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Detective Sergeant Richard Poole sat in an unmarked police car observing the comings and goings from a dilapidated house in an obscure backstreet of an obscure town on what had to be the most insignificant Island in the Caribbean. He had been dispatched as part of a multinational task force to investigate a Caribbean-wide drug smuggling ring that the small local force was not equipped to deal with.
He had been sitting in the car for two days and was convinced he had lost a significant proportion of his bodyweight through sweat alone. It didn’t help that he had all the windows in the car open – it felt hot enough to melt lead. It didn’t help that the airline had lost his luggage and with it the few lightweight items of clothing that might have kept him marginally cooler and stop him sticking out like a sore thumb. It also didn’t help that for the last two days absolutely nothing had happened – with the exception of a cat earlier this morning.
He fingered his tie wondering whether to loosen it or take it off completely. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the seat.
When he opened them again, he spotted a teenage girl looking at him. She was wearing a red sun dress that came down to mid-thigh and some strappy sandals and he was fairly certain he had spotted her briefly yesterday, but if she kept looking at him like that, she would completely blow what was left of his fragile cover. He glared at her with the predictable outcome – she ignored him completely. He decided she would soon become bored and leave of her own accord, so he resumed watching the house.
After a few minutes she started to move. At last! he thought. But no such luck, she was walking straight towards him.
When she got closer, he could see that she was in her mid-teens. Slim, pretty and with a mass of curly hair, she walked with a confident sway straight towards him.
She came to a stop outside the car window and looked at him, taking in the rumpled suit, the pale overheated body and the bag of food wrappers on the seat beside him. A camera and pair of binoculars were on his lap ready to be used.
“Are you a policeman?” she asked with a distinct accent. French! Just to make it more annoying she was French. Truly the fates were against him.
“Go away!” he hissed.
“You are, aren’t you?”
He tried again. ”Go away. Don’t you have a home to go to?”
“Ah oui. But maman would make me wash the glasses, so this is more fun.”
She crouched down and looked through the windscreen.
“Are you watching Jacque's place?”
“It’s none of your business. Go away!”
Richard was starting to get annoyed.
At that point a middle-aged lady came out of the house next to the parked car. She reached the footpath and asked the girl
“Camille, does your policeman want a drink? He must be extremely hot in there.”
The girl, Camille, looked at him inquisitively.
He banged his forehead on the steering wheel a couple of times.
“I’m fine. Could you all just go away!”
“Well excuse me for offering.” The woman replied “but are you going to be here long because some of us have things to do.“ and she turned and stomped back into her house.
“What did she mean by that?” Richard asked looking at the retreating back.
“Oh, they’re probably all waiting inside until you finish your police business.” Camille explained.
“Wait, you mean everyone is avoiding coming out because they know I’m a policeman?”
“Well, you are in Dwayne’s unmarked police car.” she pointed out.
“Oh God, is there anything else that can go wrong?”
“Err, well...” she sounded hesitant which Richard thought was unusual for her based on what he had seen so far.
“Go on. It’s not as if the day could get any worse.“
“Well... if you are spying on Jacques... you won’t see anything from out here. He only ever uses the back.”
“Nope, I was wrong. The day just got worse! Two days I’ve been sitting here baking in this heat and, apparently the only thing I’ve achieved is to disrupt the normal business of the residents who don’t want to get in the way of a police stakeout. Bloody marvellous!”
This time his head sank onto the steering wheel and stayed there. He groaned.
“Are you alright Mr Policeman?”
He raised his head and looked at her as if surprised she was still there.
“If you want, I can show you a good place to watch Jacques’ house. But you need to get rid of the car.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
She looked confused. “Doing what?”
“Making me look like an idiot. When they find out I needed a teenage girl to show me how to run a surveillance, I’ll be a laughingstock.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, you wouldn’t know these things - you’re English. You just need to make use of local knowledge.”
With that she walked around the car and got into the passenger seat brushing the food wrappers onto the floor.
“What are you doing?” he asked failing to keep the indignation out of his voice.
“I’m going to be your trusty native guide and show you the place. Turn right at the end here.”
He glared at her some more, but she showed no inclination to move, instead she picked up the camera and started examining it.
“Be careful with that, it’s expensive.” He snapped to absolutely no effect, “Can’t you just tell me where to go?”
She looked at him with an impish grin that made him regret his choice of phrase.
“You’d never find it.” she declared with a note of finality, placing the camera on the seat beside her.
“Seatbelt!” he ordered and waited for her to buckle up. Sighing, Richard started the car and moved off.
They left the car on the side of a road that wound it’s way up the hill at the back of the town. She led him along a narrow track through some undergrowth until they emerged on the side of the hill overlooking the town. More importantly, they had an uninterrupted view into the back gardens of the street Richard had been sitting on. He could see people moving about now that the police car wasn’t there. Typical!
“Don’t stand there, they’ll see you.” Camille said and led him slightly further around into the shade of some trees. She plonked herself down and leant against the trunk of a tree.
“There, that’s better, isn’t it?”
“Err, well, yes, I suppose so.” Richard was distractedly looking around for somewhere to sit that wouldn’t get his suit dirty. He eventually got a handkerchief out of his pocket, laid it on the ground and sat on it.
Camille watched the performance with a bemused frown.
“Why do you wear that suit?” she asked.
He looked down at what he was wearing as if seeing it for the first time.
“It’s what all detectives in the UK wear. And besides, it’s comfortable.”
“You don’t look comfortable.” she observed “And if you’re undercover, why do you want to look like a detective?”
Richard looked at her, opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He decided there was really nothing he could say.
“You could take off your jacket and tie. No one would see you up here and the trees aren’t going to be impressed with you looking all official.”
He picked up the binoculars and studied the house to avoid answering.
They were quiet for a minute, but Richard could sense Camille shifting beside him. He suspected she was not the sort of person who could keep quiet for long.
He was right.
“Why did you become a policeman?”
“Well, my father was a policeman and he thought I should do something useful.” Whilst true, the statement left out a whole world of wishes that he rarely examined.
But she picked up on what he had left out.
“But... that’s what your father wanted. What did you want?”
He felt sorry for anyone confronted with such relentless inquisitiveness especially, at this moment, himself.
“I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition.” he quipped to a look of total bewilderment. He looked away and sighed.
Well, he supposed she would never have the chance to use the information against him.
“I... I would have liked to go into some form of academic research... History I think.” He glanced across and saw she was looking interested. Well, that was a first. A female that was genuinely interested in boring old Richard Poole. It felt... good and inspired him to carry on. It was a shame she was only in her mid-teens.
“Definitely History. I like searching through documents, picking up clues and putting them together. Working out what was going on and why people did the things they did. Hmm... I suppose police work is a bit like that but with more waiting around and the people aren’t dead so you can ask them questions. Well, most of them aren’t dead and you can rarely rely on what they say.” His lip curled in distaste at the thought of some of the live people he had encountered. He looked at her again – he really must stop that, it was inappropriate given her age, but she was incredibly easy on the eyes.
“Why, are you thinking of becoming a police officer?”
“I don’t know” she confessed “I might teach surfing with my boyfriend but I’m thinking of dumping him because he’s a bit boring. Or I could help maman in her bar. I think she’d like that, but we’d fight all the time.” she admitted honestly. “But there’s not much to do on the Island, so I’ll probably move away. Most young people do.” She sighed and looked off at the ocean beyond the town. Richard picked up the binoculars again and looked at the house.
“What’s the time?” she asked noticing the fading light.
“Nearly six o’clock. Why?”
“Oh merde, I’ve got to go. Maman will have dinner ready. Bye Mr Policeman.“
Richard raised his hand as she scampered through the undergrowth. He watched the place had left for several seconds before shaking his head. There seemed to be a void where she had been but it was nothing new so he returned to watching the house. He was rewarded half an hour later when a solitary figure picked its way into the back garden of the house. He picked up the camera and started taking photographs.
Sometime later after he had recorded the departure of the visitor, he heard a rustling in the undergrowth to one side.
“I told you he’d still be here said Camille as she emerged with a small girl trailing behind her. Richard was somewhat fuzzy when it came to judging the age of children, but this one looked to be about eight or nine. She didn’t look like Camille's sister, but he wasn’t much good at that sort of thing either. She was dressed in a flowery cotton dress with her hair in a complicated plaited arrangement.
Camille smiled at him. “You took your jacket off then.“
Richard looked guiltily towards his jacket hanging from a branch. “Oh, err well it’s after normal working hours.” He just about avoided wincing at the rather pathetic excuse.
“He doesn’t look like a policeman to me.” The little girl said staring belligerently at him.
“That’s because he’s not a policeman like Dwayne, he’s a detective and he’s working undercover.” Camille explained with the air of one who knows all about police matters.
“He still doesn’t look like a policeman. He looks more like a... a... a teacher! If you’re a policeman, can I see your gun?”
Still reeling from the teacher jibe, the last question threw Richard, and he blurted out
“Why would I need a gun?”
“You need it to shoot the baddies.” She explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He saw that Camille had her bottom lip caught between her teeth, watching how he handled this.
“I’m a British policeman and we don’t carry guns.” He decided not to go into the highly trained firearms officers, “We prefer to arrest suspects rather than shoot them.”
“Why?”
“Because if we make a mistake we can let them go. You can’t un-shoot an innocent person” he winced wondering what on earth had prompted him to use a word like ‘un-shoot’.
“But what if the baddie has a gun?”
“We talk to them and persuade them to put it down and give themselves up. But I think you need to realise that a police officer will probably meet an armed... baddie... perhaps once or twice in their career.”
“Now Aimee, let the English policeman do his job.”
The little girl, presumably called Aimee, pouted and wandered off to have a look at some flowers. Richard could hear her singing quietly to herself. She was quite good and, surprisingly, in tune.
Camille held out a bag towards him.
“Maman gave me this for you.” she said “She was horrified when I told her what you’d been eating.”
Richard took the bag and looked inside.
“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.
“Chicken stew.”
“Oh” he said and tentatively pulled a plastic container out. The bag also contained half a baguette, a bottle of the local beer and a fork.
“Thank you“ he said, belatedly remembering his manners.
He lifted the top and sniffed. It smelt alright. A hint of one or two herbs he wasn’t expecting but he realised just how hungry he was. He placed the lid on the plastic bag and picked up the fork. He dug in and placed some of the stew into his mouth. It was... hot! He coughed and nearly dropped the container. He reached for his water bottle and took a gulp.
Camille was watching him with some concern. “Are you alright? Maman didn’t put as much chilli in as she usually does. She thought you wouldn’t be used to it.”
“No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
He steeled himself and took another mouthful and followed it with a mouthful if bread. Now he knew what to expect it wasn’t too bad. Well, it wasn’t as hot as the curries he had eaten whilst at university. OK then, the one curry - and he had had a few beers beforehand on that occasion.
Not wanting to appear ungrateful he soldiered on and managed half of it before declaring himself full.
Camille then finished off the remainder using the same fork which was totally unhygienic. But he doubted any bugs would survive the stew.
They sat for a while, Camille asking questions about life as a policeman until Aimee declared herself bored and Camille got up to take her home.
Richard thanked her once again for the stew and watched them leave. It was dark but he was sure they’d be alright – Camille seemed sensible enough. He turned back to the house where a dim light illuminated the back porch wondering how long he should stay before heading to bed.
In the end it was gone midnight before he left for his hotel. There had been a trickle of visitors during the evening, mostly single men but, on one occasion a group of three carrying a holdall. All visitors we duly photographed and recorded, Richard wishing he’d brought a torch.
The moonlight was not much help once he got under the trees so it took him some time and a lot of blundering about before he got back to his car. Consequently, he was late reporting in the next morning. The pictures of the three men generated a bit of excitement, but he was soon dispatched to his lonely lookout.
He picked up a few supplies on the way together with a torch and blanket. After a couple of false starts, he found the place Camille had shown him the day before and settled down for a long stay. He spread the blanket on the ground, hung his jacket on the tree branch and sat down.
There was nothing happening at the house so his gaze wandered over the landscape. The hill sloped down towards the sea with houses clustered around the bay. The sun glinted off the sea which was an astonishing blue nothing like the steely grey of the waters around Britain. It was also cool up here, the trees giving some shade and a light breeze giving some respite from the eternal heat and humidity. It was still a lot hotter than was comfortable, but he found he could bear it – just about.
He felt foolish, but missed having Camille to talk to. She was young and full of life. It saddened him to think that he had never been that lively - even at university. But that was his nature he supposed. Having no book to distract himself with, the one he had on the plane was long since finished and the others were in his lost luggage, he started trying to work out how many species of tree he could see from his vantage point. First he needed to determine what constituted a tree...
It got to the middle of the afternoon and absolutely nothing had happened. He was leaning back against the tree chewing a Jelly Baby and thinking of a nice cup of tea when he heard a rustling off to one side. He shot to his feet and turned towards the sound to see Camille emerging from the undergrowth carrying a bag over her shoulder. He noticed that today she was wearing some very tight shorts and a strappy top that only just reached her waist. Richard found himself staring at her legs until he suddenly came to his senses.
As ever, surprise was not his friend...
“What are you doing here?” he blurted.
Her face fell and he immediately tried to recover.
“No, sorry. That came out wrong. I was, err, surprised to see you. Haven’t you got any friends you’d rather be with? It’s not very exciting up here after all.”
She shrugged. “I can be with my friends any time. It’s not every day you get to go on a stakeout.”
“But... what about your boyfriend? Won’t he miss you?”
“He probably wouldn’t notice I’ve gone. Anyway, I dumped him this morning. He was getting boring. He didn’t seem that bothered.” She said matter-of-factly.
Richard’s eyebrows shot up. If her boyfriend... ex-boyfriend now he supposed, was more boring than a stakeout, he must have been mind-numbingly tedious.
“If you’re certain you want to do this, it will be nice to have some company.”
She gave him a smile that made his insides go funny and sat down on the blanket with him. Richard shifted a bit to make sure there was a decent gap between them. He didn’t want to be accused of anything untoward.
He looked at the bag she had brought with her and frowned. It was quite large, covered with a colourful pattern of tropical flowers and had looked heavy when she had been carrying it. She noticed, of course.
“It’s our dinner.” she said reaching in and pulling out a brown paper bag. “Doughnut?” she asked.
“Err, no thank you.” She looked crestfallen “I’ve only just had a sandwich.” he lied. In fact his stomach was still a bit queasy after the stew of the previous night. He dreaded to think what she had brought for dinner today.
“Perhaps a bit later.” He was trying to placate her but she looked supremely unconcerned, munching away on her doughnut. “Anyway, doughnuts on a stakeout is a bit of a cliché perpetuated by films. Mostly it’s tea or coffee to keep you alert.”
“And those things you keep in your pocket “ she observed.
“Err, what things?”
“Those sweets in your jacket pocket.“ she explained.
How had she spotted those? He was sure he hadn’t eaten any whilst she had been here. He wondered if she had been watching him before emerging. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t think why.
“Have you ever been undercover? What’s it like?” she asked eagerly.
He was surprised at her interest in the subject, but tried to answer to the best of his ability.
“No, I haven’t. Could you imagine me trying to blend in with criminals?”
She looked at him “Well, perhaps if they were all schoolteachers.” And mimed ducking a slap with a grin on her face.
“Hmpf. Well, I don’t have the right temperament. Undercover officers have to be quick thinking and able to blend in. I tend to be more methodical and would stick out like a sore thumb. Anyway, I prefer working at more of a distance. It’s a bit like solving puzzles and I’m good at that.” God, he hoped he didn’t sound smug. “From what I’ve heard from undercover officers I’ve worked with...”
He related stories of long tedious hours watching buildings. Of weeks spent in the company of criminals where one slip could cost your life or, at least, serious damage, and all for a single piece of information that might not be ultimately relevant. He also couldn’t resist throwing in a small lecture on the origins of the police force in England.
Camille sat entranced. Richard knew he was showing off but having anybody hanging on his every word, even a teenage girl, was unheard of and it boosted his ego.
They stopped for dinner, Richard eyeing the various containers suspiciously. Camille took over the conversation at this point. She’d noticed that Richard was struggling with the food the previous day and how it was ‘so English’ not to complain to which Richard replied that only the French would think that food that destroyed the lining of your stomach was acceptable and that she wouldn’t have noticed a problem with it since she was French. Camille retorted that she was only half French, a muttered comment from Richard went unnoticed at this point, and that the food was more Caribbean than French. Richard retorted that that explained the excessive heat of the food.
When they had stopped bickering, Richard noticed that he was half way through a delicious plate of pasta with a side salad and garlic bread.
When he had finished his second plateful and helped tidy up, he sat back and let out a sigh of contentment. He then remembered that he was supposed to be on a stakeout not a picnic and he sat up abruptly and checked the house. Nothing seemed to be happening so he relaxed.
Purely as a ploy to relax after dinner he asked Camille about herself. He worried that he wouldn’t be able to sustain the conversation for long, but he needn’t have. Camille seemed to be able to talk with minimal interaction, but he found himself becoming drawn into the world of this unusual girl.
He learned that she would be sixteen in three months; that her mother ran the best bar in Honoré; that her father had left them when she was six years old and that there were three men heading towards the house.
Richard sat up abruptly at the last observation and looked for the camera. He took it from Camille, who was holding it out to him, and started taking photographs. It appeared to be the three men from the previous day.
“I wish I could get closer to see what’s going on in there “ he muttered, and like a fairy godmother Camille said “There’s a path...”
“Show me.” He could have kissed her but was conscious of just how ethically questionable merely sitting alone with her was.
She stood up and led him down a twisty game trail. They stopped when Richard had a good view into the kitchen and back room. The men were standing around a table which was covered with various papers and packages. Richard started taking photographs until Camille whispered “Someone’s coming!”
They looked around for somewhere to hide and fought their way through the undergrowth until they were concealed. Richard could just make out two figures walking along the edge of the rampant vegetation and started taking more photos. Camille nudged him and held out her hand, obviously wanting the camera for some reason. He frowned and shook his head but she poked him in the chest and glared at him. With an exasperated sigh he handed the camera over and Camille spent a few seconds fiddling with it before handing it back with a ‘carry on’ gesture. When he started taking photographs again, he noticed that the camera had stopped making the clicking noise.
It was possible the new people were going somewhere else, but he couldn’t think of a legitimate reason for anybody to be taking this route. Besides, there was ample room on the memory card so he kept taking pictures.
The new arrivals turned out to be two people, a man and a woman, both smartly dressed and looking uncomfortable about their situation. As expected, they made their way to the back door of the house. Richard took Camille’s hand and pushed his way back to their previous vantage point to continue his photography.
Eventually the meeting in the house looked to be on the point of breaking up and Richard whispered
“We have to get out of here.” He said and turned back the way they had come.
“No!“ said Camille urgently. “They’ll see us that way. Over here.” And she led him a few yards away at right-angles to their original path. She crouched down behind a scraggy bush on the edge of the tree line and Richard followed suit.
The moonlight once again enabled them to make out what was going on. Richard was frustrated that he could just about hear them talking, but they weren’t speaking English so he had to fiddle about putting the camera into video mode and hope its microphone was sensitive enough to pick up their conversation.
They were in the process of standing up when Jacques himself came out of the house. Richard ducked down quickly pulling Camille after him. The unexpected change of direction caused Camille to yelp and fall against him. He held on to her to stop her thrashing about and shushed her. Jacques looked over in their direction having heard something and Richard held his breath. Evidently deciding it was an animal, Jacques moved on.
When he judged that Jacques was out of range, Richard stood up. Realising he still had his arm around Camille’s waist, he quickly let go.
“Damn, I wish I knew what they were saying, it might be important. I hope the camera picked it up.“
“They were talking about clearing out and tidying up. Sounds like something maman would get me doing “
She started brushing some leaves off her shorts.
“What?” she said when she realised Richard was staring at her, open-mouthed.
He shook off his momentary stupefaction and grabbed her arms staring at her intently.
“Did you understand what they said?”
“They were talking French, of course I understood.” Some of his emotion began to communicate itself to her.
“They said they needed to be out by tomorrow night. It’s important, isn’t it?”
“It could be very important. You need to come with me to talk to some people.”
He started to move towards the track they had come down, clutching her hand.
She seemed to become a bit wary. “Which people? I told maman I’d be home soon.”
He turned to look at her, still holding her hand.
“Camille, what you heard could help us catch some very bad people. But you need to tell it all to some other policemen I am working with. You need to trust me on this Camille. I will talk to your mam... mother “
She seemed to look deep into his soul for a few seconds but eventually nodded.
“Thank you . Let’s clear up all our stuff and then I’ll drive you there.” Although desperate to get to his colleagues, his deeply embedded need for order and neatness would not let him leave their lookout in a mess. They had enough time – it would only take a minute or two to tidy up.
It actually took five minutes once they had located their little nest but he was soon driving at speed to Government House, the nerve centre of the operation.
He entered a large room which had several desks arranged along one wall and several boards containing maps and photographs along the other.
They were spotted by a tall, greying man with mahogany skin who had the bearing of a senior officer.
“Poole, what are you doing here and who have you got with you? She looks a little young for you.”
The cluster of men around the senior officer all turned to look at Richard and Camille, one or two of them chuckling at the quip once they saw them.
Richard explained what had happened that night and played them the clip on the camera. They could just about make out the conversation, but none of them spoke French so Richard brought in Camille and explained what she had said about the conversation. They then played the clip a couple of times while Camille translated what they were saying. Nervous at first, she soon settled and started to relish her time in the spotlight.
There was a moment’s silence at the end.
“Right, we need to move on this gentlemen. Bishop, sort out reinforcements. Try Guadeloupe, they’re closest and can get here quickest. We need to raid several locations at once and I’m afraid the local resources aren’t up to it. Smith, take this young lady and get a statement you’ll need to get someone, probably one of her parents, to act as chaperone. Jackson, find someone who can speak French and get a transcription of this conversation – translated into English by preference. Poole, we need your report and copies of the best photographs you took. Well done both of you. Thomas, Wilson we need to put a plan together.”
With that he walked over to one of the maps and started a discussion with the two officers. The other nominated officers went off to perform their allotted tasks, one of them coming over to ask Camille to go with him. Richard assured her it would be alright and asked for her mother’s phone number so he could let her know where she was.
When he phoned Camille’s mother, Catherine Bordey, it took a while to straighten out an initial misunderstanding and convince her that Camille really was helping the police with their enquiries and had not been arrested for something. He told her that, since Camille was under aged, she was at liberty to sit with her daughter whilst the statement was taken.
Richard was involved with the head of the operation, Detective Chief Superintendent Jonah Henry, so he only saw an extravagantly dressed woman being led over to the table where Camille sat. He didn’t spot them leave, but an hour later there was no sign of either of them. He hoped Camille had remembered to pick up her food bag from the back of the car.
The following morning, seven locations across the Island were raided and twelve arrests made. They did not manage to pick up the smart man and woman Richard had photographed, but the harbour and airport had been put on alert and sent photographs.
And that was the end of Richard’s involvement. He had been brought in as part of a support group from the Met who were now booked to fly home that afternoon. He did think of trying to find Camille before he flew home, but wasn’t sure why or what he would say to her. In the end he convinced himself it was better to have a clean break. He thought about her on the flight home, chuckling at the thought that “Plucky Schoolgirl Cracks the Case” sounded a bit Enid Blyton but she had actually done it.
Fifteen years later
He was back on Saint Marie and, once again, the airline had managed to lose his luggage! This time he had been sent out to investigate the murder of DI Charles Hulme, another member of the Metropolitan Police who was on secondment. “You’re ideal Poole. You’ve been there before” his boss had said. Well, alright, he had spent a few days baking in a car watching a house... fifteen years ago! It hardly qualified as local knowledge!
He had just returned from interviewing suspects at the Lavender mansion where the murder had taken place and was about to call it a day. Of all places, they had put him in a shack on the beach. It was disgusting. DI Hulme was obviously not a very tidy person because there was dirty clothing and empty bottles strewn about all over the place. It was obvious cleaning was well down Hulme’s list of priorities.
He had just opened the door to the shack when he heard the clink of bottles and stopped. There should be no one here, but it seemed like there might be. He looked around for some form of weapon but the only thing readily to hand was an old mop. Ah well. Picking it up and trying not to think of how ludicrous he looked, he advanced cautiously into the main room.
“Hello?” he said and was surprised when the head of a young woman popped up from behind the bed. She was dark skinned with curly hair and was dressed in shorts and a shirt tied at the waist.
“Who are you?” she asked somewhat timidly and got to her feet dusting herself off.
“I am Detective Inspector Richard Poole of the Metropolitan Police. Who are you?”
“I errm, I am Mr Hulme’s cleaner?” she said tentatively. As if to prove her credentials, she started straightening the bed sheets.
“You’re his cleaner?” he said sceptically. “Well, I won’t get in your way.” He handed her the mop “You’ve got your work cut out.”
He walked away to get his briefcase which he had left by the door. Something was bothering him about the woman and not just her presence in the shack.
“Thank you, sir.” she said and even he could detect the insincerity.
“So, are you a friend of Charlie’s?” she asked as he walked towards the desk.
“Something like that.”
“You’re from England, right?”
He looked back at her
“Ah, you can tell, can you?”
“Yeah.” A flash of her eyes indicated her thoughts on the matter. And then the penny dropped. He knew where he had seen her before. It was that girl from the last time he was on the island. What was her name... Candice... Camilla... Camille! That was it. God, he hoped she didn’t recognise him and that he had managed to keep his face neutral.
“Errm, what are you doing here? Is it a holiday, sir?”
He stopped what he was doing, struck by a further realisation.
“You haven’t heard, have you?”
“Heard what?”
He told her. She seemed to crumple and sat on the bed crying. Richard fished out a packet of travel tissues from his pocket and handed her one. She blew her nose loudly destroying the tissue in the process. Richard standing to the side stoically handed her a clean one. He felt a bit awkward. It was a bit over the top for a cleaner - unless she really cared for him. As he placed the empty packet on the window sill something occurred to him. It was a bit excessive for a cleaner so what if she was something else? A girlfriend... or a provider of more intimate services... these and other options thrown up by his overactive imagination made his blood run cold. Surely she couldn’t be that desperate? He couldn’t look at her in case she read his suspicions in his face.
“And he was such a nice man. So full of life. Not your typical...” she looked at him pointedly
“Yes, I’ve heard, yeah.” He replied automatically, missing the invitation and placing the used tissue she had handed him with the others.
“But who would kill him?”
“We’re pursuing a number of lines of enquiry.” he said automatically, still trying to avoid looking at her.
She sobbed a bit more trying to wipe her tears away.
“Are you, are you staying here, sir?
“Er, yes, apparently so.”
“And will you be here long”
“I hope not.” he said shaking his head. He still found it difficult to look at her.
“Oh, do you need a cleaner?” He finally looked at her as she stood up, adjusting her shorts. “Or laundry? I could always send any of your suits...”
He hoped she wasn’t about to offer him any other options.
“No, it’s fine, really, don’t worry.” He paced around heading for the veranda door, looking for escape from the idea so firmly lodged in the forefront of his brain. Desperately trying not to look at her “I’ll just, erm, borrow the odd item from Mr Hulme.”
“They’re not all clean.”
“Oh, please!” He had to get rid of her before he gave himself away. “Look, I’ll be fine and I, erm, have one or two things to do...” he left the implication hanging there. Fortunately, she picked up on this faster than he probably would have.
“Oh, well I’d better go now. I, ah, have other places to... clean.”
He followed her out muttering something about getting in touch if he needed her, although neither pointed out he didn’t have her contact details. He watched her ride away on a rather small motor bike giving her a tentative wave, her “Bye Mr Policeman!” still ringing in his ears.
He thought he had managed to get away with her not recognising him but wasn’t so sure any more. Unusually he felt rather sad and hoped she really was a cleaner and not... something else. He wondered what had happened to waste all that potential he had seen in her all those years ago. As he was likely to be leaving in a day or two, he would probably never find out.
He sighed and went back inside...