Chapter 23

The inside of Cathy Johnstone's house was as unassuming as the outside: pale cream coloured walls with photographs cased in a variety of frames, a wooden dining table with blue fabric dining chairs, a slightly out of date oven. But, as Rossi looked around, he could've sworn that one of the pictures, an elderly women with glasses almost as big as her face, winked at him.

"What's all this then about the group?" Cathy asked, once the present company had refused her offer of coffee, "If you want all the details, Lucy is probably the one to ask; my memory's always been a bit fluttery."

She gave a warm laugh, which faltered slightly as she saw the faces of the agents. Rossi was cringing inwardly; of course the women wouldn't have heard!

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," he said, "but Lucy Whithers is dead."

Cathy gripped the back of a dining chair, her face going white. "We're very sorry for your loss," Reid said softly, "Were you close to her?"

Cathy nodded, sitting down slowly as if a great weight was upon her.

"I've known her for years," the woman's voice was shaky, "She came to the group to volunteer when she was still in school. Just the kindest of souls, even then. I don't think she even knew any squibs personally at that point. She just knew they had it hard and wanted to help."

Rolanda felt a pang go through her. She'd only known Lucy for the brief time they'd been at the school, but that seemed to sum her up quite nicely.

"How did it happen?" Cathy asked.

"It was definitely homicide," Rossi replied, trying to be as gentle as he could with hard, cruel facts.

"Like Amber?" Cathy said, choking up slightly, "Oh God, Lucy. And you think the group had something to do with it?"

"The evidence that we have so far," Reid explained, "suggests that the unsub, the perpetrator of the crimes, was working with someone who could do magic, but could not do magic themselves. We also think that Lucy was always the intended victim of the attacks. Given her involvement with the group, it's something we have to check out."

Cathy nodded again, indicating for them to take a seat. Rossi and Reid did so, but Rolanda hung back, instead positioning herself on the arm of nearby sofa. The witch wanted to see how they did things, but she didn't want to get in the way. When it came to really important situations, Rolanda Hooch knew where to draw the line.

"Is there anybody in the group who may have wanted to hurt Lucy?" Rossi asked.

Cathy shifted in her chair.

"What you need to understand before we begin," she said, her voice stronger and clearer than it had been at any point during the visit, "is that the people we help are part of the most marginalized group in wizard society. In all countries, people still don't quite know how to deal with squibs; they can't be raised to be wizards, it's just not possible. Families don't often know how to cope with that. And for some of the more traditional wizarding families, it's still considered a great disgrace. Squib children in those situations learn that they are nothing from the very beginning. They're broken down for not being magic, rather than nurtured to find their full potential with what they do have."

"So when they come to us," the woman continued, "if they come to us at all, they're in a really bad place. Most of the time we help them out, we can show them that they're worth something after all and they respond really well. Many come from supportive families anyway, and so all we need to do is help them find work or education in the Muggle world, if that's what they want. Squibs are ordinary people in a difficult position, that's all."

Rossi and Reid both signaled their understanding. Cathy hesitated.

"Sometimes, however," she said cautiously, choosing each word with delicate deliberation, "if the trauma they've suffered is too much, it can leave permanent psychological damage. There isn't a lot that we can do in those extreme cases. We just provide a safe place for them to come and talk. It's rare, but it can happen. And sometimes, in even rarer instances, it can make them violent."

"Abuse often factors into the past of a killer," Reid commented.

Cathy sighed, her brow furrowed. Rossi got the impression that she did indeed have an answer to his earlier question, however she seemed reluctant to say so.

"I'm saying all this," the group leader said, "because if anything comes of it, I want you to know that this isn't just a squib doing horrible things. Squibs don't just do horrible things, it's not at all like that. Hell, I'm a squib myself, and I turned out alright. This is one person and they've suffered a lot. I know that's not an excuse, but keep it in mind."

"So you have an idea as to who our unsub could be?" Reid said.

"I do," Cathy said quietly, "I just hope I'm wrong."

She rose from her chair and went to a nearby book shelf. It was lined with binders and folders, and she selected a dark red one, returning with it to the table.

"We keep records of all the people who come through," Cathy explained as she turned over the pages, "It helps us to make sure they're getting the help they need."

Rolanda came over at this point and took a seat with the others.

"You've got a really good thing running here," the witch said sincerely.

She wanted the woman to know that, even if the killer came from the group, it wasn't a reflection on what she was trying to do or on the other people she helped. Squibs got a raw deal sometimes, Rolanda knew that, and it was refreshing to see someone working so hard to improve their situation. Back home, squibs were given help as children, the government working with the families to find them Muggle schools. But there was less support as they grew up and certainly there didn't seem to be much thought about any psychological problems. Reform, Rolanda thought, that's what was needed. More open discussion, less stigma, more understanding. Maybe she should run for parliament! Blinking slightly, the Quidditch mistress brought herself back to reality.

"He should be in here somewhere," Cathy was saying, flicking through a few more pages, "ah, here it is."

She turned around the folder to show Rossi, Reid and Rolanda a picture of a sandy haired, pale skinned boy. He wasn't old, evidenced by his unlined face and innocent expression, but even from the shoulders up it was easy to tell he was muscular. His eyes were a shocking blue colour, something about them alarming the witch as she looked at him.

"Who is he?" Rolanda asked.

"That's Nathan," Cathy sighed, "Nathan Price."