Chapter IV: Making a Splash
Ron…Hermione and I arrived at the MADD Headquarters at eight o'clock on July 20, two days after Beecher Fitzgerald's murder. Harry was waiting for us in the medical investigation department.
"Anything?" Hermione asked him as we scrubbed our hands with cleansing potion.
Harry shook his head, "Nope. This bloke was good; I'll give him that. He left without a trace. We've sent the glass shards from the warehouse to forensics; hopefully there will be something there-blood, maybe."
I reached into one of the deep pockets of my lab coat, removed my identification (and a chocolate frog that I'd been looking for), and clipped the ID to the lapel of my coat while eating the frog and causing Harry and Hermione to make a face at me. It wasn't that old.
The vacuumed doors opened as a woman walked through, dressed identically to the three of us (suit, lab coat, latex gloves- typical boring day on the med floor) and not looking very happy about anything. She removed her gloves and shook Hermione's hand.
"It's nice to meet you," the woman said before donning new gloves. "I'm Maggie Portland, I did the autopsy on Justice Fitzgerald. Let's go back and take a look, shall we?"
I will never get used to morgues. We followed Maggie as she walked through the drawers in which bodies were magically kept cool and in tact. She tapped her wand on one of the cool metal slots, and it separated itself from the others, floating behind us as we walked into a separate examination room. The drawer was much like a metal coffin that melted away when it came in contact with the cool metal examination table.
"He was killed at seven thirty nine on the eighteenth," she said. "As far as we can tell, the first wound was made at seven twenty two, and it was on his left shoulder- the one that you noted, Hermione."
The tapped her wand to the wall, and an image of Fitzgerald's body showed up, each of the wounds labelled at the precise time in which each was made. She tapped the wall again, and different colours showed up around each wound.
"When forensics scanned," she said, "They picked up certain particles."
"What kind of particles?" Harry asked.
"Metals, alloys" Maggie said. "It appears as if he was beaten by a pipe of some sort."
"Well what good does that do us?" I asked. We were trying to figure out who killed Beecher, not what Beecher was killed with. It was obvious that he had been beaten to death- who cared if it was with a pipe?
"We can look for a murder weapon," Hermione said, dismissively. "Perhaps he's left prints. Go on, Maggie."
Emily…The first couple days after the Ball, I barricaded myself in my room. I didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, eat, sleep, anything. I thought that if I shut out the world, then the problems of the world would leave me alone, too. Of course, things didn't work that way. I decided then that I hated being alone. When I was alone, I kept thinking about it.
Mum came in to my room the day after. I think that she and Dad had decided that it would be best to let me have some time to myself to mull things over. It was around dusk, and she seemed to have decided that I just had to get out of my room and that it was bad for me. She was actually rather comforting when she came in. I appreciated it, and when she left, it was even worse than before. All I could think of was what it would be like if Mum ever left for good. I thought that I had to be near her because something would happen to her if I didn't see her.
So I left my room. Still, I didn't talk to anyone; I just sat on the couch alone with my feelings. That didn't work either. So, I switched tracks entirely. Rather than not doing anything for fear of breaking, I'd do everything.
If I wanted to forget, I'd have to keep busy, which would keep me from thinking about it. Mum and Dad made it a point to ask me about it when I was fine, but I would shake my head. I didn't want to talk about it, because then I would remember. And since his threats were hollow, I had no reason to remember, did I?
I hated sleeping alone. It was horrible. I didn't want Mum and Dad to worry any more than they already were, so when everyone was asleep, I would take my pillow and sleep on the floor in Landon's room. At least I felt safe there. Uncomfortable, yes, but safe. The first day or so, he didn't know I was there. I'd wake up before him and go back to my room. Rather than go to sleep, though, I'd work on a painting. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep. But one night, I had a nightmare, and woke up crying. Landon heard that, obviously.
"Em? What are you doing here?" Landon asked me as he sat down next to me on the floor. I was able to control myself once I realized that this was my older brother.
"Don't tell Mum and Dad, Landon, please," I begged him. "Please."
He searched my face with his inquisitive blue eyes, and said, "What's going on, Em? Why shouldn't they know?"
"Landon, I just…I don't want them to," I said, lamely.
He arched his eyebrow, as if to say, 'Come on, sis, is that the best that you can do?'
But instead, he said, "All right. I don't like it, but all right. Want a blanket?"
Ron…The three of us walked up three flights of stairs to Hermione's floor after returning our lab coats. Since she had been elected, she also got a major upgrade in floor space. Rather than a corner office with a view that many executives yearned for, she had an entire floor. Her office itself was a corner office and did have a view, but it was not typical. Her mahogany desk was no longer half as cluttered with the addition of several bookshelves that ran along one wall. Although her leather chair looked fairly comfortable, part of the room was designated as a parlour where Victorian style furniture was organized in a small, intimate cluster and a sterling tea service sat regally on the table. This room screamed 'Hermione' from the many diplomas, certificates and awards that bedecked the walls, to the van Gogh print on the wall (she loved van Gogh); to the plush, deep blue carpet's sharp contrast with the mahogany of the desk; to the hundreds of books crammed into her bookshelf; to the case files and books that lay open on her desk; to the few personal pictures in the room- a Weasley family picture from last Christmas, one of Harry and us on graduation and a candid one of the kids (Landon reading, while Jack played with his action figures and Emily polished her broomstick); and to the fragrance of the room. The room was filled with what can only be described as Hermione-smell: lilacs, vanilla and gardenias masked the faint touch of soap, ink, and hairspray.
Also on her floor was Juliet's workstation, a private conference room, broadcasting studio, Research and Intelligence Database Centre, and library of records and historical documents. There was also a discreet kitchen and dining room.
She opened the door to her office after retrieving her messages from Juliet. The magical lights switched on a soon as the door was opened. I nearly laughed as she sat down behind her desk and was practically dwarfed by the huge chair. Harry and I conjured up our own chairs and she handed both of us parchment and quills.
"Where should we start?" Harry asked.
"Haven't a bloody clue," I replied.
"First," Hermione said, "We need suspects. We'll get nowhere otherwise." Harry and I nodded.
"How do you plan on getting that?" I asked, just out of curiosity.
"Well," she said, "We'll need to see a list of who was apprehended the night of the ball."
"Magical or Muggle?" asked Harry.
"Both," said Hermione. "We can do background checks. My guess is that the list will dwindle pretty quickly. We'll also need a list of Fitzgerald's enemies. Who would have a motive for killing this man?"
"Does he even have enemies?" I asked. "I mean, the guy has basically been working for the good of the people; why would someone want to harm him?"
"Perhaps he sentenced a friend or relative to jail," Hermione suggested, "Or perhaps an old foe was gaining revenge. Which brings up something else- we'll need a forensic psychologist."
"I see," said Harry, "People whose names are on both lists will have to be investigated more than normal. You're right, though, there shouldn't be many. He was a good man."
Hermione and I nodded our consent.
"Also," Harry said, "We should review security records to see who came and went at throughout the night."
"No good," Hermione said, shaking her head. "We've already established this job to have been thoroughly planned. This killer had been waiting for Beecher."
"But still," I said, "It's worth a shot. We're flying blind, here, Hermione. Anything helps."
"I suppose," she said, although it was evident that she didn't like the idea. "You do know what that means, don't you?"
I raised an eyebrow in questioning.
"Emily is a suspect."
Nothing could have prepared me for that.
"What?" I asked her. She and Harry looked almost…peaceful.
"Ron, Emily left the ballroom that night, which puts her on the suspect list," said Harry. "Look, we know that she's innocent, but not everyone does. How is that going to look? She's missing at the time of his death and comes back drenched in his blood?"
"No!" I said, "No, this isn't right. She's-"
"Ron," Hermione said pacifistically. I rounded on her.
"Don't you care about all of this? You're her mother, and you're taking this as if nothing has happened at all."
"Of course I care about this, Ron, but think about it logically. Emily should be in the clear within an hour of research. She's barely fourteen; Fitzgerald was sixty something. She's got no motive, nor does she have the means to commit the crime. Ron, she was completely undone from merely seeing the man's body; how could she have killed him as well? It doesn't work out psychologically, either."
I sat back in my chair and ran a hand through my already dishevelled hair.
"Trust me," she said, standing up and putting a hand on my shoulder. "This will all blow over. I promise you."
"Fine," I said, still surly.
"Let's go, then. The sooner that we get a suspect list, the sooner that Emily is proven innocent. Conversate," she said into her wand. It glowed red, and then green, signalling that she was able to speak into it. "Juliet, would you please get Artemis and Atticus Cooper, Sirius Black and Lincoln Justice for me, please? Send them into the research room, and come in with them as well."
Lincoln Justice. He had been a friend of ours since our Auror days, and had campaigned to be Hermione's second in command with the clever, albeit terribly lame, pun that the two of them had come up with: Justice- the Missing Linc. The man was as shrewd as a serpent, and had been the first Slytherin that the three of us ever got along with. He was also one of the only people who I had seen match Hermione's wit- she was still smarter, though. We trusted him implicitly, and he would, no doubt, be a tremendous help in solving this case.
Harry's godfather still was the Head of MADD, and had given the three of us full run of the case just yesterday. Of course, we dove right in. We had always admired his prowess and expertise, and relied on him immensely during sticky cases, like this.
The three of us walked out of Hermione's office and down the hallway to the Research and Intelligence Database Centre (or ritzy as it was commonly known).
Hermione slipped her small, delicate hand into my large, rough one and squeezed lightly. I looked down to see her smiling reassuringly at me. I squeezed her hand back, before putting my arm around her shoulders and lightly twisting one of her curls through my fingers. I dipped down to kiss her temple, and she looked back at me with her time stopping smile. 'I love you,' she mouthed. She always knew how to make me feel better and make me want her all at the same time.
"Break it up, lovebirds," Harry said from in front of us. Amazing. He hadn't looked at us since we left Hermione's office.
Right, I told myself. Professional…professional…damn it professional…
When we arrived at Ritzy, Atticus was waiting for us. Apparently, he spends the majority of his days there. Hermione dictated to him all that she needed, but added something else to her list.
"I'll also need transcripts of all of the cases that Fitzgerald has ever judged, defended, or prosecuted, please," she told him as the three of us sat back in the comfy chairs around the conference table. Per usual, I put my feet up on the table and twisted my wedding ring around inquisitively as Atticus heaped piles of parchment on the table. Hermione picked up a case and was taking notes on a separate piece of parchment. Harry had the apprehension list, which was small; I decided to dive into the cases and help Hermione.
Once Sirius and Lincoln joined us to assist in the investigation and Atticus had the security read-outs, two hours had passed. We had made little headway, although we did have a short list of suspects for Juliet to run background checks on.
This man had been a judge for thirty years, and a lawyer for ten before that. It would take months to sort through all of these cases. If there was one thing that you had to learn when it came to solving a case, it was patience.
One Month Later…
Emily…
Landon felt the urge to do many strange things that summer. For instance, he felt it necessary to have a party before school started. What was the point of that? Everyone in his year was invited (none of the Slytherins wanted to come, though, and Mum had made him invite them in the first place).
Mum and Dad also decided that it would be good for me to be around some of my friends, considering I'd been rather antisocial since the Ball. It was a smart thing to do on their part, even if I didn't like it. I figured that they were right; I probably would have fun. I didn't want them gushing all over me, although that was rather far-fetched. Rachel had probably told them everything and then some. I'd probably have to deal with her and Meghan's sympathy looks, hugs, 'I hope you feel betters' and all of the other dreadful things that come along with being their best friend in 'time of need'.
Although I really didn't want to admit it, a little extra attention would be nice. My parents had misinterpreted my lack of conversation about the incident as a desperate attempt to achieve a euphoric normalcy, so they gave me my space. Landon took my plea of 'don't tell Mum and Dad' to mean forget about it completely. Even though my friends might be over the top about it all, I wouldn't mind entirely.
On the day of the party, the pool was open, Landon and James were making fools of themselves flexing in the mirrors for Rachel and I (we were by no means impressed, and fighting laughter the entire time), and the House Elves had discovered the joys of diving boards. Mum and Dad took off from work because the Thomases, the Finnigans, and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny were going to be spending the day with them.
Ron…
She was wearing that bloody bathing suit again. Oh, but so is Rachel, Daddy, and Uncle Harry doesn't care. Piss off, Harry. I was ready to go and beat up one of Landon's friends who gave her more than a second glance, but Hermione put a restraining hand on my shoulder. Dean, Seamus and Harry found this all quite amusing while our wives exchanged knowing grins. I hate those bloody grins. They just say, 'Aw, isn't he cute? I'm so glad that I'm intellectually superior and more experienced in all matters because I'm a woman. I'll humour him, though.'
Something wasn't right. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but there was something wrong.
"Emily," warned Harry, "You've got season opening tomorrow. Careful you don't kill yourself." Landon and his friends had challenged Emily and her friends to a game of netball.
"Uncle Harry," said Emily in a very patronizing tone that caused Harry to raise his eyebrows as Hermione and Ginny suppressed grins, "I'm a Seeker. That has nothing to do with my feet."
"Yes," said Harry, quite amused, "I'm sorry, Emily. Do pretend that I've never played Quidditch before. Just don't trip and break your wrist." So, of course, the first things that Emily did was fall and pretend that she couldn't move her wrist just to make Harry go ballistic, something that he wasn't accustomed to. I have to admit, it was pretty funny when Harry jumped up and ran over, screaming at her for being reckless and yet insanely concerned at the same time that her Quidditch career had come to a premature end because of a freak netball accident. He looked about ready to strangle Emily when she laughed in his face.
Hermione and I couldn't help but laugh at him when he sat down dejected.
"Honestly, Harry," said Hermione.
"What?"
I exchanged a glance with my wife. "You're her godfather, mate."
"So?"
"Shouldn't you know her by now?" asked Hermione with a teasing grin.
"Sod off."
A tremor came over me then. It was feeling that I couldn't describe at all, other than a painful tremor. Immediately, my wand was out and I stood up so quickly that my chair fell over backwards.
"Did you feel that?" Hermione whispered to us. "Am I going mad or did you feel that?" I looked at her and saw her standing up, paler than usual with her wand at the ready. Harry was also standing, with fingers massaging his forehead, namely, his scar.
Ginny, Seamus, Lavender, Dean and Natalie (Dean's wife) were all staring at us apprehensively. Ginny gently rested her hand on Harry's forearm. The way that he was wincing and bracing his jaw showed that that scar was giving him a massive headache.
He looked up at Hermione and I, and that strange best friend mental telepathy that we had proved that we were all thinking the same thing as we simultaneously started from the table.
"Spread out," Harry directed. "Ron, go behind the bushes; Mione, you head towards the stable. Artemis, you pan the area wherever you see fit, eh?"
Artemis nodded. I half consciously saw Emily grab Landon's arm, near tears, and Jack run over to Ginny.
The four of us spread out, wands out.
I heaved a sigh. It had been awhile, this.
Emily…Mum, Dad and Uncle Harry stood up so fast that their chairs fell down. I didn't know what was going on, but it scared me. They stomped off, and Dad had his fight-face on. This was not good. I could feel myself trembling as phantom memories of cool grey eyes flashed in front of my mind's eye. I could feel my heart rate increasing.
"I'll be watching you."
Jack went to chase after Mum and Dad, but Aunt Ginny intercepted him, holding him on her lap even as he squirmed to be released. Landon saw the worry on my face so he strode behind me and rested his hands reassuringly on my shoulders.
A shot rang out from the direction of the stables. The horses could be heard whinnying in fright, and Uncle Harry, Dad and Artemis were sprinting across the yard in that direction. That was where Mum was.
Ron…
I prowled around behind the bushes for a while. Nothing. Not even a tremor like before. I wondered if Artemis, Harry or Hermione were having better luck than I.
Something rang through the air that sent birds flying and horses whinnying. I had a feeling that it was a gunshot, but I wasn't entirely sure. I didn't think that it could have come from a wand. Whatever it was, though, it was from the stables and that was Hermione's post.
I ran off towards the stables, and saw Artemis ahead of me, and Harry a little behind. When we reached the stables, the first thing that we saw was Hermione, wand raised, using a stable door for cover. We threw ourselves down next to her, away from the line of fire.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I'm not sure. I was just walking around here, and I heard the gunshot, so I dove down here. And it smells."
"You could have just used a warding spell," said Artemis. Apparently the small Muggle fraction of Hermione's brain had taken over when she heard the gun. "Spread out." No sooner had we left our position then Hermione found the gun. She daintily picked up the Sig Sauer and conjured the proper wrappings for it to preserve whatever the lab might be able to find on it.
Artemis continued to scour the grounds, but told the three of us that we could head back to the party and calm everyone down. With a swish of her wand, Hermione sent the gun to the MADD Labs.
"Wait," she said to Harry and I before we reached the deck. We turned to look at her and she continued. "Why would the killer come here? He knows that we have maximum security, and for some reason, I don't think that this person would go so far as to try to kill me. I don't think that those were his plans at all. He seems to me like someone who simply wanted revenge on Fitzgerald. I don't think that it has anything to do with me."
I agreed with her.
"What if…what if the killer is using Emily to get to us? To scare us?"
"What?" Harry and I said in unison.
"Think about it. What if Emily was lying to us?"
"She wouldn't do that," I said, almost immediately.
"But what if she was? What if she had seen the killer and he had seen her? He knows that we're on the investigation, doesn't he? What if he'll stop at nothing to keep us from learning the truth and Emily has the truth?"
"But that doesn't make sense," said Harry. "If Emily knew and had the power to convict this man, then why wouldn't she act on it? We're running the investigation, it's not as if she's scared of what we'll do to her."
Hermione was quiet for a moment.
"What if she couldn't tell us? What if he put a binding spell on her, or…or he threatened her if she told."
"How would he know if she did?"
Shivers went up my spine.
"Maybe he's trying to get her attention, let her know that he's still here. He let of the gun over by the stables. Coincidence?"
"Yes."
"No! Harry, I'm telling you, she knows."
"Fine, say she knows," Harry said, "Use a Pensieve and get the memories out of her, and we'll see if you're right."
Hermione shook her head, "A Pensieve is voluntary. It makes sense, Harry."
He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, looking at the ground; he did this when he was thinking hard. "It's a pretty big 'what if'," he said.
"This whole case has been a 'what if'."
"What would we do, then?" I asked. "What would we do if you were right?"
Hermione shrugged. "Protect Emily, somehow. Maybe try to coax it out of her. If not, there has got to be some other way to solve this case. But whether or not I'm right, something tells me that Emily isn't safe."
Harry and I both nodded. We knew exactly what she meant.
"So, what do we do, then?"