Chapter III: Aftermath
Ron…Emily was a total wreck. When I made my way back to the ballroom, the crowds were being dismissed, and Hermione was still sitting on the steps as Emily sobbed into her shoulder. Landon stepped into his role as big brother and was seated on her other side, stroking her back comfortingly.
I walked over to where the Weasley family was hovering nearby.
"Mum," I whispered to my mother, "This case is pretty explosive; we're going to need Hermione tonight. Would you mind…"
I trailed off. She knew what I was asking, and replied as she always did.
"Of course not," she said with a smile. "You work as long as you need to, just make sure that Hermione doesn't overwork herself, of course. Landon and Jack are welcome, too."
"Thanks," I said, "I'd actually prefer it if Jack stayed with you two rather than the Grangers. I love Hermione's parents, but…well if Emily is a part of this, I think that Jack and Landon might need protection as well."
They understood, and nodded.
"You know that they're welcome with us any time, son," said Dad.
"Ron," Ginny said, stepping forward, "Why don't I go get Jack for you and take him and Landon back to your house to get their things for the night? I'll pack for Emily so she won't have to stay in that gown a minute longer. I think it might kill her."
I smiled at my little sister, and said, "Thanks, Gin, I'd really appreciate it. This looks like it'll be a long night."
My father took my elbow and led me aside.
"What exactly is going on, Ron?" he asked me in a quiet voice.
"Beecher Fitzgerald has been murdered," I said. "Emily either witnessed the murder or found the body; we're not sure. Both are plausible, but there are quite a few holes in the handful of theories that we have right now. That's why we-"
"Need Hermione, I see," he finished, thinking. "If you need any help in the lab, although I'm sure that you've got your bases covered with Hermione, you might want to try Piper Stowe. She's really very insightful, with an excellent medical background."
"Piper Stowe… I knew her Dad back when people actually knew that I work for the Ministry. Now, they think I'm a lazy arse. Anyway, I'll check her out. Thanks."
"Right. Beecher Fitzgerald…hmm. He was a good man. How was it done?"
"What?"
"The murder. How was he killed?"
"Not with magic, that was for sure. Beaten, it looks like, but maybe something else. We'll have to wait for an autopsy to be sure. Hopefully, though, the killer wasn't smart enough to cover his trail, which I think may be the case. All signs point to a Squib," I said, lowering my voice further.
"Son," Dad said in his pacifying voice, "you know that just because someone is a Squib does not mean that he or she isn't intelligent."
"Yes, Dad," I said, feeling like I was six years old again. "Does Fitzgerald have any family that should be notified…a wife, children, anybody?"
Dad lowered his eyes, "He has a Muggle wife, Trudy, six children, and twelve grandchildren."
Under normal circumstances, I would have marvelled at my father's memory. Over the years, though, I had gotten used to people knowing information. Aurors, a branch of MADD (Magical Attack and Defence Department), were very much of law enforcement. They would be nothing, however, without Unspeakables, the CIA of the Wizarding world.
"We'll need them to identify the body, although we're pretty certain it's him. Rather messy, this one," I said. "Who should we call?"
"His wife, Trudy. I'll talk to her," he volunteered, knowing that I generally wasn't good at breaking bad news.
"Thanks," I stole a glance over to Hermione, Landon and Emily. Atticus was approaching, begging Hermione to remove her Cornea Cam, as any contact with tears may result badly for her eye. "I'm going to go steal Hermione from Emily. Dad…take care of her, tonight. Whatever's happened…I…I don't even want to think about what it's doing to her."
Dad nodded.
"You should probably grab your mother to tag-team with Hermione," he told me, nodding in their direction. Emily was crying as hard as she had been when she came in, and was holding on to Hermione with no intent of letting go. I nodded, and retrieved Mum. When we approached them, Emily threw her arms around my neck, nearly choking me.
Harry chose that moment to walk in to check on what was keeping us. He saw what was going on, and intercepted Hermione, taking her back to the crime scene. I managed to pry Emily off of me and hand her over to my mother and Landon.
It is one of the hardest things- to see your child cry. I wanted to desperately to tell Emily that everything was going to be all right, but the truth was, it wasn't going to be all right. She'd have to testify in court if we ever got a suspect. She'd have to deal with horrible memories for the rest of her life, and she could be in potential danger. Knowing that all of these things would make her cry even more was even worse to deal with.
I left the room, patting Landon on the shoulder and sending him a wink of thanks. I jogged down the hallway, and soon caught up with Harry and Hermione. My wife had just been told the news, and appeared noticeably shaken.
Tape had just been put up around the door, but we flashed badges once more and stepped lightly into the room. Hermione stood at the doorframe, surveying everything. Everyone in the room who was moving stopped in their tracks. They had all heard of the way that she worked. Harry and I were used to it, and remained silent. It was almost as if the wheels in her head could be seen turning.
She exhaled, a sign that Harry and I had picked up to mean that she was ready to be spoken to, needed to bounce theories off of us, needed to talk theories out, and work out bugs. An Auror handed her a legal pad and quill, and she nodded her thanks.
"Could you all leave us, please?" she asked them. If they would have protested before, they wouldn't dare defy the Mistress of Magic. They all nodded and left the room, going so far as to close the door behind them.
She walked around the room, tapping the pad of paper with her quill inquisitively. She stopped in front of the window, folded her arms, and bit on her thumbnail. She was thinking. She exhaled again involuntarily.
"We think that Emily either witnessed the murder of found the body," I said.
Hermione shook her head sadly, and said, "What are we going to do, Ron? I can't stand to see her like this." Her voice cracked. Not a good sign. Hermione was always very professional when on jobs, and never let personal matters interfere. The fact that she was near tears was saying something huge. She exhaled again, composing herself, and continued.
"Did anyone check that warehouse?" she asked, pointing out the window to the parallel building.
I looked at Harry, and he said, "I put someone on it when you left." Hermione and I both nodded. I would have never though about that, although it seemed to be a very obvious decision to make.
She stood up and walked to the door, exchanging her wedding rings and bracelet for a pair of latex gloves.
"As you can see," she said, teacher style, as she pointed with her quill, "Beecher was struck from behind. Since the door swings open to the right, that was the side that our killer was standing behind- he was using the door for cover. The first drops of blood are right here. We can see three arcs- the first comes from Beecher, as he spun to see his killer. The other two are streaming from the murder weapon onto the wall behind us and the on the ceiling. That says a few things. The killer hit Beecher on the upper body, the killer is left handed, and this was a planned job, not a hit and run."
"How do you figure on all three counts?" I asked her. Harry nodded his agreement.
"Well," Hermione said, "Beecher was hit on the upper body, most likely the shoulder. My guess is that the killer was aiming for the neck to snap it easily and missed. It was the shoulder because he swung upward, hence, the spattering on the ceiling. That also gives us the first bit of our profile- our killer is a small man. If he were Beecher's height, the swing would have been level, like a Beater's. Also, I can prove it to you." She knelt beside Beecher's body and pulled her hair back with her left hand, balancing the legal pad between her knee and elbow, and sticking the quill in her mouth with her available hand before turning Beecher's body over.
"This wound, here," she said, pointing with the quill to a wound on the left shoulder, "seems to be the oldest. The blood isn't shiny; therefore, it wasn't shed recently. The wound also doesn't appear to be as deep, signifying a hasty blow." She turned Beecher back over to his body was in line with the white outline drawn around it. She stood up and returned to where we were standing.
"But still," I said, "How do you know that it's the first, rather than just an earlier one?"
"Look at this arc of blood," she said, walking over to where Beecher's position would have been upon entering the room. "You can see the arc goes outward, meaning he pivoted on his right foot in a one hundred eighty degree turn to see his killer." She demonstrated slowly, and it occurred to me that she was right. "Had he been struck on the right shoulder," she said, "there would be spatters of blood on this wall, because the killer would have been facing the inside of the room. But because blood can be seen on the wall behind us, it's obvious that he was standing perpendicular to the wall, which is why the blood is where it is. Also, if Beecher was struck on the right, he would have pivoted inward on his left foot, leaving an arc in the opposite direction."
I shook my head in amazement.
"And third, this was a planned job. This killer knew that the ball would be tonight, and Beecher was a VIP who was certain to attend. The killer also knew that he wouldn't be able to get in without a ticket or apparate in. Sneaking in would be almost impossible with the security, so my guess is he used the same method that he used for escape: the window. When he wasn't in a rush or under pressure of being found, he could easily repair it. Most people who are legally Squibs can do minimal amount of magic, and a simple Reparo can be done easily- Squib or not. Also, he was waiting for Beecher in here, which shows that he has patience. It was not a hit and run for that reason. If it were, he could have taken Beecher out in the banquet hall.
"It may have been an inside job, though, for how would the killer know which room Beecher was going into? Someone may have told Beecher which room to go into, and tipped the killer off about Beecher's ETA, just to keep him ready. Hmmm…" she scribbled those questions down onto the legal pad, and Harry and I opened the door for the rest of the Aurors and Unspeakables to come in and go about their business of combing the room for clues with the aid of chemicals, powders, potions and Sneakoscopes.
"Keep this quiet," I heard Harry saying to the man who was 'running' the investigation. "I don't want the press to find anything out until we tell them, understand?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you," Harry said. He turned to us. "Are you two ready to get out of here?"
"Yes," said Hermione, "I'm done for the night. Make sure you contact me with further developments?"
"Actually, ma'am," said Artemis, stepping forward, "We don't think it wise for you to take the case. We have reason to suspect that this man was after you, and Justice Fitzgerald happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
She turned and narrowed her eyes at him. "Let me tell you something, sir. My daughter was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't care whether this man is trying to kill me, the Pope or the bloody Queen; you are not keeping me from this case if my daughter's safety is on the line. Good night, gentlemen!"
She turned on her heel and left the room in a huff. Harry and I followed, suppressing our grins. When Hermione snapped, she really snapped.
Emily…
"Please! No! I beg you, don't hurt my daughter! Please!" Mum's voice echoed through my head. She had a huge cut down her face, and was standing in between me and another man with soulless grey eyes that glowed in hatred.
"Stand aside!" he bellowed at her.
"Please, don't hurt her!" Mum shouted. "Please, take me, just don't hurt Emily!"
The man laughed, and struck Mum hard, causing her to crumple to the ground. It was horrible seeing my mother, usually full of life and energy, in a state of helplessness. I prayed with all of my might that Dad would come home. Landon, my only other hope, was lying unconscious and bleeding at the bottom of the stairs. Jack was huddled shaking in a corner, refusing to move out of fright. And now, the man without a soul was cornering me.
I looked down at myself, and somehow, I managed to be covered in blood. Blood that wasn't mine. I could feel, though, that this blood was spilt needlessly by the soulless man. He conscience left with his soul, and he felt no remorse.
He strode closer to me, knife raised high. My wand was under my pillow in my bedroom, and I had no protection at all.
And then, "Hermione! I'm Home!" And the slamming of a door followed. Dad set his briefcase down on the kitchen counter, and walked into the living room. He saw what was going on, and his eyes went wide.
"Bloody hell!" he said.
"Daddy, don't!" I cried, but it was too late. The man was upon him, and in a single movement, my father was dead, lying on the ground with a knife in his chest. I had never screamed louder in my life.
Ron…
The three of us apparated to the Burrow as we had done so many times before. Mum and Dad greeted us in the kitchen; Landon and Jack were asleep in my old room; Ginny was dozing at the table over a cup of tea, and Emily was asleep on the couch. Hermione and I walked in to see her as Harry gently roused Ginny.
"She refused to go upstairs," Mum said, sniffing. "She didn't want to leave us the entire night. Poor dear kept waking up with nightmares, screaming and crying for you two. Landon, bless his heart, stayed down here with her most of the night. Had to slip a sleeping drought into her tea to get her to sleep."
"Thanks so much for doing this, Mum," Hermione said, brushing a curl out of Emily's face. "I hate to see her like this."
"I'm sure that it must be hard for you both," Dad said, sitting down on the love seat. Hermione nodded, and perched lightly on the small amount of space next to Emily on the couch, stroking her arm.
"Have there been any more developments on the case?" Ginny asked, as she and Harry walked into the living room.
"A few," I said. "Not many. We've been able to profile the bloke…sort of. We don't have a suspect, though. We're not even sure if we have witnesses until we can really talk to Emily."
"I don't want to bring her into this," Hermione said, shaking her head. It was almost comical- her brow was furrowed, her lips were pursed and her curls were bouncing everywhere as she shook her head. She looked fifteen years old again. "I don't want to bring her into this; she shouldn't have to relive the pain over and over again, Ron. It's just not right."
"Well, I know that, Sweetheart," I said (best to use pet names when she's upset and/or I really want to get my way), "But we don't have a choice. She may be the only witness, and if that's what it takes to get this case solved, then that's what we're going to do."
"He's right, Hermione," said Harry. "I know that you don't want to do this to her. Hell, neither do I, but it's our only choice. D'you remember when we'd just joined the Service? We promised each other that our personal lives would never interfere with our jobs, and if they did, one of us would say something?" Hermione nodded. "Well, that's what's going on, so I'm telling you that it'd better not happen again."
Perhaps it was harsh, but it was what Hermione needed. Especially since Artemis took that moment to apparate in. Considering that she had, more or less, just told him to bugger off, she didn't really need to be agitated by two things at once.
Emily shuddered on the couch and gave an involuntary whimper. Hermione felt her forehead to find it sweaty and cold.
"We should really get home," I said. Hermione nodded, and I stood up to retrieve my sons. I had barely gotten to the steps when I heard blood-curdling screams coming from the living room. I ran back to find Emily sitting up, screaming and crying hysterically in Hermione's arms.
"Where's Daddy?" she was saying over and over again. "Daddy…no…no…"
"Hey, Emmy," I said, using her childhood nickname to try and calm her down. "I'm right here. Shhh…I'm right here."
She sniffed and lifted her head from Hermione's shoulder and cocked her eyebrow quizzically.
"Daddy? You're…you're all right?" she asked.
I nodded, and said, "I'm fine, Emmy. I'm going to go get you some tea, and then we'll go home, all right? Shhh…" I rocked her back and forth, and Hermione got up and went into the kitchen. She came back moments later with a cup of tea for Emily. I beckoned her towards me, and she leaned close to hear what I had to say.
"Put some fire whiskey in it," I told her. She nodded and went back to the kitchen. Immoral? Perhaps. I didn't care at this point; I just wanted her to be at ease, no matter what it took. Hermione left again to get the boys from my old room as Emily shakily drank her tea while crying.
"Daddy," she said, "I thought that you…I thought that you were…and that he…"
"Who?" Harry and I said in unison, jumping at the opportunity.
Emily looked back and forth between us, and said, "I don't know. Whoever killed Mr. Fitzgerald, I guess."
This would be harder than I thought.