The Elves in the Alley
Part Four: A Little Light
Brennan was surprised and impressed by the speed and care with which the FBS had transferred Cronins' remains to her lab. She did, however, refrain from asking them quite how that had been accomplished.
"I will begin by removing the surgical pin, so that we can confirm identity." She said. "Then I will attempt to find a cause of death."
"Good." Hermione said. "If you can find a Muggle cause of death, we can hand this one over and Ron and I can concentrate on the House-elves. I don't hold out much hope, though!
"In the meantime, Angela and I will work on what I got from my Sight and the burned paper."
Ron, Booth and Sweets were looking at the other information. Piper had dropped off the FBS file on Jason Connover, but it was a thin one.
"Jason Fionn Connover.." Ron read. "Male Caucasian, six feet, brown and blue, no distinguishing marks. Hmm. Half-blood, born thirty-four years ago in Detroit. Irish American. Attended the Randolph Carter School from age 11 to 18, in de Marigny House -didn't know they had a House system there, they don't at Salem. No serious discipline issues, average to good marks, Beater on the House Quidditch team. Head of House describes him as 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed'.
"He applied to the FBS but didn't make the profile. Same for Whitelighter training. Works in the family broom business as a flight-tester.
"How ordinary can you get?"
"Sure." Booth said drily. "He's a test pilot in a broomstick factory. Real ordinary!"
Ron gave an amused grunt. "Most British Muggles would tell you that's the job their mother-in-law does!"
Sweets and Booth both laughed, then Sweets said; "The profiles tell me more. They both say he's idealistic and committed, but they also say he's a little immature and impatient. Also that he's easily led or dominated by a stronger personality.
"That chimes with what Barlow said, based on the wand. Are there actually wizard psychiatrists, Ron?"
"Oh, yeah." Ron allowed. "They're not so very different from Muggle ones – use the same techniques. I mean, they can use Legilemency – mind-reading – if they have the talent, but only if the patient consents, and if they really need to."
"Well, this tells us about Connover." Booth pointed out. "But it doesn't help us find him. For what it's worth, though, I think he's more of a witness than a suspect. Let's take a look at this laptop."
The device had been switched on and logged in when they found it, so no hacking was necessary. Cronin had clearly been a tidy-minded soul, as there was a folder clearly named 'Arcane', and a series of sub-folders. The sub-folders, however, were designated by some sort of personal code or shorthand. By dint of checking the profiles of the folders, they found and opened the newest one. It held a single document, which proved to contain some rough notes on a potential story.
"So," Booth said, "we have this person – RS – who's offering Cronin a share in a big story. What are the odds that 'RS' is Rosemary Simmons, alias Rita Skeeter?
"The story seems to be a conspiracy theory about a secret group of wizards and, er, Muggles who are working together to take over the world – the 'S', he calls them. We need Hodgins on this. Would this be a big story, Ron?"
"If it's true, it's huge!" Ron said. "Look, the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy officially separated our world from yours in 1692. Since then, it's been illegal to practice genuine magic in front of Muggles unless it's life and death. It's also illegal to admit that wizards and magic exist except at the discretion of the local wizard government.
"Now, obviously, some wizards marry Muggles, and some are born into Muggle families, so some Muggles will always know we exist. By the same token, wizard governments had to keep in touch with the Muggle ones. So the secret isn't all that secret, in some ways.
"Also, there've always been wizards who flout the rules a bit. We let them get on with it, because most of the time, nobody really believes them. For every genuine wizard who does that, there tend to be about a hundred charlatans, so the majority carry the day, as it were."
"But if wizards are actually working with Muggles, without the Council knowing, then there is a problem!"
At that point, they were called into Angelas' area. Brennan and the others were already there. Brennan said without preamble: "I have the information back on the surgical pin. It confirms that the victim is Mr Cronin. What are we looking at here?"
"Well," Hermione said, "I described the people I saw with my Sight to Angela, and she fed the details into this wonderful machine of hers!"
"It took a little hit and miss," Angela put in, "but we managed to get two images. This is the last person Cronin saw, according to Hermione."
Ron was as taken aback by the hologram, Booth noticed, as any of them had been by magic. He gaped for a moment, then broke into a broad grin and muttered "Wicked!"
The image was of a tall, thin man with gaunt, ascetic features, dark eyes and short-cropped iron-grey hair. He was wearing a greenish tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, a deep blue shirt, a shocking pink tie, cricket flannels and heavy work-boots.
"Hmph!" Hodgins remarked. "A suspect who dresses in the dark. Should be easy to spot, but we need to get him before the fashion police put him away for life!"
"Typical dress for a Pureblood wizard who knows little or nothing about Muggles." Hermione told him. "He's probably worn nothing but wizard robes his entire life up to now. You should have seen my father-in-law trying to dress like a Muggle before my mother took him in hand!"
"There's something familiar about this bloke though." Ron peered at the image. "I've not seen him before, but he's still familiar. Can you make an ordinary photo of this, Angela? Excellent! I'll give you the email address for the right section of the Met, and they'll see that the Ministry get a copy. Somebody will know him."
"OK." Angela said. "Now Hermione tells me that this person was in the apartment the day before..."
She was wearing a Muggle business suit, and her glasses were plainer than the jewelled-frame ones she usually wore. But the curly blonde hair, the heavy-jawed face and the thick fingers with the long scarlet nails were unmistakable.
"Rita bloody Skeeter!" Ron announced.
"The witch journalist?" Booth asked.
"Journalist?" Hermione exploded. "Journalist? Darling Rita may call herself a journalist, but what she is, is a..." Hermione went on to summarise Ritas' appearance, history, ancestry, parentage, intelligence, talent, personal hygiene and probable sexual habits in terms that made Ron grin, Booth blush and everyone else stare.
After Hermione ran out of steam, there was a moments' silence before Brennan said. "Remarkable vocabulary, cousin! Now, did you make any progress with the burned papers?"
"Some." Angela said, Hermione still being slightly out of breath. "Seems to be mostly notes. Appointments with an RS, who we guess to be this Skeeter woman, and references to something called the 'S'."
"Pretty much what we found on the laptop." Sweets said. "This 'S' is supposed to be some joint wizard-Muggle conspiracy."
"Oh, by Grabthars' Hammer!" Hermione exclaimed. "I'm an idiot! Ron, don't ever call me a genius again!"
"I've never called you a genius." Ron pointed out. "A pain in the arse sometimes, but never a genius. What did you just work out, pet?"
"S is for Scholomance." Hermione told them all. "Muggle legend says it was a kind of school in Transylvania - a place where Muggles were taught the secrets of magic, supposedly by the Devil, who took every tenth scholar as a personal vassal. Vlad the Impaler – Count Dracula – is supposed to have attended the Scholomance before his Undeath.
"But in wizard legend, it's a secret council of Dark wizards and the so-called 'Dark Illuminati' – Muggles as evil as they are brilliant – who manipulate both worlds for their own ends.
"Ron, if Rita has convinced herself the Scholomance actually exists, and started turning rocks over to find it, all sorts of things are going to come crawling out from under them!"
"Including," Sweets surmised, "wizards who believe in this Scholomance, and are prepared to kill to keep it secret?"
"We have our psychopaths as well." Ron allowed. "And our conspiracy theorists!"
"Of course," Hodgins said, "it could just be that this Scholomance actually exists, and that they've sent one of their wizards to shut the Skeeter woman up!"
"Oh, I don't suppose for a moment that there is a Scholomance, as such." Hermione said firmly. "But Ron or Piper will tell you there are wizard supremacist groups out there. A bit like the militias that pop up in rural districts over here, or some of the far-right Muggle groups in Europe. Some of those people are dangerous – barking mad, but dangerous!"
"Right!" Ron said briskly. "This is the bit where 'Mione and I go back to the FBS office and see what we can find out there. The rest of you do what you do, and we'll be in touch if and when we get a decent lead."
As they were preparing to go, Hodgins approached Hermione.
"By Grabthars' Hammer?" He queried. "You're a Questerian?"
"Just a little bit!" Ron groaned. "She's into the lot! Galaxy Quest, Nebula 9, and The Subtle Knife!"
Hodgins grinned widely. "Classic Quest or the new adventures?"
"Well, I was only a little girl when the original series was on." Hermione told him. "I didn't think much of it then. The new series is much better – they've given Gwen DeMarco a much stronger role as Lt Madison, and she and the Commander have a more adult relationship, now. Not too keen on Dr Lazarus, though; for some reason Alexander Dane reminds me of my old Potions teacher!"
Hodgins nodded sagely, then said. "We get The Subtle Knife on BBC America. Any clues as to who the new Knife-Bearer will be?"
Hermione shook her head. "They're keeping it stitched up tight for another month or so. I'm hoping it'll be a woman this time!"
"Come on!" Ron demanded. "Or we'll be here all day! I knew I was marrying a nerd, but I never realised she was a geek as well!"
"You can see the ball and chain, can't you?" Hermione grinned at Hodgins. "Anyway, he's just as much of a geek when it comes to Quidditch!"
"Quidditch?" Hodgins asked.
"Wizard sport." Hermione told him. "Sort of a cross between basketball, rugby and ultimate fighting on broomsticks. Don't get him started!"
The FBS, it emerged, kept up-to-date files on a number of 'suspect groups'. Hermione noted that Ron set to the reading with a reluctance that hadn't changed since their schooldays.
"I will never know," she told him, "how you got the OWLs you did, given your allergy to ink and parchment!"
"I listened to you, love." He explained. "Fact is, most of what the teachers said went in one ear and out of the other, but everything you ever told me, stuck! My Dad was right when he once said that it isn't what you know, but who you know. I got good OWLs just by hanging out with you. I never said thanks for that, I should have."
"No thanks needed." She replied, hugging him briefly. "Knocking about with you did wonders for my people skills, and fair exchange is no robbery! Besides, all most women really want is to be listened to properly.
"Right, let's get this over with, darling!"
Some of the groups were clearly cranks, with grandiose titles like "The Illuminated Brethren of the Ebon Night". Others, such as the Campaign for the Legal Assertion of Wizard Supremacy (CLAWS) were purely political. But some were more active and potentially dangerous.
"The Brotherhood of the Shadowed Path." Ron noted. "They have groups – they call them chapters – all over Europe and the UK as well. There's files on them back at the Ministry. We think they took in a lot of Death-Eaters after Riddle went down, the ones we couldn't prove anything against. They're a lot more subtle than the Death-Eaters, though. We think there've been a couple of incidents in the Muggle world they were behind, but we could never prove anything."
"That's a possibility, given that our main suspect is a Brit." Hermione agreed. "This lot – The Magical Sons of the Confederacy – kick up a fuss now and then, but seem to be restricted to the Southern States.
"The rest of them seem to be local gangs."
"Hmm." Ron scratched his head. "What's missing here is the Muggle connection. Cronins' notes were vague on a lot of things, but he's quite specific that the conspiracy involves Muggles and wizards working together. There's nothing like that here."
"Well, there are the Open Door people, you know, the ones who tried to recruit me last year." Hermione pointed out. "They're active over here as well."
"True," Ron allowed, "but they don't work with Muggles. They just want the Statute repealed. Nice people, very earnest and idealistic, but not the sort to hire killers.
"I'll see if Piper has anything on wizard-Muggle groups."
It turned out that Piper had virtually nothing.
"There are occasions where wizards and Muggles do work together." She told them. "But that's usually official on one or both sides. Harry Dresden, for instance, is still listed as a consultant for the Chicago PD, and of course your brother-in-law has done work with and for several Muggle agencies. All the Ministries, Bureaux and Councils of Magic have some Muggle consultants on call, usually relatives of Half-blood or Muggle-born witches or wizards.
"But as to secret societies, the only one that exists in both worlds is the Freemasons, and they're very respectable, so I'm told!"
"They are." Ron replied. "I'm a Mason myself."
"Ah!" Piper said. "So you're not a sinister, secretive cabal running the world behind the scenes?"
"No." Ron said, deadpan. "That's the Women's Institute. Anything on the Scholomance?"
"Only in the nut file." Piper said. "We get the odd weirdo who claims to be one of their agents, or even the Grand Master, same way the Muggle cops occasionally run up against somebody claiming to be one of the Illuminati or Knights Templar."
"So," Hermione summed up. "We're left with either a lone nutter, a member of the Shadowed Path, or some group we haven't heard of. Nice."
"Fourth option." Ron suggested. "There are still Death-Eaters around, just gone underground for a bit. Some of Voldemort's people are still unaccounted for, you know. They dropped right off the grid. Could be Rita found some."
"Working with Muggles?" Hermione asked.
"If the Aurors were after you, where would you hide?" Ron asked. "Where's the last place anyone would look for a former Death-Eater?"
Hermione gave him a grim look. "Sometimes, my beloved, you are unwholesomely clever! I'm so pleased you're on our side!"
Just then, an FBS agent came into the room and exchanged an urgent murmur with Piper. She nodded and turned to Ron and Hermione.
"Something's up!" She said. "I've just been told that Jason Connover was dumped in the Emergency Room at the Potomac Shore Wizard Hospital five minutes ago!"
The building Booth and Brennan had been urgently summoned to was close to the river. It was a large, nondescript structure with boarded-up windows and a general air of disuse. Hermione and Ron were standing by the main doors.
"This does not look like a hospital." Brennan said.
"Of course it doesn't." Booth told her. "It's a wizard hospital – it's supposed to be secret."
Hermione had visitor badges for both of them. "You'll have to hand these back." She instructed them. "And it goes without saying that you mustn't tell anyone about this place."
Ron led them through the small door at the side of the big one. Inside was an area that looked like the Reception of a medium-sized, slightly old-fashioned, hospital. There were men and women in medical garb moving about, along with an assortment of others in clothing ranging from ornate floor-length robes to quite ordinary clothing.
For a moment, Brennan felt disoriented, then she realised what was missing -the constant shrill of telephones ringing. The other noises were the same, clear female voices floating in the air:
Magical accidents follow the blue line. Curses and hexes follow the yellow line. Magical diseases follow the green line. Magical creature bites and scratches follow the orange line. Visitors follow the white line. The red line is for emergencies only.
Healer Jackson to Treatment Room Seven.
Paging Senior Healer McMurray.
And so on.
Then Brennan noticed the fireplaces. There were about two dozen of them, lined up along one wall, big, old-fashioned hearths. As she watched, one of them flared up with a bright green flame and an anxious-looking woman stepped out of it, tenderly cradling a large bullfrog in both hands. She dashed up to a woman in blue.
"Nurse!" She called. "It's Grandpa! He's done it again, forgotten how to change himself back!"
Then a man in a white coat came striding up to them. "Hi there!" He said. "I'm Senior Healer McMurray. You must be the people from the FBS and the FBI, come about Mr Connover?"
He was a solidly-built black man, a couple of inches shorter than Ron, with a cheerful air and a dazzling smile. Introductions were made and he led them off without further ado, talking volubly along the way.
"We have no idea how Mr Connover got here. He's clearly in no condition to have come himself. There are several direct Floos into the Emergency Room, but it's always busy. Somebody must have come in with him, dumped him on one of the chairs and taken off again. As soon as the nurse spotted him, we got him into treatment. Physically, he'll be fine in a few weeks, but mentally...Well, you'll have to see for yourselves."
"You don't have video surveillance in the ER?" Booth asked, surprised at this lack of elementary security procedures. McMurray gave a wry grimace.
"Do you have any idea, Agent Booth, of what the amount of magic we have here can do to technology? We tried it once. One camera, pointed at the door in the main Reception area. After three hours, it turned into the biggest, blackest raven you ever saw! It perched there, over the door, croaking 'Nevermore' every time someone came in! You don't need that in a hospital!"
Booth caught Rons' eye, and both men were overcome by oddly simultaneous fits of coughing. McMurray went on, apparently either oblivious or used to it.
"Dr Brennan, it's an honor to meet you! I've read a lot of your work."
"The Kathy Reichs novels?" She asked.
"No, no, I prefer Richard Castle for that sort of thing – no offense!" McMurray asserted. "I meant your scholarly stuff! Admittedly, the skeletons we get here tend to be more lively than the ones you deal with. But once we've got them calmed down, your techniques are incredibly useful in helping us find out who they used to be so we can get them back where they belong."
Hermione had to make a strenuous effort not to burst into giggles at the look on Brennans' face.
Amusement faded, however, as they were ushered into a private room.
"Whouf!" Ron exclaimed. "He's a bit ripe, isn't he?"
"You should've smelled him when he first came in!" Said the white-coated woman standing beside the bed.
"This is Healer Coulman." McMurray explained. "Mr Connover is her patient, so I'll let her explain."
Healer Coulman was a stocky woman with large, strong hands and a blunt features, her brunette hair was cut in a short bob and frosted with grey and her tone, like her attitude, was brisk and businesslike.
"Mr Connover has been afflicted with a Fleshrot Curse, which rapidly necrotizes tissues around the area where it strikes. Untreated, the gangrene would ultimately invade the entire system. It's an older curse, and not much used nowadays. There are far too many effective treatments, both in wizard and Muggle medicine, for it to be a curse of choice for a killer."
"It's a very old curse." Hermione agreed. "It used to be an Unforgivable until the mid-19th Century. It was taken off the list after that, though I'm not sure why."
"Maggots." Coulman explained. "Wizards had had potions to cure it for some time, but it was around that time that Muggles started the wider use of maggots to treat gangrene."
Brennan nodded. "Maggots would remove the necrotized tissue very quickly and efficiently. They were used in folk medicine for centuries, but the medical profession failed to recognise their value until the Napoleonic Wars. Nowadays, of course, we use antibiotics, surgery and regenerative therapy, though some practitioners have resumed the use of maggots in certain cases..."
"OK, Bones, too much information!" Booth interposed. "Hermione's already as green as the walls. Dr Coulman, can you tell when this guy was..uh..cursed?"
Coulman shrugged. "There are a lot of factors in play. A spell is more like a knife or blunt instrument than like a gun. Any given gun will do the same amount of damage no matter why it's fired, the only variable is the accuracy of the shot. But a spell, like a knife or a baseball bat, will do more or less damage depending on whether the caster deliberately intended to kill, or was angry, or afraid, or just desperate. Also, a spell varies with the power of the caster just like blunt trauma varies with the physical strength of the striker.
"With this spell, the necrotizing of tissue will proceed and spread more quickly or slowly depending on the power and intention of the caster. Where the initial curse struck the victim is also a factor.
"In Mr Connover's case, the initial strike was in the upper arm area, and by the time we got him in here, it had spread most of the way down his arm and into the shoulder. If the intention had been to kill, it was an odd place to hit him – the chest would have been better, as would the head."
"Well," Ron said, "we have reason to believe this happened two nights ago. What does that tell you?"
The Healer considered. "I'd say from that the attacker was moderately powerful, and more angry or frightened than murderous."
"If," Booth suggested, "he was hit in the arm because he got between the caster and the intended target, does that change anything?"
"A little." Coulman allowed. "But even with a hit in the chest, the victim would have had six to eight hours to get into treatment. Besides, if you want an instant kill, you go for avada kedavra.
"But this mans' physical condition isn't the only problem. He's been crudely, but thoroughly, Obliviated!
"Now can you please leave? I have to tend to my patient!"
They made their way to a conference room McMurray had put at their disposal.
"Well, that's a bugger up the back!" Ron remarked.
"What is 'Obliviated'?" Brennan wanted to know.
"It means that Jason Connover has had his memory wiped." Hermione told her. "There are two kinds of Memory Charm. The crudest simply removes a chunk of memory, wipes it out. The better you are at the Charm, the more precise you can be about what memories you remove, but if you just cast it blind, you can wipe out a persons' entire life.
"The more refined type is more like a retcon. You can alter memories or substitute false ones. But that takes time and skill."
Ron looked up from pouring coffee. "Hermione is one of maybe twenty witches or wizards in Britain who can cast the spell at that level!" He told them proudly.
Hermione went pink, but smiled at the same time. "My husband has a high opinion of me," she told everyone, "which is largely undeserved. But don't tell him I said so!"
"So." Booth said, ever practical, "which kind of flashy memory-thingy was used on Connover."
McMurray shrugged. "Fast, dirty and brutal." He said. "When he wakes up again, he won't even remember his name!"
"Sod it!" Growled Ron. "No bloody use to us, then!"
"Can his memory not be recovered?" Brennan asked.
"Maybe." Hermione said. "But it will take years of intensive therapy, and even then they might not get all of it back. Remember Lockhart, Ron?"
"Unfortunately, yes." Ron replied. "He's still in St Mungos, last I heard."
"He's got as far as his time at Hogwarts, I'm told." Hermione said, then turned to the others. "Gilderoy Lockhart is a wizard we met when we were twelve or so. He was a teacher at our school and something of a wizard celebrity, famous for hunting down and capturing monsters. It turned out he was actually a charlatan; an expert in memory charms who got the people who genuinely defeated the monsters to tell him their stories, then Obliviated them and took the credit for what they'd done.
"To cut a long story short, at one point he tried to Obliviate Ron and Harry with a damaged wand and the spell backfired, wiping his own memory out. He's been in the wizard hospital under therapy since 1993 or so, and he's only just got as far as his teens in terms of memory recovery."
"The point being," Ron said, "that there's no quick way to get at Connovers' recent memories. We can't use Legilemency or even the Soulgaze, because there's nothing left to see. Or at least, the spell blocks everything in.
"So it's over to you two, now. They'll have his clothes here, d'you reckon your Dr Hodgins can do his brand of magic and figure out where Connover might have been?"
"Can't the FBS do that themselves?" Booth asked.
"Not so easily." Ron allowed. "I mean, we could get a dog animagus or a werewolf to scent the clothes and try to trail them back. But given that Connover was Flooed into the hospital that trail's broken unless we know where he Flooed from.
"Remember, we don't have the electron microscopes and databases you have. They don't work well with magic and we're still trying to come up with magical equivalents or ways to shield that kind of tech so we can use it."
"Well, then, we should obtain the clothing and head back to the Jeffersonian at once." Brennan said.
