I had a look for a decent Valentine investigation and came up empty. And, as I have published investigative-type stories in the past, I thought I'd give it a shot. If you want to see Valentine in his element, without being second to a certain former Vault-dweller, here you are.

I'll accept any constructive criticism, and of course if I get anything wrong, let me know. I don't know how far I'll take this story; that mostly depends on the response I get. If enough people like it, I'll keep going with it. So let me know if you think I should keep going or leave it as it stands.

Rain fell out of a dark sky, pattering loudly on a black body bag. The sound combined with the sound of a wheelbarrow's wheel as it rolled down the hill from the entrance to the stadium that was now Diamond City. The weather added an appropriate mood to what would, as always, be a sombre occasion. There were glances as Nick Valentine wheeled the body through the market, but nobody commented. It wasn't the first time he'd brought someone home that way.

When he reached the house he deliberately didn't hesitate before knocking on the door. He'd done this sort of thing many times, before and after the war, and it was important to face it head-on.

Frank Sykes opened the door and his face grew still when he saw Nick. It fell when he saw the body bag. Nick said to him, "I'm sorry, Frank."

The reactions he got varied wildly, but there was a marked difference between pre- and post-war reactions. Post-war there was a kind of resignation to it, an expectation of death. That was what he saw in Frank's face, that he had known all along. Seeing the bag, however, still sent him looking for somewhere to sit down. Nick followed him in, leaving the wheelbarrow and its grisly contents outside.

They both sat down on a couch, worn out like everything else. Frank said quietly, "I always told Jake, if you go out there, the Commonwealth will chew you up and spit you back out."
"It's always a risk, but we can't all stay in these walls forever. Jake understood that. He took the risk so others wouldn't have to."
Frank nodded numbly. "Thanks for doing this, Nick. At least we know now."
What had to come next was difficult, but necessary. Nick took his hat off and rubbed his artificial scalp. A mannerism from days when that kind of thing served a purpose, now just used to put others at ease. "There's one thing left to do. I know it's hard, but can you take a look at the body? To make sure it's him?"
Frank looked the synth in his glowing yellow eyes and gave a single, slight nod.

Nick got up and headed back out to the wheelbarrow. He took the black bag out and laid it on the steel floor of the house. "You ready?"
"Yeah."

Nick opened the bag so that only the face was exposed. Frank didn't need to see the rest.
He looked back at Frank, who looked forlorn. "It's him."

Nick closed it up. It was difficult, but for him there was a dual purpose to these things. It was a way of retaining some sense of identity, keeping on the old traditions of detective work. It made him feel more at home, somehow. But, of course, there were good reasons to carry on these practices. They had been used for a good reason, because they worked. Now they knew that Jake wasn't still out there, and Frank and Macy could get their closure.

Nick asked Frank, "Do you want me to make arrangements for the body?"
Frank shook his head. "It's alright, we'll take care of it. I'll go get your fee."
He went over to a metal box and rummaged around for a minute, then came out with a cardboard box that rattled. "Two hundred caps. And if there's anything you need, you say the word."
Nick gave him a grateful smile. "I appreciate that. Thanks. I'll see you round."

A few minutes later, after Nick had stuck the wheelbarrow in an empty corner of the city, he came through the door of the agency. Ellie Perkins, his secretary, looked up and smiled broadly as he entered. "Nick, you're back! Good news?"
She saw the look on his face and added, her mood adjusting for his, "Guess not."
"We need more body bags," Nick told her.
Ellie nodded and replied, "I'll ask Myrna to keep an eye out for us."
Nick sat heavily at his desk and stared off into the distance. "This job gets the best of me sometimes. When parents thank you for dropping off their child in a black bag... I feel like taking their money is a crime in itself."
After a moment, he started and added, "Oh, that reminds me."
He put the box of caps on Ellie's desk, then reached in and counted out half, then dumped them in a jacket pocket. Ellie stared at the box for a few seconds, while Nick sat back down. Then she said to him, "We need caps, Nick. As it is we don't charge half as much as we could. Everyone accepts that time costs money. Even from someone who doesn't sleep. They're glad to pay, you know that. They get a lot out of it, even if it's just a brief glimmer of hope. And for those who you bring back they'd pay anything."
"As often as that happens."
Ellie frowned. "It happens often enough that you do give them hope. This job is worth it to them, otherwise we wouldn't have cases backed up for the next two weeks."
Nick scratched his face. "What do we have?"
Ellie's voice lost its tension as she recited them from memory. She was good with that. Nick's memory wasn't what it had been when he had been human, but she was even better than he had been.
"Nina's cat is still missing. She says she's looked everywhere, but he hasn't turned up. She's offered ten caps. I told her we'll probably be too busy, but she said to let you know anyway."
"He'll probably turn up. We'll keep that in reserve if we run out of other cases."
Ellie looked to the ceiling as she remembered, "Uh, so there was someone in Goodneighbor, Justin Marks, who's gone missing. Disappeared without a trace, as far as the locals could tell. He was assisting KLEO. We got a letter from her, she seemed adamant that he wasn't the type to just leave."
Nick took a moment to consider, then replied, "Probably the same as usual, but still, worth looking into."
"There was something from a town up north called Covenant. Traders sent word they were looking for a PI, but they also said they're paranoid about synths and that there's no chance they'll let you in. They said it was a couple of hours' walk."
"Not sure how that'll work. I could send someone to get more details, but if they find out they're working with a synth, it could cause trouble. Probably best to steer clear."
"Alright, last there was another missing person from Quincy. The Minutemen asked for our help and even offered an escort. They said to send back a letter if you needed it."
"Mmm. Problem there is that there's always politics to deal with. Nice enough town, but the Minutemen complicate everything with different people deciding whose jurisdiction it is. Reminds me of Boston P.D., the worst parts of it. I'm no fan of Goodneighbor, but I'll still do that one next."
Ellie nodded and headed over to the filing cabinet. After a moment, sorting through the files, she handed Nick a folder. "This is everything on the case. I'm gonna head home, unless there's anything else you need."
"No, thanks. I'll have a read through it."

Hours later, Nick was reading through past case files and he heard a scream from outside. He didn't even think about it, just darted out of the door and towards where he thought it had come from. Others pointed the way by where they themselves were headed. Soon he found the waitress from the Dugout Inn, Scarlett, standing at the open door to the Erickson house, looking horrified as she looked in.

Nick went to stand beside her to see what she saw. Lindsey and Joe Erickson, lying on the floor of their living room. Nick rushed over and took the pulse of Joe and then Lindsey. Nothing. They were still warm, so must have died less than a few hours ago.

Nick stood up slowly, then walked out to where a crowd was gathering. He asked Scarlett, "Did you see them first?"
She nodded, her hand still over her mouth. Nick pressed on, "Did you see anyone else?"
A shake of the head. Nick grimaced for a moment, then made sure to memorise the faces of everyone there. He knew that the more sadistic killers would sometimes come back to the scene of the crime, to see how their handiwork was received. He didn't think any of them were likely suspects, but you never did know.
He spoke up. "Alright, all of you move along. No need to gawk." More quietly, "Scarlett, tell me exactly what happened."

Scarlett removed her hand from her mouth, then swallowed. "I saw the door was open as I passed by on my way home. And I saw them there. I just... didn't know what to do. Lindsey and Joe... I knew them well. I can't imagine why anyone would hurt them."
Her brow furrowed. "Wait, where's Patricia?"
Nick looked around the small house, realising that she was right; Patricia, their sixteen-year-old daughter, wasn't there. Nick said to Scarlett, "Tell the guards at the gate not to let anyone leave the city for now, and ask them who has left already today. I'll be here."
Scarlett nodded and rushed away to do as he said. By this point, two of the city guards had arrived, clad in their baseball gear as usual. One asked, "What happened?"
Nick looked back at the bodies on the ground. "That's what I intend on finding out."