Every second Tino spent in this putrid room, the more he wanted to gag and sprint out, evident in how careful he was to only breathe through his mouth. The stark white walls of the autopsy room were pristine and clean as opposed to the odious body of Einar, whom Erzsébet covered with a white sheet to hide his body once again. The Hungarian woman tutted after her hands were free of the sheet, and they planted themselves on her hips. She gave Tino a quizzical glance with nuances of amusement.
"Tino, when you're done gagging inside, we can step out. It's not hard." she shook her head, leading a very stiff Tino outside. His very muscles seemed impaired by the odor, but once out of the room and the door shut firmly behind them, Tino heaved out a breath, then took another deeply to replace the lingering scent of a decomposing body, grinning as he did. Truthfully, however, he was more grateful for the mug of coffee he could now continue to savor, as Erzsébet refused to let him bring it into the room.
"Sorry that I've got sharper senses than you," he said teasingly, brushing once of his knuckles on her shoulder. Erzsébet rolled her eyes at this, responding with a terse, "Dumbass." Tino couldn't help his chuckle, but caught it abruptly to clear his throat.
"Yeah, I know. Shut my mouth and get back to business." Tino muttered, crossing his arms and briefly glancing down at the floor, then back up to meet Erzsébet's critical stare. He continued, "So then, what's the reason? Why'd he kick the bucket?" Tino raised the mug to his lips and took a lengthy swig of his coffee, nonchalantly shutting his eyes in pleasure.
Erzsébet would've lauded him for how absolutely broad and numb-minded his question was.
"How much mercury do you think you piss out?" She asked without issue. Tino's eyes flew open and he nearly choked on his coffee, instead letting the jarred backwash return to the mug.
"What," Tino began with shock, "The hell does that have to do with anything?!"
"Everything, I'd say. Sharper senses, right. The answer is, one to five micrograms." Erzsébet seemed nearly smug to be educating Tino like this.
"I still don't see how this has to do with how he died."
"Let me finish, huh? Einar's urinary mercury content was greater than 230 micrograms. And the toxic level is greater than fifty. That means, his body was pumped so full of mercury, there could be no other explanation for his death than mercury poisoning."
Tino furrowed his brow at Erzsébet's detail, but stumbled along with her science-speech, at least fishing out the cause of death. "That's a lot of mercury, then. So then how'd he get all the mercury inside? I don't think he was a miner. More like the type who shoots up places."
"Dimethylmercury. That's how he died."
"Dime-what-now?" Even still, the word seemed to have been brought up before.
"Di-meth-yl-mer-cur-y. Sometimes I don't even think you're listening, and you're helping work this case with the Taipan!"
"Not everyone's a scientist like you! I do the muscle-work!" Tino pridefully patted his arms, which were slightly plump like the rest of his body, but could no less bring down any man unfortunate enough to challenge him.
"Right, right." Erzsébet sighed, sometimes forgetting how much more happy Tino was with a more hands-on job. Much like he was with his tall partner, where she would admit that they did fit together quite nicely. "It's a very toxic substance that can kill you slowly over the course of months as the mercury builds up inside of you. Very volatile, very expensive, very hard to get. Where do you suppose the Taipan would've gotten something like this?"
Tino squinted at her question as if it rang familiar, and he held up an index finger to signal her to wait, as he set aside his coffee and drew out a black notebook from one of his pockets. He flipped through, stopping on one page with his round cheeks perking with a smile.
"Ah, I think I know! Forgive me though, they just put me on the case. The other officers told me forensics found some empty small containers that contained traces of... the thing you were talking about. Dimethyl-something." he said passively, shutting the notebook with a snap and shoving it back down his pocket so that he might return the mug's warmth to his hands.
"I'm not the detective, but it sounds to me like the Taipan must've poisoned him with his own stock. Ironic right? No doubt a gang man would've been planning to use it on someone he couldn't stab upfront." Erzsébet joked somewhat, shrugging.
"Ironic, but still dangerous..." he trailed off, looking off into space with lazy eyes but a troubled expression muddling his face.
The Hungarian recognized his sudden shift in mood, and comfortingly place a hand on his shoulder. "What's the problem, Tino?"
"Ah, nothing much," he started, "It's just that Berwald's been constantly worrying about me ever since I've been put on this case. He somehow thinks I'll end up dead from cyanide or something like that... But I told him many times there'd be nothing to worry about! I'm just a cop, one of many." Tino's voice dripped with concern, but whether it was for Berwald's truth to his worry or that he was being too overprotective was unbeknownst even to the Finn.
Erzsébet nodded and gave him a sincere and heartfelt expression, silently communicating her sympathy. "Don't worry about it so much. I've only ever seen you two together a couple times, but he's a big teddy bear! He just doesn't want his sweet Tino to go away," she smiled with a little tune.
Tino raised a brow, but showed a thin smile to her.
"That's a little obvious. Maybe I'll reassure him a little and surprise him with some chocolates or something! Y'know, he has a huge weakness for toffee..."
"I'm sure! Why not make it a date then? Take pictures and send them to me!" she laughed boisterously.
"Erzsébeeeet, that's weird!" the Finn whined in contrast to his now broadened grin, but was obscured from view when Erzsébet gave him a brief hug, then ruffled his hair.
"You'll be fine, and Berwald knows it, too. Go have fun with that chocolate and toffee, ya got it? Don't send me pictures if you don't want to. ...But it'd still be nice."
Tino huffed, but nodded appreciatively. "No problem. And... thanks for being a good friend."
Erzsébet said not another word, but smiled widely.
Nils' entire person ached, even the very marrow in his bones as he trudged towards his house's door. Perhaps it would be due to his daily practice in dance he'd just completed back at the theatre, but most of the discomfort came from his own mood. The busy din of the city was farther away from his residence, and he only heard the occasional car pass on the street through shoveled snow at this time of night. As he did routinely, he checked the day's mail in the bin hanging on the wall, simply grabbing it all at once, only to set it down at the door. Nils' tired hand fumbled about in his back pocket as he furrowed his brow in light frustration until he finally grasped them and pulled them out, picking the one out of more than a few others that would unlock the front door. Twisting the key in its lock and pulling it out, he picked up the envelopes and catalogues and lazily pushed the door open with his shoulder, letting the hinges close it for him as he kicked off his loosely tied oxfords, which came to tumble on the floor unceremoniously. Setting down his bag by the door and hanging his coat, Nils stumbled to the living room sofa, where he let himself sink into its plush comfort and mail slap down nearby, not even bothering to turn on any lights. Satisfied, he breathed slowly and deeply, hoping that the home's air would refresh him.
An annoyed mew soon broke his perfect silence, followed by the sound of small feet padding towards the couch. A cat that was a mass of long, white fur leapt up to join Lukas, though seemed to him as if it were miffed that it wasn't immediately fed or paid attention to, for the feline flicked its bushy tail at his chest while circling and settling beside Nils.
"Vidar," he groaned,"Nils is very tired. Let him rest, and then you'll be fed. Is that agreeable?" Vidar responded eventually with another meow, getting up to further poke at Nils by climbing up to his stomach and curling up there, inciting a grunt from the Norwegian. "Scoundrel," he said quietly, lifting a hand to leisurely stroke Vidar between the ears. Nils sighed, staring at this living ball of white for the longest time as he thought.
Vidar has been a part of his home for only a few years thus far. His reason for adopting the shelter cat was clear enough- he was lonely, plain and simple. The house was too quiet. Though quiet was what he liked, it was far too quiet for his taste, the quiet of pain and not of solace. It was far too easy to remember the times when there was more than just a cat's lounging and purrs, a time that had long passed. Nils loathed it. He hated it more than anything else in his life. He despised it more than anything else that aggravated him, and it was this spite that drove his lust. A particular lust that he wanted to savor every time he sent the pious to their deaths, drowning in toxins. Nils wanted to watch them write and suffer slowly, as they deserved no easy death. People like them ripped others' lives into pieces.
People like them ripped his life into pieces.
Nils couldn't fathom why some people thought it was so wrong and even unholy to wrench life from another's body. Everyone cared so much about the ones who murdered, but never enough about the corrupt. He found it rather humorous, scoffing at it every time. If there weren't a law against it, the same people who scorned such acts would've likely murdered many others they deemed insufferable. Hypocrites were one of the many he found truly intolerable, but it was a lesser crime that he would've wanted to punish. No, he liked to watch the truly wicked and corrupt bleed from internal hemorrhage, the powerful, rich, and greedy choke on their own saliva as their mouths foamed. The thoughts and memories of such almost made him smile, if it were not for his other recollections of the past that drove him to this in the first place.
Anger and lust always seemed to give way to his grief and depression. It was struggle he hated to deal with that was only eased on occasion by Vidar, whom he depended on for comfort in the cat's soft fur he kept perfectly groomed and the calm purrs that would smooth the edges of his episodes. Yet, sometimes Nils couldn't help but remember the days of when the fur was younger hair he could stroke to comfort the other in times of strife that so commonly plagued Nils at the time. He missed the days where he had his dear younger brother, who often proved to be the source of Nils' joy in the time. He would cry that those were only distant memories now, but that's always how his downward spirals started, and he simply couldn't afford it at the time.
A weak murmur escaped his lips, bringing his feet up to the edge of the couch. As if it detected its owner's terrible mood, Vidar crept up to his chest and snuggled next to his face. Nils turned his head so that he would avoid breathing in fur, but still nestled his cheek against the feline, taking his arms and wrapping them around Vidar loosely. Sometimes, Nils could just lose himself in the cat that brought him some comfort as a crutch. It was best in these moments, when he only seemed to exist in his house. Surely he went to daily practice, but it never seemed to boost his mood, nor did his quiet readings at the library, coffee runs, strolls in the park, or the terse conversations between his acquaintances at the theatre. They weren't quite what he would call friends, only people who he knew enough about to act with them. His thoughts trailed off, and Nils remained inanimate for a few minutes longer.
"Alright, Vidar, get up, I'll check the mail and you'll be fed..." He trailed off lowly, the ball of fur quickly standing and bounding off his chest to the carpeted floor, padding away to the kitchen to impatiently await its meal. Nils sat up, as surely lounging about like that for much longer wouldn't be good for his immaculate posture. He grabbed the dissheveled pile of mail and sorted through them, setting aside the advertisement, coupon books, and junk to be tossed out. There wasn't anything of interest other than his weekly informer about the arts in the city.
Quickly, he skimmed it, but settled on one article detailing a new exhibit at the arts museum, although at first he was unsure about why it interested him so much. A moment later, he remembered: The painter he aided at the theatre. That was almost a week ago, surely. Hans, he called himself. Nils absent-mindedly tapped the article as he thought, recalling the short times they spoke between then and now after practice, and the phone numbers exchanged at the beginning. He hadn't really thought to call Hans, but considering his line of work and interest from what he could gather, Nils decided that it'd at least be something to distract him tomorrow.
He set down the informer open on the museum's article, then fished out his phone from the pocket. Its lone light lit up his face, and he squinted at it with how suddenly bright it was. Dialing up the number, he waited for the tones to stop and Hans to pick up.
Something popped, and Hans' excited voice came over clearly, "Nils? No waaaay, I've been waiting for a call! What's up?"
If only the man's evident excitement would seep into Nils' body.
"Ja, ja, no need to be loud about it. ...Joking. I'll be to the point, I saw that the arts museum has some new exhibits. I need something to do, and you seem enthusiastic enough about it. I could get us tickets, and you could be my tour guide or something." Nils' words rolled lazily off his tongue.
"You sound real tired, but sure! Sure, sure, sure, sounds fun! Where do we meet?" he asked ecstatically.
"Let's just meet outside the museum gate. Mid-day. Sound fair enough?"
"Definitely, oh yeah! You know, I could pay for us instead, if ya wanted-"
"Don't be silly, it's my pleasure. More than happy to."
A chuckle could be heard from Hans on the other line. "Well, if you insist. We'll talk tomorrow, then!" he chirped happily, and Nils bid his goodbyes before hanging up, letting the phone lie on the couch as he pulled himself to his feet. He'd find out later if he'd regret this or not, but surely spending time with anyone would push his spirits up. Especially someone who seemed so excited to have made a new friend in someone like himself. He could practically taste Hans' story when they first met. Right away from his demeanor, he could see Hans was nervous about meeting him. Therefore, he must not be too great at making many friends. At that, he wondered how many this Dane even had, if so. Probably more than Nils, no doubt, who for now only had a cat.
Speaking of cat, he strode to the kitchen to feed Vidar his precious kibble, that which he had so far denied the fuzzball of in the midst of his wallowing. He would have to remind himself to check his shares and the market before bed...