Raoul had quite a bit of investigative work ahead of him, and the lack of evidence on or in the victim was beginning to fray his nerves. Before he realized it, he'd unwittingly taken Vincent's advice and shifted his focus onto something else.
If he couldn't find a cause, he needed to narrow down a suspect. To do that he figured he ought to learn more about them.
The background check on the Vale family took the better part of two days.
Raoul had requested the full picture. He needed financials, legal history, medical records, anything that existed on paper. Most of it arrived in pieces, the way these things always did, each file dropping into his inbox with the particular indifference of bureaucracy. He read through all of it at his desk with cold coffee and the quiet focus he did his best work in.
Eleanor Angelina Vale. Cause of death: natural causes. Chronic illness, long documented, gradual decline over several years. Nothing unexpected, nothing contested. The estate had passed cleanly into legal processing the week after her death. Everything above board. Raoul noted it and moved on.
The Vale finances were what you'd expect from old inherited money carefully managed. Everything was organized in way that suggested Eleanor had the lions share of the wealth. Almost double of Nero's own net worth existed in her investments alone. The assets were largely in her name. Nero's personal finances were considerably less impressive once you stripped away what had been hers. Raoul wrote that down and underlined it.
Vincent Vale. The medical file was rather dense for a man of twenty-six. Raoul skimmed the bulk of it. Most up to a point were minor, routine things. Until he reached the more recent entries. Multiple consultations with a specialist. Regular follow-up appointments scheduled at intervals that suggested monitoring rather than treatment. The specific diagnosis was recorded in clinical language that Raoul didn't quite have the energy to examine. He flagged it and kept moving. He'd come back to it, assuming he'd remember to of course.
But it was Nero Vale's legal history was where things got interesting.
Most of it had been cleaned. Raoul had to dig through sealed records and expunged filings and the bureaucratic scar tissue that forms around hushed cases that were made to go away. What he found underneath was this: eleven years ago, a juvenile case. A minor, thirteen years old, charged with theft and destruction of property nine years ago. The charges were later dropped and the record sealed upon the minor reaching adulthood. The presiding judge had a name Raoul recognized. A name that appeared elsewhere in Nero Vale's social circle, in charity gala attendance records, in the kind of overlapping paper trail that powerful men left without realising.
The minor's name had been redacted. But the age and the timeline put it squarely at Virgil.
Raoul was stuck on that for a long while.
He was still sitting with it when the door to his office opened without a knock.
Detective Senior Constable Marsh walked through before Raoul even had the chance to respond. He was fifteen years older than Raoul, broader, and had the particular energy of a man who had decided early that comfort was more valuable than ambition. He looked at the files spread across Raoul's desk and at Raoul himself and did the small exhale through the nose that served as his version of a laugh.
"Still at it," Marsh said.
"Clearly." Raoul didn't look up.
Marsh dropped into the chair across the desk without being invited. "How's the Vale case."
"Progressing."
"That's a generous word for it." He picked up a folder from the edge of the desk, not the flagged ones, fortunately, and turned it over in his hands. "You know three of us passed on this one."
"I'm aware."
"Thought you should hear it again." He set the folder down. "No crime scene. No cause of death. Family with more lawyers than most courts see in a year."
"I'll manage."
Marsh watched Raoul work for a moment. His stare caused the hair on Raoul's neck to stand on end and it forced the detective to look up if only to rid himself of the discomfort. Marsh gestured vaguely at his own eye "What happened to your thing?"
"My thing," Raoul repeated.
"The patch. Whatever it is." Marsh leaned back. "You almost always have it on."
"Right. 'Almost always.' I don't need it right now."
Constable Marsh had to hold back a snicker which only irritated Raoul further. "Why even keep that thing?"
"Occupational."
"It's a distraction. Makes you look childish."
"So what?" Raoul narrowed his eyes at Marsh, already bracing himself for the tirade he knew was coming.
"They're saying the kid who couldn't tell a doughnut from a bagel doesn't deserve something as high profile as this." He said it without particular malice, which was almost worse. "They're saying you're more interested in playing dress-up than doing the work."
Raoul set his pen down. He looked at Marsh directly. "The case is progressing," he said again, pleasantly. "Would you like a specific update or were you just passing through?"
Marsh studied him. "You know your father would've cracked this by now."
There it was.
"My father," Raoul said, "is welcome to come out of retirement and have a go." He picked his pen back up. "In the meantime it's my case. I appreciate the visit but if you don't have any contributions to make then leave me be."
Marsh looked at him for a moment longer than was comfortable. "The potential reputation boost you could get from this certainly isn't worse the risk you know. Even your father knows what names are too dangerous to get involved with."
Raoul remained silent, eye trailing lazily over the files on his desk. Marsh watched him for a few more moments before realizing the young detective had tuned him out. He stood, smoothed his jacket, and left without closing the door behind him.
The detective, already irritated enough after the interruption, got up and closed it himself. Then he stood at the window for a moment with his hands in his pockets. He was tired of hearing the same things, being told the same discouraging pep talk, and the comparison. The endless comparisons to his oh-so-great father. Jasper Boa, a detective so great he could branch out of public service with his reputation intact.
If the man were so great he'd take this case on himself, but Raoul knew the coward he was. He knew, more than anyone on the outside ever could, the kind of cowardice certain people show. Family ties were sometimes not enough to guarantee loyalty.
After a bit of time cooling off, Raoul went back to his desk and got back to work.
The juvenile record sat where he'd left it. Virgil Vale, thirteen years old, falsely charged through his father's influence. A judge in Nero's pocket. A sealed record that was supposed to have carried no legal consequence, which meant its only purpose had been punitive. Nero making a point to a child.
Raoul thought about the song Virgil had told Violet she didn't need him to finish. He thought about the bill, paid without hesitation. He thought about a boy who had learned very young that the people who were supposed to protect you sometimes didn't.
He was still thinking about it when his phone buzzed on the desk.
A message. Unknown number, though the name it opened with was not unknown to him.
'Raoul, I'm rather surprised to hear you reach out after all this time. I understand you've been looking into the Vale estate. I think it's time we spoke. I'm available Thursday at two o'clock, if that suits.' — C. Boa.
Raoul read it again to be sure.
Then he set the phone face down on the desk and looked at the ceiling for a moment.
Thursday, then. Eight days since this investigation had begun. Maybe Marsh was right. Maybe he was too slow, not good enough. He knew thinking like that got him nowhere, but he knew at this rate he was getting nowhere fast.