Raoul was woken up rather unceremoniously by his phone ringing. What he'd initially dismissed as a rogue alarm he'd enabled in his exhausted haze just kept on ringing. Three stops and starts later and Raoul finally picked up the call.
He barely squeezed out a groggy greeting before Vincent's voice came through the other end. "I'm outside and I've got the files."
Raoul blinked a few times and sat up in bed, hoping to shock some awareness into his system. "What?"
"James Street, Bradford. This is where you live right? Look out the window."
Raoul startled out of bed and stumbled to his window. Sure enough he was there. Vincent's plain, drab form stood waiting at the base of his apartment building, looking right into the window with his phone held to his ear. "How do you know where I live? Why are you even here?" Raoul's voice was still raw and groggy.
"It's my job to know these things, and I'm tired of footing the bill for lunch." Vincent near huffed with amusement. "I'll ask them to let me up. We need to talk."
Vincent stepped into Raoul's modest studio apartment. It wasn't the most tidy and the knowledge that the detective existed in a space equivalent to the size of just his bedroom made him uncomfortable, but Vincent held back any criticism. A kitchenette in one corner, a work desk on an opposite corner, Raoul's bed right beside it, and near that was the entrance to what must've been a pitifully cramped bathroom. The tile flooring seemed to be the best feature in this somewhat sad room. Just one look at the barely made bed and it was clear to Vincent that he'd come at a pretty bad time.
Raoul followed in after Vincent and locked the door behind him. His hair was mussed and his quickly thrown on clothes did the detective no favors.
"Where's your eyepatch, Detective?" Vincent was genuinely curious, but couldn't help but sound almost snide. Raoul clicked his tongue and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stalked over to his messy desk, grabbing the officially stamped envelope with the autopsy results. Vincent's eyebrow quirked up just out of Raoul's sight. "My apologies. Have I struck a nerve?"
Raoul spun around so quick Vincent staggered back, seemingly evading what he'd expected would be a strike right at him. He shoved the envelope against Vincent's chest with a scowl. "It's too early for this nonsense."
Vincent held onto the envelope with his free hand and staggered back against the counter, knocking against the dirty dishes near the sink. "8:15am isn't exactly what I'd call early."
"You woke me up."
"I didn't expect a detective to be sleeping in during an active investigation." Raoul dropped onto his bed, running his fingers through his hair as if still trying to wake himself up. "Rough night?"
Raoul's head shot up, his tired eyes narrowing at the taller man, who didn't immediately register the pure irritation on his face. "You got the results, now put the files you've got on the desk over there." he pointed at his desk, a bit too tired to be ashamed of the mess.
Vincent took a moment to scan the rising pile of documents on the desk and placed his contribution on what he figured was the least chaotic part of the surface.
Raoul tensed as he heard the sound of pages turning, looking up to find that Vincent had already started reading the autopsy results. Vincent seemed to lean back a bit, seemingly moving toward the light coming through the window.
Everything was laid out in formal, clean text Cause of death: anaphylactic shock. Asteraceae. Severe systemic allergic reaction, rapid onset. No foreign substances found in the body. No introduced toxins. Consistent with the toxicology report in every direction. The epipen that Virgil's medical records showed he carried without exception for eight years had not been found on his person or anywhere in the studio.
Vincent was finally quiet, giving the detective enough time to properly get his bearings. But as Raoul finally calmed down a bit more, he felt himself growing uneasy with Vincent's idleness.
Vincent's eyes seemed to reread certain parts of the autopsy a few times. Raoul assumed it was yet another quirk of Vincent's seemingly unclear vision, so watched it happen without saying anything. He'd learned, over the course of this investigation, that silence was the most useful thing he owned when it came to Vincent Vale.
"The allergy." Vincent said at last. His voice was its usual flat careful register, but Raoul immediately picked up on the slight shakiness that came with his words. "The Asteraceae allergy."
"Yes."
"That's what killed him?"
"Correct."
Vincent fell silent for a while before speaking up again. "Chamomile is Asteraceae?"
"It is."
Vincent leaned to balance himself against the table. His hand found the edge of the desk just two inches to the left of where he'd reached. It was a small recalibration, smooth as always, almost nothing, but Raoul was more than used to it by now.
"He ordered the chamomile himself. He didn't take his medication." He didn't say it to Raoul exactly, just processing it out loud.
Raoul said nothing as he watched Vincent drop onto the nearby chair and re-read the results as if hoping they'd change.
When Vincent looked back at Raoul his expression had not changed in any way Raoul could have pointed to specifically. But something behind it had. Something had resolved, or perhaps collapsed was the more accurate word.
He didn't say what he was thinking. He didn't ask any further questions. He looked at Raoul for a long moment with those deep-water eyes, the gaze landing its characteristic degree past center, and then he looked at the file that he'd brought on the table. "Thank you for this."
"I don't need your thanks, but I hope that gave you the answers you were looking for."
Vincent nodded almost as if in a haze. "The records are thorough," he pointed towards the files on the desk. "Transactions from the past three years rather than two. I thought the wider window might be useful."
"It will be." Raoul nodded. "Thank you." Vincent laid the autopsy results down beside the financial records and stood up, preparing to leave. Raoul blocked the path to the door and held his hand out to stop him. "Actually, I have a few questions for you."
"What is it?" He sounded softer. He looked deflated. But Raoul didn't have it in him to pity the man standing across from him.
"Did you know of your brother's intent to commit suicide?" Raoul's question came sharp. Vincent's breath faltered, but he didn't respond. "What was the nature of your last conversation with Virgil?"
"I don't know, Detective."
"You and Virgil met late at night a few days before his death. You had a conversation and left in an emotional state."
Vincent's eyes barely focused on the detective standing across from him. "I don't remember giving that testimony."
"It's my job to know these things." Raoul pulled the key out from the lock and put them in his back pocket, preventing Vincent from leaving the apartment on his own terms. "I'll ask again, Vincent, what was the nature of your last conversation with Virgil?" Vincent stumbled back and sat down on the messy bed. He lowered his head and tensed his near shaking shoulders.
"I had no idea it would come to this."
"That's not what I asked." Vincent fell silent once again. "All I want to know is what you two last spoke about. I'm not leveling accusations against you."
Vincent's unclear eyes remained focused on the white tile beneath his feet. He could barely make out his own reflection.
"I tried to stop him."