1,000 SPF sunblock every 5 minutes?" Richard freezes in place, staring at his too pale hand resting on the cupboard handle.

Camille's voice growls, "Sandpaper down your trousers?" Richard frowns down at the sink.

Fidel's resigned voice is the biggest shock, "Being smarter than everyone around you?"

Richard wheels about and faces his team… or what he had thought was his team because they don't seem very 'team-y' at the moment. He stares at his officers and they stare back with various attitudes of tired and fed-up and just wanting the day to end. He drops his eyes and contemplates the floor for a few moments then swiftly walks straight out the West door.

His team watches him go then resume their tedious chores and wait for him to come back. He doesn't. After fifteen minutes, one by one, they sit up and blink as they put down their work and look to the door. Finally, Dwayne mutters, "Did anyone hear him go down the steps?" His partners think then shake their heads. "Me, neither," he says and sidles to his window to deke a glance outside.

"Do you see him?" Camille gusts. Dwayne nods. "Where is he? What's he doing?" she asks.

"He's just sittin' onna side bench, starin' at his shoes. He don't look too happy."

Fidel begins to fidget, "Um, did we say something wrong? We didn't hurt his feelings, did we?"

Camille groans softly, "With HIM? Who knows? You say one thing, he hears another, but we didn't say anything that isn't true. He needs sunblock day and night, he hates sand, and he IS smarter than everyone else. We all know it so I don't see why it would upset him."

Dwayne frowns, "Uh, I mebee see what it could be." At his colleagues' quirked eyebrows he continues, "We jest tol' 'im he's still an outsider, the oddball, the guy that don' fit in."

Fidel groans, "Oh, no, do you really think so? We've tried so hard to make up for Croydon."

Camille slaps a hand over her eyes, "Mon Dieu, you're right, Dwayne, we just undid a year's careful work! I'm gonna staple my lips shut after this. I'll just write him notes from now on."

Dwayne cocks his head, "Hold on, he's stirrin'!" He dives to his desk and begins bashing at his keyboard. Fidel swoops down onto a pile of forms. Camille leaps up and gets elbow-deep into a filing cabinet. All of them are studiously busy when a quiet voice speaks behind them.

"Excuse me, Dwayne; may I speak to you for a minute? Outside?" DI Poole is stony-faced in suited rigor as he gestures for Dwayne to precede him back outside.

Dwayne has no alternative. He stands, perks up his collar, and casts one last 'help me' glance at his co-workers before walking out the door and going to the bench. Rushing to the window, Camille and Fidel can see Dwayne and their boss sitting side by side. Whatever Poole is saying looks extremely serious and Dwayne listens intently. Then Dwayne jumps to his feet looking shocked. Poole catches his arm and keeps talking. Slowly, Dwayne sinks back down and now they have their heads together, deep in conversation.

Fidel's grip on Camille's shoulder is painful as he whispers, "What's he saying to him? Dwayne never takes anything seriously! Maybe the Chief is firing him?" Camille stares at the young man with wide eyes but merely shakes her head. They watch for another minute before something else unusual happens. Both men stand… and shake hands. They step back from one another and nod man-to-man then Poole sits back down and Dwayne re-enters the station. Fidel and Camille are frozen in place, afraid to ask, afraid not to ask, afraid of what comes next.

Dwayne drops into his chair and raises thoughtful eyes to Fidel, "He wants you next," and bobs a thumb over his shoulder before folding his hands and staring down at them. Fidel pales and straightens up, stepping forward like a soldier going into No Man's Land. Camille's hand trails down from the young man's shoulder to his arm then his hand then his fingertips as he leaves her behind. He's out the door.

Camille peeks out the window, sees Fidel sit down beside their boss… my BOSS! Why do I keep forgetting he's the boss? She whirls to Dwayne. "What did he say to you?" she hisses. "What did you say back? What were you two talking about so seriously?"

Dwayne studies his hands for another few moments then takes a deep stuttery breath, "He called me out 'bout my racist remark." Camille's sudden gasp is very loud but before she can say anything, Dwayne nods, "An' he wuz right! Oh, I try real hard not t' look at people's colour but I wuz raised by my gram an' SHE wuz raised by her gram who was a born into slavery. Both a them worked all their lives lookin' after 'cloud folk' as they called 'em an' didn't have nice things t' say 'bout mosta them. Things you hear as a kid, you know, it sticks with you no matter how hard you try t' forget."

Camille stills, thinks, and then says, "If you do have some resentment, you hide it well. You're one of the easiest going men I know." She pauses then adds, "Was he very angry?"

Dwayne looks up, "No, he wuzn't mad atall, he wuz sad that he made me feel that way. He apologized an' said he'd do better… an' I ended up apologizin' back. It all come gushin' outta me; my childhood, my poor granny who wuz still a slave in so many ways, and how I fight those early memories so hard. He understood. He told me some stuff from his own childhood that I never woulda guessed." He sighs, "He's a pretty amazin' guy an' I'm glad we had our talk." He swings his chair around, "An' now I gotta wonder what Fidel an' him are talkin' 'bout. Fidel mentioned bein' smart, didn't he?"

Camille's head jerks up. She sees Fidel standing, shaking Richard's hand, and actually smiling! Then he strides back inside and says, "He wants to see you next, Camille, but he needs a few minutes. He'll call when he's ready." Fidel goes to his desk and sits, staring into space. Dwayne and Camille crowd up to Fidel's desk and throw hushed questions at him.

Fidel rouses from his reverie, "Oh, mmm, he said he was very sorry if his behaviour was rude in any way and that he never meant to make me feel stupid. He said he has every confidence in me to REPLACE him when the time comes." His eyes begin to shine as he whispers, "Me, 'the Chief', or 'A Chief' because no one can possibly replace him, for heaven's sake!"

Dwayne's eyes narrow, "Did he tell you anythin' 'bout his early life?"

Fidel's eyes jerk to Dwayne, "Yeah, yeah, he did, it was in confidence but I have to say I'm shocked at the abuse he put up with, the disrespect, the dishonour! Oh, it was the best day in both our lives when he came to this island! We both thought so at the time… and now we've told each other." He muses for a moment then says, "He's so much more than I realized. I've got some very big shoes to grow into."

As Camille and Dwayne look down at the pensive Fidel, a quiet 'ahem' behind them makes them both jump and turn. Poole is in the doorway looking very grave. He nods to Camille, "Detective Sergeant," and steps away, going to the bench where he waits patiently.

Camille's mouth goes dry as her skin cools. She looks to the men. They merely nod in unison.

"Your turn," Fidel murmurs.

"Good luck," Dwayne whispers.

She takes a deep breath, stiffens her back, about-turns, and marches out to meet her fate.

End – Part 1