Chapter 7: One of Those Faces
"And so we come to the last person on our list," Amelia said when they stepped outside, "Fredrick Bartholomew."
She had been dreading doing this interview. Mr Bartholomew was the only victim who, to their knowledge, had a surviving family; a wife and two daughters. They would have to be interviewed, their wounds cut open again when they had barely been given any time to heal. Amelia herself knew what that felt like, her parents being one of the early casualties of the wizarding war. She still remembered the moment when her brother told her what had happened, the moment when the fact that her parents were dead finally hit home and the weight of it came crashing down on her like a wave breaking against the rocks. It had consumed her for weeks, but with help she had managed to stand up again. But the pain was still there. She knew what the family would be feeling and she knew that her words of sympathy would do nothing to help them.
"How about we split up?" Fabian suggested quickly, "Frank, you and Gideon go and talk to his widow. Amelia and I will check out his work place. Does that work for you?"
Amelia took a moment to gather herself together and then nodded.
"Yeah," she said quickly, "That sounds fine."
They split up again, with Gideon and Frank disapparating to an address elsewhere in the city and Amelia and Fabian continuing down Diagon Alley once more. Amelia stuffed her hands in her pockets and looked at the ground. She kicked a rock with the toe of her shoe and it skidded across the street, clattering against the cobblestones. Fabian frowned.
"Buck up," he said kindly, giving her a gentle punch on the arm, "We'll solve this thing, don't worry."
Amelia nodded.
"Thanks," she said quietly, "for back there."
"Don't mention it," Fabian shrugged, "What are partners for anyway?"
They soon came to Bartholomew's Buckets and Bristles. It was painted a pumpkin orange colour, with the letters of the sign coloured a dark brown. It was one of the few shops in the street that was open, but like all the others, it was locked and protected. Through the window, Amelia could see a girl at the counter. She had straight, black hair that was tied back in a long ponytail. There was a quill in her hand and she appeared to be drawing, quite oblivious to the world. Amelia rapped on the window pane with her knuckles. The girl's head shot up and, after a few seconds, she took her wand from beneath the counter and pointed it at the door. There was the sound of locks clicking and then it swung open. Amelia and Fabian stepped in and the girl locked the door behind them.
"Sorry if I kept you waiting," she said apologetically, "What can I help you with?"
"I am Amelia Bones and this is Fabian Prewett," Amelia said, "We're with the Auror office and we wish to ask some questions about your employer."
The girl smiled a little sadly.
"Employer and uncle," she said, "I'm Fredrick's niece."
"Sorry for your loss," Fabian said, "Miss?"
"Jones," the girl replied, "Hestia Jones. Thanks."
"Is there anyone else who works here?" Amelia said.
"There's a couple of guys, Hank and Larry, who do some days of the week."
"And how long have you worked here?" Amelia asked.
"Since I finished school," Hestia said, "About five months now. My uncle was giving me work until my art kicked off."
"And during that time you didn't notice anything strange?" Amelia said, "Your uncle didn't get himself into any trouble business wise? He didn't seem worried or anxious?"
"Fred always had a good head for business," Hestia said, her voice not indicating any ill will for the suggestion, "He did seem a bit on edge, but who isn't these days? I mean, he's got Loren and the girls to look after. Loren, that's his wife, is a Muggle and I'm sure I don't have to tell you how some people feel about that."
"No," Amelia said a little bitterly, "no, you don't."
Once again, the photographs were placed out on the table.
"Do you recognize these people?" Amelia questioned.
Hestia tilted her head to the side and spent a long time staring at them. Her brow furrowed in concentration.
"The man I don't know," Hestia said after awhile, pushing the photo back towards Amelia, "But the girl. The girl I feel like I've seen around before."
A flicker of hope flashed before Amelia's eyes. But the witch shook her head.
"Sorry, I can't remember where. Maybe she just has one of those faces."
"Yeah, maybe she does," Amelia sighed, "Thank you for your time, Miss Jones."
They left the shop and returned back to the Ministry of Magic building. Slowly, they made their way up to their floor and returned to Amelia and Dolores' cubicles. The latter was fixing up a board with pictures and maps relating their current case. She turned and gave them a smile when they sat down.
"Not successful then?" Dolores asked sympathetically.
"Not exactly, no," Amelia said, massaging her temples, "We've just got more questions to answer. God, Jane, why does it have to be so complicated?"
"Because you'd get bored if it wasn't," Dolores replied promptly, turning back around to pin a piece of parchment to her display.
Fabian began to scribble in his black leather note book. Amelia tried to look in it, but he pulled it away.
"What are you writing?" she asked.
"Epic war poetry," Fabian said flatly.
"Ha ha," Amelia said, equally flatly, "What are you really writing?"
But he didn't reply.
The other members of her team came back to the office, grabbing chairs from their own spaces and positioning them around Amelia's desk. Fabian then recounted their dealings at the cleaning supply store, with Amelia adding in any details he missed. When they had finished, Frank began their tale. Or lack-there-of.
"It was a similar story for us," he said, "The wife and daughters had no idea who the other two victims were. When the killing happened they were out of town; the wife was away for work and the daughters have been staying with relatives away from the city. They're terrified of course."
"Who isn't these days?" Amelia said blankly, echoing Hestia's statement earlier in the day.
Having spent most of her working life around the dark arts, sometimes Amelia forgot that everyday people weren't prepared for this. She was scared, but every time she stepped out her door she was subconsciously using her training, assessing each turn, ready to step into defense mode. But not everyone knew what to do. Being taught defensive magic wouldn't help you if you didn't have the presence of mind to use it. Hearing the stories of loss and terror reminded Amelia that it wasn't just an average working day; there was a war going on.
"There's got to be something else!" she said out loud.
"What?" Frank said, "We've gone through everyone on the list."
Amelia was on the point of banging her head on the desk, when she sat up straight.
"Not everyone," she said, "There's still Mitchie. He connected these murders in the first place. There must of been something he knew, something he didn't put in the reports."
"But Mitchie is in hospital!" Fabian sighed, "He's recovering from a curse! If he could tell us anything, then he would've."
"Which is why we have to go back to where he left off," Amelia said, standing up, "Come on, boys. We're going to investigate a crime scene."