Alcander descended the stairs, looking for all the world like an unkempt reprobate, his vibes somewhere between aragorn and a particularly wary homeless man. He eyed the colorful explosions around him with the same apathetic disinterest he gave most things that did not pertain to an active investigation. The detective had heard most of Jocasta's spiel without betraying any sort of thought, merely walking up behind the two and eyeing the body as he incorporated the new information into his mind.
After a few moments of thought, he placed a hand on his chin and stepped past Eleanor and Jocasta, to eye the cadaver. He looked at the women, then lifted the corpse's left arm up.
"Careful with him, I've still got some work on this guy!"
"He won't mind." Al replied, looking for any marks. He sniffed the arm, and save for the detergent solution and the antiseptic that was standard operating procedure, he felt he detected a hint of asphalt. It was to be expected. He placed the arm down and rummaged his fingers through the dead man's hair, pulling out a small strand of hair and examining it thoughtfully.
He smelled the copse of strands, smelling a of hint of garlic or decay from it.
"Find anything, Lassie?" Jocasta asked, adding a tut tut tut click of her tongue like she was beckoning a dog, slapping her hip.
"Phosphine in his hair," Alcander said, before turning to Eleanor.
"Would Hercule Poirot like to tell us where that comes from?"
"I prefer detective Callahan, but I'm surprised you've read any Agatha Christie." The investigator remarked, a hint of a smile on his face. "I just thought you watched Bridgerton all day. Gotta catch up so you can catch part 2, right?" He replied.
"Pardon me, we don't wall watch Lost, Surface-level seinen anime and reruns of police procedurals," She quipped, crossing her arms across her chest and smirking.
"You got me pegged," Alcander shot back, but Eleanor raised an eyebrow to draw their attentions to the matter at hand. Alcander cleared his throat, holding up the strand of hair. "This means your ink guy was in the industrial sector before he found himself dead in that alleyway. Either that or he intimately met someone who had. Lucky for us he didn't shower."
"He was kind of offensive in that regard," Jocasta affirmed, pinching her nose for emphasis.
After a few moments of thought, he placed a hand on his chin and stepped past Eleanor and Jocasta, to eye the cadaver. He looked at the women, then lifted the corpse's left arm up.
"Careful with him, I've still got some work on this guy!"
"He won't mind." Al replied, looking for any marks. He sniffed the arm, and save for the detergent solution and the antiseptic that was standard operating procedure, he felt he detected a hint of asphalt. It was to be expected. He placed the arm down and rummaged his fingers through the dead man's hair, pulling out a small strand of hair and examining it thoughtfully.
He smelled the copse of strands, smelling a of hint of garlic or decay from it.
"Find anything, Lassie?" Jocasta asked, adding a tut tut tut click of her tongue like she was beckoning a dog, slapping her hip.
"Phosphine in his hair," Alcander said, before turning to Eleanor.
"Would Hercule Poirot like to tell us where that comes from?"
"I prefer detective Callahan, but I'm surprised you've read any Agatha Christie." The investigator remarked, a hint of a smile on his face. "I just thought you watched Bridgerton all day. Gotta catch up so you can catch part 2, right?" He replied.
"Pardon me, we don't wall watch Lost, Surface-level seinen anime and reruns of police procedurals," She quipped, crossing her arms across her chest and smirking.
"You got me pegged," Alcander shot back, but Eleanor raised an eyebrow to draw their attentions to the matter at hand. Alcander cleared his throat, holding up the strand of hair. "This means your ink guy was in the industrial sector before he found himself dead in that alleyway. Either that or he intimately met someone who had. Lucky for us he didn't shower."
"He was kind of offensive in that regard," Jocasta affirmed, pinching her nose for emphasis.