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CHAPTER 3
"Er... hi?" the man was obviously startled that he found so many people in the room.
He was tall, even taller than Sherlock and had shockingly red hair. He could have been around thirty. His blue eyes were scanning the room carefully.
But another set of eyes was scanning the man... Wedding band – at least one child – had row this morning with wife – left arm injured recently – line of work: military? – not quite – police force? – no (find out more) – not comfortable in his clothes – not used to formal – used only to casual clothing? – improbable – must have some kind of uniform for work – on official business here – why not wear it?...
When no one reacted, the man cleared his throat nervously (and thus halted Sherlock's invisible assessment) and took out a slip of paper – no, parchment?! out of his pocket. "Um... I need to speak to He- I mean Doctor Molly Hooper?"
"T-that's me," squeaked Molly and gave a little awkward wave. "What can I do for you?"
"Excuse me," interrupted Mike before the man opened his mouth to reply, "but do you have authorization to be here?"
"Er... yes," nodded the man, "I think so, yes. Who are you?" He started searching his pockets – his hands were full of weirdest things (also it was noticeably more things that one could think can get into the pockets), like colourful candies and a quill, some more parchment, a mirror, bottle of ink...
"Mike Stamford. The Head of this Department." Mike glared at the man and tapped his foot impatiently. "I need to ask you to leave if you don't have the authorization."
"No, no... I have it," said the man distractedly. "Aha!" he shouted in triumph and took out a slightly crumpled piece of paper (...not a parchment this time! – an afterthought – volunteered to go here despite not being used to this – eyes darting around – curiosity – never seen a mortuary before...), handing it to Mike. "I am sorry, I was not expecting so many people, you see... umm is it always so... crowded?"
"It seems to be all right," murmured Mike, obviously disappointed he could not throw him out now. "Okay," he handed the paper back. "Well, I shall be going upstairs. Please keep me updated about the situation." And with those parting words (and a parting glare at the intruder) he left.
John meanwhile answered the man's question, "Usually there is no one here; well, except for the pathologist, obviously... but we were just in the middle of some research right now... and it needed a broader audience."
"Yes," added Sherlock, "so state your business, quickly would be preferable, and leave."
The man blinked at the detective.
"Well, how can I help you?" asked Molly again before the man decided to tell Sherlock to sod off.
"Right," he focused his attention back on her. "I was told there was a body of –" he again glanced at the parchment that had Molly's name on it – "Charles Augustus Milverton here. Is that correct?"
Molly's eyes widened. "He is here," she nodded slowly.
"Can I see him?" asked the man patiently.
"Well, of course," said Molly hesitantly. She gestured at the body they were all huddled around. "This is Charles Augustus Milverton."
John and Lestrade narrowed their eyes and were watching the man. Why was he here? The Inspector had his suspicion, but decided not to say anything yet.
Sherlock made a grimace and blurted out, "That is Charles Augustus Milverton?! Why didn't anyone bother to tell me?"
That halted all movement and all eyes snapped to the consulting detective.
"You know him?" asked Lestrade.
"Obviously," snapped Sherlock. "You mean you don't?"
"You didn't recognize him though," said the Inspector defensively.
"I never met him," replied Sherlock. "But surely you've heard about him. Professional blackmailer. No one was quite as good as him. He had no mercy. Once he got his clutches on someone's secret he waited for the most opportune moment, sometimes even for years – until he was sure the blow would make the person crumble. Then he either drained them until there was nothing left, or he let the secret out, but the result was always the same. When he finished, his victim was utterly destroyed. It was not unusual of them to commit suicide at that point. Of course, no one ever went to police, for they were either threatened or not exactly innocent citizens themselves, so that might be blamed, instead of your usual incompetence, Lestrade. But I must say that I am surprised it took so long for him to be found dead, with the line of work he had." But here Sherlock was at loss... people like Milverton didn't die a natural death (not that there was anything natural about this)... but how was it done?
"God..." muttered John horrified.
"A blackmailer you say?" asked the red-headed man with interest. "Do you know anything else about him?"
"Why should I tell you?" asked Sherlock scathingly.
"Who are you anyway?" asked Molly. "You didn't even introduce yourself."
"Oh, right," the man's ears reddened in embarrassment. "I guess I forgot. I'm Ronald Weasley and –" then his eyes fell on the uncovered body of Milverton – "BLIMEY!" he shouted, eyes wide as saucers. "What happened to him?"
All the eyes fell on the dead man. There was absolutely nothing out of ordinary... well, except for the fact that the man should not be dead. They were all puzzled. Did Weasley see something they all (even Sherlock!) missed?
"Bloody hell!" cursed the red-head. "I thought he was... we must have been misinformed. I guess the cause of death is obvious, right?"
"It is?" asked Molly baffled.
"Well, yes," he gestured at the body wildly. "If that wouldn't cause the death, then I don't know what would."
They all blinked at the body again.
John hazarded a guess, "Are you talking about the... Y section?"
"Call it whatever you like," said Weasley still eyeing the cadaver.
"That was done... post mortem," said Molly slowly. Who doesn't know this? He was in the morgue for God's sake.
The man seemed startled. "You mean it was done here?" his voice was slightly high-pitched. "You actually cut dead people in Mu- here?" His hand went through his hair. "Blimey," he said again. "And I thought I could handle this without a hitch, having Hermione and all that. Thought I knew enough about... well... stuff. But obviously, we never discussed... this."
"Who exactly are you?" asked Sherlock.
"Ron Weasley, as I said. I am with the..."
"Auror Department," interjected Lestrade.
"Yeah," nodded Weasley. "How do you know?"
"It's always someone from Auror Department that comes in cases like this," he said.
"Cases like this?" echoed the red-head.
"Yes," replied the Inspector. "When there are bodies, that shouldn't be bodies at all according to medical findings. They come to ask questions; sometimes they take the body as well."
"Er," started the man, "yes, well... yeah, among other things, we investigate those too." Now he addressed to everyone, especially Sherlock who seemed to have known about the man, "I would appreciate your cooperation. I just need details about the man. I promise not to bother you for long." He turned to Molly, "Doctor Hooper, may I talk to you first? I understand that you were the doctor responsible for examining the dead?" he sneaked another quick uneasy glance at the body, but managed to smile charmingly at the pathologist.
As they were preoccupied, the remaining three men grouped together.
"The hell is Auror Department?" whispered John.
Lestrade shrugged hopelessly and tried to explain in equally quiet voice, "It's all very hush-hush. Most people never even hear about it. They are involved in some things, like accidents or maybe gas leaks, but we all –" he gestured at his companions and himself – "know what that means. Not all though, just selected ones – like they were never involved in the Moriarty bombing business for example, and we know that it was top priority at that moment. Then there are of course those mysterious deaths popping occasionally. They are definitely not Yarders, but I can say that they are some kind of official investigators, but for whom they work and where they came from, I have no idea."
Meanwhile the man obviously finished with Molly, because he beckoned the Inspector to his corner. They didn't talk for long, but enough for Molly to recount their conversation to John and Sherlock. "He didn't ask about the autopsy at all, would you believe that? All he wanted to know was how he can find out who came into contact with the man since his death, as he would need their statements too. Then he asked if I knew about the man's business at all. When I said no, he dismissed me."
The Inspector returned. It was Sherlock's turn now. That however took even less time. The man opened his mouth to ask something, when Sherlock in a clear voice for everyone to hear said, "Your wife is not happy about you working right now, she argued with you about it, but you dismissed it and went back right after injury, but took something considered an 'easy job' to appease her. Being here clearly makes you uncomfortable and you lack common knowledge, which makes you either extremely idiotic or totally obvious. Yet you're giving off an aura of professional, no matter how incompetent, so you don't consider yourself stupid, but then not a single idiot does, Anderson can attest to that..."
The man's ears reddened and he was glaring at Sherlock. His right hand twitched, but soon he controlled himself. "What in the bloody hell!" he took a deep breath... and another one. "Right," he said through the clenched teeth. "Well, I think I am finished here anyway. If you will excuse me..." With that he turned away from them (from behind, his neck was as dangerously red as his ears), and left without another word.