Thursday rolled around sooner than Raoul had expected, though with precious little progress.
But he had a chance to learn something today. He needed this. He needed it so desperately. This case was going nowhere and was eating him alive.
Raoul had made his way up to a private, rather large bungalow in the hills of a quiet Suburban neighborhood. He moved on almost on autopilot, his mind shutting down somewhat from the strain of it all. Vincent's stress was beginning to rub off on him. Stress and guilt. Guilt that he wasn't solving this case fast enough. He just didn't know how to.
His car pulled up outside, a security guard led Raoul inside, and before he knew it he was taken to a grand study in this otherwise humble looking household.
Cyrus Boa was a man who only had an eye for work and the prestige it gives him. Just like Nero Vale. Just like his father. The study, and the office tucked away inside, was as good a symbol of Cyrus' own self worth as Nero's own self image or his father's reputation.
The office seemed built specifically just to remind you of your place in it. Along the walls were bookshelves that existed to be seen rather than read, a window that framed the right part of the city, a desk so large it functioned less as furniture and more as a statement of intent.
Raoul had been in rooms like this before. They never got more comfortable. Family ties didn't make that easier to deal with.
Cyrus Boa was already watching him when he came through the door. Sixty-three, silver-haired, standing so still that even the wood had more motion than the man who owned them.
"Detective Boa." He said the name with an undefinable tone. It wasn't quite amusement, nor disdain. Something that lived between the two and feasted on the remaining confidence Raoul might have had. "Please sit down."
Raoul sat immediately. He folded his hands on the desk nervously and looked at the man across from him with the pleasant expression he'd learned to wear in rooms like this.
"I appreciate you making the time," Raoul said.
"I had the time," Cyrus said. "Whether it was worth making is another question." He opened a folder in front of him, glanced at it briefly, and closed it again. "You're investigating the death of Virgil Vale."
"I am."
"You're twenty-four."
"I am."
Cyrus looked at him over the rims of his glasses with the steady gaze of a man who had spent four decades reading people across desks. "Following in your father's footsteps I see," he said. "He was a good detective. Meticulous. Patient." Cyrus scrutinized Raoul, eyes staring holes into the young man's soul. "You come from good stock, Mr. Boa. I hope you haven't wasted it."
Raoul kept his expression exactly where it was. "I hope so too."
"The Vale family," Cyrus continued, "is not a family that responds well to incompetence. They respond poorly to intrusion, they respond poorly to speculation, and they respond very poorly to young men who take on cases beyond their experience and proceed to make a mess of them." He removed his glasses and set them on the desk. "I say this not to discourage you but to be precise about what you're walking into."
"I appreciate the precision," Raoul said. "I'd like to ask you about Eleanor Vale's estate."
"I'm certain you would."
"The will reading is approaching. I understand the conditions aren't ideal but this is important to the case."
"The conditions of Eleanor Vale's will are a private legal matter," Cyrus said. "You have no standing to compel disclosure at this stage of an investigation that has produced, as I understand it, no confirmed crime." He folded his hands. "What I can tell you is that Eleanor Vale was a thorough woman who thought carefully about everything she put her name to. Her estate is in order. Her wishes will be carried out exactly as she wished for."
"I can't help but doubt that."
"Truly? A pause. "Is there something specific you believe the will is connected to?"
"Motive."
"For what? You have no confirmed cause of death." Cyrus tilted his head slightly. "Or has that changed?"
"The autopsy is pending."
"Then you're simply speculating. I don't appreciate time wasters." He said it without heat. Just a fact, placed on the table between them. "I'd encourage you to have something more concrete before you come back to me, Detective. Your father would have."
Raoul nodded once. He sat silently for a moment, too afraid to say something wrong. He gave up rather quickly, which was when his eye moved to the corner of the desk.
A beige folder stood out slightly apart from the others. Three envelopes clipped to the front, each with a name written in the same hand. The first said Violet. The second said Vincent. The third said Raoul.
He desperately forced his face to remain as neutral as possible. He wasn't leaving this room without something to show for it.
"One more thing," he said, pulling Cyrus's attention back. "Nero Vale. I've been doing background work on the family and I came across a sealed juvenile record. Minor, thirteen years old, charges later dropped. The presiding judge had an existing social relationship with Nero Vale." He watched Cyrus's face carefully. "Do you know anything about that?"
Something shifted in the solicitor's expression. Not much. Just enough. "That is a sealed record," he said carefully. "I wouldn't be in a position to."
"You knew about it."
Cyrus fell silent, thought through his response, and continued almost half a minute later. "I was Eleanor Vale's solicitor for thirty-one years," Cyrus said. "I knew about a great many things. Knowing about something and being in a position to act on it are not the same thing." He picked up his glasses again. "Are we finished here, boy?"
"Just about." Raoul stood, buttoning his jacket. "Thank you for your time."
He shook Cyrus's hand across the desk. As he turned to leave he let his free hand drop to the corner of the desk, casually, the way you'd steady yourself rising from a chair.
Cyrus stepped away from the table as if avoiding getting to close the to the detective. "Watch yourself boy, else I'll have you declared too incompetent to work on this case."
"Oh, that won't be necessary. I appreciate the concern." Raoul whispered, hand sliding lightly across the table while he made a show of rebalancing himself.
The envelope with his name on it was in his inside pocket before he reached the door.
He didn't look back.
Outside, he sat in his car for a long moment before opening it.
The envelope was plain. His name in was written in vaguely familiar handwriting.
He opened it.
'Dear Raoul,
I hope you'll forgive me for the presumption of writing to you this way. I imagine by the time this reaches you you'll have figured out what's happened to me, and I won't insult your intelligence by explaining more than I need to.
It's been years, and for that I apologize. Things around me aren't stable at this moment. They haven't been for some time. I heard you've actually become a detective. I'm proud of you. I wish I could have congratulated you in person. Unfortunately all I have for you is a request.
I need you to look into my father. Not for my sake. That ship has sailed, as they say. For Violet's and Vincent's. He has been threatening our safety and position in the family as leverage against us in the lead-up to the will reading, and I have no confidence that his interest in doing so will end with me, even after I expire.
There is enough in his past to build a case. Even if it's small, it'll be enough. I believe you are the kind of person who, once they start looking, won't be able to stop.
I am asking you to look. Make certain he cannot touch what my mother built. Make certain Violet and Vincent get what they're owed.
Whatever you find along the way I leave to your discretion. I think you'll know what to do. I'm sorry things ended this way.
Yours,
Virgil'
Raoul felt a cruel pit of despair twist his gut. He read it twice, three times, four times. He read it until his vision blurred and the guilt in his heart grew too heavy to bear.
Then he folded it carefully and put it back in the envelope and sat for a long time in the car outside Cyrus Boa's office while the afternoon went about its business around him.
He couldn't falter now. He had a case to work, and a goal to pursue. This wouldn't get in the way. He couldn't allow it to.