Nerium oleander

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The ticking of the clock echoed in the small office, half of the desk was neatly organized while the other half was filled with papers and sticky notes.

What if it didn't look aesthetically pleasing? Alfred knew exactly where everything was, it was his own order and his half of the desk. Enraging Braginsky with his disorder was merely a plus when it came to the matter.

Alfred ran his hand over the leather cover of the book resting on the desk. He chuckled, the perks of being early, Ivan was nowhere around to pry his curious hands off his stuff.

Opening the book, he laid back on the chair. Yellow notes were scattered on the pages of the book, filled with the worst handwriting Alfred had ever seen, and he was the disorganized one? Those couldn't possibly be letters, the sloopy lines that dragged out made it difficult for him to recognize words in the block of scribbles of each note. What he could distinguish were the numbers.

Numbers that seemed to mark hours, as the book he was holding was nowhere near to have more than a thousand pages. 2:00, 9:00, 11:00, 14:00, 17:00, 22:00, that was a whole schedule. Alfred scratched the back of his head, why would Ivan keep this inside a book? The door opened and he tossed the book into the desk, brushing the stock of papers and making them stumble.

The pile fell to the ground and he whined. The room was silent, his face heated up, of course he had to be clumsy.

He let out a breath as Ludwig peered his head inside, dark circles under his eyes, he entered slowly, observing the mess. "Tough night, Jones?"

"I'd say tough week," Alfred chuckled, raising his gaze slowly, the question echoing in his mind. He was tired, frustrated that he had wasted time with paperwork instead of looking for the murderer, but he couldn't say that to the chief, could he? "I'm fine, just in time to hear the autopsy's report, right?"

"Excited?"

Alfred paused at the question, he felt the same dizziness from the day they saw the corpse, excitement sounded off, anticipation was more like it, anxiety, as to what more could they possibly find. "I don't think it's me who's eager to know what this murderer did."

"Is there something you want to tell me, Jones?" The chief coughed, his icy blue eyes glaring at him, disapproving, Alfred was sure that Ludwig knew what he meant.

"Actually," Alfred smiled, retrieving some papers from the floor and handing them to the chief. "Finished report, I attached the photographs I took while we searched around. I know we kind of went further than we were allowed to, but the situatio-"

"Jones," Alfred grimaced at the interruption, he didn't want to deal with Ludwig's scolding, at least not alone. Ivan was getting late on purpose, that clever asshole. Ludwig eyed the pages, leaving the file on the desk. "I made the necessary paperwork, this case is assigned to you."

The words left him speechless, Ludwig took the book in his hands, his eyes running over the letters. "I suppose you understand that this is a strange happening in Adelfa." he began, shifting the pages of the book. "Your record back in the academy suggests that you're the best suited to investigate."

"An FBI homicide detective working on the murder case, I get it." A smile crept on Alfred's face as he spoke. "I'm guessing that Braginsky will keep on being my partner."

Ludwig nodded, squinting his eyes and frowning. "I know that he's rather... difficult to work with, but-"

"It takes one to know one." The words cut through the air like a knife, Alfred knew better than to intervene between the brothers' banter.