Chapter 1

Lincoln Park, 10:30 a.m.

Lieutenant Murphy hated such cases. There was a body, lots of blood, actually, and absolutely no evidence, whatsoever. Those were practically all her cases as of lately. There was, however, something common in them – they all tied up to Harry Dresden, one way or another.

"Anything on the victim's identity?" Murphy looked at the body of a young woman, spread on the ground. Her arms were looped oddly, like the broken wings of the black bird, one foot was missing a shoe, a dark-ruby sticky liquid from her ripped chest pooling on the cold pavement, washing away the yesterday's spit and cigarette butts of the passer-byes. What a mess!

"Lindsey Braton, 24, we've got her driving license here," Kirmani handed Murphy the victim's wallet.

"Why wasn't she driving then?" Murphy looked up from the files, to see Kirmani scowl as usual.

"Apparently, there was a party two blocks away. You know how it goes: she had too much of a good time, drank herself senseless and decided to take a walk instead. The coroner would confirm the presence of alcohol in her blood, but I can tell you right now, by the smell of it, she was totally pissed."

"And never made it," Murphy wrinkled her nose, gazing at the victim once again. Her imagination has once again run ahead of her more logical brain, providing the detailed picture of how the poor girl must have met her end. Suppressing a deep sigh, she turned to her partner, all business-like again. "Is M.E. still around? I need the time of death." She waved to the plump man wearing a lab coat, who was dragging on a cheap cigarette while his assistants were meddling with the plastic bag. "OK, I also need a list of all those who were at the party: names, occupations – you know, the standard procedure."

Kirmani nodded stiffly, unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. Noticing the nervous movement, the Lieutenant peered closer at the man. He was strangely inarticulate today, which was never a good sign, was it now? "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Ah," He looked like a school boy caught in the middle of the mischief. "It's nothing really...," he tried to brush it off, but, seeing her stern skeptical face, went on in an exaggeratedly bored voice. "I just wonder... you won't call Dresden, will you?" His face was sour as if he had just shoved some citric acid down his throat.

"Do I need to call him?" She raised a slender brow questioningly. Kirmani was asking her about Dresden? Has the world suddenly stopped whirling and started to roll backwards? Seems, like things had been more messed up than they looked.

"Well… we also found some powder near the body…" Her partner stated reluctantly, already imagining the shit hitting the proverbial fan and covering them up head to toes.

"Powder? Any clue to what it is?" Yep, she definitely didn't like this case.

"We don't know yet, I've sent the sample to the lab..." Kirmani shrugged nonchalantly, looking at the body being loaded on the stretcher and whiled away.

"So, we are having a body with the ripped chest, missing heart, and some strange powder nearby?" Murphy summed up. "Yeah, time to call the Harry Dresden." She sighed, exasperated. God, in all honesty, she didn't like it more than her partner did.

"But…" Whatever Kirmani was about to say was rudely interrupted by loud male cries and curses. Turning to the source of the commotion, the pair noticed a young lean woman approximately of 26, struggling with the police officer, trying to out-voice him and desperately pointing at what seemed to be an id, neatly pinned to her chest. She was of middle height, around 5' 6"; dark-blue high-hills added her some extra-height, though. Dressed up in dark-blue pen-skirt and black overcoat with white elegant scarf around her neck, her shoulder-length wavy hair, dark chocolate in color, was messy because of the wind, so she constantly had to put the streaks out of her eyes to gain at least semi-professional look.

"What's going on here, officer?" Kirmani was the first to ask as both he and Murphy neared the police cordon. The woman ceased her struggles immediately and, demonstratively dismissing both men, focused her attention on Murphy.

"Lieutenant Murphy?" Her voice was a bit harsh as if she had over-strained it, but she smiled pleasantly nonetheless. Sadly, Murphy didn't like that smile. Actually, she didn't like anything about the annoying girl. It was strange and irrational, but there was something akin to the warning bells in the police-woman's head that called to her attention. And, over the years in service, Murphy learned to trust her inner voice. Hard way. "Hi, my name's Melissa Lewis, I'm the Chicago News reporter. Can I ask you some questions about this strange murder?"

"Um, who has let her in?" Murphy asked ignoring the reporter. Great, now press was messing with it. Preparing for quite a battle, Murphy turned to the eager journalist. "It's the crime scene, miss... Excuse me, but press is not allowed. I'm sure the statement would be issued later." She tried to make her voice as professional as she could and not to show her irritation. The reporter, however, seemed to disregard her word's completely, as she rushed up with her no-doubt-prepared speech.

"Oh, I understand, Lieutenant, but I'm afraid that people of Chicago have a right to know what is going on in their city. And it's my respective duty to deliver the message, isn't it? Especially when most cases are classified as "unsolved". Don't you think it puts our good police in a bit of tight position here?..." The way Melissa Lewis said it, brought that feeling to Murphy. The feeling that the woman knew much more than she let out. Glancing at Kirmani, Murphy gave an almost invisible sign that she had to handle this herself and led the reporter to the side, away from the prying eyes of both her colleagues and the gathering crowd.

"OK, spill it, what do you know about this case, specifically?" Straight to the point, no need to go around in circles – that was Murphy's tactics with all reporters, the pestering ones included. To her utter annoyance Ms. Lewis gave her a little but pleased-with-herself smile, as if she has just won a local beauty pageant. Gosh, she hated those types!

"Well, the secure source suggested that since lately the police department is getting some help from the consultant – the so-called "wizard" - Harry Dresden. Is it true?" The journalist peered into the detective's face owlishly, before her face broke into a smug smile. Murphy, never one to get irked so easy, felt completely lost for a few seconds. How did she...? She was so preoccupied with analyzing possibilities of the breech; she hardly caught up with the girl's next words. "Oh, I can see it is. Don't you think that it logically leads to the assumption that our police are not really that competent in solving cases on their own? I mean, that's of course such a ridiculous notion and I'm sure you will absolutely refute such a scenario...But the masses, the masses! Well it will take some...persuasion...to convince people otherwise…," Jeez, the way the journalist chose those classy words made Murphy want to slap her. Who, damn it, does she think she is? It was only the phrase "You are a good cop, Connie," repeated over and over again in her mind like a mantra, that kept Murphy from actually materializing her wish. On the outside, she tried to brush the girl off with a cold look of determined professionalism. Not that it worked so swell. "To make long story short, I can mention that in my article or I can write about the investigation using some subtle first-hand material from a credible source, which is you, Lieutenant."

"In other words, are you blackmailing me?" Murphy asked coolly, though her insides shook in indignation. Come to think of it, she felt trapped; she was quite aware of what a reaction such an article could provoke. The heads in the department would roll, and hers, most likely, would be the first one. She could see, sense even, this Lewis had done her homework thoroughly and was not the kind to back down. Just bloody great!

"Oh, of course no," Lewis shook her head vehemently, as if horrified at the very thought. What an act! If not the given circumstances Murphy could stand up and applaud. "I'm just suggesting a bit of cooperation here. You provide me with some sufficient material for an article and fill me in new details, and I can also be of some help."

"Really? Why should I even consider that?" The usual tough cop attitude she used with "hard" cases failed miserably with this overly exuberant woman. Murphy felt her facade crack up, just what exactly she had on Harry Dresden?

"Because, Lieutenant, you know it's the right thing to do. And because Lindsey Braton had some nasty acquaintances I can tell you about. I assure you, you won't find that information anywhere else," Lewis let the phrase slip and hang in the air. Not waiting for a reply from the enraged detective she turned and briskly walked out of the crime scene, her hand flying in attempt to hold in place her waving hair. Some paces before the cordon, the reporter turned, though she wasn't smiling anymore.

"I'll give you a call, Lieutenant, pretty soon."

Harry Dresden's apartment, 11:17 am.

"For the last time, Harry, you should bring this place in order, it's a complete…mess," the exasperated ancient ghost was following a very disheveled wizard, as he tried to find some notes in the pile of paper on the floor.

"Bob, rest it, OK?" The cursed sorcerer, currently known as "Bob" only rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. "Look, I'll do that as soon as I figure everything out. Murphy's still mad at me, and I have an appointment with Ancient Mai, which is not very promising, so…"

"So we'll be losing clients just because you can't spare five minutes for cleaning up?" Bob raised his brow sarcastically. In reality, he tried to do everything to distract his charge of the impending circumstances of the recent events. The wizard, of course acted unperturbed. In fact, he only was more distraught than always, if that was even possible. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better than that, instead settling on glaring at the ghost, as if he was nothing but an annoying fly.

"You know, I think, you became even grumpier," Harry muttered, heading to the living room, to put on his worn out red shirt.

"Well," Bob singed, following the insolent boy. "I guess that perishing for the second time in, pardon me the pun, a-row, has something to do with that," Bob answered somewhat dully. Harry felt an immediate pang of guilt. Of course he should have known that the late irritation and absolute instability of Bob's moods were due to the Event. Hell, he should've been more delicate about the whole thing that happened between them. He, however, thought the best way was to forget and move on, right? It was in those little moments, those, insignificant, as it might seem, comments that he felt that whatever impact the near-resurrection of Uncle Justine had had on Bob didn't quite dissipate; it was still there and Harry both dreaded and wanted for the stubborn dead man to crack up. It wasn't ever a good time, though, it seemed. Taking a deep breath, Harry was about to reassure his friend or say another meaningless phrase, meant to fill in the uneasy silence, when the phone rang. And Harry Dresden has never been so grateful to hear Murphy's voice before.