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Chapter Text

“Love, that is first and last of all things made,

The light that has the living world for shade,

The spirit that for temporal veil has on,

The souls of all men woven in unison,

One fiery raiment with all lives inwrought,

And lights of sunny and starry deed and thought,

And always through new act and passion new

Shines the divine same body and beauty through,

The body spiritual of fire and light

That is to worldly noon as noon to night.”

-“Tristam of Lyonesse”, Algernon Charles Swinburne, 1882

Prelude – Strange Visitors

            The rented blue sedan cruised into Shipton Abbot, Devon, a few moments before sunset on a sleepy Friday evening. The driver’s side window rolled down to allow the lone occupant a quick view of the gleaming harbor waves as the sun slipped out of view, the village lights twinkling on as night arrived in earnest.

            And for a brief moment, the newest arrival to Shipton Abbott was overwhelmingly reminded of home.

            The blue sedan pulled into a public parking lot and switched off the engine, before exiting and walking down a pleasantly lit avenue lined by cobblestone homes and shops, eventually coming upon a charmingly decorated open-air restaurant with outdoor seating full of patrons enjoying the night air.

            One group of people, seated outside, drew particular interest to the new arrival.

            “Oh, come on! You’re kidding!”

            “No, no, I wish I was, but it’s true,” a tall, fair-haired man chuckled sheepishly.

            “You fell out of a window? At your first crime scene on Saint Marie? Cor, that must have left a hell of a first impression,” an older woman smirked as she sipped on a glass of bourbon.

            “Well, it’s not that surprising, sir, you are rather…well, you know,” a young man, clad in the uniform of a police officer, shrugged haplessly. “Clumsy?”

            “That’s one word for it,” a young, dark-haired woman chuckled. “Keep in mind, when I first met you, sir, you were stuck in a tree!”

            “Don’t forget the time he ran screaming into a tree!” The older woman cackled.

            “Esther, Margo, please!”

            “I guess I shouldn’t bring up the two times he accidentally ran off with a train?” A pretty blond woman came up, beaming and carrying a tray of full wine glasses.

            The center of attention blushed a deep red. “Martha! Et tu?”

            “Hey, it was either the trains or the time you fell of our boat,” Martha grinned.

            “You know, if you all keep on like this, I’m going to leave,” the fair-haired man scowled.

            “I’m sorry, Humphrey, but it’s hard not to get caught up!” Martha giggled. “How did you all get onto this topic anyhow?”

            “I somehow mentioned that I once fell out of a window at a crime scene on Saine Marie. My…first case, actually…”

            “I just refuse to believe that you are so clumsy to fall out of a window at a crime scene!” Esther, the dark-haired woman, declared. “It’s baffling!”

            “Oh, it’s true, all right.”

            All heads turned at the appearance of the new, melodiously accented voice as the new arrival approached their table. Kelby’s mouth dropped wide open and his eyes looked like they were about to bug out of their sockets as they took in the sight of the gorgeous woman standing before them – with unblemished skin the color of warm mocha, full red lips that smiled back in wry amusement, long, wild black hair tied at the back of her neck, the woman was a complete stunner.

            Humphrey Goodman, on the other hand, was absolutely flabbergasted, at a loss for words – he couldn’t even make any sort of sensible syllables, he was in such a state of shock. He finally managed to croak out a simple statement as he stood up in wondrous amazement.

            “Bless my sainted aunt! Camille Bordey!”

            Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey of the Police Nationale smiled warmly in return. “Hello, Humphrey. It’s good to see you again.”

…

            So the bloody woman followed me here. Should’ve known…

            Standing in the shadows down the street from the restaurant called Ten Mile, the second newest arrival in Shipton Abbott quietly lit a cigarette and breathed in the glorious vapors, watching as the Bordey woman inserted herself into the group, accepting a glass of wine from the restaurant owner, sitting down with them.

            She’s a bloodhound, a relentless bloodhound, he thought, the miniscule embers rising from the cigarette’s lit end illuminating briefly his sneering profile. Dickie Boy was too much of an influence on her, all right.

            Disgraced Detective Inspector Doug Anderson growled and turned away from the pleasant scene.

            “Let’s see if it’ll be as easy to erase her as you were, old Dickie Boy, shall we…?”

Chapter Text

“W-what is happening? Who is that?” Detective Sergeant Esther Williams gaped in utmost astonishment.

            “I haven’t a clue, but I am loving this,” Margo Martins trilled as she sipped on her wine.

            “Oh, Camille! It is so good to finally meet you in person!” Martha Lloyd gushed, setting down the tray to rush forward to greet the newcomer. “After everything that Catherine and Humphrey have told me about you, I feel like I know you already!”

            “And I you, Martha,” Camille replied. “Maman has regaled me with so many stories about you!”

            “C-Camille…” Humphrey stuttered, struggling to get over his initial shock. “Y-you… You’re here. Huh? O-oh, uh… Everyone, this is…is… Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey, an old friend a-and colleague from Saint Marie… Oh. Oh, gosh…Hmm.”

            “Congratulations, love, you broke the Inspector,” Margo cackled after the rest of the introductions were made. “Oh, this is just too lovely for words.”

            “Forget the Inspector, look at poor Kelby,” said Esther, pointing to PC Kelby Hartford across the table.

            Margo, noting the young man’s blank stare, proceeded to pinch his arm, startling him.

            “Ow! What did you do that for?!” Kelby exclaimed.

            “You were staring,” Margo replied.

            “So? Everyone’s staring! Have you seen this woman?” Kelby gestured. “She’s a goddess!”

            All eyes fell on Kelby, who shrank timidly under the questioning glances.

            “Kelby, this woman is a Detective Sergeant, like Esther, and is therefore your immediate superior. Technically,” Humphrey pointed out, finding his voice again.

            “Then again, so is the Superintendent,” Esther snickered.

            “What?” Camille blinked in surprise.

            “Long story.”

            “Really, you don’t want to know-“

            “Kind of funny, really.”

            “Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving,” Kelby huffed, standing up.

            “Not on my account, I hope,” Anne Lloyd, Martha’s widowed mother, appeared from out of nowhere, pecking her daughter on the cheek. “Hello, love! Oh, a new friend…?”

            “Anne, this is Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey, currently of the Police Nationale, an old friend and coworker of mine from Saint Marie,” Humphrey explained as Camille and Anne shook hands. “Camille, this is Martha’s mother and my future mother-in-law, Anne Lloyd.”

            “A pleasure to meet you.”

            “Likewise.”

            “You know what, this calls for a round,” Martha declared resolutely. “Come on, Camille, what will you have? I insist!”

            “Just a beer, thank you,” Camille smiled gratefully. “I could really use a few after the week I’ve had…”

            “Coming right up! Be right back!” Martha hurried over to the bar. “Oh, Mum, I’ve got your takeout order! Give me a second!”

            “Take your time, darling! I’ll just sit here and chat with Camille for a minute!” Anne pulled up a chair and sat down in between Camille and Esther. “So, tell me, what was it like working with Humphrey in the Caribbean?”

            “I’d guess a lot like here, except it’s hotter and sunnier,” Kelby guessed.

            “Absolutely correct,” Camille winked playfully.

            “Which brings up the question,” Margo lifted an index finger questioningly. “What brings a fetching vixen like you all the way to foggy, rainy England from bright and comfortable France, hmm?”

 Camille hesitated momentarily before she spoke. “An old case of mine resurfaced a little while back and I wanted to get Humphrey’s advice on what to do…”

            Humphrey cocked an eyebrow curiously. “An old case? Which one? Was it one we worked together? Or was it…?”

            “Um… It was one I worked before you came to the island, Humphrey,” Camille replied, choosing her words carefully. “But it is something I could use your advice on.”

            “Ah. Ah,” Humphrey nodded, looking around briefly. “Is this something we should talk about in private…?”

            “Later, Humphrey. Right now…” A sly smile spread over Camille’s face as she settled back, as Martha returned with a frosty cold local ale. “I want to tell them about the time you fell off a hotel room balcony.”

            Humphrey proceeded to sputter in protest as everyone else, Martha included, let out guffaws of laughter as Camille began her story.

            Oh, no, Humphrey thought, rubbing his eyes tiredly. I’ll never hear the end of this one. Never.

…

            Doug Anderson settled into the driver’s seat of his beaten-up, tan-colored BMW, rented with cash in London, and slammed the door shut. Then he reached inside his outside jacket pocket and brought out his newly purchased burner phone, punching in a number he had memorized years ago.

            It picked up on the third ring.

            “I am going to assume that this call means that you finally made it to Shipton Abbott?”

            “Yes, I’m here,” Doug sighed raggedly, switching on the car engine. “But… I’m going to need your help with something.”

            “Hmm. What kind of something?”

            “I picked up a straggler on my way here, and…I think I’m going to need some help getting rid of it.”

            “Don’t want to get your hands any dirtier than they are?”

            “Well, it’s a special kind of straggler, Helen,” Anderson snarled cruelly. “And… I think you’d personally enjoy this one.”

            There were a few beats of silence as Helen Reid pondered her partner-in-crime’s words. “All right. Give me the details and I’ll be right there.”

Chapter Text

“I really shouldn’t-“

            “Nonsense, Camille, we have plenty of room! Besides, why pay money to stay in a cheap, chain hotel when you can stay with friends in utter comfort, hmm?” Martha insisted as she, Humphrey, Camille and Anne walked away from the restaurant, now closed for the night, towards the public parking lot.

            “I would offer to share the boat with you but I seem to have a permanent houseguest in the form of a duck,” Anne said, eyeing Humphrey and Martha particularly.

            Camille glanced towards the couple, who instantly responded, in near perfect unison, “Selwyn.”

            The Frenchwoman’s eyes widened at that. “Selwyn? You named…a duck…after the Commissioner?!”

            “Her idea, not mine,” Humphrey explained, pointing to a smirking Martha, who laughed and lightly slapped him on the arm.

            “I couldn’t help it, he looks so much like Selwyn, striding around with his chest puffed out like so…”

            “Does the Commissioner know that you named a duck after him?” Camille said, starting to laugh herself.

            “Yes,” replied the affectionate couple in unison.

            “Uh-huh. And how did he take it?”

            “Well…” They chorused again.

            “Uh-huh. I thought so…” Camille shook her head tiredly. “I really don’t want to be an imposition…”

            “Nonsense, impose, impose!” Humphrey said. “I absolutely insist that you stay with us while you’re in town, Camille. Neither Martha nor I will take ‘no’ for an answer.”

            Camille sighed and smiled, holding up her hands in defeat. “All right, all right, I humbly accept your offer. But I insist on paying you back in some way! How about I make dinner while I’m here? Maybe one of my mother’s recipes…?”

            Humphrey’s eyebrows perked up slightly. “Not…the stew?” He asked.

            Camille nodded slyly. “Yes, Maman’s famous Saint Marie stew. Except…I think I’ll leave out the Scotch Bonnet Chili this time, oui?”

            Humphrey paled and then nodded once, slowly. “Y-yes, I-I think that would be best…yes. But the rest of it, the rest of the stew… Oooh. Yes…”

            Martha and Anne exchanged a look before gazing towards Camille questioningly.

            “Don’t ask,” Camille and Humphrey said.

…

            Camille followed Humphrey and Martha in their car, with Anne in her own vehicle just behind, arriving at their home and boat in a matter of minutes. Anne was quick to point out her feathery roommate, nesting comfortably on a lounge chair on deck.

            “Look at him, the little freeloader,” she said with a scoff. “Oh, well. If that one can survive sharing a beach-side shack with a lizard for four years, then I can survive God knows how long with Selwyn. Good night!”

            “Good night, Mum!”

            “Bon nuit, Anne!”

            “Good night, Anne!”

            The remaining three entered the house – Humphrey and Martha led Camille on a quick tour of the house, promising a tour of the boat the next morning after breakfast, before ushering her to the guest room. Then the three gathered at the kitchen table as Humphrey prepared three steaming cups of chamomile tea.

            “Camille, I forgot to ask in all the excitement, but how is little Aimee?” Humphrey asked as he handed Camille a tea cup and saucer with a spoon.

            “Oh, yes, how is your daughter?” Martha asked, in between sips of her own tea.

            “Oh, she’s wonderful,” Camille gushed. “Only ten months old and she’s already crawling all over the walls and the furniture…! I swear, she’ll be the death of me by the time she’s a teenager…”

            “Oh, all children are like that, I think,” Martha said. “Everyone in Shipton Abbott knows what a terror I was to my mum and dad.”

            “They do?” Humphrey queried, an eyebrow raised. “You were?”

            “Uh oh, Martha, you accidentally gave yourself away,” Camille giggled.

            “Eh, it was going to happen eventually,” Martha giggled with a shrug.

            “What is this, a conspiracy?” Humphrey wondered aloud.

            “YES!” Both women cackled, making Humphrey blush as he rolled his eyes and sipped his tea.

            “I shall never understand the feminine mind,” he muttered.

…

            “Well,” Martha said, pushing aside her emptied cup. “This is where I bid you both adieu for the night. I have a large birthday party coming in for brunch and I have to get to the restaurant early to make sure everything gets ready in time.”

            “Ah, the life of a restauranteur,” Camille nodded in understanding. “I know that quite well. From Maman, at least.”

            “Gosh, I only hope I achieve a little bit of all the success she’s had,” Martha admitted. “I probably won’t be the mayor of Shipton Abbott, though. I have absolutely no interest in politics.”

            “Well, to each his own, as it were,” Humphrey said, as Martha came over and kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, darling.”

            “Good night, Humph, good night, Camille,” Martha waved. “Enjoy talking shop, which I am pretty sure you’re going to start doing once I head upstairs!”

            “Good night,” Camille waved back as Martha disappeared up the stairs.

            “Well, you heard the woman,” Humphrey slapped the surface of the table with the palms of his hands. “Let’s talk shop, as it were.”

            “Well…” Camille ran a hand through her thick curls, shaking them out. “Are you sure you want to do this now? It is getting rather late…”

            “Camille, you came all the way to little old Shipton Abbott, Devon, from Paris, France, to get advice on an old case from an old friend,” Humphrey said, leveling his gaze. “It simply has to be vitally important. Now… come on. Regale me.”

            Camille rested her chin on her upraised palm, letting out a rather ragged breath before she spoke again. “A little while back, I heard through some friends that an old case I worked in Saint Marie was, eh, going into appeals. Well, the man convicted in the case was appealing his conviction of conspiracy of murder, as well as the other conviction of murder in the first degree, in court here England…”

            “Interesting… Continue…” Humphrey gently prodded.

            “At first, I pushed it out of my mind, I figured the appeal would get thrown out and the bastard would continue rotting in prison,” Camille said, crossing her arms. “But…apparently, I was wrong… Earlier this week, the appeal went through… and the man walked out of the courthouse, what do you call it, the Old Bailey…a free man.”

            Humphrey could not help but feel a distinct chill running up and down his spine as Camille spoke, the rage in her voice growing and growing with each word. “I…I see. And obviously, this was…a miscarriage of justice…”

            “Of course it was a miscarriage of justice!” Camille hissed. “The man is a cold-blooded, ruthless, bullying murderer! There is no way in hell that he should have been freed!”

            The last time I saw her this mad… Humphrey thought, frowning slightly, was when we first met…

            “And this…” He chose his words especially carefully, more out of fear than anything else, “was a case you worked…before my time on the island, then…”

            “Yes.”

            “With…Richard?”

            A heavy, tense silence from the opposite side of the table, accompanied with a lethal glare. “Yes. It was a case I worked with Richard.”

            “And the suspect… t-the convicted one… He was…?”

            “Doug Anderson,” Camille replied in a low, deep voice. “Formerly Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police at their Croydon station. He and Richard… used to work together. It wasn’t… Doug Anderson is not a nice person, he…bullied Richard while they were both there… He was nasty to him, too, while we were investigating his wife’s murder…which he did conspire in, we found proof of that… Ugh. Am I making sense?”

            “Yes, I think you are making perfect sense, Camille,” Humphrey said simply. “So… Doug Anderson appeals his murder conviction, and it is granted, though the evidence against him was ironclad. Which led you… to come ask for my help for…what?”

            “Doug Anderson just rented a house here in Shipton Abbott, paying only in cash,” Camille explained. “And I…I think he is up to something. For starters, where on earth did he get enough cash to rent an entire house? He’s been in prison for eleven years.”

            “Excellent question, but-but, Camille…” Humphrey stuttered slightly. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re asking me to do here…”

            “I…” Camille paused, taking another deep breath.

“I would like your help in investigating Doug Anderson. Unofficially.”

Chapter Text

“Um… I-investigate? For what?” Humphrey stammered. “W-what do you think he-he’s done?

            “I have absolutely no idea, but the sky is the limit with a man like him, no?” Camille exclaimed. “Doug Anderson is a cold-blooded, ruthless, bullying, murderous, nasty piece of-“

            “Yes, yes, you mentioned that before, Camille, but-“

            “No buts! The man has to be investigated! He has to have eyes on him at all times!” She continued to rant, growing more manic in her gestures with each phrase uttered.

            “Okay, okay, Camille, breathe,” Humphrey said soothingly, directing her back to the house. “Camille, please. I understand why you are upset-“

            “No, you don’t,” Camille replied shortly, “not…not yet… Ugh.”

            “It’s okay. Take your time.”

            “It… It isn’t just that…Doug Anderson was released, it was how he got himself released. Oh, God, Humphrey, it was terrible. He and that lawyer, t-the barrister, you should have heard them… They actually claimed that Richard was jealous of him and framed him for both murders!”

            “They what?!” Humphrey sputtered in utter disbelief. “They didn’t!”

            “They did, the bastards!” Camille raged. “They kept bragging about what a good cop Anderson was, how Richard envied him, how he was so desperate to be in his shoes, it was disgusting! And they bought it! The jury…actually bought it.” She shook her head sadly, pressing her palms to her closed eyelids in a failed attempt at staving off a headache.

            “Oh, gosh…” Humphrey swallowed hard, rubbing his chin. “Camille, I am so sorry.”

            “Thank you.” She gave him a small, grateful smile. “I’m sorry, Humphrey, for dumping this all on you, but… When I found out that he was renting a house here, I remembered that you were out here and I figured… You were the best person to talk to about this. About…Richard.”

            He nodded in agreement. “And I appreciate you coming to me, Camille. I do want to help you, I do, it’s just…”

            “I know, I know, it’s insane to ask you to look into this because he hasn’t…done anything, as far as we know, it’s just… I have a gut feeling that he is up to something. Something…terrible,” she added, gazing back at him earnestly.

            “Well, it’s not just that, see, my Superintendent, she is very…That might not be the way to put it, actually,” he stumbled for words. “The Superintendent is very…scrutinous of my station, she thinks we’d all be better off at the larger hub station, something about turning away from smaller, more hands-on work, so… if I am going to help you, then we have to be very, very careful about how we do this.”

            “So she doesn’t find out… Ah, I see,” Camille purred. “Then…”

            “I’m not promising we’re going to march him into the station in handcuffs, Camille,” Humphrey said. “But…I will do some…sniffing around as it were. For you.”

            A broad smile crossed Camille’s face as she reached forward and squeezed Humphrey’s hand in gratitude. “Thank you so much, Humphrey. I know that it is probably nothing…”

            “Camille, if there’s anything I learned from our time working together on Saint Marie, then it is this. If your gut is screaming that something is wrong, your gut…is most usually correct.”

…

            Doug Anderson had retreated into his rented farmhouse and was in the process of eating a barely tolerable microwaveable frozen meal when he heard a knock at the front door. He placed down the plastic tray and stepped over, peering cautiously through the peephole. Ah, there she is, right on cue, he thought, recognizing the thin, sharp-featured middle-aged woman on the other side.

            He opened the door with a flourish. “Mrs. Cathcart, I presume?”

            “Enough with the pleasantries, Mr. Trent,” the woman formerly known as Sasha Moore snapped bitingly as she walked right past him into his living room, tossing her bag onto a nearby couch. “Where is she?”

            “Somewhere currently in this little hamlet,” Anderson replied casually. “I haven’t looked yet, figured some sneaking around at this time of night would raise some suspicions… But I do know that she has friends here, if that helps…”

            “Who?”

            “The Detective Inspector in charge of the local station here, for starters,” Anderson said. “Who, by the by, is another old friend of yours… Humphrey Goodman.”

            Helen inhaled sharply. “Both of them? Here? This can’t be a coincidence, Doug.”

            “I agree, something is going on with them, but we need to be careful about how we handle this, Helen. There are still cops we are dealing with.”

            “So?” Helen laughed bitterly. “You seem to forget, Doug… We have already dealt with one police officer.”

            “Oh, I haven’t forgotten, Helen,” Doug said evenly. “I just don’t want you to botch it up this time.”

            “Who says the last time was botched? I seem to recall that it turned out…very well in some regards.”

            “I don’t think that scenario would play out well in this part of the woods, Helen.”

            “Ah. Then we are looking at…a very permanent solution here.”

            “Exactly.”

            “Fine,” Helen shrugged. “I’ll see if she goes to the police station, the location of which you shall provide, and if she does-“

            “Which she will, the woman’s a damnable bloodhound when it comes to crime.”

            “I’ll follow her, see where’s she staying… or if I’m able to catch her alone…” Helen shrugged again, rolling her right wrist around slowly, stretching out the muscles.

            “Obviously, you’ll make it look like a robbery gone wrong, hm?”

            “Oh, but of course,” Helen replied sarcastically. “A simple…robbery gone wrong,” she smiled icily.

            Doug Anderson matched her smile with a chilling one of his own. The bloodhound’s as good as snuffed out…

Chapter Text

Camille fought hard, but eventually she lost the battle with the blinding ray of sunlight beaming in from the gap between the curtains in the guest room. She opened one eye, groaned, and propped herself up in the queen-sized bed with her forearms. She reached over to the nightstand and picked up her phone, unlocking the screen and checking for any messages, especially for any from Leo, her ex-boyfriend and the father of her child, who was watching said infant for the duration of her excursion in Shipton Abbott.

            One new message. She broke out into a joyful but still tired smile as she opened the new message to find a picture of little Aimee, sitting in her high chair, smiling proudly with what Camille guessed to be smushed banana smeared across her little face.

            “Breakfast success!” She read. “Looking forward to a day at the park with Papa! But she misses her Maman :(.”

            She sighed wistfully, typing in a quick, “Awww. Tell Aimee that Maman loves her and misses her so much and that I will see her soon. Thank you again, Leo.”

            Leo responded instantly. “Anytime. See you when you get back to town. :).”

            Camille sighed again. Even though things hadn’t worked out between them, she knew she could always count on Leo to be a good father to their little Aimee, and she could trust him to take good care of her while she was away.

            She slid out of bed and quickly got dressed in a red blouse, jeans, boots and then a snug black blazer before heading downstairs into the kitchen.

            “Ah! Good morning, Camille!” Humphrey greeted her cheerfully from his place at the kitchen table, sipping from a mug of steaming tea.

            “Good morning, Humphrey. May I…?”

            “Oh, of course, pour yourself a cup. Oh, but I was just about to head to the station, pick up some pastries for breakfast on the way there. Do you want to come…?” He asked somewhat hesitantly.

            She understood the hidden meaning immediately. Do you still want to do this?

 “Sure, count me in,” Camille nodded, a silent understanding passing between them. Yes. Yes, I do.

…

            The drive to the local bakery was uneventful – it was delivering the purchases back to the car that proved difficult. As soon as Humphrey stepped out of the bakery, carrying the box of various pastries and doughnuts for his team as well as for Camille and himself, he almost instantly lost his balance and came close to falling flat on top of the box. It was only through Camille’s intervention that disaster was averted – she grabbed the back of his shirt as he started to fall and pulled him back up to his full height.

            “Ah, yes, t-thank you, Camille,” Humphrey stuttered his gratitude as they finally made it to the car safely. “You always know what to do in a pinch.”

            “Not a problem, Humphrey,” Camille chuckled as they settled the box in the back seat before he climbed into the driver’s side and she in the passenger’s side. “So, where do we start first?”

            “Ah-ha…” Humphrey started, starting to drive towards the police station. “Well. There lies the rub, see, we need to be, well, be careful about this, Camille, because-“

            “Yes, I know, it would probably be best if your superintendent doesn’t find out about our little collusion,” Camille said.

            “Yes, so I was thinking about how to do this, we go in, I tell the team that you’re going to spend the day at the station, you know, our French comrade experiencing British police techniques, and that’ll let us, you know, well, you hang around while I look at Mr. Anderson’s records, get his address, and then-“

            “And then we’ll go see what the bastard is up to,” Camille hissed, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

            “Umm, well, yes, but Camille?” Humphrey eyed her in deep concern. “Could you please do me one favor in return?”

            “Of course, Humphrey, what is it?”

            “Please, please, please, for the love of God…” Humphrey pleaded. “Don’t kill anyone.”

            Camille inhaled sharply before rolling her eyes in brief annoyance. “All right, fine. I promise…I won’t kill anyone.”

            “Or maim.”

            “Or maim.”

            “Or scratch.”

            “Or scratch.”

            “You know what, let’s not get even in a five feet radius of the man!”

            “All right, fine, Humphrey!”

…

            As the two police officers continued to bicker, neither one noticed the navy-blue pick-up truck following them steadfastly while keeping a careful distance. Helen Reid, currently known as Felicity Cathcart in this part of the world, continued to follow them until they parked in front of an old stone church. Then she turned into a nearby parking lot for a popular coffee shop, and watched from the driver’s seat as Detective Inspector Humphrey Goodman and Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey exited their vehicle, retrieved their box from the back seat and then entered the building.

            Well, someone hasn’t aged a day in ten years, Helen thought ruefully, eyeing the Frenchwoman bitterly. Lucky little bitch! Parading around like she runs the bloody world…

            And then she thought of the moment when they would inevitably meet again, and a small but sinister smile crept across her face in anticipation.

Chapter Text

The others were already at their desks and hard at work when Camille and Humphrey arrived. Margo was the first to notice the box of pastries. “Ooooo!” She squealed, rising to approach them. “Now, what’s brought all this on?”

            “Just wanted to do something nice for my team, that’s all,” Humphrey replied with a benevolent waggle of his eyebrows as he laid out the pastry box on a nearby table with a flourish.

            “Uh-huh,” Esther eyed him suspiciously while picking up a bearclaw. “Well, this is most generous of you, sir, thank you.”

            “Oooh! Doughnuts! I call dibs on the chocolate!” Kelby quickly snatched up his prize.

            Camille munched happily on her own treat, a cheese Danish, as she watched Humphrey interact with his team. It was heartwarming to know that Humphrey had been able to find a place where he fit in as well as he had on Saint Marie, that he had such good friends and colleagues, that he had found Martha after his heartbreaking divorce.

            Now if only I can find my own place again, she thought wistfully.

            She had loved working undercover in Paris, had thrilled in the rush of it – but not so in recent months, not since she had given birth to Aimee. Before, the job had been her greatest priority, worrying about her mother on a Caribbean island on the other side of the Atlantic notwithstanding, but now… Now Aimee was the most important thing in her life, and with that, the rush she had felt when undercover was replaced by an ever-growing sense of worry, of self-preservation. Of the possibility of not being there to watch her grow…

            “Camille?” Humphrey’s voice startled her out of her reverie. “Are you all right?”

            She shuddered slightly in surprise. “O-oh. Yes, I’m fine, sorry… I must still be exhausted from my trip…”

            “And you still came in this early?” Margo sounded impressed. “Bloody hell.”

            “Early? It’s 9:30 in the morning,” Esther pointed out.

            “Early for me, Sarge, early for me,” Margo sighed. “So how come you came in today, Camille? You can’t be that interested in good old British policing… Especially after working with this one as long as you did.”

            “Well,” Camille started before Humphrey jumped in.

            “I just have to look something up and then Camille and I have to run a bit of an errand before I rejoin you all,” Humphrey said, exchanging a look with Camille.

            “Oh, sir, you don’t have to come back,” Esther said. “I mean, it looks like it’s going to be a quiet day and besides, Camille would probably have a better time in town with company. Wouldn’t you, Camille?”

            “O-Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work, Humphrey,” Camille objected.

            “Please, take him, I get the feeling he’d spend the day worrying about what you’re up to by yourself otherwise,” Margo muttered pleadingly.

            “I would not-“

            “Yes, you would,” Margo, Esther, Kelby and Camille all uttered in near perfect unison as the tall detective sat behind his desk with a brief scowl, turning on his computer.

            “I knew it, you are all conspiring against me,” he whispered to himself as he entered the Metropolitan Museum database and type in the full name of Doug Anderson…

…

            “She went into the police station with him,” the devil himself muttered into the ear of Helen Reed via a burner phone. “Are you sure?”

            “I may be considered legally dead, Dougie, but I still possess all my faculties, so yes, I am bloody sure,” Helen replied testily.

            “Hey now, calm yourself, I was just being careful, love. Which you really should be. Don’t want those two recognizing you before it’s time, do you...?”

            “No, I suppose not,” Helen peered out the windshield, up at the overcast sky. “Still too light out, for starters.”

            “Jesus, prison really made you get in touch with your murderous side, didn’t it?”

            “The same could be said of you too, Doug.” Helen squinted momentarily. “Hold on. They’re exiting the police station, if you can call the back of a church a police station… They’re getting in the car… I’ll call you back when I find out where they’re going.”

            “Fine-“

            She hung up before he could make any sort of smarmy or asinine comment and switched on the engine.

Chapter Text

This cannot go on. This has to end… Somehow… Somehow…

            Endless black. Well, that’s not entirely true, is it? There’s all the lanterns… But there is no sunlight. God, when was the last time I saw the sun…?

            Jesus, when the hell did I start missing the sun?! And…heat…it’s too cold in here… And wet, it’s a wet, dank cold… Oh, God, when did I start hating the cold?! And missing the heat… Lord, what have they done to me?

            And the pain. That’s the other thing. Every part of my body aches… Of course, that’s the intention of all the digging, to make us hurt, hurt until we drop, drop dead… Of course, they didn’t count on me, lasting as long as I have… Which brings up the age old question… How long have I been in this dank, dark, freezing hellhole?!

            He opened his eyes briefly, eyeing the cold black stone of his surroundings, then closed them again. Sleep. Must sleep. So, so tired…

            It’s not the exhaustion that drives him to sleep, though, it’s the dreams that he knows are waiting for him. Always the same…

            Hot, itchy sand everywhere… Annoying, disease-ridden bugs eating me alive… The very air sucking the life out of me…

            Then her eyes. Warm and brown and full of mirth. A laugh, her laugh… Teasing him. Drawing him in… Wild black curls in a tangled cascade… That sly, sly smile… She’s calling to him from the edge of the water…

            And then that tiny green lizard pops his head into view and sticks his tongue out at him, and he awakens…

            He opens his eyes and frowns. “Harry, please, for the love of God, stop invading my dreams, old boy…” He muttered, wincing as a stab of pain emanates from his left knee.

            Richard Poole shuts his eyes, draws the thin cotton blanket up over his chest, readjusts his frame upon the army cot that serves as his bed, and does his best to conjure up those warm brown eyes once more…

Chapter Text

After retrieving Doug Anderson’s new address from the police database, Humphrey and Camille bid their farewells to the rest of the team and headed off in the Jeep Rover. Humphrey drove towards the rental farmhouse where Anderson was living while Camille stared out the passenger side window at the calm sea in silence.

            “So… Doug Anderson…” Humphrey said, trying to break the silence.

            “Yes?” Camille replied, never taking her eyes off the peaceful sight.

            “I caught a glimpse of his file,” he continued, turning the Rover down a side road, heading further into the countryside. “A nasty piece of work, this Doug Anderson.”

            “Oh, yes,” Camille purred dangerously, “a very nasty piece of work, and the very worst kind of police officer. Plus, he conspired in the murder of his wife, and is a ruthless murderer himself.”

            “Oh, I know,” Humphrey whistled. “Even I have heard all of the horror stories about the station in Croydon. It’s enough to make you shudder.”

            “That bad?” Camille shook her head wearily, turning her head towards Humphrey.

            “Very bad,” Humphrey replied. “Thankfully, there are new people there now and they’ve cleaned things up quite a lot, but… Some reputations are hard to shake.”

            “Richard shook it,” Camille nodded strenuously. “He didn’t let the other bastards drag him down to their level.”

            “No, he didn’t, did he?” Humphrey smirked softly. “How did he react when Doug Anderson turned up on Saint Marie? Richard?”

            “Oh, God, he was…livid, for starters,” Camille said. “I mean, here he was, living and working in literal paradise, with people who actually respected him for who he was…somewhat, you know, since he was such a grumpy sourpuss and hated the sun and sand and… I’m getting somewhat off topic, and then this bastard shows up and almost immediately starts disrespecting him, very loudly, very angrily.”

            “That’s understandable,” Humphrey said. “But hadn’t his wife just been murdered?”

            “True, that’s what I thought, but then…Richard told me more about…Croydon, and what Anderson was like there, and then I overheard…I overheard Anderson telling Richard that he had no friends, that he was…” Camille frowned, her eyes darkened in fury. “I started to understand more why Richard was so convinced that he had done it in the first place. And, as it turns out, he was right.”

            “Is that what Anderson based his appeal on? That Richard has it out for him from the onset?”

            Camille glared. “In a way. But Richard came around…eventually. But that is beside the point! He did wind up being guilty!”

            “I know,” Humphrey said.

            “And now he is free and walking through the streets,” she continued on, growling furiously, crossing her arms defensively. “He should be in prison!”

            “Camille, I’m really starting to worry now that you’re actually going to harm the man,” Humphrey fretted. “Please, please, no physical violence, I beg of you.”

            “I know, I know, I promise, I won’t touch him,” Camille said with a reluctant sigh. “It’s just… He is up to something, I know it. And whatever it is…it cannot be good.”

            “I agree, Doug Anderson is the type of man who always has something up his sleeve,” Humphrey said. “And Richard Poole was a good man, he didn’t deserve to have his good name dragged through the mud like that.”

            “No. No, he did not,” Camille sulked, biting her lower lip. “He didn’t deserve a lot of what he got.”

            Humphrey detected the sadness brewing within his old friend and nodded somberly. “No, no, he did not.”

Chapter Text

They parked down the street from Doug Anderson’s home and walked casually up to the front door, with Humphrey pressing the doorbell, Camille standing nearby, exhaling nervously.

            Calm down, she told herself, be calm. You promised.

            The door opened and then there he was, Doug Anderson, standing in the doorway, smirking nastily. “Why, Detective Sergeant Bordey, what a pleasure to see you again,” he said, beckoning grandiosely. “And this must be Detective Inspector Humphrey Goodman, how nice to meet you, sir.” His words dripped with acidic insincerity.

            Humphrey’s eyes widened like a cartoon’s while Camille hissed something unintelligible and obscene under her breath.

            “Mr. Anderson,” Camille said, her voice as hard and as cold as steel. “You are not surprised to see us.”

            “No, I figured you’d be sniffing around once I got out,” Anderson said, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Don’t think I haven’t kept track of old Dickie boy’s old cronies, specifically you, of the few of them that were…”

            Camille scowled back furiously but kept her temper in check. Somewhat. “His name was Richard, you insignificant little-“

            “DS Bordey,” Humphrey interrupted, sensing that Camille’s temper was already starting to seethe out. “We were just wondering what your plans are for Shipton Abbott, Mr. Anderson,” he added, knowing full well it was a weak excuse.

            “Oh, don’t worry, Inspector, I don’t plan on making that much of an impact,” Anderson said, “as long as I’m left alone, that is.”

            “I do hope that you’re going to behave yourself,” Camille said pointedly, a cold smile crossing her face. “After that nasty little appeal you pulled off, it would be a shame to put you back in prison amidst the…general population. And some of them really don’t like former cops, do they, Humphrey?”

            “No, Camille, they most certainly do not,” Humphrey went along with it. “Especially when they are cold-blooded murderers as well.”

            “All right, all right, I get where you’re going with this,” Anderson said, his voice dripping with venom now. “You’ve done your little job, Humph, and you… DS Bordey… You’ve done your duty to…poor, dearly departed Dickie Boy, now why don’t you both go away and leave me to enjoy my newfound freedom in peace, hmm?”

            Camille’s face clouded over in dark wrath – and she took a miniscule step towards Anderson.

            “Camille,” Humphrey whispered urgently, grabbing her by the arm.

            “Yes, Mr. Anderson, enjoy your freedom,” Camille finally said, putting on a fake smile. “But not too much, oui?”

            Then she stalked away, followed by a visibly relieved Humphrey, leaving Anderson standing in his doorway, a smug little smirk upon his face.

…

            Anderson closed the front door and locked it just as he heard the back door open. He turned just as Helen Reid stepped into the hallway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.

            “That woman came quite close to killing you outright, you know,” Helen commented dryly.

            “No need to state the obvious, Helen,” Anderson retorted. “But it was quite fun to see that look on her face, wasn’t it? I had no idea that Dickie Boy could garner that kind of respect like that.”

            “Who said it was only respect?” Helen scoffed. “You weren’t there ten years ago, Doug, I was, and the way she reacted to Richard’s ‘murder’”, she said, making quotation marks with her fingers, “spoke just as much about her feelings as when she not so subtly threatened me after I was arrested.”

            “She did? Dare I ask?”

            “Oh, it was detailed, it was violently detailed.”

            “Which, of course, means that when you do take care of Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey,” Anderson glowered threateningly, “you will be especially careful, not like your little cock-up on Saint Marie, won’t you?”

            Helen’s right eyebrow curved up as she glared back. “There won’t be anything left once I’m through…”

            “Good,” Anderson nodded, “good.”

Chapter Text

Humphrey and Camille drove back to the police station in silence, despite the former’s best attempts at casual conversation. After Humphrey shut off the engine, he checked his phone quickly for any missed messages or calls. Noticing three from Esther, he turned to Camille. “From the looks of things, I do believe I’m needed. Would you like to join us?”

            She shook her head. “No, thank you, Humphrey. I think I’ve taken up too much of your time for one day… I was thinking about seeing some of the local medieval ruins and then have lunch at Martha’s place…”

            “Are you all right?” Humphrey asked as she opened her car door.

            She paused, smiling softly. “Kind-of. It’ll be all right, though. I mean… We’ve done all we can, haven’t we? Legally speaking.”

            “Yes, I suppose we have…” Humphrey said. “Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?”

            “Humphrey…” Camille said with a bit of a warning in her voice.

            “All right, all right, I’m taking the hint. Oh!” Humphrey suddenly exclaimed. “If it’s medieval ruins you want to see, you simply must go to Lyonesse Abbey over by the coast, it’s breathtaking! In fact, there’s an old Devon legend that the original Lyonesse, sunken homeland of Tristan of the Knights of the Round Table, was supposed to be somewhere off the coast around here…” His voice trailed off dramatically with a flourish of his hands. “There are even some stories that say that the old Abbey itself hides the way to Lyonesse through some secret way… Ooohh…”

            “Really?” Camille chuckled. “Then I am definitely going to the Abbey. I’ll see you later, yes?”

            “Oh, most definitely. Have fun, Camille,” Humphrey said as they both exited the vehicle.

…

            Helen Reid tapped the steering wheel of her car with her thumbs as she watched the two detectives part ways – Goodman entered the police station while Bordey headed off to the north, walking determinedly.

            This could very well be the only time she’s on her own, without the local police hanging around, Reid thought to herself, watching as Bordey veered to the left. I might not get the chance again. If not, things could wind up being very, very messy… And we can’t have that, can we?

            Reid shut off her engine, pulled the brim of her hat lower over her face, and exited the vehicle, pulling her jacket tighter around her body, not from the cold but to conceal the holstered weapons at her belt, an illegally purchased Russian Makarev pistol and a long, stiletto knife sheathed on her other hip. A wicked smile crossed her lips.

            When in Rome…

Chapter Text

At last! Finally! All these months of waiting…studying… scrutinizing every single aspect of this awful place… I’ve found a…a way out…

            Richard Poole, despite his subdued glee at finding a possible way out of the place he dubbed the Thirteenth Circle of Hell, grimaced as he inched his way up the thin, craggy tunnel, ignoring the cold, jagged stone digging into his forearms, his shins… Well, pretty much everywhere, considering how small the tunnel was.

            He had no idea how far it went. All he knew, it climbed upwards, and to him, upwards meant freedom. A way out of the black, freezing hell.

            God, I hope Camille and everyone never find out how much I’ve missed the sun and sand… They’d never let me live it down…

            Thinking of Camille drew a wry smirk to his haggard features. Oh, yes, she’d really let me have it if she knew that… She’d probably call me a pompous Englishman and then some choice curse words in both French and English…

Somehow, the thought of her cursing at him in both their native languages inspired him to climb further… Mad Frenchwoman… No such thing as half French…

…

            Camille parked in the small gravel lot reserved for the Lyonesse Abbey Visitor Centre, where visitors began with a guided tour of the small museum filled with a whole range of artifacts from the fourteenth and fifteen centuries, when the Abbey was at the height of its existence, then were led along a gravel path toward the high cliffs where the ruins stood, towering forlornly amidst the white overcast sky, the rolling green grass of the land surrounding it, and the surging seas below.

            “Lyonesse Abbey was built by Benedictine monks in the late thirteenth century and was originally given the name of Trevylan Abbey after the financial backer of the project, Lord Meliodas Trevelyan. It was Lord Trevelyan’s grandson, Lord Corentin Trevelyan, who rechristened the Abbey Lyonesse, after the legendary homeland of Sir Tristan of the Knights of the Round Table…”

            Camille listened intently to the spry fifty-something tour guide in the main lobby of the Visitor Centre, gazing around at the few glass cases with artifacts. Plates and silverware of pewter, a few masonry tools, a gargoyle’s head. Now that really surprised her, the gargoyle’s head sitting upon the central pillar in the middle of the room, right in front of a vibrant tapestry hanging in prominence. It looked like it had been broken off at the neck, sawed off by Camille’s guess. The gargoyle seemed partially reptilian in design, the creature’s mouth was open in an eternal snarl of particular vehemence with scimitar-like fangs, with bulbous eyes and a leonine mane, with devilish horns twisting upwards.

            “Oh, that’s Tramtrist,” the tour guide told Camille cheerfully. “He’s like our little mascot.”

            “Tramtrist?” Camille asked with a curious grin.

            “After Sir Tristan, of course,” the tour guide, Harriet, said with an authoritative nod. “He took that name while fighting for his uncle, King Mark of Cornwall, in Ireland, after killing the Irish king’s son. Or was it his nephew? I can never get that part quite right… Either way, Ireland was where he met Iseult. Or Isolde. Whichever version of the name you prefer.”

            “It is a fascinating carving. I must say, the name if somehow fitting…”

            “What’s even more fascinating is that this fellow is all that’s left of the Abbey’s only gargoyle,” Harriet gushed.

            Camille’s eyes widened slightly. “Only gargoyle? There weren’t any more?”

            “No,” Harriet shook her head. “There was only ever one, and it stood right above the main entrance, like some sort of guardian for the place. I assume you’ve heard of the old legend of Lyonesse?”

            “I heard that it was rumored to be off the coast here, not the whole legend,” Camille said. “Well, I know about Tristan and Iseult, yes, but not about Shipton Abbott and the Abbey.”

            “Oh, then here!” Harriet handed her a thin little paperback book with the image of a medieval carving on the cover of a city surrounded by stormy waves. The title was in an ornate typeset and it read, “Echoes of Lyonesse: The Tenable Ties Between Shipton Abbott and the Lost Homeland of a Knight of the Round Table.” Harriet puffed proudly, readjusting her bright pink cardigan.

“My grandfather wrote down everything he could find on the links between our Shipton Abbott and Lyonesse,” Harriet continued as Camille flipped through the pages to give the contents a cursory glance. “He practically scoured every medieval library and historical archives from here all the way up to the Isle of Skye, if you can believe, for research. He was most thorough.”

“Fascinating,” Camille gave the woman a genuine grin. “I’ve always been fascinated by the Knights of the Round Table. Did you know that there was a theory that they were from Brittany rather than England?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that one too,” Harriet said. “Something about King Arthur’s title, wasn’t it? As King of the Britons? It could have been spelled B-R-E-T-O-N instead of B-R-I-T-O-N. Ah, well. Who knows? It could very well have been both. There’s not that much of a distance between France and England, and they did have boats back then…”

“Well, thank you for this, I’ll be sure to start reading it after I see the Abbey. How much do I owe you…?”

Harriet shook her head sternly. “This one’s on me, love. Enjoy!”

…

            As Camille placed the book into her purse and headed up the gravel path towards the Abbey, Helen watched from behind the steering wheel of her car. When Camille disappeared behind a bend in the path, Helen pulled up the hood of her jacket and got out of her car. Her pistol was already in her hand.

            She strode towards the gravel path determinedly, her lips twisting into a cold smile. Rather appropriate we’re at an abbey, isn’t it? Fitting… It’ll save her a headstone.

Chapter Text

Light. At last, light…

            The sun beckoned to Richard Poole for, perhaps, the first time in his life. It had appeared first as a miniscule crack in the darkness, almost imperceptible. Then it grew and grew as he drew ever closer, as the tunnel began to widen. He could feel a breeze coming from the opening – cold, freezing cold, but somehow warmer compared to what he had become accustomed to.

            Keep going, Richard… You’re almost there… Almost to open air… Almost to freedom… But then will come the next problem… The next obstacle…

            “With any luck, the police officers I find won’t be in anyone’s pocket…” Richard grumbled as he caught his first glimpse of trees. Green, green trees…

…

            Camille came out of the forest and into a wide, open space, traveling up a small hill as the ruins of Lyonesse Abbey came into view. She gasped at the Gothic majesty of the place, the ornate masonry, the towering spires. The bell tower stood out as the most imposing edifice, despite having partially collapsed centuries ago after a devastating fire.

            Camille noted that the Abbey was perched directly on the cliffside, that what was left of the bell tower had been built parallel to the edge. She approached the main entrance at the left side of the grandiose abbey, entering through the open entryway – the wooden doors had been lost to time long, long ago. She glanced up to note the pedestal where Tramtrist the Gargoyle once sat, and that there was a plaque with faint writing inscribed.

            No one else was around as she walked into the chapel. Dim light filtered into the emptied space through large cracks in the walls, the crumbling windows, creating an otherworldly effect. Ethereal, Camille thought as she wandered aimlessly around the space before stopping before the cracked and broken altar.

            She gave the chapel a last look before turning to explore the rest of the Abbey. It really is such a shame they let fine old buildings go to ruin like this… Maybe there’s a restoration fund…? I can ask Harriet on my way back…

            She stopped abruptly in her tracks. A figure stood in the chapel doorway, holding a Russian pistol in one hand – aimed directly at her. The other hand reached up and pulled back the hood of their jacket, revealing the icy, steely glare of Helen Reid.

Chapter Text

Richard collapsed upon the grass, panting heavily from exhaustion. “Oh, God… I made it…”

            He pushed himself up by his forearms and gazed around the meadow into which he had emerged. Just far off, he could see a building, Gothic in design and derelict.

            He recognized it instantly. “Lyonesse Abbey… I’m in bloody Cornwall…” He got up to his knees, a hand reaching up to the object hanging from his neck on a thin, rough cord. “Well, if this isn’t bloody hysterical, I don’t know what is,” he muttered grumpily as he stood up with great effort. He examined his appearance briefly – the dull grey work jumpsuit was torn and dirtied in several places, he had somehow lost a boot along the way and now his right foot was covered in cuts and sores. He ran a hand over the scruffy beard and sighed.

            “Please, God, let me find a good barber nearby, I can’t take this stupid beard any longer… And a good suit. Oh, yes, please let there be a good men’s wear store nearby…”

…

            Camille felt her blood run cold as she recognized the predatory figure before her. No… No, it isn’t possible… “Helen Reid,” she spat out the name in total disgust.

            “Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey,” Helen replied with equally as much hated. “The years have been…good to you.”

            “Oh, I would say that they’ve been much kinder to you. After all, you are dead,” Camille hissed, her inner thoughts overwhelmed with disbelief. Merde! She should be dead! Why isn’t she dead? I read the incident report, how is she not dead? The transport van drove off a bridge and exploded! How-?!

            “What can I say? I’m rather hard to get rid of,” Helen retorted.

            “Yes, your sister found that out the hard way, didn’t she?” Camille cooly said.

            Helen’s features twisted angrily as she gestured with the gun. “Enough. Come on. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

            Camille scoffed derisively. “Where are we going?”

            Helen smirked sinisterly. “Now that would ruin the surprise… Wouldn’t it?”

Chapter Text

Richard staggered towards the Abbey, his eyes darting about suspiciously. They had to have noticed my absence by now… They’re going to come looking eventually…

            He came upon the gravel path that led to the Abbey from the Visitor Centre. “Ah. Good, good… Huh. They’ve redone this since the last time I was here…”

            Lord, help me, that was a lifetime ago…

            His head shot up towards the Abbey. Voices. Barely discernible… Trouble… Oh, yes, definitely trouble… Oh, damn it!

            Richard headed towards the Abbey’s main entrance, slowly, stealthily…

            Once a police officer, always a police officer…

…

            Camille reluctantly allowed herself to be herded down a long, crumbling hallway towards the ruined bell tower. A thought occurred to her. “James Moore. He…passed a couple of months after…you did. Stomach infection. Would I be right in assuming that the rumors of his death were greatly exaggerated as well?”

            “Assume all you want, I’m not telling you anything. Now, keep moving,” Helen pressed the muzzle of the gun into Camille’s back, hard.

            “What are you going to do, push me off the cliff, make it look like a tragic accident?” Camille guessed as they entered the tower’s floor level, stopping in front of a rather large pile of rubble that Camille realized was the remnants of the spiral staircase and the upper floors.

            Helen’s seething silence provided the answer as she pushed her towards the jagged gap in the left wall. Through it, Camille could see the sharp drop to the surging ocean far, far below, the distant horizon, the sky, graying with coming storm clouds.

            “I must say, this is rather pathetic in terms of premeditated murder,” Camille commented. “In fact, it is quite lazy. But, then again, you were never much of a successful criminal, now, were you?”

            Helen bristled visibly as Camille turned to face her, a taunting smirk upon her face, taunting and predatory.

            “I mean, after all, we caught you. When you murdered Richard Poole,” Camille continued, the timbre of her voice rising along with her rage, which was beginning to awaken from a long, long slumber. “When you murdered my friend!”

            “That was a fluke,” Helen growled. “One I was able to get out of, thankfully.”

            “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Camille replied with a lethal glare.

            “Oh, really? Because… I’m the one with the gun.” Helen sneered, cocking her weapon and aiming it at Camille’s head.

            “You may be the one with the gun, Helen, but I am the one with the rather large rock.”

            Both women jumped at the appearance of the newly arrived voice – the sheer familiarity of it, the dry, caustic wit, caused Camille to inhale sharply and freeze. Helen reacted differently – she spun around rapidly, gun at the ready, not yet realizing just to whom the voice belonged. When her eyes finally registered who it was, when recognition finally set in, Helen froze – for a millisecond.

            It was all the time needed.

            Helen’s head snapped back and blood gushed freely as a hearty, sizable rock was smashed into her face at full strength. The gun clattered to the floor as Helen slumped over, unconscious, her face masked in blood.

            The newcomer dropped the bloodied rock and glanced up to a stunned Camille.

            “You have absolutely no idea how long I’ve wanted to do…well, something akin to that,” smirked a haggard, tired-looking, but very much alive, Richard Poole. "Hello, Camille... It's been...a long time, hasn't it...?" 

Chapter Text

“RICHARD?!” Camille roared ferociously as soon as she found her voice again. “RICHARD?!”

            “Ah… Umm… Uh… Camille…” Richard fretted, his head nodding nervously. “Maybe… We should take this conversation…elsewhere…?” He pointed to the motionless form of Helen, lying on the floor between them.

            Camille sputtered back nonsensically, seething with an unprecedented amount of rage, shock and homicidal intent.

            Richard rolled his eyes and gently shook her by the shoulders. “Camille, I need you to calm down and focus, all right? We need to-to call the police… Wait, wait, wait a moment! What in God’s name are you doing in ENGLAND?!”

            Camille’s face twisted angrily and Richard wilted under her withering glare. “What…am… I DOING HERE?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

            “Camille…” Richard sighed.

            “YOU ARE DEAD! DEAD AND BURIED! I SAW YOU! YOU WERE NOT BREATHING! YOU HAD AN ICE PICK STICKING OUT OF YOUR CHEST! STUPID ENGLISHMAN! IMBECILE!”

            Richard pursed his lips together and sighed again. This is going to be a very long, long rant… And its sheer power is growing with each word… Ah, the awesome and terrifying fury of Hurricane Bordey… How I’ve missed this… Strange.

…

            Harriet heard the yelling all the way from the Visitor Centre and instantly called the police. Humphrey and his team made good time, having been investigating a break-in at a farm down the road, and were at the Abbey within minutes. When they first heard the cacophonic mixture of English and French curses as they stood before the main doors, Esther and Kelby glanced questioningly at a deeply concerned Humphrey.

            “She’ll be fine all on her own, huh?” Esther quipped.

            Humphrey frowned and strode ahead, Esther and Kelby following dutifully. “Camille! Are you all right? I know that it’s you, you’re the only one within a five hundred kilometer radius that can curse that much in two different languages!”

            There was a pause as they cautiously made their way down the hallway before they heard an unfamiliar, male voice ask, “Who are they? Are they the police? Wait, how do they know your name?”

            Humphrey frowned. “Who on Earth-?”

            “Humphrey! I’m all right… I do need you to make an arrest, though… And an ambulance… Or two…”

            “Oh, dear Lord, you killed him!” Humphrey cried, running on ahead in a full panic, drawing alarmed looks from Esther and Kelby.

            “Killed who?! KILLED WHO, SIR?!” Esther cried.

            They rushed into the crumbling lower level of the bell tower, only to be met with a shocking sight that made Humphrey instantly burst out into confused squabbling.

            Camille Bordey stood with her arms crossed with a middle-aged man of medium height, looking disheveled and worn out in a torn and dirtied jumpsuit, the prone body of a woman lying between them. The man noticed the new arrivals and, as strange as it seemed, tried to straighten his suit and smooth out his hair. “Ah. Hello. I commend you all… We were just about to notify you…”

            Humphrey squinted briefly before he gasped. “Holy Mother of God! Richard Poole!”

            Richard cocked his head to the side curiously. “Ah. My reputation precedes me.”

            Camille made some sort of strangling noise in her throat. “Reputation precedes-! This is Detective Inspector Humphrey Goodman. He was your replacement AFTER YOU DIED!”

            “Ah. Ah…” Richard flinched at the sudden rise in volume in her voice as he held out a hand in greeting to a stunned Humphrey. “Yes. Very nice to meet you, DI Goodman.”

            “You…too….” Humphrey said, shaking his hand. “Oh, my…”

            Esther and Kelby watched and shared a befuddled look, unable to do anything else for the moment.

            “Are you just as confused as I am?” Kelby asked.

            “Oh, yeah…” Esther nodded slowly. “Just as confused.”