"So, you have a body filled with holes, and no gun. You have a recording that hear's tell of two people at the scene, but no trace of a witness. You have a motive, but no means and no evidence... what exactly did you think I might have to work with here?"
The bucket of viscera at the end of the table near the dead man's toes continued to receive drops of blood from the gutter tracks the table had installed in the edges and Brin tried not to look.
Detective Londo, addressed as such by people that actually respected him, made an effort not to gag at the same time he rolled his eyes and tried to look back down from where he'd been focusing on the ancient nicotine stains along the ceiling like he always did when visiting Tinya in the morgue. Tried and failed, because even if it was Tinya next to the guy's head (so she could get some much needed traction to use the rib cutter), he'd never get used to seeing a body meticulously opened up and explored.
"I don't know Tinya, but aside from Doctor Dox, you're the smartest person I know, and you did work on the stiff. I'm willing to take anything you can give me."
The weights to his left made a sound as she dropped what he was willing to bet were the cadaver's kidneys into the sterile dishes as she outright snorted at his desperation and discomfort.
Some things really don't change after high school and college.
"A murder, a mystery and a magic trick," the music of Africa by Toto seemed to amplify Tinya's amusement as she continued to drive her godforsaken vintage CJ-3B jeep up the side of the mountain Brin owned, to his hand-built cabin where he was hoping she could help him with his newest case...preferably without killing them on the way up.
If they made it there, he was getting his Brammo Enertia fixed first thing the next day. Almost having a heart attack each time he asked his favorite medical examiner for a ride back home through the woods seemed less and less worth it every trip.
Her buying their dinner while they tossed ideas back and forth didn't really help, since half the stuff ended up bruised by the time they arrived, anyway.
He sometimes wondered why he invited her to his house, but then he remembered the first time he walked into the place that had been in her mother's family for centuries: echoing hallways that felt a little like museums he'd visited with his father before the man had devolved into a complete asshole; gorgeous art that ran the gambit of European Gothic, Nouveau, and Classicism but ran on a certain theme of soulless symbolism; dried flowers that seemed to be the aesthetic of the whole place. And only Tinya there to live there when she didn't have work and friends to distract her.
He turned back into her rambling as Africa ended and Polyester Bride by Liz Phair started up, trying to appear as if the memory of her so-called home didn't make his fur stand on end, "...of course, there's always three parts to a magic trick, so if you're lucky you're somewhere after The Pledge and before The Turn and you'll be more in the loop before The Prestige lands in your lap and you lose your commission."
"I can't lose it; I actually followed your advice and took it up front...for once."
She looked over, dust grey eyes setting on him before grinning lightly and continuing on up the hill with a few jerks at the stick shift, "What'd you do with the money, Brin? Please, please say that you bought food."
He lifted a hand much like he would if he was carrying around of his best made cookies back when he was a waiter working through college and tilted it from side to side.
As punishment, and a way to blow off steam without raising her voice (much like she did with new recruits in the morgue when she was forced to take the reins from Brainy or help out Imra with older case files without any notice), Tinya pressed hard on the gas and enjoyed the sound of mud splattering backwards and leaving prints in the dirt road.
Tinya dumped the groceries on the sofa-what was available in space-and groaned like a lioness as she tried to step around the baker's dozen sketches and pieces of canvas art Brin had strewed on the floor where he almost always worked on all fours like some contortionist at the carnival.
She really did not feel up to cleaning charcoal and turpentine off of her white boots and pea-coat when she just came up to the cabin to make sure the man got fed and to help him answer his own questions spoken to the air so if one of his PI friends walked through the door, he wouldn't look like he was as crazy as his father.
"Well, shit, Brin; this is deep. This the last guy you worked for?"
"No, this is the guy whose lawyer told him to 'shut up' before they went to the grand jury based on the evidence I wrangled out of that sewer system down in the East Village."
"Oh, yeah. The one that skipped out on bail and took a dive off of the Luthor Corp. building. Nice. You got the way his head hit the bricks almost entirely on point. Though I think there was more grey matter a little closer to the roses. The yellow ones, not the red ones."
Brin paused unloading the unbroken eggs from the grocery bags and leaned backwards a little, his ungodly long hair swaying like a wave with the motion and drawing Tinya's attention. It was always difficult to restrain herself from giving into the impulse to run her fingers through it at work, never mind when they were off the clock and just hanging out.
Still...still; courage.
"How could you possibly remember that?"
"How do I remember the numbers off all my case files when there's nothing at hand and only a mention of a name or object? I have a fine memory."
"You're also really morbid, princess. Don't try to object to that."
Tinya cackled and tip-toed over the paint cans and brushes, finally taking her seat at the breakfast island so she could take off her boots and put them on the other stool to prevent the chance of them getting dirty. Her socks didn't matter, and anyway, she liked how the wood of the cabin felt so cool whenever she pressed down.
As a reminder, she dragged her feet on either side of the stool, waving her legs like a child at the park on the swings, amusing Brin tremendously as he finished putting away the food he didn't need and kept out the works for turkey kielbasa he could make with that creepy looking tin-can fireplace and aluminum tinfoil.
He was soaked down to the skin and bone beyond the protection of his fur, city water from the runoff of the rooftops making him feel disgusting, the trial verdict making him feel more-so.
Brin got the gun, he got the confession, he got pictures and eyes witness statements, worked his ass off for weeks acting as a hunter for hire under watch and call from Garth in his captains office in the fifteenth precinct, from Imra in her prosecutors office with twenty paralegals coming back and forth with information on the hour.
Gun? Thrown out. Confession? Not admissible. Pictures? The defense and prosecution split them up so much that the jury couldn't settle on what was relevant and what wasn't. The eye witness statements were also a bust, given that the defense tore down the undercover cop just based on the fact that he was Garth's older brother and had a lot of citations in his file from druggies complaining about getting snapped up.
Standing upon the steps to the courthouse, rain dark and full of smog from the ashes of a fire that had been put out a mere hour ago five blocks down involving a bakery, Brin tried not to bite down on his tongue or snarl dark rage as the rapist of fourteen women, and incidental murderer of one man, followed his lawyer to the car and drove away to Gotham Airlines. It was unlikely that he would ever return to the states again.
He flinched a little at the warmth that found its way upon his broad back, and sulked broad shoulders as a wide white umbrella found itself covering his already matted, cold self, Tinya having a raise her arm considerably to keep the both of them covered.
"You did what you could, Brin; nobody can fault you for variables beyond your control. Or what an idiot the judge was."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Not at all. But it's the truth. Of this I am sure."
There was no expectation of where he sometimes ended up after taking a dive into a thick necked bottle of liquor. Once he'd ended up in Maine, sleeping in a rented car; once in Rokk Krinn's apartment with the ADA making eggs covered in Tabasco for Brin to choke down so he wasn't took hung over the rest of the day; another time he awoke sandwiched between Luornu and Chuck, all of them naked and none of them remembering much of the night, save for that they had in fact bought twenty-two watermelons from a super market and charged it on Chuck's credit card.
This lack of expectation was no different after the end of that disaster of a trial.
Brin was groggy and full of a dull throbbing behind his eyes that didn't worsen when he opened them to find himself in a largely dark room, not cold and not hot, but linoleum and stainless steel everywhere he looked. Little doors in the walls with handles and locks that made the buzzing noise of all refrigerators everywhere.
He tipped his head to point upwards and found exactly what he supposed he would. A hanging light above his head and near his knees that were meant to highlight his internal body for when and if he was ever murdered and needed to be investigated.
Then he inhaled and smelled the day lily and sunflower perfume, which caused him to look down and find himself covered in Tinya's doctor's coat; its light weight a soft comfort compared to the stainless steel table he'd made into a bed during his night of drunken stupidity, but Tinya herself nowhere to be seen.
But he could hear her, shuffling around behind the closed door that lead to her office, light morning rays of sun just barely peeking out and casting glancing shadows in her movement from one place to another. Papers rustling and her phone buzzing with her poor choice in music in tandem with her scribbling her thick pen against the bottoms of the files where she needed to scratch her name over and over again.
Then the knocking, the shadows of her feet stilled and like a piano track, "Brin? I know you're awake in there. I need to go down and drop off some forms to Brainy, so do you want me to grab you anything from the break room? Or maybe order you something from that coffee shop that delivers?"
He cleared his throat as well as he could, bringing his legs over the side of the table and finding he was at least still clothed, "Just, ahhhh, bring me a duplicate of whatever you're having. I'll pay you back later."
"No you won't, you're broke, remember?"
"I'll pay you back, Tinya."
"Alright, alright. Your pants are in my organ weighing tray and should be dry by now. Do make sure you don't knock over my scalpels while I'm gone."
He glanced down and lifted up the coat, eyebrows raising in good humor. Okay, so at least he was still wearing his underwear.
Granted, there was nothing he had that she hand't already seen, but keeping up the pretense that their relationship was entirely platonic was the only thing that kept all their friends from freaking out and teasing them every moment of every day.