It would be so easy for him to end this case. He had the evidence. He had a conclusion. But Raoul just couldn't. Hours of staring down at his files, that autopsy results, the only possible conclusion was suffocating enough.
He almost wished he didn't take that letter off Cyrus' desk. He could walk away from the case with no hanging questions over his head. But here he was, in his office just after closing, his flask empty and his eye straining, tired of looking at the rabbit hole that was Nero's file.
Maybe if he kept looking, he could find something that explained Virgil's death, or justify Virgil's request. But after a long while of reading he'd had enough. His head was starting to hurt. Without much thought he found himself wandering aimlessly around town.
That's how he got here.
He'd been walking for a while to clear his head, though it wasn't working. The nighttime noise barely processing the suburban evening passing him by. He couldn't spare a thought to anything beyond this case. It had too many moving parts and sitting still in a cramped, suffocating office only made it worse. So he hoped the cool air would do him some good.
He'd turned down a side street he didn't know the name of and ended up in a small town square. It was rather idyllic under the starlight and drew him in to rest, even just for a while. At its center was fountain that worked intermittently, yet looking more productive than Raoul felt. A few benches sprinkled around almost begging the detective to settle down. Trees that had gotten large enough to hide this oasis away from the outside world. It felt like he kind of place the city had forgotten.
He sat on a bench and leaned back, just listening to the evening noise for a while. He stretched out, removed the eyepatch that usually carried all his burdens, and sighed.
For once he felt like he could simply exist even just for a while. But only for a moment.
Then his phone rang, almost jolting him out of his calm. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the vibrating device, and answered the call before checking the contact name.
Cyrus' voice came through the other end. A low, restrained grumble. "Mr. Boa." That was the closest thing to a greeting he was going to give.
"Mr. Boa," Raoul said back pleasantly, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "How can I help you this evening?"
"I'm going to ask you a direct question."
"You're welcome to."
"The envelope. The one that was on my desk during your visit." Another pause. "It appears to be missing."
Raoul looked at the fountain. It was doing something intermittent. "That is unfortunate."
"It is." Cyrus's voice was steady, even while it sounded like he was halfway to crushing the phone in his hand. "I'd like it returned."
"I imagine you would."
"Mr. Boa."
"Mr. Boa," Raoul said again, which wasn't a response to anything but gave him another second to think. "The contents of that envelope are relevant to an ongoing investigation. I'd be happy to discuss it further through the appropriate channels once this investigation is completed."
"You took a letter from a dead man's estate," Cyrus said flatly. "You stole it from my office. Which is a rather considerable—"
"I haven't confirmed or denied anything," Raoul said, his tone a little too relaxed for the situation. "What I'd like to know is when the other two letters are being released."
Cyrus took a moment to process the question. She could tell the detective was enjoying himself a bit too much. "Upon signing of the death certificate," Cyrus explained, his every word chosen carefully. "Which requires the investigation to reach a conclusion." He stopped, expecting Raoul to give a response. Raoul said nothing, so Cyrus continued. "You have the autopsy results."
"The investigation is ongoing."
"You've had them for some time now if I'm not mistaken. A death certificate could be signed. The estate proceedings could move forward. The letters could be released to their intended recipients." He paused. "Unless there's a reason you'd prefer that not happen yet."
"The details will be released," Raoul said, "when the investigation is completed."
"I see." Another pause. The kind Cyrus used when he'd decided to let something sit rather than push it. "We'll speak again soon, Mr. Boa."
"I don't think that will be necessary."
He hung up and looked at the fountain for a moment. He could feel his hands shaking. Were it not for the buzz in his system he wouldn't have survived that call.
"That sounded incredibly suspicious."
Raoul flinched for the second time that night. With tense shoulders he turned to the source of the voice.
Violet Vale was sitting on the bench behind him with a coffee cup and her shoes on the ground beside her, looking at him with those quick expressive eyes that didn't miss much.
"How long have you been there?" Raoul asked, his voice a bit shaky.
"Long enough." She tucked one foot under her crossed leg. "Who's Cyrus?"
"Solicitor."
"Whose solicitor?"
"A family you might be acquainted with."
"With your same last name?"
Raoul had no response, so gave a small shrug.
She looked at him for a moment. Then she looked at the fountain. Then she looked back at him.
"You're scheming with Vincent." she said, blunt but not accusatory. It was more like someone reading a situation out loud to confirm they've read it correctly.
"What makes you say that?"
"The two of you have been very hush hush about the investigation." she made a 'shh' motion. "Very quiet and significant and trading information like it's currency."
"I wouldn't say scheming."
"I would." She picked up her coffee. "What's happening with the case?"
"The investigation is—"
"Ongoing, yes, I heard you say that to the solicitor." She raised an eyebrow. "What's actually happening? Can't you tell me if you've found anything about what happened to my brother?"
Raoul looked at her. She was watching him with that combination of directness and humor that made her simultaneously easy and impossible to deflect. He chose his words with some care. "Progress is being made."
"Right." She nodded slowly. "Do you have suspects?"
"I have persons of interest."
"Have you talked to my father?"
Raoul tensed and shook his head. "Not formally. Not yet."
Violet gave her a sharp look. Her lip curled up a bit, but she held back her amusement. "You're nervous about talking to my father."
"I'm being thorough in my approach."
"You're nervous." she said, stretching her arms over her head. "Which is actually the correct response to my father, so I won't hold it against you." She took a sip of her coffee. "Any theories?"
"About your dad?"
Violet gave a brief shake of her head. "About Virgil?" Raoul was quiet for a moment, which was all the answer she needed. "You do," she said. Not a question. "You have a theory and you're not going to tell me what it is."
"The investigation—"
"Is ongoing." She finished it for him. "Right." She looked at the fountain.
Raoul stood up from his bench and walked to the back row to sit next to her. "I'm sorry," he said a bit softly. "I've had a long day."
Violet didn't look up at him, choosing instead to continue sipping on her coffee. "I know you can't tell me, it's all sensitive information." She stopped. Started differently. "Since mum died everyone around me has been moving very carefully. Very deliberately. Like there are conversations happening that I'm adjacent to but not in." She turned the coffee cup in her hands. "It makes a person paranoid."
"I can only imagine." Raoul said.
"Right, I'm sure you can." She said it lightly but it only sounded sadder. "Virgil was the same in those last weeks, not telling me things." She looked at the trees. "And now Vincent. And now you."
Raoul's features twisted into a somewhat apologetic type of guilt. When Violet noticed she gave him a pitying smile and decided it might be best to change the topic. Though before she could think of something to ask, Raoul spoke first. "Do you come here often?"
Something in her face shifted. A small, somber smile on an otherwise tired face. "Virgil loved it here." She looked around the square with the expression of someone seeing two versions of a place at once. "He used to come here to think." She paused, watching the fountain spurt water weakly. "He brought me here once. Showed me the fountain doing its spectacularly unreliable thing."
"Hey, it's trying it's best."
"Just like Virgil was." The smile came and went. "Vincent met him here. A few days before." She sighed, her shoulders dropping as if she suddenly got tired. "They had a conversation. I don't know what it was about, but Vincent came back from it looking upset."
Raoul perked up. New information. Something small but enough to make Raoul second guess his approach to the case. He took note of what she said. He let the silence between them continue for while longer, but found himself a bit uneasy.
It didn't take long for him to figure out why. "You're staring."
"Can I ask you something?" Violet said, earning a nod from Raoul.
"Did you know him?" She said it carefully, watching his face for any tells now that his eyepatch wasn't there to distract her.
"Who?"
"Virgil. There's something about the way you—" She stopped and bit the inside of her cheek. "Never mind. Sorry. It's probably nothing. You can tell me it's nothing."
Raoul looked at the fountain for a moment. He gave no answer, and Violet looked at him expecting one for a while. But none ever came.
"I should go," Violet said. She reached for her shoes. "Dad's been weird lately."
"Weird how?"
"He's been keeping closer tabs on me lately. Since everything. I don't love the idea of him knowing I'm out here." She stood, coffee in hand, shoes in the other. "Barefoot," she added, apparently to herself. "Very dignified."
"Very." Raoul agreed.
She pointed at him. "You're going to figure this out."
"That's the plan." Raoul murmured with a nervous smile.
"Good." She looked at him one more time. It was that quick, perceptive look. "You're not half bad without the patch. I can almost take you more seriously now."
She walked away across the square in bare feet, coffee in hand as if she was leaving her spot on the beach.
Raoul watched her trail off into the treeline, then he got up himself. He walked back the way he'd come, with considerably more to think about than when he'd arrived.