Chapter 13: Hidden Messages

The first place they went to was Gringotts Bank. Not surprisingly, Mr Demming was not there. He hadn't been seen since yesterday, when the team had interviewed him. A quick search of his office showed that some objects had been cleared out, suggesting he wasn't planning to come back any time soon. They got a home address from his employers, which took them to an address in a fancy part of London. A large gate, covered in twisting vines, guarded an even larger house. The walls were covered in white, wooden slats, the roof was painted black. Amelia went up to the gate and gave it a push; it swung open. Getting into the house was just as easy. They made their way up the front steps, to find the door was already open.

"No protective enchantments," Fabian said, "He didn't even lock the door! Something tells me he's not going to be here."

"We're still looking around," Amelia said, taking her wand from her jacket pocket.

They searched through every room, checking for hidden doors or concealments in every possible place, but Demming was not at home. A fridge full of food and a wardrobe with a few empty coat hangers indicated his getaway had been quick. They searched some more but found nothing of use. Amelia sighed; they were not going to get anything from here.

With Demming out of the picture for now, their next task was to find Larry Stoneham. Hestia had given them the address of a block of flats in a less nice part of town. They were wizard owned and operated, giving the magical Londoner somewhere to stay. The building was a grey cube with lots of little windows placed in a seemingly random formation. There was one door smacked right in the middle, painted white, though this was peeling and cracking. The lawn was out of control, with wispy bits of grass shooting up in every direction, some blades reaching the knees. There was a gravel path that had somehow managed to remain visible amongst the jungle. An owl had made its home in an overgrown tree in the corner of the lawn and periodically puffs of pink smoke were emitted from a top story window; this place had to be breaking about a million secrecy laws.

Amelia led the way up to the door and knocked. There was no reply. She knocked again and they waited for a few more minutes; nothing. Amelia frowned and, stepping gingerly through the grass, looked in the closest window. She didn't have time to see much before the curtain was rapidly drawn across.

"There's someone in there," Amelia said, going back to the door.

She knocked on it again and kept going until they heard the jingling of chains. The door was pushed ajar and the eyes of a tiny, unkempt little witch peered out.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper.

"I'm looking for Larry Stoneham," Amelia said, "I've been told he lives here?"

"Not anymore," the witch shook her head, "he cleared out of here a few days ago."

"Where did he go?" Amelia asked.

"I dunno," the witch shrugged, "he didn't mention where he was going."

"Why did he leave?"

Again the witch shrugged.

"All he said was he didn't feel safe in London at the moment. Can't say I blame him, with randoms turning up unannounced, banging on your door!"

And with that the little witch slammed the door shut again. Fabian was about to start banging, but Amelia shook her head.

"We've got what we need to know," she said, turning back down the path.

"And what's that?" Fabian asked.

"Demming and Stoneham have made a run for it," she replied.

"Which means?" Frank said.

"Which means," Amelia answered, "we were right."

The only thing to do now was go back to the drawing board. They returned to the Ministry and spent the rest of the morning theorizing. Several cups of coffee later, they had come up with many different ideas, all of which would make interesting novels, none of which seemed to make sense in the real world. There just didn't appear to be any motive for the killings. As Frank had said earlier, Death Eaters often didn't need a motive, but why then hadn't they stepped forward to claim the killings? Amelia, getting annoyed again, screwed up a piece of parchment and threw it as far as she could. It must've landed in someone's cubicle because a moment later it came hurtling back, hitting Frank on the head.

They worked through lunch, something Amelia only realized when her stomach started to rumble. Luckily one could always count on Dolores to be there when needed, because she and Rowan came with a bag full of sandwiches.

"And they had little cupcakes with flowers on them!" Rowan was saying, "I don't think I've ever been in a bakery so fancy!"

Amelia grinned and accepted one with chicken salad. A slice of beetroot slipped from Frank's sandwich and fell onto his lap.

"Damn it!" he groaned, "Does anyone know a stain removal charm? I've never been good with those domestic spells."

"I think I might have some napkins in my bag," Rowan suggested.

She rummaged around and pulled out a white paper napkin, handing it to Frank.

"Hold it," Amelia said quickly, "Drop the napkin!"

Frank did so in alarm and Amelia snatched it up, turning it over in her hands. On one side of the napkin was a triangle, three dots representing each corner of the triangle. They appeared to have been burned on by a wand. Amelia turned it around to show everyone and then handed it back to Rowan.

"Where'd you get this?" she asked.

"The Hangman, I think," Rowan said with a frown, "I usually keep some in case of emergencies."

The witch thought for a while, gave Frank a different napkin, and then she gasped.

"Of course," she said, "I saw some people with them at the pub. It was busy, late at night. I'd just finished with a client and he'd bought me a drink. Anyway, I saw these people come down the stairs with the napkins with holes in them. I watched for a bit and some more came down. I wondered what they were doing, because the boss keeps his rooms upstairs, so I guessed they were up to no good. One of them left theirs on a table and I picked it up. I'd forgotten about it until now."

"So Darius was giving these out?" Fabian said, "Why?"

"Some kind of message, I guess," Amelia said.

"Dumb sort of message," Frank said, angrily dabbing at the beetroot stain on his trousers, "I mean, no one can work it out."

"That's because it's not meant for us," Gideon said soundly, "It means something to the people who received it."

"Well that's the Death Eaters," Frank said, "But I don't see what that has to do with our victims."

"And what do the Death Eaters want with a triangle?" Fabian added, "Unless they've got sick of the dark mark and want to try out a new symbol?"

Amelia, who had been staring at the board, jerked her head around.

"New," she whispered, another piece of the jigsaw coming to her in an epiphany.

She shook her head at her own stupidity and then smiled at Fabian; she could've kissed him.

"It's not a message for us," Amelia said, "It's a message for those wanting to join the Death Eaters."

"How'd you work that one out, Bones?" Fabian said, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Darius and Demming were talking about recruitments. They're trying to get people to join the Death Eaters and this business has something to do with it."

"Okay, maybe," Frank said, "But what does the triangle have to do with it?"

"It could be a code or something," Amelia said, defending her idea.

Gideon, however, shook his head. He too had been staring at board, his blue eyes pensive. He stood up and began to rearrange things, ignoring the protests of his fiancee. When he had finished, all the triangles and murder photos had been lined up next to a map of London, red push pins representing all sites of significance.

"It's not a code," he said slowly, "It's a puzzle. The whole thing is a puzzle. It's telling them where to go."