Decided to split the previous chapter, it was far too long. Do you guys prefer shorter or longer chapters?

Alessandro shrugged nonchalantly. "Fine. Stay." What's it to me? And to you, it's everything.

Giacinto's head perked up at that. A grin slowly began to stretch over his face. It was less of the mocking, teeth-baring snarl and more of an actual grin, eyes shining. "Good. That's good." He clapped his hands. "We better get to work then!"

"Since when is this a we?" Alessandro had crossed his arms, his tall figure stopping Giacinto from starting to pace again.

"Oh, it's not, it's not." Giacinto looked up surprised, waving his hand dismissively. "Have I said that?" He paused, frowning. "I haven't said that," he decided.

"Strange, I was sure I heard a we." Alessandro kept the tiny smile from his lips, but he could hear it in his voice.

"Let's not discuss my choice of words here. Shouldn't you focus on the corpse--" Giacinto coughed, "uh, the matter -- at hand." The young man's nose scrunched up when he talked, when he couldn't hide his irritation. "And don't ry sarcasm. Doesn't suit your serious--" he gestured vaguely at the officer, "-- look."

"You're no policeman –" Alessandro stated, narrowing his eyes, " – too small for a soldier, too rich for a gravedigger, yet you can tell me exactly how long this man's been dead by looking at him for not even a minute – "

"You're ranked too high and act too professional for pissing people off, but here we are."

" –  how would you know such things?" Alessandro ignored the provoking grin on the other's face.

The level of confidence radiating from the other man in waves of jokes and sharp grins started to grate on Alessandro's patience. What an irritating man. Giacinto had definitely been nervous before, at least wary – but now it was gone, replaced with cockiness and easy grins.

"Are we back to questioning me as a suspect? I thought you were smart enough to know more than two conversation topics."

There he goes again. Alessandro raised both eyebrows and strode towards the platform, muttering under his breath: "Immature."

Giacinto barked a laugh and followed. "Shoved or jumped?" He looked at the officer from the side who had placed his foot on the first rung of the ladder.

Alessandro didn't look at him, staring up the ladder with narrowed eyes. "Jumped. There are no traces of struggle. He didn't slip either. The utensils near the edges are undisturbed."

"Cheating. I had no chance of knowing that," Giacinto said.

"It's called doing my job. How else would I know?"

"You'll get suspicious again, but," Giacinto muttered, "his bones aren't broken in the right way."

"Clearly he didn't stepp of the edge." Alessandro nodded. "Stepping off generally results in a straight fall. He'd land feet first, breaking every single bone there, which is not the case here."

"You're not as dumb as you look."

Alessandro shot him an exasperated look.

"You know, with all this ...height and muscles. Doesn't look like the thinking type," Giacinto said. "What I meant, he couldn't have been slipped or shoved, because his arms aren't broken that way." When Alessandro didn't reply he added: "The shoulder is shattered more than the arms. The hands are fractured, yes, but even less than the arms. So the shoulders hit the floor before them."

"How does that mean he didn't slip?"

Instead of an answer, Giacinto shoved Alessandro. He was strong for such a small man. Alessandro's hand shot out, catching himself on one of the beams supporting the platform before he could fall. He whirled around. "Are you mad? Why --"

"Your hand. You caught yourself with it."

It dawned on Alessandro. Both slipping or being shoved would have surprised the artist. Instinctively, he'd have stretched out his hands to break his fall, even if it would have been useless. His hands would have shattered completely from the force of hitting the ground first. That was smart -- though it told him nothing new. He already knew the artist hadn't slipped or been shoved.

Giacinto grinned smugly. "He didn't jump either, there's not enough distance between the edge and his feet."

"If he didn't jump, slip or was shoved off he wouldn't be dead now."

"Oh, he fell."

"We know he didn't slip."

"Shh. He jumped." Giacinto grinned.

"You just said he fell!"

"Voluntarily."

Alessandro wanted to strangle him. And he was fairly certain the tiny pest loved getting on his nerves.

"He wanted it to look as if he slipped and fell. He clearly didn't consider my superior intellect," Giacinto said.

"I knew he didn't slip, too," Alessandro snapped before he could stop himself. Why was he getting competitive with this man?

Giacinto rolled his eyes. "My theory is better."

"It's far more complicated."

"Better."

"So we know he killed himself," Alessandro said. "Even you said he had no reason to do so. Therefore we know someone or something in here caused him to suddenly jump."

"Someone. You said it yourself: the police doesn't investigate accidents."

"Why protect his killer?" Alessandro shook his head. Then it hit him. "He hid a clue!"

"What?" It was Giacinto's turn to frown in confusion.

Alessandro really shouldn't feel delighted about that. Glee was beneath him. Or so he had thought before meeting Giacinto. "If Alvino had been assassinated, his killer would have made sure it seemed like an accident." Even a suicide would be investigated, given this was the palace of a General. But if the artist's suicide looked like an accident, the killer wouldn't have to risk leaving a trace and disappear without changing anything about the crime scene.

Giacinto nodded slowly. "One way to find out. The hint must be up there."

When Alessandro made no move to climb up the ladder and just looked at him with a thoughtful gaze, Giacinto frowned. "What?"

"Please tell me you're an investigator, too," the blond sighed, running a hand through his hair. Short, simple, clean cut. More of a uniform than fashionable or unique.

"No, why?"

"Your knowledge on crashed bones is unnervingly extent."

"What can I say?" Giacinto spread his arms, "I'm an educated man."

"You're barely even a man," muttered Alessandro under his breath. He started to climb up the ladder with a pointed side glance to the slim figure of the other.

"Is your superior agreeing with you insulting people like that?"

If he knew Giacinto, he would. Alessandro stopped himself from saying it out loud. He reached the edge quickly, hoisting himself onto the platform. The content of various boxes was shattered all over the wooden planks. Little mosaic tiles gleamed like a thousand eyes, watching him in the light of the candles. Tools were everywhere, discarded in a miniature war zone of jars, containers and toolboxes, a free space in the middle. The eye of the hurricane – the artist must've crouched there under the ceiling.

A shuffle behind him told him Giacinto had followed him. Not a moment later the black clad man was messing up the chaos even more.

"What do you think you're doing?" the commissar hissed, voice lowered -- as if he was in a graveyard or church, on the sacred ground of the artist's last breaths.

"Searching for whatever Alvino did – this isn't a fight scene, the boxes aren't knocked over and the plans here," Giacinto held up a large sheet of paper, where sharp pencil strokes had precisely lined out a detailed drawing of the half completed mosaic above them,"  – aren't crumpled. No one stepped on them in a fight."

"Thank you for pointing out what I already told you," Alessandro said.

"You're welcome."

Alessandro crossed his arms. He opened his mouth to shoot something back, then shook his head. He'll only find a ridiculous comeback. Not worth the time. "He was orderly – yet this is ... chaos. He was in a hurry." The neat sketch told Alessandro the artist couldn't normally have allowed such a mess.

"A weapon, perhaps?" Giacinto held up a small knife, examining the way the blade caught the orange glow of the candles.

"Why would he search for a weapon if he jumped?"

"Point for you." Giacinto started grumbling to himself, listing every item out of place while rummaging through sketches and jars.

"Greek?" Alessandro's fingers brushed over the little tiles on the ceiling. He wasn't looking at the other.

"What?" Giacinto turned with a chisel in his hand, raised halfway from wherever he had picked it up.

"You're Greek." When Giacinto had started talking fast, a foreign accent had sneaked in. It wove itself around the syllables, making them sound just a tone rougher, sharper, shorter. It was the first and only hint about who the man was, the mystery surrounding him as deep as the black of his loose shirt. It was of excellent quality – but no nobleman would've showed up in a sweat stained riding garment, not even wearing a vest. No matter how pressing the matter.

"Yes. Should I applaud you or can we go back to searching?" The young man placed the chisel back among the other tools when Alessandro suddenly started.

The officer's fingers had brushed over a small gap, a missing tile between a sea of shimmering order. A tiny imperfection he hadn't notice before. A second glance with narrowed eyes revealed scratches and sharp edges where someone had hurriedly broken the tile out of the artwork. "The chisel."

Giacinto groaned. "What? I get you're not one for many words, but it'd be a little easier if you wouldn't spit out two word phrases."

"He was searching for a chisel."

"Why would he want a chisel so desperately? He could've taken the damn pencil here and written down who it was before jumping!" Giacinto stood up again to shoot the taller man a doubtful look.

Alessandro removed his hand from the mosaic, revealing the fault in the apart from that impeccable artwork. "He must've feared the assassin would come up here and see the note ... so he disguised it."

"A hole. Very informative – " Giacinto cut himself off to muster the ceiling once more. "Oh, you smart old man." His eyes literally lit up when the candlelight set the green on fire.

"Genoa." Alessandro nodded.

There, on the ceiling, thousands of tiles formed a large map. But the missing piece marked an exact spot at the north-west coast of Italy.

"Venice is at peace with Genoa ... " The Greek clicked his tongue. "But Alvino had no enemies. And this is to difficult for a personal feud. There're easier ways to kill someone than breaking into a General's palace. Just cut his throat in a dark alley, who's gonna ask questions?" Giacinto mused, running a fine hand over his face.

"Signore Zeno defeated the Genoese. He ended the war. And this murder–suicide happened in his palace." Alessandro turned to face the strange man.

"For a pissed sympathizer of Genoa this is far too well done. They throw eggs at the door. This was executed by an expert. There're no traces of someone else than Alvino even being here."

"We've got a murder mystery," Alessandro sighed. He hated murder mysteries.

"Since when is this a we?"

Alessandro didn't have to look at the man to know he was grinning, green eyes gleaming mischievously.

"Oh, it's not," he mimicked the Greek's response from before, rolling his eyes at their banter.

"Strange, I was sure I heard a we, Commissario."

————————————————————————

So, theories on the tiny Greek's knowledge of corpses? Does he remain a suspect? We know for sure he's sassy.

Do you think those two can work together?

Thanks for reading!

Avis.