Chapter Text
It was a rainy day in June. The police station buzzed with grim energy—or the lack thereof. Damp wooden floors squeaked underfoot, and rain poured against stained windows. There wasn't really anyone who put in the effort to ever clean the place. In the air lingered the smell of old coffee, smoke and mould. Above Valentin's head flickered a single gaslight, creating an eerie atmosphere in the already narrow hallway.
Through an open doorway to the left, an officer typed loudly on a typewriter, fingers abusing the keyboard. And somewhere deeper in the building, muffled shouts could be heard. Likely interrogations, or drunken arrests from last night's raid in a speakeasy. Valentin had only read about it in the newspaper that morning, a fresh print by the New York Chronicles. A small paper, but the reporters there worked quick and efficient.
Detective Victor Brown's office door was slightly ajar. It was the last room, right at the end of the hallway—the farthest away from the rest. That door was the only one where the paint was not peeling off yet. The nameplate on the wood read: DETECTIVE V. BROWN. Valentin inhaled deeply. The nerves inside his body were on electricity, yet he had no idea why. Perhaps because that was his first day on-duty. His hand hovered in the air, trembling a little. Then he knocked. A sharp tap-tap of knuckles against wood that echoed louder than expected.
For some time, nothing happened. Then heavy footsteps could be heard from the other side. The door swung open. Detective Brown stood there. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, and his body carried the faint scent of tobacco. One hand rested atop the doorframe. The posture looked careless at first glance, but the way he occupied the entire space made it impossible to ignore how large he was. Sharp eyes scanned Valentin up and down once—and then he lowered the head, invading personal space he had not permitted yet. »You must be Baker.«
There was something quietly oppressive about having to look up in order to meet Brown's gaze. Although the gap was not even that huge, only a few inches. It was Brown's presence that made him so imposing.
»You are late.«
He didn't sound angry, but the words carried a weight to them nonetheless. The detective did not tolerate tardiness. The sharp eyes flicked down, taking in the nervous twitch of Valentin's hands that pressed tightly to the sides of his body. Then the gaze continued to travel over Valentin's frame. He was drowning in the uniform, and it did not compliment his body at all. Not that a uniform fulfilled such purpose. But it was painfully obvious that the thin arms and lanky legs were not fit to chase criminals down dark alleys, or beat them with a bat. The hat was perched on top of Valentin's head, making him look more like a child wearing his father's clothes than a real officer.
A gloved hand reached out, adjusting the hat. »I expect my rookies to look neat.«
Valentin flinched and instinctively, his hand flew up to hold onto the hat. »Ah. Yes, sir!« He replied hastily.
The gloved fingers hovered in the air after Valentin had recoiled. Victor's expression hardened. »And stop jumping like a startled cat,« he said. »Being jumpy will get you hurt in this job.« He stepped back and walked towards the huge desk in the centre of the room. Valentin understood the silent command to follow, so he hurried inside without hesitation.
The office was neat: Files were stacked and organised on shelves, and a lamp on the desk casted warm light over paperwork sprawled on the surface. But as much as Valentin could make out, there were no personal items. Not a framed photograph of a wife or children.
It was so embarrassing. Valentin was acutely aware of how the uniform hung on him like a sac of potatoes. Had the other officers noticed that too? And were they snickering behind his back?Valentin's palms were clammy, and the shoulders stiff. The old floorboards creaked softly under the boots.
Victor sat down in the leather chair and gestured to a smaller chair across the desk. »Sit.«
Valentin settled, clumsily so. He felt the sharp eyes scan him again—the nervous set of his jaw and how he clawed his knees, crumpling the fabric of the trousers.
Victor reached into the drawer and pulled out a thick file folder. »Our current case,« he said, sliding the file across the desk towards Valentin with a single, precise push. Inside were photographs of a crime scene. The interior of a speakeasy: Overturned chairs scattered around the floor, shattered bottles and broken glass everywhere. A body slumped over a table, head rolled to the side. A man, dressed in an expensive looking tuxedo. And a bullet between the eyes.
Valentin scanned photograph after photograph. The graphic content made his breath hitch involuntarily. He had never been to a crime scene before, only patrolled the streets on broad daylight. He hadn't expected the first case to be so... intense. »Murder?« He stammered, and immediately winced at how small and quite his voice came out. He didn't look at Victor yet, couldn't bring himself to look into those cold eyes after seeing those gruesome images. He turned the last photograph and read the messy handwritten note on the back: »HE HAD IT COMING.«
A chill ran down his spine. Someone had written that on the wall with the victim's blood. »Was this... an execution?«
Victor did not flinch when Valentin finally lifted the head. »An execution?« He repeated. He sounded indifferent about it, for he'd probably witnessed worse in all those years as a detective. »That was personal.« He reached out and pointed at a particular photograph: A close-up of the victim's hand. A silver ring on the finger, engraved with the initials »W.M.« Victor tapped it once. »Recognise that? He's not just anyone.« He locked eyes with Valentin. »That's William Raspberry.«
A pause.
»You know who that is?«
Valentin had to swallow hard. Yes. That name was ringing a bell. If he remembered correctly, he'd read about him in an article. The press had written about a wealthy businessman who had gone on a trip overseas but never returned, leaving behind a fortune. That's what confused police and public about the disappearance, and it made the case odd in general—for who would leave behind so much money and vanish without a trace? Murder was the most plausible explanation. Though after months of searching and finding no clues, the police had ended the investigations. Now it was a cold-case.
Valentin bobbed the head. »Yes. I've heard of him.«
Victor's eyes squinted, and Valentin's body prickled. Had he said something wrong again?
»Heard of him,« repeated Victor. »From where?« He demanded specifics, the vague answer had not satisfied him. Where did Valentin get his information? The idle talk in the station? Did he trust anyone who told him information without validation? He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk, fingers steepled under the chin. »The tabloids?« Victor exhaled sharply through the nose, not quite a scoff but awfully close to it. »Tabloids,« he said again, and the way it rolled of his tongue made it sound like a dirty word. He reached for another file, a thinner one, and slapped it down next to the photographs. Newspaper clippings. One of them was called New York Chronicles. A headline in bold print read: »BUSINESS MAN WILLIAM RASPBERRY STILL MISSING AFTER THREE MONTHS OF INVESTIGATION—POLICE TRAPPED AT DEAD END.«
Victor tapped the article with the index finger. »Do you believe everything you read?« The tone sounded almost mocking. How could a police officer be so naïve? »Idle talk,« he proceeded, pronouncing the words slow and deliberate. »They believe a man who owned half of Manhattan's fortune would just bugger off without a word?«
The article he pointed at revealed more details: Raspberry had been seen boarding a ship bound for Cuba before he disappeared. Though there were no reliable sources, and it read more like speculation than facts. Victor leaned in, and it was then that Valentin caught the glimpse of a faint scar along the detective's jawline.
Victor abruptly rose and walked around the table, stopping right before Valentin. He bent down, resting one hand on the armrest of the chair. Two fingers caught the brim of Valentin's hat. His breath caught when it was lifted off his head, revealing the crimson-coloured hair beneath. It was exposed and fell into Victor's view to see.
Valentin braced himself. How would Victor react? Would he make fun of him, mock him? He was used to nasty remarks about the colour of his hair.
But nothing came. Victor simply examined the hat as though it held clues before setting it aside on the desk. »You're working with me now,« he said. »Seems like I ought to teach you discipline, hm?« Then the dark eyes locked on Valentin again. »Discipline,« he repeated again, reaching out to grab Valentin's chin firmly. To show that he was undeniably in control. And it seemed to be a habit of his to repeat words, to emphasise them.
Valentin had noticed that little habit. His breath hitched when the fingers pressed into the flesh, forcing him to meet the cold and calculating stare. »Y-yes, sir.« He gulped, and the Adam's apple made a tiny jump. Something the sharp eyes did not miss. They were burning into Valentin's skin. What did Brown mean? Discipline? Would he assign Valentin extra paperwork? A small bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
Victor studied him for a longer moment, and the finally released the hold. He straightened the posture, towering over Valentin who wanted to curl into himself. »Get the files on Raspberry from the archive,« he instructed, »and read through them again. If you find anything that is worth to dig into, report immediately.«
Valentin nodded quickly. Task. A real task. That was good, he could prove himself useful. »Right away, sir!« Eagerly, he jumped to the feet, knees nearly buckling from the rush of movement. His limbs were stiff for he'd been tense under Brown's relentless scrutiny! He turned on the heel to the door, though hesitated. Should he wait to be dismissed? Was he allowed to just leave like that?
»Baker.«
Valentin paused, turning half to Victor. His hands clumsily caught the hat that was thrown towards him. He barely managed to catch it, for the toss was unexpected.
»Careful,« Victor reminded him. »Pay more attention. And don't just leave things behind.«
»Y-yes!« He put the hat back on top, adjusting it. Don't just leave things behind. Was that about evidence? Or... was Brown hinting at something else?
Victor's expression gave away nothing, and he did not elaborate. So Valentin quickly turned around and steppe out into the hallway before he could say something stupid, and make more of a fool out of himself than he already had. How embarrassing!
The archive was full of dust. Files were shoved haphazardly into shelves, some labeled while some tags had been peeled off over time and neglect. Some did not even have a mark at all. A few boxes were scattered on the floor, and Valentin had to be careful not to stumble over them. The contents were spilled, like someone had carelessly rummaged through them and then not bothered to put them back in place.
All in all—there was no system, no alphabetical order.
Valentin knelt down beside on stack and started to pull out files. None were organised by date nor name. They had been shoved together by chance. He sneezed from the dust that swirled around him in the air but kept searching anyway. Even when the fine dust scratched his throat. Raspberry, Raspberry, Raspberry... It was like a mantra he repeated in the head.
After what felt like forever, he found a thin folder marked as: »RASPBERRY—DISAPPEARANCE.« He beamed brightly. Bingo! The sudden rush of euphoria made Valentin stand up too fast, and he hit the head on the shelf, knocking over a box. »Ouch.« The box crashed to the floor with a loud THUD, and the papers scattered everywhere. Files, receipts, even a stained napkin. He hissed because of the pain in his skull, clenching shut the eyes for a brief moment. He pressed a hand to where it throbbed. Shit. He really had to be more careful and less clumsy.
He paused, listening closely. Had someone heard? Another officer? Would they come and investigate?
Then they'd have another reason to make fun of Valentin.
But everything remained silent. No footsteps approaching.
Valentin sighed. He crouched back down when the pain began to ease, gathering the scattered papers. At least it seemed like he hadn't damaged anything. One file had slipped under a nearby desk, and when Valentin reached out for it, a shadow fell over him.
A tall figure loomed above, casting a long silhouette on the floor. »What a mess.«
Valentin had not heard anyone enter, so he naturally flinched at the sound of a voice. Slowly, he peeked over the shoulder, staring wide-eyed into an unfamiliar face. The stranger lifted a groomed brow, then crouched down, so their faces were on eye-level. »This one's new,« he said. He was talking about Valentin. He looked a little younger than Victor, perhaps mid-thirties? The sharp eyes did not match the polite smile on his lips. He wasn't wearing a police uniform but a tailored suit. The hair was slicked back, and all in all, the appearance was very neat.
He did not help Valentin to pick up the papers. »Are you a rookie?«
Valentin's throat tightened when the stranger studied him. »Yes,« he admitted, lowering the head. »First day.«
The man chuckled. Not kind or warm, rather amused. »Sweet.« Then he reached into the breas pocket and pulled out a card. »The name is Edward Brown,« he introduced himself, handing the card to Valentin. He took the card, fingers brushing over the smooth lettering. »EDWARD BROWN—ATTORNEY AT LAW. Address: VALE & ASSOCIATES.«
Valentin blinked. Vale & Associates? That was the most prestigious law firm in the states, only elite clients could afford the lawyers there. But something else caught Valentin's attention: Brown—that was the detective's surname. Were they related? Then again, »Brown« was not exactly a rare name, and where Valentin came from lived many people whose last name was Brown.
Edward watched him with a faint smirk, waiting for a reaction. The silence stretched until Valentin finally stammered out: »Pleased to meet you.«
The smirk widened. There was something almost comical in the awkward greeting. »You are working with my brother?«
Brother. So it wasn't a coincidence—they were indeed related. Valentin should have known. They had the same sharp eyes, and the same unsettling aura that surrounded them.
Edward did not wait for confirmation before continuing. »It is seldom that Victor takes rookies on serious cases.« Now he was sizing up Valentin with subtle intrigue that did not go beyond professionalism—like a lawyer sizing up a witness in the stand, trying to get a benefit out of the questions he was asking.
At the words, Valentin's pulse jumped. If that was true, then perhaps, Brown saw potential in Valentin. Hope flared in his chest. Perhaps Brown recognised that there was more behind Valentin's clumsiness. He clutched the Raspberry file to the chest. »Well, Detective Brown assigned me the William Raspberry case.«
Edward hummed thoughtfully and reached into his pocket, that time to pull out a cigarette case. Without considering the narrow space, and the risk of fire, he plucked one out and lit it with a silver lighter. Then he took a slow drag, savouring the taste. »Ah. Yes, yes,« he said, waving a hand dismissively. He wasn't asking for details. »The businessman who disappeared mysteriously.« Then he exhaled a plume of smoke right into Valentin's face. That was more like it. Messing with the rookie was fun.
Valentin's eyes watered when the toxic smoke stung his nose. Ugh. He hated that, for the smell was so awful! »Y-yes,« he coughed, weakly waving a hand in attempt to clear the air. He did not dare to say more, for he read the room and caught the disinterest in Edward's tone. He stood there, awkwardly so, still clutching the folder.
Edward was humoured by the visible discomfort. He took another drag. »Good luck then. As they say, the first case is usually the one to be remembered forever.«
That did not sound encouraging. In fact, Valentin thought it was more of a warning. He nodded, unsure what to say without sounding stupid or silly.
Edward flicked the cigarette onto the floor and killed it with the sole of his polished shoe. The place was complete chaos anyway. »Tell Victor I said hello,« he added dryly before walking past Valentin, heading towards the exit with the hands shoved into the pockets of the slacks. He didn't glance back, just disappeared around the corner. Gone. The door fell shut.
Valentin exhaled. His eyes dropped to the file again. The encounter had caught him off-balance, but he had to focus on Raspberry again.
Right. Brown had instructed him to read through it carefully. Gathering himself, Valentin sat down and leaned against a shelf. He opened the folder and began to read.