If this had been the Caribbean Camille would have immediately left to hunt down a quiet spot and a glass of the strongest rum and maybe slept it off in the sand. But that luxury was long gone. After conferring with her own team, Camille was back at her desk, diligently filing paperwork. The phantom voice in her head that her brain had assigned the voice of Richard chuckled once dryly at the studious image presented and then was quiet.

Technically DI Bordey could have still been on leave. Should have, really. Only the last operation to bring down Father Christmas and his cocaine empire had been running long before she got pregnant, and had been gradually building the whole time she had been sitting in on doctors' appointments with her Maman or at parenting classes with her ex. Which, Camille suspected, was the reason she had jumped so quickly back into the fray when offered. She loved her daughter dearly but in its own twisted way the cocaine operation was also her baby. And after months being told she needed to slow down, she had been climbing the walls.

Maybe she was broken.

Watching the blinking cursor on the screen, Camille drummed her fingers impatiently on the desktop before giving into temptation and picking up her desk phone and dialling.

After a long moment the call connected and the recipient was about to talk when there was a crash and a burst of static and a mumbled swear, and she smiled fondly as she realised he must have dropped the receiver.

There was a rustle and the person on the other end of the line spoke in a rush.

"DI Goodman."

Camille leaned back in her chair. "Good morning, sir! Can I talk to you about changing your phone service provider?"

"I – what? I think you've got the wrong-"

"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty." She might have been enjoying herself just a touch too much. "Sir, have you found the Lord?"

Camille could guess the moment Humphrey Goodman's brain kicked in properly and he realised what madwoman he was likely talking to.

"Why, have you lost Him again?" He said lightly, and she could imagine his pleased-little-boy grin. "Camille, it's been too long! How's the little one?"

"Aimèe's fine, growing like a weed and missing her Uncle 'Umph."

Humphrey laughed. "Surely she hasn't developed a sense of object permanence yet to miss someone."

"Do you doubt us Bordey women?"

"Never." He said. "And knowing you Bordey women, you don't just simply call for a chin-wag."

He left it open, knowing that she wanted something but allowing her to say it instead of asking her directly.

"Ah, sir, but you've seen through my cunning disguise." Camille said lightly, watching the rest of her office with a cautious eye. "I would like to request a favour. For old time's sake."

"A favour." She could detect the caution in his tone. "In my experience someone asking for a favour is never a good thing."

"Lah, don't tell me you're going by the book now." Camille said. "I just want to see if you can check up on someone for me. In your police records."

She could sense his bafflement. "Couldn't you do it yourself?"

"It's hard enough to get an exchange of files on active cases." Camille snorted at the bone-headed stubbornness of the English, flatly refusing to acknowledge that her French brethren were just as reluctant when it came to an exchange of information with the UK.

"It's not an active case?"

"Rather more of a personal nature." Camille said. "For… my peace of mind."

She could hear him click out a pen and there was a rustle as he shifted around, and she could just imagine him searching his pockets for a candy wrapper or a chewing gum box to write on. "All right, you have a name?"

Here it goes. Before she lost her nerve. "Doug Anderson." She said. "He was a police officer at Croydon."

Camille could tell from Humphrey's voice going from happy to serious that he immediately recognised the name. Of course he had read all his predecessor's files. "Camille, what's going on?"

"I just-" She squeezed her eyes closed briefly. "Can you check? Find him for me? For old time's sake?"

Humphrey sighed. "I'll make some calls."

When Camille let herself into her apartment that night she could hear her babysitter Francois chatting away in French to someone in the kitchen. For a moment she thought he must have been on the phone and then someone answered back. Camille's back immediately went rigid before a moment later realising that she knew the second voice.

"Maman!"

Immediately she flew into Catherine's arms. She supposed no matter how old you were, sometimes you needed your mother.

"Ah, Chèrie, I have missed you too!" Catherine kissed each cheek and her forehead. "Why have they got you working already? Mon Dieu, I should give them a good talking to, you look dreadful."

"Thank you, Maman." Camille said dryly as Francois hid a smile behind his coffee cup. "I have a job and I have a ten-month old."

"It would be much easier if you had a husband." Catherine said archly, and Camille bit back a sigh. This was an old argument that had been ongoing since she was in her twenties, and had ramped up again when Leo moved out.

"Still not getting back together, Maman."

Her mother snorted. "Lah, I told you not to get involved with another policeman."

Camille and Leo's story had started the same way so many others in their profession did. It was a big case that blew up spectacularly before ending with a dramatic bang, and with emotions running high and hot, the two had tumbled into bed.

She quickly turned to Francois and chatted to him about payment and Aimèe's day while Catherine watched. As her babysitter farewelled them, her maman hugged her from behind.

"You know I don't mean it like that." Catherine said. "I was a working mother raising a perfect little girl on her own. I never wanted that for you. I don't want that for you."

Camille turned in her mother's arms. "I know."

The two stood there for a moment before Catherine whispered into her hair.

"I have a surprise for you."

There was a conspiratorial glint in her eye. Camille's eyes narrowed.

"Should I be afraid?"

Catherine swatted her and Camille laughed.

And that was when someone knocked on the front door.

"Catherine? They were all out of lime cilantro rice but I managed to snare some Sauvignon Blanc for the salmon!"

"You invited over a date? Am I really that tragic?" Camille hissed.

"Yes." Catherine flapped a hand at her. "But he's not for you. Not that way. Never that way."

"What?"

The door opened and she found herself looking into a very familiar face that broke into a wide grin.

"Hey Sarge!" Dwayne Myers held up the bags he was carrying. "Salmon?"

And so Camille was sat down on a chair at the table in her kitchen, and soon the apartment was filled with the smell of her mother's cooking. Dwayne, not having the patience to find the good glasses at the back of the cupboard, grabbed the nearest glass-like objects and the three of them ended up drinking wine out of brightly-coloured tumblers emblazoned with Bluey and Miraculous Ladybug.

Finally she asked the question.

"What are you doing here?" Camille asked. "You." She looked at her mother. "Shouldn't be here for another two weeks! And you-" she glanced at Dwayne. "I don't know where you should be, but it's not here. Weren't you in Macau?"

"An' now I'm here." Dwayne said around a mouthful of food.

"I was shopping." Catherine elaborated, piling her daughter's plate with more food. "There I was, just walking down the street, and who do I see but Dwayne Myers! Oh, it's such a small world."

"And getting smaller all the time." Camille murmured, and her mother smacked her hand. "How is your father?"

That time Dwayne deliberately avoided her eyes. "Oh, you know, he's catching up with some old buddies on the coast."

Her brows rose but she didn't say anything else. Camille had been a police officer long enough to realise when someone wanted the conversation shifted away from a touchy topic. More than likely the old man was back in hospital and Dwayne didn't want anyone feeling sorry for him. He swallowed and for a moment it looked like he might actually confess his fears to two of his oldest friends when instead he sprang to his feet.

"More wine!"

Camille and Catherine exchanged a look before Dwayne sat back down at the table with the second bottle.

"I tell you what we need to do now, we just need to find an excuse to get Fidel here and get the team back together!"

But the team wouldn't be back together, not really. Catherine briefly covered her daughter's hand and squeezed, and Camille managed a small smile in return.

"You would trick Fidel to stage some sort of reunion." She said.

"You're right." Dwayne said, extrapolating a conclusion from a conversation he seemed to have had entirely in his head. "We all need to go back to Honoré. Make a week of it."

She smiled wryly. "You're really set on his, aren't you?"

"I think it's the best idea I've had in ages." Dwayne countered.

"It would be nice to have you come home not for a murder case." Catherine said wistfully. "For a change."

Dwayne looked excited. "Then it's settled. I'll make some calls."

Her eyes widened. "What?" She said. "I can't – Aimèe-" As abruptly as she started, Camille stopped. She thought back to Roger Sadler telling her only that morning that she was a potential target from corrupt officers. And because of that, Aimèe was at risk.

She nodded slowly. "All right, why not?"

He grinned widely. "Brilliant."

Later when Dwayne had left and Catherine was asleep in the guest room that would soon become Aimèe's room, Camille was lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Unlocking her phone, she thumbed to the app connected to Aimèe's baby monitor in her crib and spent a calming few moments watching the baby's chest rise and fall steadily.

And then her phone rang, and Camille almost dropped it on her face.

"Bordey."

"I know it's late," Humphrey immediately said.

"If you have what I have asked for, you're forgiven." She shifted into her bathroom not to wake Aimèe.

"Maybe you shouldn't say that quite yet." He said delicately. Camille frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Humphrey sighed. "I've found Doug Anderson."

"The Croydon policeman?"

"Yep." He said. "The same."

"Where is he?"

There was a pause. "Wakefield." He said it like he expected her to recognise the name. "He's been there since a few years after the trial."

Camille's mind was whirring, and part of her hated that she was genuinely considering following a hunch into enemy territory. English territory. "Well, I suppose I could come across and see-"

"Wakefield Cemetery." Humphrey blurted.

Camille slowly sat down on the closed toilet lid. "What?"

"Before that, it was Her Majesty's Wakefield Prison, a Class A jail." He said. "'The Monster Mansion.'" He snorted at the prison's nickname.

"Explain." Camille said quietly.

"After the trial he was transferred to Wakefield. Placed in solitary for his own safety, see."

She was silent. She could practically see what came next, even before her friend confirmed it. Police didn't last long in jail.

"Apparently there was a mistake in the intake papers and he was released into the general population."

She squeezed her eyes closed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"There was a minor riot in the cafeteria so the guards were busy with that when Anderson was promptly stabbed several times."

And there it was.

"The perpetrators weren't ever definitively identified."

Of course not. Anderson was a police officer. To the majority if not all of the prison population he was the enemy. It was probably a minor miracle that he made it for as long as he did.

"No one ever claimed the body so he was cremated and interred in Wakefield Cemetery." Humphrey said. "Camille, Doug Anderson has been dead for eight years."

Camille could hear Aimèe stir slightly in her crib. "Thank you, Humphrey."

"I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but call me back if there's anything I can do."

"You might regret making that offer." Camille teased.

"Never!" Humphrey laughed.

Catherine was impossibly excited that all the Bordey women would be back on Saint Marie, chatting away nonstop as her daughter went robotically about her morning routine, getting ready for work and making sure that Aimèe actually got a reasonable amount of sustenance despite her complaining.

"So I've told Francois that he can take some time off." Catherine said cheerily as she puttered around the living room.

Camille's coffee cup hit the counter with a clink, not liking her maman's tone.

"You sacked my babysitter?"

"Non! Not sacked, just said that he could have some time off since Grand-Mère is here."

She felt her back teeth begin to grind.

"Maman!"

"Chèrie, don't make that face. He's only a babysitter."

A babysitter from a police background. Camille worked with Francois's father. His sister was a uniformed officer and Francois himself planned on moving into the police academy when he left university in another few months. Camille found that she couldn't bring herself to leave her baby with just some random teenager.

"I can't get Aimèe into daycare until the new year. I need Francois."

Catherine waved her hand dismissively and Camille's annoyance spiked. Her mum had lived on the island for so long where everyone knew everyone that she was starting to forget that the rest of the world didn't operate on those same it-takes-a-village values.

"Five months, Maman!"

Catherine squeezed her hands.

"Your maman has everything under control."

Isn't that comforting? Richard whispered sarcastically, and Camille's eyes narrowed. "What are you planning?"

"Why, I am insulted." Catherine swept up Aimèe from her highchair, the baby giggling as her grandmother waltzed her around the kitchen. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Uh huh." Camille said. "I have to go or I'll be late. The paediatrician's number is on the fridge." She pressed a kiss to Aimèe's wild hair and the baby hid her face. "Already, the attitude." She tisked. "Be good for Grand-Mère."

Catherine's eyes twinkled. "You mean that?"

No. "Of course." She kissed her mother's cheek. "I'll see you, Maman."

"Get some time off." Her mother instructed. "Don't take no for an answer! Tell that Charles Champion if he says no, I'm going straight to his mother!"

Yes, because that would do wonders for her career, telling on the boss to his mum.

"Goodbye, Maman."

Throughout the work day Camille couldn't help but to notice that while Roger Sadler had gone back, presumably to London, his presence had been replaced by that of Remy Pendergast, Interpol officer. He didn't interfere, and didn't engage with any of the other officers, but just observed quietly. Camille watched the man from under her lashes, certain that the man, in turn, was watching her back.

And it turned out that Catherine wouldn't have to follow through with her threat to complain to Champion's mother as Camille's boss immediately granted her request for leave, and she strongly suspected that he and Renard had been quietly conferring on what to do with her, to carefully remove her from the situation. She suspected it so strongly that Camille actually called him on it.

Champion considered her for a moment, hands folded in front of his nose, grey eyes calm and calculating.

"If I hadn't known you for so long, Bordey, I would write you up for insubordination for that insinuation." His eyebrows rose. "You and I both know that this situation has the potential to go sideways in an instant. We could be putting your colleagues or civilians at risk, so I won't pretend that having you briefly out of the way won't be better for everyone."

She understood the logic behind his words, but the insinuation that it would be better for everyone if she just stepped aside made the Brodey temper begin to rise. Champion must have seen it in Camille's face, because he immediately moved to intercept.

"Camille, you know I didn't mean it that way, and you would have made the same call if you were in my situation."

"I know." She said. "I just feel useless. I haven't botched it so badly since the Lavender case."

The case that had sent her crashing into Richard Poole, the uptight, anal-retentive, annoying, egotistical, loyal and strangely sweet gentleman that was still so important to her after all this time. If you had only told him that when he was still alive, her mind traitorously whispered.

"You didn't botch the case, like you didn't botch the Lavender case. Yes, you got blown, but both times you got your man." Champion said. "Or woman." He closed his laptop. "I'm going to get lunch." He jangled his keys at her in a wordless invitation.

"Are you writing it off as a business expense?"

"There has to be some perk of dealing with little smartarses like you every day."

She smiled. "But I'm the favourite."

Champion raised an eyebrow, not rising to her sass.

"And that's probably why Jack DuPont is sticking pins in your voodoo doll right now."