Chapter 11: Drawing Conclusions

Amelia walked the familiar walk between the cubicles down to her one. Her team hadn't moved since she last saw them, all three men huddled around the desk making notes and comparing photographs. Rowan was perched on Dolores' desk in the opposite space, drinking a steaming cup of tea. Dolores was doing some kind of filing. She stopped and handed Amelia a cup without saying a word, which her friend accepted gratefully.

"Have you lot been here all night?" Amelia asked, pulling up a chair between Frank and Fabian.

"Apart from a brief pizza break, yes," Frank replied.

Lots of coffee had been a part of that break, Amelia suspected, looking at their bleary eyes. Fabian leaned closer to her.

"What did Crouch want?" he whispered.

Amelia looked up at him, at his eyes swimming with genuine concern and she felt a pang in her stomach.

"Nothing important," she lied, "Just checking in on our progress."

It was a pretty shoddy lie. Not that it mattered; she had never been able to fool Fabian. He watched her for a second but dropped it, turning back to Frank, who was still talking. Amelia looked down at the table, feeling extremely guilty for lying to partner. But for some reason she just couldn't bring herself to let Fabian know the truth. She didn't want to tell any of her team. What if they thought she was abandoning them?

"So Rowan has filled us in on the new developments," Frank was saying.

Rowan appeared to have ingratiated herself with the team and she looked quite at home sitting on the edge of their secretary's desk, swinging her legs like one might off the side of a pier. Amelia gave her a small smile and she beamed back, clearly pleased to be helping.

"We haven't been able to identify any of the traditional Death Eater insignia," Frank said, "None of the victims wore the Dark Mark nor were their deaths marked with one in the sky."

"How did you go on the triangle front?" Amelia inquired, taking a sip of her tea.

"That was more successful," Frank said, "Gideon, where are the photos?"

"These were the ones that best show what we found," Gideon explained, passing Amelia a selection of the case photographs, "If you look at Bartholomew his wand was broken. But we read over the reports and his last spell was 'Reparo'"

"Not excatly defensive," Amelia said.

"Exactly," Gideon agreed, "So why did he have it out if he didn't use it? And even if he fell on it, it wouldn't have broken the way it did. So we looked closer and, sure enough, the pieces were arranged; three parts set out in a triangle. They're spread out, so it's not easy to spot if you don't know what you're looking for."

"What about Swann?"

"His watch," Gideon said, "The shatter pattern is all wrong. The glass was broken into three, relatively clean parts."

"Suggesting the fall wasn't the reason it smashed," Amelia said.

She looked at the photograph and there it was; the glass pieces arranged like the corners of a triangle. The symbol was in all of the deaths, but what did it mean? Mitchie had known, Amelia was sure of it. Still, there was more to this case than just a triangle.

"So what about the killer?" Amelia asked, "Or is it killers? Were they known to the victims? If not, how did they select their targets? Do we have any thoughts?"

"I'm still going Finch for the girl," Frank said, "He could've killed the others as well. They might've been customers or something."

"But that doesn't fit with the profile we've been given of Swann!" Fabian said, "Or Bartholomew for that matter. According to the people we've talked to, they led exemplary lives. "

"Which begs the question 'Why were they killed?'" Amelia said, "Motive is something we've got very little of in this case."

"Well, unless you count the need to purge all the world of 'inferior blood', which is the Death Eater mission statement," Frank said, "Swann was Muggleborn and Bartholomew was a half-blood, married to a Muggle. As far as those barbarians are concerned, that's a good enough reason."

"A Muggleborn, a half-blood and a girl no one would miss," Amelia sighed.

At that moment, a little paper plane floated through the space and landed on Dolores' desk. It was an inter-departmental memo and the secretary picked it up and read it.

"Apparently there's someone down in the Atrium wanting to see you," she said, "Should I go down and get them?"

Amelia nodded and a few minutes later Dolores had shown Hestia Jones into their cubicle. The witch looked a little uncertain, but Dolores gave an encouraging smile and offered her her chair.

"What do you want to see me about?" Amelia said.

"I remembered where I'd seen that girl before," Hestia said, "the one you showed me."

"Oh yes?" Amelia said, sounding interested.

"She used to hang about the shop sometimes," the girl said, "Larry would meet with her when he got off his shift. I figured they were together."

"Larry?" Gideon asked, "Who's Larry?"

"Larry Stoneham," Hestia replied, "He works at my uncle's shop. He'd go off with the girl. Usually quite late, I recall. We have to stay after closing sometimes to do accounts and stocktaking, things like that."

"Did he ever meet with anyone else?" Amelia asked, her mind spinning.

"Yeah," Hestia nodded, thinking hard, "There was this one guy who used to go with them sometimes, wherever they went. I don't think Larry liked him much; he always looked a little afraid of him."

"And you said you were an artist?" Amelia said.

Hestia looked a little taken aback by this random question.

"Yes, I am," she said, "Not terribly conventional, I know. My dad wanted me to go into potions like him, but I told him on no uncertain terms that that wasn't happening."

Amelia smiled, though it was one of tolerance as opposed to actual interest. She had stood up and was pacing the floor. Fabian watched her as she moved, his eyes a little narrow, as if to say "what are you up to?"

"Do you think you could draw this man?" Amelia asked the young artist.

Hestia nodded and so Amelia instructed Dolores to fetch her a quill and some parchment. The tools were laid down on the desk in front of Hestia, who picked up the quill and weighed it in her hand. She dipped the nib into some ink and, after a little deliberation, drew a smooth, curved line across the parchment. Then she began to draw more quickly, little black scratches beginning to form the basis of a face. Amelia had to admit that was pretty good, though she knew little of the artistic world herself. Soon a face had appeared on the parchment, almost like a photograph. It was a man with a heart shaped head, hair the fell passed his shoulders, small, clever eyes and a thin, cruel mouth. Amelia took it and pinned it up on the board so everyone could see. Rowan gave a small gasp.

"That's Darius," she whispered.

"I'll say!" Frank exclaimed, "It's the spitting image of him. Your vocation certainly isn't potions, Miss Jones."

It was all beginning to make sense to Amelia. If Hestia had seen Darius, then Darius knew Larry and both of them knew Francesca, so maybe, just maybe.

"Draw Larry Stoneham," Amelia instructed.

Hestia did so, drawing a boy not much older than herself, with shaggy, badly cut hair, a large nose, some spots on his cheeks and a combination of eyes and mouth that made him look a little stupid. Amelia snatched it up when Hestia had barely finished and handed it to Rowan.

"Is this the man you saw with Darius?" she asked, sounding and looking a little manic.

Rowan glanced at the picture and shook her head.

"No, he was much older."

"Are you sure?" Amelia breathed, "Look again."

"She said she was sure, Amelia," Fabian said bluntly.

Amelia threw the parchment down and turned on her heel, almost running out of the cubicle.

"Where are you going, Bones?" Fabian yelled.

"I need a cigarette!" she hollered back.

He made a move to follow her, but Dolores was already going. Fabian sighed and shook his head.

"Come on, everyone," he said quietly, "back to work."