Chapter 14

Minerva and Hotch stood over the body, watching as Poppy made some preliminary examinations. The dead person was a woman, tall, with long, dirty blonde hair. She lay, sprawled out, her cheek against the concrete, her arms at odd angles. She was mostly intact, except for some large cuts in her back. Unlike the other victims, her blood had pooled around her, staining the ground.

"I'm not really an expert with Muggle weaponry," Poppy said, getting to her feet, "but as far as I can tell there was only one weapon. The cuts on her back are all different depths, but the shapes are pretty consistent. A knife was probably used. She was stabbed repeatedly and erratically, which, I'm assuming, was the cause of death."

"No bite marks or scratches?" Hotch asked.

"Not that I can see." Poppy replied.

"And Lucy?"

"Lucy," Poppy said with a sigh, "has evidence of the same bite marks seen on Amber Kersley. Look, I'm no medical examiner and I really haven't had time to go over them properly. If you got them to the morgue, I could do a better job and maybe your Muggle man could confirm my theories."

Poppy went off and Hotch found himself silently commending her cool head. He knew of few people who could examine the body of a friend and keep from crying. Minerva McGonagall was one of those people, he thought. The witch hadn't spoken since the second body had been discovered, but so far there had been no tears.

"You're all taking this very well." Hotch commented to her.

"It is not the first time we have seen death, Agent Hotchner." Minerva whispered, a bitter note in her voice.

"All the same," the FBI agent said, "you don't have to be here."

"I do." Minerva said. "We can not walk away from the fact that these horrible events are in someway magical. As a witch, and indeed as Lucy's friend, I now have a personal investment in the outcome of this case. And when I am invested in something, I see it through. Besides, who else is going to explain our world in a way that you understand? Aside from your Dr Reid, who seems to know more than I do!"

"Reid is an anomaly." Hotch admitted.

"He's certainly very bright." Minerva said with a smile.

At that moment, the pair were joined by Indira, Robert and Septima. Indira seemed to have recovered and addressed Hotch in a business like manner.

"Who is she?" was the first question to be asked.

"We were hoping you might be able to help us with that." Hotch answered. "You don't recognize her?"

Indira stared for a while.

"I don't think I do." she said finally. "The face feels a little familiar, but I can't say for sure."

"I've got Garcia checking missing persons, in case anyone has reported her missing." Hotch said. "In all honesty, I don't have high hopes. She doesn't have any identification on her and -"

"-she's probably a witch anyway." Indira finished off his sentence. "Agent Hotchner, I was wondering how much of this you have to report back to the sheriff? It was a big risk letting your team into our school and I don't think informing anymore Muggles would be a good idea."

"I will have to tell him something." Hotch said.

"Just skate over the details." Septima suggested. "Tell him that an unidentified woman has been found dead and is possibly connected to the earlier killing. It's the truth."

"Leaving out all mention of Lucy and the school." Robert said skeptically. "Can you do that?"

"We could try." Hotch said slowly. "If we moved the bodies before morning, no one would have to know about Lucy. If Madame Pomfrey went with them, she and Dr Crawley could do the examinations quickly and quietly. It would have to be orchestrated well, but we could pull it off."

"Right then." Minerva said. "I shall tell Poppy to get ready."

"And I'm going to call Lucy's husband." Indira said. "I really don't think it can wait."

Once again, Indira found herself back in her office. She had been perfectly prepared to put this task off until the daytime. But then she couldn't stop putting herself in the shoes of Lucy's husband. If someone that she loved very dearly had been killed, then she would want to know about it. It wasn't fair to leave him in the dark and, in any case, Indira wasn't sure that she would be able to do it if she waited.

Taking a bag of powder off the mantlepiece, Indira knelt down beside the fire place. She sprinkled a pinch of the powder into the orange flames and then lent forward, lowering her face into the fire. A room came into view; there were lemon yellow walls, a tatty looking sofa and piles of boxes. This had to be the new apartment. Indira felt a twinge in her stomach. But she couldn't pull out now. With a small coughing noise, she announced her presence. A man came wondering into the room. He was tall, with neatly trimmed hair and a well groomed beard. He rubbed his eyes as he came over to fire.

"Hello, Ms Inkpen." the man said. "How can I help you?"

"It's about Lucy." Indira said slowly.

He must have caught on to her tone.

"What's happened?" he said quickly. "Has there been an accident? Do I need to come over?"

"I'm afraid," Indira took a breath, "I'm afraid that she's dead. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The man didn't speak for a long time. His face bore a look of confusion and disbelief.

"How?" he whispered, his voice rough.

"It is highly probable that she was murdered." Indira replied. "Certain, in fact."

"Oh God." he gasped. "Who would do this?"

"We don't know. But we're doing everything in our power to find out."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You'll probably need to answer some questions. You will be notified if this is the case."

Indira hated the sound of her voice, so bureaucratic, so emotionless. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much the young man was hurting. She had met him once, before the wedding. He seemed nice and the young couple had been so obviously in love. What was his name again, she tried to remember.

"James," she said softly, "I really am very sorry. If there's anything I can do-"

She trailed off. He nodded.

"Thank you for calling."

Indira pulled her head out of the fire. She checked her watch and sighed. It was time to go to bed. There were things to do, but the headmistress didn't care; the world could turn without her for awhile.