Chapter Text
The first thing Benoit noticed about his new apartment was that the walls were thin.
“Oh my god!”
Benoit turned his head at the squeal on the other side of the room. He set the box down he had picked up and looked toward the wall opposite him. There was silence on the other end and so after a moment, he continued unpacking the rest of the boxes he had left. That was until he heard it again, more terrified this time.
He furrowed his brow and crept closer to the wall nearest him. Benoit cupped his hand to the wall and pressed his ear into it, listening for any movement on the other side. Through the hum of the wood, he could hear a young woman, presumably speaking to someone. The voice was light and accented. Hispanic, he resolved.
“I’m telling you, I think there’s a ghost in the apartment next to mine.”
Silence. She must have been on the phone.
“No! The place has been empty for the past five months!”
A soft smile curled across his face as he leaned away from the wall. Perhaps he should have tried to introduce himself to his new neighbors while moving in, but it had been a whirlwind of a day and now as night crept in, he felt it might be better received tomorrow. Biting back a laugh at the obvious worry he had put his neighbor through, he continued to unpack the boxes in his living room.
It wasn’t until a little while later did he realize who the previous tenant was. As he searched through the boxes for his kitchen supplies, he could hear someone outside the hallway fumbling with their keys. He moved toward the box closest to the couch, hoping to find what he was looking for when a muffled thud made him look toward the wall.
Curiosity swirled in his mind, and though Benoit wasn’t one to eavesdrop - unless it was on a case - he couldn’t help but feel a tug in his chest. He moved forward, once more pressing his ear to the wall and listened intently. The voice was the same as before, yet she seemed more relaxed.
“Do you think it’s Mr. Thrombey’s ghost?” The voice giggled.
Benoit pulled away from the wall, staring at the paint as if he could see through it. The name circled in his mind as vague memories danced around. He knew that name, but if it were the very same Harlan Thrombey as the reporter his own father had known…
Strange, he thought. Benoit had never met the man personally, but he had heard stories of his father’s friend over the years, even spoken to him once over the phone. The conversation had been short, but he remembered the mention of the reporter living in Massachusetts and as he thought, he resolved to ask Elliot in the morning.
The sun had barely risen when he awoke the next morning. His eyes peeled open, exhaustion ebbing away as he grew accustomed to the faint light of the unfamiliar room. It took him a moment to recognize where he was before slipping out of bed and toward the bathroom. As he stood by the sink, he could hear the slight patter of his neighbor’s shower through the wall. Benoit frowned in confusion as he glanced at his watch. He supposed it wasn’t entirely out of he ordinary for someone else to be up at this time, though he couldn’t say he was used to such an occurrence.
The slight rasp of the faucet met his ears as he turned the water on, allowing time for it to heat up before he stepped inside. As he waited, he went about following his morning routine until steam began to fog the edges of the mirror.
He stepped inside and as he showered, a song filtered through his mind. The melody came to him slowly and soon the hum of a wordless serenade reverberated from his chest to mingle with the foggy air. The comfort of the song provided a peaceful grasp upon the morning’s solitude. Once he had finished, Benoit dried himself, finding the outfit he had chosen the night before, and dressed for work.
The ride to the precinct was quick and as Benoit parked and walked toward the department, his mind prickled with the remembrance of his revelation the night before. He was so lost in thought that he narrowly missed his colleague’s room. He paused, and moving back, looked in through the doorway of the Lieutenant’s office.
“Benny!” The man called, dark eyes brightening in recognition as he looked up from his desk.
“Elliot,” Benoit greeted, smiling and walking into the room, “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“How are you?” He asked, gesturing to a chair as he stood to close the door. “I hope your move wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all.” Benoit’s lips quirked up in a pleasant twist as he sat. “I see you’ve been promoted.”
“Ah, yes, I guess it’s been a while since I last saw you. I’m Detective Lieutenant now.” He gave a small smile at the title.
“It’s well deserved my friend.” Benoit nodded and Elliot thanked him.
“How’s your apartment? Not too small, I hope.”
“Perhaps a little, but it suits my needs and I find it quite comfortable.”
“No ghosts, then?” Elliot joked as he sat back in his chair.
“None yet, though my neighbor’s seem to think differently.” Benoit gave a wry smile and Elliot’s brows furrowed in amused confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“I overheard one of them last night call me a ghost.”
“Well, she was probably surprised since you’ve been paying rent for how many months and you hadn’t even moved in yet?
“Yes, well, moving turns out to be a lot harder when you’re a consulting private detective.” He laughed, seeing an opportunity. “I seem to recall you mentioning something about the previous tenant, what was his name?” Benoit fished and watched as Elliot thought.
“Something Thrombey.” He murmured in confusion as he tried to place the name.
“Harlan?” Benoit supplied and Elliot snapped his fingers in recognition.
“Yes, Harlan Thrombey. He died of natural cause, far as we could tell. The neighbor found him the next morning.” He shook his head in empathy for the poor girl before returning his gaze to Benoit. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing interesting, I just thought I found the name familiar.” Benoit shook his head, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. “Now, what case do you need me to look at?”
“One day in and you’ve already got mail.” Fran laughed as she handed over the small stack of envelopes and papers to Benoit. “Here’s your mail key. I’ll be sending Mr. Proofroc up to your apartment sometime to check and make sure everything’s working properly.”
“Thank you, Fran.” He smiled as he accepted the letters and tucked them under his arm, slipping the key into his pocket.
“I hope the apartment is to your liking?”
“It is, thank you.” Benoit nodded, “It’s very clean.”
When he had moved in, he had been surprised to find the place immaculate. The floors and walls had been scrubbed clean and even the air was clear. The scent of mildew that normally hung in the air, was nowhere to be found. It was a pleasant surprise.
“Ah, that would be Marta! She did most of the cleaning after Harlan’s passing.” Fran informed with a crinkle in her brow, “I’m assuming you’ve heard about the previous tenant?”
“Some.” He answered and he found Fran was more than willing to go into detail about the man who had lived there and his neighbor. Fleetingly, Benoit wondered about the tenant’s privacy, but figured he would stop her if anything became too personal. He listened, finding he could gain more information by allowing her to talk than pressing for anything.
“Poor girl, her and Harlan were close. In the end, she was almost like his caretaker, though Harlan would have denied it.” Fran shook her head, “The other tenants know, and you’re living there so I suppose there’s no harm in telling you, but she’s the one that found him that day. I didn’t even know what happened until the police called me.”
“Must have been quite the shock.” Benoit supplied and Fran continued.
“Oh, it was! But I feel even worse for her. She dealt with everything - the police, the funeral preparations, contacting the family - those bastards.” The last part was muttered as an afterthought before her eyes flickered up to his once more. “They wouldn’t let her go to the funeral, you know?”
Fran gave an impassioned sigh as she was caught up in her story, and from the way she was telling it, Benoit could even feel a sense of anger stir in his chest for the woman. Her cheeks colored in fury and her brows creased as she continued.
“Anyway, she cleared out the whole apartment and cleaned it too. Had everything done better than my men could do.” Her eyes met Benoit’s once more, glassy and sincere. “I’m surprised she still lives here after something like that, but I’m grateful! They’re some of my best tenants.”
“They?” He pressed gently.
“Her and her sister. Come to think of it, she was asking about you today.” This caught Benoit off guard.
“Me?”
“Well, not you specifically, I suppose.” Fran laughed, “She just wanted to know who had moved in next door.” He nodded his head in understanding and Fran’s eyes grew wide in worry, embarrassment lacing the edges.
“I mean, I didn’t tell her much, just that you were a single gentleman who had recently moved in.”
“It’s alright, Fran.” He assuaged with a slight smile, “I suppose I should get going.”
Her shoulders sagged in relief and a nervous smile crept across her lips. “Alright, I’ll get in touch with you about your maintenance check.”
“Thank you, once again, Fran.” He nodded, lifting the mail in his hand and bidding her farewell.
Benoit found out the hard way the rule of his apartment building’s showers.
Fifteen minutes. That short amount of time was all he was allowed in the mornings before the warmth the water offered ran out. Perhaps he should have listened to Mr. Proofroc when he had been told the hot water would not last, but in his defense, Benoit had been too caught up in a rendition of Losing My Mind to actually take notice of the time. It wasn’t until the freezing temperatures slithered over his body that he realized what the maintenance man had meant.
“Shit.” He cursed, the bottle of body wash clattering to the floor as he rushed to escape the stream of water.
He quickly turned off the faucet and grabbed his towel. A thud could be heard on the other side of the wall followed by the sound of the faucet being turned off as well. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had lost track of time that morning and a small chuckle slid past his lips despite the goosebumps that now covered his body.
Once he had recovered from the slight shock of the contrasting temperatures, he dried himself off and dressed for the day. An open suitcase lay on his bed as he packed and made arrangements for his flight tomorrow. He had already called Elliot to inform him of the case he had taken and that he would let him know when he returned.
It was halfway through the day when he remembered he had to discuss his mail situation with Fran. Walking down to the office, Benoit took in the crisp Boston air, the coolness of it filling his lungs. It was a stark difference from the muggy heat of the South and at times he found he missed it. By the time he had reached the building to Fran’s office, the tips of his ears were cold.
“Benoit!” He was greeted by the friendly woman, her perfectly curled hair swaying with the movement. “How are you?”
“I’m well,” he smiled, leaning against the counter, “And you?”
“Busy,” was all she managed to say before tearing her eyes from the computer and gifting him her full attention. “What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you might be able to hold any mail that comes for me while I’m gone?” Her eyes turned bright at his suggestion and she nodded her head.
“Of course! Where are you headed?”
“To California for a little while.” He informed, “I’m not sure how long I’ll be, if that’s alright?”
“Yeah, I’ll keep everything here for you.” Fran nodded and he thanked her before a sudden gleam of worry entered her eyes. “Is everything alright?”
He shook his head, attempting to expel her fear, “Everything is just fine, I’m only traveling for work and I’m unsure as to how long it might take.”
“Well, hopefully not too long.” She smiled once more and he returned the gesture.
“I hope so too.”
Two weeks of silence followed.
Over the course of several weeks, Benoit found himself in the silent company of his neighbor most mornings. Some days he was already met by the patter of water in the room opposite his and others he would be startled by the creak of the faucet. Either way, it offered a strange sort of companionship to his normally lonely routine.
It was that companionable silence of his neighbor, he found he missed while working. Perhaps it was the fact that he had grown accustomed to singing in the shower most mornings, but it was while on his case in California that Benoit had become embarrassingly aware not everyone appreciated poor renditions of Broadway songs.
“Why does my heart cry?” He sang, the emotion of the song bursting forth. “Feelings I-“
He had been halfway through a crescendo in El Tango de Roxanne when a banging startled him from his serenades. Then came the yelling, and though the voice was muffled, Benoit could not mistake the apparent discontent of the hotel room next door. As if that wasn’t enough, a noise complaint had apparently been filed as well.
He didn’t sing after that.
The night Benoit had returned, he had been too exhausted to shower, opting to follow his usual pattern and take one in the morning.
When he woke, his movements were sluggish. His arms felt disjointed, like he didn’t quite have full control of his limbs, the motions heavy and awkward. By the time he had finally managed to peel himself out of bed, his alarm had already gone off several times and he was running late. Benoit slowly made his way to the bathroom, only turning on half of the lights to give himself time to adjust to the brightness.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, washing his face in the sink and allowing the cool water to assist in waking him further. It was only when he turned the faucet off did he recognize the strangeness of the morning and the voice that accompanied the still air. Beneath the dull drum of the water and through the wall was a voice he had not heard before.
Benoit walked closer to the shower as he listened, the familiar serenade somehow sweeter than he remembered. He stood and listened for a moment as the woman continued to sing. Slowly he reached for the faucet, attempting to be as quiet as possible in turning it to let the water warm up.
“You said you loved me,” she paused, “or were you ju-“
The words were cut off in fear and he cursed himself as the familiar grating of the knob met his ears. He hadn’t meant to interrupt her and now there was only silence in the space between them. His sleep muddled brain supplied the rest of the lyrics as he attempted to mend the strangeness left behind. As he sang, Benoit could only hope she heard.
“You said you loved me, or were you just being kind?” He breathed a sigh, before quietly finishing, “Or am I losing my mind?”
“Benny,” Elliot greeted him, “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Oh?” Benoit fell into step beside the Detective Lieutenant, the familiar scent of stale coffee and paper filled the air as they weaved their way through the precinct and to Elliot’s office.
“He’s a trooper in our jurisdiction,” He informed and Benoit nodded his head, brows still furrowed in curiosity, “and he’s a fan of yours.”
Benoit glanced over to the Lieutenant to see a slight, mischievous curl of his lips. He decided he didn’t like the expression.
“How much of a fan?” He asked, trepidation dripping from his tone.
“He’s overeager, but he’s harmless.” Elliot assuaged as they walked and Benoit felt his shoulders relax just a bit.
“Alright.” He agreed and Elliot threw a strange glance over his shoulder to Benoit before tacking on, with another grin.
“Oh, and I guess he showed your picture to your neighbor’s.”
Benoit stopped. “What?”
Meeting Trooper Wagner had been like meeting a golden retriever - he was indeed harmless, but tireless in his curiosity and, strangely enough, Benoit found him quite amusing. The same sentiment could not be said of Detective Lieutenant Elliot, although Benoit had an inkling he held some sort of positive feeling for the Trooper.
“She thinks your French.” Noah informed. Benoit stood next to the Trooper while Elliot watched the interaction from across his desk.
“I suppose, she would be partly correct.” Benoit laughed, thinking of his hometown, “Though the name does leave much to be desired.”
A rapping on the door caught their attention and they turned to the archway. An officer stood in the doorway.
“Lieutenant, we have a suspect in custody at MGH in connection to the Mayfield Case.”
“We’re on our way.” The Lieutenant stood and turned to the Trooper. “Wagner, I need you to stay here and help Garcia with this case.”
“But I wanna help!” He protested.
“Nope, not happening.” The Lieutenant shrugged his jacket on as Noah grumbled, but followed his orders. He, then, turned his dark eyes to Benoit, “You coming?”
Benoit soon found himself driving to the hospital. The rain pattered against his windshield as he drove behind the Lieutenant. Thankfully, Elliot had already filled him in on everything pertaining to the case before the call, but something was missing. All they needed him to do was fit the pieces together. He met Elliot at the entrance to the hospital and stood by his side as an officer filled them in on what had happened.
“The man’s name is Jaime Padilla, we found him at the Mayfield residence. He resisted arrest and in the scuffle, he hit his head.”
Elliot shot the officer a hard glance as if he didn’t quite believe the story. “You were on site when this happened?”
“Yes.”
“I’m gonna need a copy of every officer’s body cam footage from that time, in the meantime, you all are off duty until we can corroborate your story.”
The man swallowed, “Yes, sir.”
“Where is Mr. Padilla, now?” Benoit questioned and the officer threw a skeptical look over to him.
“A nurse put him in one of the rooms, he’s getting stitches now.”
Once they had found the room Jaime Padilla was in, Benoit and Elliot both walked down to see the man. The scent of sanitizer invading his senses as they went further down the hall. It prickled his nose and stung his eyes and as he turned the corner, Benoit ran right into someone.
As his foot rocked backwards, his hand shot out instinctively to steady the woman in front of him. Her wide eyes glanced up at him and her brows crumpled in worry.
“I’m sorry-“ She began but he was quick to assuage her.
“No, I apologize, I should look where I’m going.” His eyes dropped down to where his hand still rested on her arm and he removed it, stiffly returning it to his side. Another apology was on his lips but her penetrating gaze had slid to his partner. Her eyes grew wider in recognition of the man before her.
“Lieutenant Elliot!” She called, surprise lacing her tone.
“Hello, Miss Cabrera, it’s nice to see you again.” At the name, Benoit’s heart stuttered in shock. “This is my friend, Benoit Blanc.”
She swallowed and turned her head back to face him, a strange expression swimming in her eyes. Benoit set a polite smile upon his lips once more as he finally took in the person before him, now with the added recognition that this was his neighbor. A strange sense of familiarity tugged in his chest as he reached his hand out to greet her properly and he couldn’t deny the truth of his next words.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cabrera.”
Her hand wrapped around his in a warm embrace and she returned his sentiments, although he noticed the slight hitch in her breath and the way she looked unsteady on her feet. His brows furrowed in concern for the woman.
“Are you alright, Miss Cabrera?”
“Yes.” She blinked, her hand retreating back to her side. “Excuse me.”
She pushed past the two men, an anxiously determined look set upon her brow as she disappeared down the hall. He watched in silent confusion as she walked down the hall, before remembering what Elliot had told him a few days prior about Wagner showing his neighbor’s a picture of him. Embarrassment coiled in his stomach as he flexed his hand, but Elliot pulled him from his musings, continuing on to Mr. Padilla’s room.
It was only once they had reached the room that things had become clearer concerning the Mayfield case. No officers spoke Spanish, and the ones that did were all at the precinct or out in the field. Benoit soon noticed it wouldn’t have helped anyway, the man was terrified of anyone in a uniform, of course, he couldn’t blame him.
“There was a nurse here that spoke Spanish.” One of the officers offered and Benoit’s gaze flashed to them.
“Who?”
“I think her name was Cabrera, she helped him before.”
Benoit turned to Elliot and gave him a questioning look. “We could see if he’d be willing to talk with her?”
Elliot’s brows furrowed in thought as he leaned against the wall outside Jaime’s room. He pressed his lips together, arms crossed against his chest before lifting his eyes to meet Benoit’s.
“She’ll need to agree to confidentiality.” Benoit nodded as they left to go find the nurse.
It was a little while later when he saw her again. He drummed his fingers against the warm press of the coffee cup in his hand and the other held his jacket, fiddling with the fabric. Currently, he was talking to the receptionist in an effort to see where Miss Cabrera was working. His eyes flickered down the hall at a sign of movement in his peripheral vision, and there she was.
“Miss Cabrera!” He called, excusing himself from the receptionist as he made his way toward the nurse, “If I could speak with you, for a moment?”
“Yes?” Her voice was hesitant as she turned to him, and he hoped the eagerness in his expression wasn’t so noticeable.
He explained the current situation and their lack of a translator in quick words, hoping to convince her to help them. She turned kind eyes to him and through her apparent unease, she accepted. His shoulders sagged in relief and he smiled.
“Wonderful! Thank you, Miss Cabrera.” Benoit allowed her to lead the way, hoping to provide some distance and ease some of her discomfort at the situation. Once they had arrived at the room, Benoit spoke with Elliot.
“My friend, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to speak to our suspect in private.” He noticed the way the Lieutenant’s eyes shifted between the two before he consented, moving to order the officers to leave the room. His arm moved in a pleading gesture and Elliot paused in his movements.
“Without the handcuffs, please.” Benoit’s gaze flickered to the officers in the doorway, giving them a hard glance. They shifted slightly, unsure of what to do before Elliot gestured for them to follow his orders, following the two men inside before leaving and closing the door.
Benoit opened the door for Marta, allowing her to walk in first so as not to set Mr. Padilla on edge. He followed behind her, a small distance away and strolled over to the far side of the room, allowing a wide berth between the two. He was vaguely aware of her curious gaze upon him as he smiled and spoke to the man, offering him the small cup of coffee he had gotten as a sign of peace. In a moment, Marta quickly translated his words and the man gave him a glance, suspicion still evident upon his face. Jaime quietly thanked him as he reached for the coffee cup, his movements slow and tentative. At this, Benoit backed away and took a seat a good distance away from him and the man seemed to relax even more at this.
He rolled his shoulders back, allowing his face to become more open as he spoke. “I have just a few questions I’d like to ask you about the events at your employer’s house.”
Several questions later, Benoit had managed to fit the pieces together. The man that sat before him was innocent, and his chest stirred with anger for his treatment as he realized what had truly transpired. He thanked the man, assuring him he was not in trouble before leaving the room, escorting Marta out. Quickly, he dialed Elliot’s number and informed him of the culprit. As he ended the call, he turned toward the nurse behind him.
“Thank you, again, for your assistance, Miss Cabrera, I-“ He paused as he looked up, tucking his phone into his pocket and noticing the way she seemed to sway beneath the fluorescent lights. His anger on Jaime Padilla’s part could wait, now replaced by concern for the woman in front of him. “Forgive me, but you look a little pale.”
He gently led her to a bench outside the room, his gaze flitting worriedly around for another nurse or physician, should she need one.
“I’ll be fine.” She waved him away, bracing her arms on the edge of her seat. She attempted to give him a reassuring smile, though her lips wavered at the edges. How long had she been working before he met her? Then, another persistent question niggled it’s way to the forefront of his mind.
“Have you eaten today?” Her brows crinkled in thought at the question before she gave a small shake of her head.
“I haven’t had a chance.”
At her words he felt he could kick himself. How selfish he had been to take up so much of her time without thought of consequence. His hands clenched in anxiety as he apologized, attempting to correct the situation. Benoit’s lips pressed into a firm line before offering to get her something to eat. She immediately protested, lifting from her spot on the bench before he fixed her with a hard stare, rewording the offer into a statement of fact and allowing no brook for argument. She thanked him and he left to find the cafeteria.
As he waited in line, he ran his hands through his hair, taking a moment to bask in the utter agony of the fool he had been. If his mother could see him now, she would have given him a sound whooping. Not only had he, quite possibly, deprived her of her break, he had also convinced her to help in his investigation; and in the process of his questioning, had forced her to endure the uncomfortable experience of listening to the rather violent acts of Jaime Padilla’s former partner.
Heaped upon that was the ever present knowledge that they were neighbors, and though that fact had not been stated outright, it was one he was sure she knew as well.
Benoit grabbed and paid for the meager meal that was left after dinner and his heart pinched in guilt at the sight. As he quickly made his way back to the floor where Marta was, his phone buzzed with a text from Elliot. He elected to ignore it, focusing on the woman before him. He offered the food to her and though the meal was small, she was grateful nevertheless.
He sat back and allowed her to eat, cleaning his glasses as he looked down in thought. His mind had circled back to Jaime Padilla and as he fixed his sleeves, a notion of rightness had settled in his chest. The thought of the hospital fees entered his mind and he worried if paying for the man’s medical bills would seem patronizing. It was the least Benoit could think to do after all he had suffered. His thoughts were torn away from his musings as he became aware of the woman’s sly gaze across from him and his eyes flickered to meet her’s once more.
“You said Mr. Padilla would be here tomorrow, as well?” He questioned and she nodded, informing him of the doctor’s orders. Benoit nodded his head in understanding, deciding to discuss with Elliot as well as planning to meet Mr. Padilla in the morning, concerning the arrangements.
“Thank you, Mr. Blanc.” Benoit looked up to her, and he couldn’t ignore the sincerity in her gaze nor the weight her words seemed to have. He knew what she was truly thanking him for, but it was a strange feeling, bordering on uncomfortable, and so he decided to adjust his gaze to her meal instead.
“It was the least I could do for all your help today.” He said, exchanging a brief smile before his phone buzzed once more. It was Elliot again.
Standing and shrugging on his coat, he spoke again. “I have to go, but it was a pleasure making your acquaintance.”
He was surprised by her offer to walk him out and, once more, taken by her kindness when she had supplied him with her umbrella.
“I couldn’t-“ He shook his head, his arms held in thankful refusal, yet all she did was protest further. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused by her stubbornness before accepting the umbrella. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She smiled and he couldn’t help but return the look.
“Until then.” He murmured.
When Benoit had finally managed to return home that night, the rain had died down, if only to resurge the next day in full force. All news outlets he had seen were predicting horrid weather and as he glanced at the umbrella left leaning near the doorway, he felt a stirring of concern pierce him. Perhaps he should have told her he believed them to be neighbors and gotten the awkwardness out of the way, but there was no use in dwelling on that when it was already late in the evening. As he wracked his brain on what he would say, Benoit cursed himself for not just introducing himself earlier, then he wouldn’t have been stuck in the predicament he now found himself in.
In the morning, Benoit had decided on leaving the umbrella at her door, with a note attached. He only hoped it might alleviate some of the awkwardness of first meetings and give her time to process before he saw her again later that day. It was a simple plan.
Although, in hindsight, nothing was simple when it came to Marta Cabrera.