The lunch rush had already ebbed by the time Raoul returned to the rooftop restaurant. Only a handful of tables remained occupied, the terrace quieter now under the flat grey sky. He chose the same corner near the railing where he had found Vincent before and waited.
Raoul had arrived first, which felt like a small victory. He'd just barely settled down when Vincent appeared. He moved with the same precise economy Raoul remembered, plain charcoal suit unrumpled, steps measured. Punctual to the minute. It seemed less a choice than a fundamental setting.
Vincent gave a small nod of acknowledgment and joined him at the railing, hands slipping into his pockets as he looked out over the city. No greeting. No surprise at Raoul’s presence.
"Detective." He picked up the menu without looking at it.
"Mr. Vale." Raoul folded his hands on the table. "Thank you for coming."
Vincent tensed. His eyes cut straight through Raoul's politeness. For once the detective felt Vincent actually looking at him, with a sharp glare and not hazy lenses. "Vincent will be fine moving forward." he said. "Reserve the formalities for my father."
"Your father... Right."
"Yes. You will have to investigate all possible suspects. That includes my father."
"I haven't forgotten."
"But you're moving too slow."
Raoul tensed his jaw. "I'd appreciate it if we don't start today on this note." which earned him a snicker from the usually stern man.
They settled down and ordered something light. The maître d' knew Vincent's order before he could say it: for this time of day Vincent preferred a Ceasar salad and orange juice. Vincent had never decided whether this was a comfort or a problem, but it saved him the effort of repeating himself every time. Raoul, feeling a bit too tense and on edge, ordered coffee liqueur. Vincent raised his eyebrow but kept his initial thoughts to himself.
He couldn't help but chuckle when their drink arrived and Raoul immediately took an embarrassingly large sip. "Day drinking? Is that really the note you want to start this on detective?"
Raoul tensed, stifled a cough, and cleared his throat. His skin flushed before he could even get any words out. Embarrassment rather than an alcohol flush. "I just needed a little liquid courage."
"Why might that be?"
"Helps me loosen up."
"Interesting. You seem a bit too young to have already developed such a problem."
"What problem?"
Vincent took a sip of his own juice before gesturing to Raoul's drink, already half empty. The usually stern face seemed to almost smirk at the unease radiating off the younger man.
The detective shook his head and pushed th to the glass further away from himself. "I don't usually indulge."
"Very convincing."
"You can't really blame me. You're not exactly easy to talk to. That's all."
"The two of us are here on more unofficial grounds, so I can forgive your impropriety."
Raoul's hand, which had been reaching for the glass once more, froze half way. "Would it be a problem otherwise?"
Vincent's eyes, back to their slightly unfocused usually settled on Raoul, meeting his one visible eye, and it was as if ice water was thrown down the detective's back. "Yes. It's not exactly professional for you to be drinking on the job."
Raoul's throat dried for a moment but he managed a small nod. "Thanks for the reminder."
"You have something I want," Vincent said. "It's not a kindness."
"Right." Raoul appreciated the honesty. "Then let's get to it."
He laid out the toxicology report plainly. No foreign substances in the body. No tampering with the tea. Nothing introduced from outside that could account for the death. The report had come back clean in every direction that mattered to a conventional homicide investigation.
Vincent listened without interrupting. When Raoul finished he was quiet for a moment, turning his water glass on the table in that deliberate way he had. If Vincent were any less imposing Raoul might rush to give him a fidget toy.
"The autopsy," Raoul continued. "That's the last avenue left without ordering a retest. If there's anything to find that the toxicology report couldn't catch, it'll be there. Should be with me within the week."
Vincent nodded once. "And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime I'll need to continue my investigation." Raoul looked at him. "And to do that, I'll need you to hold up your end of the deal."
A pause. Vincent set the glass down. "Why does the will matter to your investigation?"
Raoul hesitated a half second too long. "Motive," he said smoothly. "Inheritance is a common pitfall in tightly wound families such as your own. Someone with enough to gain and enough to lose might—"
"You're not very good at your job, are you?" Vincent remarked.
Raoul blinked a few times, stunned silent for a good few moments. "What?"
"You just told a potential suspect what you're looking for." Vincent's tone didn't change. It didn't need to. "Deliberately or otherwise. That was a terrible move detective."
Raoul opened his mouth and closed it again. It was, he had to admit, a fair point. He'd been thinking out loud in front of the wrong person, which was exactly the kind of thing that happened when you were still wet behind the ears and working a case so many had shied away from. It didn't help that the toxicology report had already set some potential theories on fire. Raoul was starting to feel a little in over his head.
"I appreciate the note." he said, which was the most dignified response available to him.
Vincent studied Raoul long enough to watch him squirm under his glare. Then he spoke, slightly more hushed than their conversation up to this point. "Cyrus Boa."
Raoul stilled. "I'm sorry?"
"Eleanor Vale's solicitor. Cyrus Boa." He picked up his menu again. "I assume the name is not unfamiliar to you."
It was not. Of course Raoul knew who that was, but he'd be damned if they were going to get into that right now. Raoul kept his expression neutral with some effort.
"Cyrus Boa." Raoul said the name back slowly, like he was making sure he'd heard it correctly. "That's your mother's solicitor?"
"It is."
Raoul fell silent. He nodded slowly, processing, making sure he maintained a relatively unfazed expression.
Cyrus Boa. Uncle Cyrus Boa. Raoul hadn't seen him in about a decade, but he remembered the man's presence alone was suffocating and menacing. Perhaps it was just his youth, but he recalled even his father wanting to keep a good distance from that man.
Raoul could feel his soul leave his body. He straightened himself out and could only manage a small nod.
Vincent had noticed Raoul's minor crisis. "Do you know him?"
Raoul shook his head no.
"That's not particularly convincing detective."
"I can't say I know him personally. Family ties can be hazy. You know how it is."
Vincent wasn't quite sure he bought the detectives explanation but knew it likely wasn't worth pursuing deeper. Family ties were a hazy, complicated mess. He understood that well.
"Good. Last thing we need is a conflict of interest, and now you'll get what you want." Raoul tensed ever so slightly, watching Vincent as he turned a page of the menu. "You did want to speak to my mother's solicitor correct? Consider my end held up."
Raoul had nothing to say for a moment. Outside, the afternoon moved past the window at its own pace, indifferent to the fact that the ground had just shifted somewhat.
"You're not bothered," Raoul said.
Vincent looked up. "I am. Of course I am. I want this case resolved as quickly as possible."
"Why?"
"Why?" an incredulous, almost icy laugh escaped Vincent's ever tense lips. "First my mother, now this? I'd hoped this wouldn't be an issue, or at least that they'd be a suspect in holding by now."
"It's only been five days."
Vincent's hazy eyes stared Raoul down for almost a solid minute. The detective felt himself shrink more and more by the second. Vincent, for somehow being more approachable, had his father's cold dead eyes. There wasn't the same kind of malice that Nero seemed to hold, but Raoul wasn't going to to welcome that kind of cruelty with open arms.
"I'm sorry it's taking so long." Raoul murmured, his eye trailing downward onto the table while his shoulders slumped inward.
Vincent seemed to lean back into his chair, though Raoul couldn't quite tell. He felt the man deflate almost, but Vincent was always so wound up that Raoul couldn't tell. "No. No I should be sorry. I don't mean to rush you. Things are just tense right now."
The detective took a few moments to give them both time to calm down. It seemed to be the right move, as Vincent began speaking again before Raoul even formulated a thought. "I just don't want this to drag into the will reading. The division of my mother's estate will surely come with a lot of work. I just... I don't want this to bleed into everything else."
"Are you more worried about the estate than the conclusion of this case?"
"Of course not."
"You don't seem upset about this."
"About what?"
"The report." Raoul gestured vaguely at the folder on the table. "Nothing turned up. No evidence of foul play. If you thought your brother was murdered, you'd be upset. I would be in your position. But you're not."
Vincent was quiet for long enough that Raoul thought he might not answer at all.
"I don't think much will come of it anymore." he said at last.
"Of what?"
"The investigation." He set the menu down. "The autopsy, the retest, whatever comes next. I don't think much will come of any of it."
Raoul leaned forward slightly. "That's an interesting thing for a grieving brother to say."
"Perhaps."
"What do you mean by that?"
Vincent tensed slightly, then relaxed almost as quickly. His unfocused gaze landed a degree past center, finding the detective at a slightly of center angle. Whatever he was thinking, he took his time marinating on it.
"I mean to say," he said carefully, "that I knew my brother. And I think you should be very precise about what questions you're actually trying to answer before you go much further."
"That's not an answer."
"No," Vincent agreed. "It isn't. Not to your question anyway."
He stood from the chair slowly and precisely without wasting a movement. He retrieved his jacket from the back of the seat and looked at Raoul one more time.
"You're not as unobservant as this case is making you feel," he said. It was, in its own awkward and stern way, almost a compliment. "The answer you're looking for is probably already in front of you. Maybe a change of focus should help."
Raoul stayed where he was. "That's a strange thing to say to the detective on your brother's case."
"It is." Vincent straightened his jacket. "I could say a lot to you. Like perhaps abandoning the eyepatch would be of great assistance."
Raoul's head shook no before he realized it. "It's occupational."
"It's unnecessary. Distractions will only limit your perspective."
Raoul couldn't deny that in theory. It was unnecessary. He had almost perfect vision in both his eyes and two reasons to keep the eyepatch on. One, to adjust faster when investigating in the dark. Everyone around him thought it was a fad or a gimmick but Raoul had past precedent to believe it actually worked. As for the other reason, well, every detective needed a good poker face. Or a decent distraction. Raoul had opted for a distraction, though he'd never admit that part.
"Lunch is on me." Vincent declared with an almost unnatural calm before taking his leave.
He crossed the room without looking back. Raoul watched him go and thought about what he'd said.
'I knew my brother.'
Past tense, which was expected. One cannot know what the dead thinks or feels.
The autopsy was still coming. There was still the solicitor, the will, the question of motive. There was still a case.
Raoul sat at the table long after Vincent had gone and turned the conversation over in his hands, the way one would assemble a puzzle.
He was still looking at it from the wrong angle. He knew he was.
He just hadn't worked out the right one yet.