I love Death in Paradise and after I got back into watching the first seasons again, I got this in my mind. I always thought Richard Poole had a lot more to give; while I like Humphrey Goodman and Jack Mooney, I felt we should have seen more of Richard.

Anyway, please tell me what you think.

Last Moments.

Reunions, Richard Poole thought to himself with a grimace as he got away from the 'party,' wishing he was with the others from the station at Catherine's; while he might find the atmosphere strained at times, he felt more comfortable there than he did here, and besides he had become a lot more relaxed with the others than his old friends from university, whom he hadn't seen for so long there was a wide gulf between them since they had moved on with their chosen lives.

As he sat in the chair on the veranda, thumbing the copy of the Le Rouge et le Noir, Richard had time to think about them, his old friends from university, but while the antics of Angela made him cringe even after all this time - Richard was not stupid, he could be oblivious at times towards women, but he knew when they were interested in him, but the things Angela did to garner attention from him made him shudder - and he realised he had two people who had no reason to like him, while there were two others, one fancied him to death and the other was a woman he had been fascinated with so long ago, it had taken her sister to make him see he was being unfair to her when it was clear she loved someone else, and Richard respected that.

Richard hadn't allowed himself to think of Sasha for two decades, and his time in the police, rising through the ranks from PC to DI, pulling motorists who were driving above the limit or some piddling, mundane thing like that, or helping to solve murders and solving other sorts of crimes when he had been promoted had given him more than enough distractions to take his mind off of Sasha, and besides there was how he felt about Camille…

And the moment he had seen the old gang on Saint Marie after all this time, suddenly out of the blue, Richard had hoped to rekindle a friendship with Sasha. Not the one he'd had before, of course. No, that ship had sailed a long time ago.

Mostly, because of how he felt about Camille...

Richard mentally shook his head and thought about Sasha.

He just wanted to be friends with her, swap stories, have talks over a cup of tea, things like that, and yet….

He had become suspicious of her because of her aloofness towards him, the way she had looked at him the moment they had 'reunited', and it had only taken a moment before hope turned to suspicion because his instincts as a trained detective took over.

At first, Richard had assumed her sudden coolness towards him stemmed from the fact he hadn't contacted her in twenty odd years, but there was something strange about her manner, the way she held herself…. It was different, and there was also something odd about her appearance, whereas the rest of the gang, and himself, hadn't changed that much in appearance. They had grown older, yes, but there was something about Sasha he hadn't been able to put his finger on.

And then there was her manner. Granted, he and Sasha had split up a long time ago and he had sworn not to speak to her again since her sister had told him what he was doing was unfair to the both of them, and he'd accepted that, but even with that kind of gulf, surely Sasha would have been delighted to see him in the marketplace as he was with her before he realised something was off?

Angela had when they'd spotted him leaving the station, and while Roger and James were neutral about it because they hadn't expected to see him, Sasha was a big surprise.

She had looked at him in a way he couldn't work out like he was someone she barely knew. The real Sasha would never have looked at him like that, not with their history.

And he had become suspicious about it as a result. He had been a detective for too long not to be suspicious when things didn't seem right.

He had managed to get her away from James - not an easy thing to do, since James seemed to be like a hawk - and he asked her a few questions about how she'd been, and she had told him she'd had some cosmetic surgery after suffering from a car accident a few years ago.

Unknowingly she had provided him with a clue, though at the time he hadn't known it because while the answer was a good one, it seemed a little bit too good to be true. And then it had struck him, just like that time when he and Camille had been puzzling over that case at the clinic just last year.

Identity theft. It was the only explanation to why Sasha didn't seem to know him well enough to speak to him whereas she was able to interact with the others without them suspecting a thing, and why everything about her was strange.

Sasha was not Sasha, she was someone else, and he had a good idea whom, though it had taken him a while to figure out after racking his brains where he had seen her manner before…

Helen Reed.

Richard hadn't had much contact with Helen during their time in Cambridge, well they wouldn't, would they? Helen had been a year below the gang at Cambridge, and the times Richard and she had spoken were few and far between, but the two were sisters and there was a resemblance. With a bit of work, it would be possible for cosmetic surgeons to make Helen look like Sasha.

The others - Roger and Angela - would just brush it up to age, or something like that, but he hadn't been so sure at the time. It wasn't until that night when he puzzled it over he had his answer. Or he thought he did, so he had contacted his mother to send him his old album from Cambridge so he could be absolutely sure.

For a long moment while he sat in the chair, thumbing the copy of the French satire he had found in the marketplace - Richard cursed the lack of efficiency of the postal service; his mother had contacted him to say his old album and diary from university among other things were on their way and he had hoped they would have arrived long before the reunion, but they hadn't turned up yet, and so, pressed for options he had looked through the market stalls for a copy of the Le Rouge et le Noir, and he had found it and brought it here.

It was the ultimate test. Sasha, the real Sasha, wherever she was now, had written a dissertation on the book, and Richard had helped her with it. Just because he didn't speak French, in fact, the whole thing was one of the reasons why he had an attitude towards French culture on the whole, didn't mean he couldn't help her here and there.

If the woman here really was Sasha, she would have recognised the book instantly. This one didn't.

At his earliest convenience, Richard had left the party - he had never been comfortable with them in the first place - and he had made his excuses, and he had stepped out onto the veranda so he could collect his thoughts.

Richard had made up his mind that when he could, he would leave and he would immediately head back to the station and tell the others what it was that he'd expected and had now - in his mind - confirmed, though he knew that just because Helen didn't know about the book her sister had written her dissertation about years ago and he did was not going to be good enough in a court.

They would need more concrete evidence than that, and he knew it because it would be what he would demand in their place.

Richard glanced at his watch. He would go back into the party in a bit, say a few things, and drink a bit, and then he would go to set up the case against Helen and James. There was no doubt in Richards' mind James knew Helen was posing as Sasha. The others didn't have a clue, and besides James had dated Sasha at Cambridge, and he would be intimately acquainted with his own wife to know the difference. But it made no sense to Richard.

What had happened between Sasha and James to make him have an affair with Helen?

Richard picked up the book and he flicked through it. Camille didn't know it since he wanted to surprise her, but Richard had been taking lessons in reading, writing and speaking French; it made sense, really, given how most of the island's population heralded from that country, and although he couldn't read all of the book, he knew enough to help him get through some of it.

Hmm, he mused to himself, distantly aware that someone was on the veranda with him and bending down over the small table next to his chair, perhaps I should give this book a go after all this is over? It would be a great way to test my knowledge of the language….

"Richard?" he heard Helen say softly to him, and he felt her hand gently touch his right shoulder.

The moment he heard her speak, Richard did everything in his power not to give away he knew who she was, and he turned his eyes so he could look her in the face, and he had something on the tip of his tongue….

There was a flash of silver, and suddenly he felt a terrible pain in his chest, something sharp that drove all of the air out of his lungs so he couldn't even call for help. Behind him, he could hear the sound of the others still partying.

Thank you so much, he thought to himself.

"Sorry about that," Richard heard Helen say, though he knew she wasn't being sincere since she had just stabbed him in the chest. Richard tried to say something, anything back to her, but he didn't have the air to speak to her and he could feel his strength leaving him….

In that split moment, Richard Poole knew he was dying.

Richard's vision was fading, and he was distantly aware of Helen saying something else but it didn't penetrate his mind as she stood up and left him to die with whatever it was sticking out of his chest. In his final moments, Richard remembered with clarity how he had come to Saint Marie in the first place, and he was taken aback by the nice sense of irony. Back then Charlie Hulme, his predecessor, had been murdered by his own sergeant, someone he had thought he could trust only for him to be betrayed simply because she wanted more than what Saint Marie offered, and Hulme was going to expose it.

And now, here he was, in the very same position; he had been on the point of exposing someone who had stolen the identity of a woman whom he had loved twenty-five years ago, and he had gotten murdered because he hadn't been paying attention as he had made plans.

He was losing the last of his strength. Richard could feel it, and as he died he wished Camille were here, and he felt truly upset and angry that Helen had taken away his chance to actually tell the beautiful and funny French DS how he felt about her. He wished her well in the future, just like he wished Catherine well in the future, while he hoped Dwayne and Fidel both lived long and happy lives.

But one thing he wanted was justice for Sasha over Helen and James, he just hoped it happened.

And then…. And then Richard Poole finally closed his eyes, and everything went black.