On the Pull

The biggest advantage of working for the Muggle Interface Team is the fact that, unlike the rest of the Auror Service, we always work the day shift. There is a downside of course; we're on call twenty-four hours a day.

I finished work at five and went to do my duty. After allowing my mother to feed me and fuss over me, I tried to look interested as she told me how well my kid brother was doing, and what a good and clever boy he was.

It took me longer than I'd hoped to escape from my mother's clutches. When I finally freed myself, I Flooed straight back to the Ministry. I had no intention of going into the office, but the Ministry building was in central London and was a great place from which to enter the Muggle world.

I was due four days off work and, as I'd already seen my mother, that meant four days to myself. It was time to look for some fun.

When I left the Ministry and strolled down onto the Strand, I was wearing my best, and most fashionable, casual Muggle clothes. I slowly made my way towards Trafalgar Square, stopping in every pub to check out the talent. It was about ten o'clock in the evening, and I was stone cold sober. Walking into a raucous pub when you haven't been drinking is always an interesting experience.

The Princess of Wales wasn't full, and most of the clientele were middle-aged commuters finally ready to make their way home after a few drinks too many. A blousy woman in her forties seemed to be very interested in me. I gave her a few minutes of my time, but she stank of booze, cheap perfume, and desperation, so I made my excuses and left. My next stop was the Sherlock Holmes. The place was packed, mostly with tourists, and not all of them were couples. It was much noisier than the Princess of Wales; there was standing room only in the bar.

'Gomen'nasai,' I told the pretty little Japanese girl whose arm I'd "accidentally" nudged as I made my way to the bar.

She had her back to me, and she began her reply in rapid Japanese before turning to look at me. The moment she did, she found herself facing my chest. Her jaw dropped, she stopped talking and she stared up. As she looked up into my face in surprise, I smiled.

'Kon'nichiwa,' I said as politely as I could. I had to speak loudly in order to be heard over the noise of the crowded pub. The three girls she was with chattered and giggled in their native tongue. 'I've now almost exhausted my knowledge of Japanese,' I admitted. 'I spilled your drink, I'm sorry. Can I buy you another? What are you drinking?'

I tell people that I'm a polyglot. It isn't true, of course, but I can say "I'm sorry" and "Hello" in fifteen different languages. It's a great help as an icebreaker when wandering the bars and clubs of central London.

The girl whose drink I'd spilled was called Fuyumi, and her friends were Aki, Chihiro, and Hoshi. Within minutes I'd impressed them by the way I'd not only managed to get served at the bar, but also found a few seats for them. We were clustered around the tiny, drink-laden table, and I was attempting to persuade them all to try the extra pint of beer—Courage Director's Bitter—I'd bought for them.

'You're in England,' I told them, holding up the pint I'd bought. 'You should try the beer!' They did, and they photographed each other doing it. Only Hoshi took more than a single sip.

Half an hour later we were discussing the sights of London. By then I was focusing my attention on Hoshi. Of the four, she was the one most interested in me. She wore glasses, and wasn't the best-looking of the quartet—that was Chihiro—but Hoshi had a decent pair of boobs, and she was hanging on my every word.

After discovering that the quartet had four more days in London, I suggested that they visit Camden Town. I even offered to act as Hoshi's personal guide to that part of London. That suggestion created a lot more giggles and chatter. Hoshi was trying to formulate a reply, which I was expecting to be a polite refusal, when the Mirrorphone in my pocket sounded. The phone's piercing wail was followed by a loud, staccato drumbeat. That meant only one thing, another opportunity to impress them.

'Duty calls,' I told the girls as I pulled the Mirrorphone from my pocket and looked down into it. 'Agent Cresswell,' I said, emphasising the first word and once again making the girls chatter excitedly in Japanese.

'The Muggle Interface Team protocols have been activated, Auror Cresswell,' I was told. 'Please go immediately to the Ministry car park.'

'On my way,' I said.

I replaced the Mirrorphone in my pocket and held out my hand to Hoshi. She took it with an eagerness that indicated she'd likely been going to accept my offer. Instead of shaking her hand as she expected, I bowed, lifted it to my lips, and kissed it. This caused more consternation among her companions. Despite their giggles Aki, whose phone never left her hand, was quick enough to take a photo. After releasing Hoshi's hand, I pulled a card containing my name and phone number from my pocket.

'It has been a real pleasure, ladies,' I told them as I bowed politely to them all. As her friends giggled, I handed Hoshi the card, 'If you want to see the real sights, if you want a good time, Hoshi, phone me tomorrow. Sayōnara.'

Turning on my heels, I walked quickly from the crowded bar. Making my way into the toilets, I found an empty cubicle, it was empty for a reason. Trying to ignore the smell, I held the door closed while I Disapparated. I didn't lock it, I'm not that cruel to my fellow man, although it might have been a mercy.

I arrived in the Ministry car park just in time to see little Den Creevey climbing into the front passenger seat of the Range Rover. I opened the rear door and climbed in behind him. Detective Chief Inspector Wood was, as I expected, already in the driver's seat. The moment I closed the door, we pulled out from the parking space.

'Where are we going, Bobbie?' Dennis asked as we drove towards the exit.

'West End, the New Music Theatre,' she said. 'The police have found half of a body in a dressing room. It seems that the room was locked from the inside: there are no windows and the corridor was occupied.'

'D'you reckon the killer Apparated into the room?' I asked, leaning forward.

'Half a body?' Dennis asked at the same moment. 'Left, right, top, or bottom?'

'Possibly,' Bobbie told me. 'Bottom half,' she said to Dennis. 'No head, torso, or arms. All we have are the legs and the lower abdomen. Have you been drinking, Stan?' she added.

'I'm not drunk. I bought myself a pint, but I only managed to drink half of it before the call came through,' I told her as I pulled a Toothflossing Stringmint from my pocket.

Bobbie turned on the car's siren and blue lights, and we pulled out onto the Strand. Thanks to the sirens, the London traffic parted for us, and we sped rapidly towards our destination. It took only a matter of minutes for us to reach the theatre. I'd barely had time to pull my uniform out from my Auror wallet and get changed when Bobbie pulled the car to a halt. The crime scene was, as always, crawling with Muggle police. As we pulled up, my Mirrorphone tinkled. I quickly read the message: "Call me tomorrow, Hoshi."

I touched the Mirrorphone and said, 'Save contact.'

'I've scored,' I told Dennis as we alighted. I was feeling pleased with myself, but he gave me a dismissive shrug.

For the first time since my original mission, when I was a wet-behind-the-ears trainee Auror, Bobbie Wood was recognised. The moment we closed our doors, one of the uniformed police officers, a round-faced and short-haired woman, yelled a greeting.

'Bobbie Beadle, as I live and breathe,' the woman shouted. 'How long have you been a ghost buster?'

'Sam Shetty,' Bobbie said. 'Long time no see! How are you? When did you make sergeant?'

Den and I walked around the car and fell in behind Bobbie. She strolled up the alley and ducked under the police tape. As we approached the scene, Den kept his hand in his coat pocket. I had no doubt that he was holding his wand. From the way he was looking around I suspected that he was checking to see if there was anyone invisible or Disillusioned in the area. It was unlikely, because my sneakoscope was silent. Dennis tends to be over-cautious.

'A couple of years ago,' the sergeant said.

'Good to see you, Sam,' Bobbie said. 'Time flies. It's been what, more than five years?'

'Closer to ten,' the woman said.

'Really? Where have the years gone?' asked Bobbie. 'This is Den Creevey,' she indicated Dennis, 'and Stan Cresswell.' She pointed at me. 'They're from the Auror Service.'

'Told you,' the woman said to her pale-faced young colleague. She'd heard of us, and she was looking at us with unbridled curiosity.

'These days, I'm Bobbie Wood,' Bobbie continued. As we approached the two coppers, she raised her left hand and showed the sergeant her rings. 'Married, two kids! And I'm a DCI, believe it or not.' She pulled out her police warrant card and showed it to the sergeant.

'Detective Chief Inspector! In SO15?' the sergeant said, obviously surprised. 'Sorry, ma'am, I didn't know. But, what the hell has this job got to do with Counter Terrorism Command?'

'Just call me Bobbie, Sam,' she said. 'I'm the Auror Service Liaison Officer, and these boys don't hold much on ceremony. Before we go in and annoy whoever's in charge, what can you tell us? Who was the first officer on the scene?'

'Me and probationary PC Pinner here.' the sergeant said, jerking a thumb towards her colleague.

'Excellent,' Bobbie said. 'Where's the crime scene? Were there any witnesses?'

'The crime scene is just through that fire door,' Sam told her. 'The theatre staff and the actors are all inside, so is the guy who found the body. Pinner took a brief statement from him, but the cheap suits brigade took over when they arrived. DCI Bradstreet from SCD1 is the man in charge now; I don't know him.'

'Neither do I,' admitted Bobbie. She went on to translate the police jargon for us. 'Specialist Crime Directorate, eh? Sounds about right. What else can you tell me, Sam?'

'I spoke to a stagehand, Alf Jackson,' the sergeant told her. 'He was in the corridor when the other man, Davey Drury, kicked in the door. Mr Jackson confirmed that the door was locked from the inside. Mr Drury was Tommy Harris's—Harris is the victim—where was I?—Drury was his chauffeur and minder. He told Alf Jackson that he was worried because he knew that Harris was in the room, but wasn't answering. When they kicked in the door, they found the bottom half of a man's body. He'd been neatly sliced in two, but there was no sign of the top half. That's all I got from Jackson before CID took over. Did you get anything out of Drury, Kevin?' she asked her colleague.

The pale-faced PC pulled out his notes. 'He told me that he wasn't simply a chauffeur, he claimed that he was Harris's boyfriend. Said he was in the corridor when he heard voices in the changing room. Reckoned that Tommy Harris was talking to a woman, although he couldn't hear what they were saying. He claimed that Tommy shouted, and then someone dropped something, and everything went quiet. Drury said that he knocked, but got no answer, and Alf Jackson arrived to see what all the noise was about. That was when Mr Drury kicked in the door and found the body.'

'Do you think they cooked up the story between them?' Bobbie asked.

The sergeant shrugged. 'We questioned them separately,' she said. 'And I don't know why they would make it up. They didn't appear know each other. Jackson called Drury "that bald bloke"; he didn't even seem to know his name.'

'Drury called Jackson "the stagehand", Sarge,' added Pinner thoughtfully.

'Has the victim been identified?' Bobbie asked. 'Are you sure it's this Tommy Harris?'

'Yes, er, no,' Pinner said.

'I don't see how it can be anyone else, unless Drury is lying,' said the rather butch-looking sergeant.

'Locked room, and only half of the body. Despite the fact that voices, plural, were heard in the room?' Bobbie asked.

Both Pinner and the sergeant nodded. 'Perhaps he had his phone on speaker,' Pinner suggested.

'And then what?' the sergeant asked. 'She sent something down his phone that made the top half of him vanish?'

'You said someone dropped something. What, exactly, was the noise he heard?' Bobbie asked.

Pinner once again referred to his notes. 'He heard a bang, as if someone had dropped something, or perhaps knocked over a chair,' he read.

'Unless this man Drury killed his boss, somehow locked the door, and then came up with an unbelievable story that doesn't even give him a decent alibi, this certainly sounds like a job for us,' Bobbie told the sergeant. She turned to Dennis. 'Den,' she ordered. 'Call the office. We'll need a photographer, forensics, and a medic. Once you've done that, go and talk to the SIO, you said it's DCI Bradstreet?' Bobbie addressed the question to Sergeant Shetty, who nodded. 'See if you can speak to the witness, Drury, too. You know the drill, Den.' Dennis nodded, and scurried off.

Bobbie then turned to me. 'Stan, take a gander at the crime scene, talk to SOCO. See what they've discovered so far.'

'Okay.' Nodding, I left her talking shop with the two coppers.

I walked through the fire door into the distinctly dingy corridor. I was only yards from the open door when a young woman in a smart grey suit turned the corner at its opposite end. When she saw me, she strode rapidly down the corridor, obviously determined not to let me reach the crime scene before she did. She was tall—only a couple of inches shorter than me—dark and slim, and she had a puffball of curly black hair. I slowed, allowing her to reach the open door a fraction before I did. We stared into the crime scene together.

The room was small and crowded. In addition to the half a body I was expecting, it contained four Muggle forensics people in their white one-piece suits. I noticed that the door to the room had a star on it. I'd always assumed that the star on the door was a myth—apparently not. There were flowers, too. A huge bouquet was propped up next to the mirror.

'Who the hell are you?' the woman asked.

'The name's Cresswell, Stan Cresswell,' I said coolly, giving her my most enigmatic smile. 'I'm with the Auror Service, you won't have heard of us, we're top secret. If you like, you can call me Stan. And you are?'

'Detective Constable Smith,' she told me firmly. I was certain that her expression of distaste was simply there to hide a smile. 'You can call me DC Smith, and don't kid yourself, you're no Bond.'

'Dee-see, what a lovely name,' I told her. Continuing to scowl, she turned away from me and looked into the room.

'Any preliminary conclusions?' she asked one of the white-suited individuals, a tall, thin man. All four were watching us. Both DC Smith and I realised that they had stopped working to listen to our banter.

'Disintegration Ray,' he said, looking at me. 'It looks like everything above his waist simply vanished.'

'Chopped in two, and the top half carried from the room?' DC Smith suggested.

'I'd say yes, except there is no blood trail between here and the door,' the man said. 'And I can't see how you could move the top half of a body without leaving a blood trail. I wasn't joking when I said "Disintegration Ray". Nothing else explains the lack of blood spatter, or the way the blood is pooling around the waist where the remains fell. It's a clean cut; straight through flesh, bones, and organs. I've never seen anything like it, and I've no idea how it happened. It's odd.'

'Odd?' DC Smith said. 'It's bizarre!'

'And that's why I'm here,' I said.

'Smart arse,' DC Smith said.

'You aren't the first woman to tell me that,' I said. 'Yours isn't bad either, Dee-see. Pert, I'd call it.'

She kept up her scowl, and even swore at me, but I could see through her, so I ignored it.

'Is that fan mail?' I asked, pointing at the half-dozen envelopes on the make-up table.

'I'll take a look,' Smith said. She pulled on a pair of those blue plastic gloves the Muggle police use and held out her hand.

While she was distracted, I pulled open my coat and peered into my pocket. My Dark Detector wasn't registering anything, and my Sneakoscope remained silent. Grabbing my wand, and keeping it concealed inside my coat, I checked for recent magic. There were lingering traces of an Apparition, and a Disapparition, but nothing else. When I looked up, DC Smith was rifling through the letters.

'I'll need copies of those,' I told her.

'You won't get them,' she said firmly.

She was looking still looking angrily at me, but I knew she'd come around. The smell of blood was probably unnerving her, it was affecting me, too.

'We will,' Den said, appearing behind her. 'I've just cleared it with your boss.'

'And here are our experts,' I said.

Dopey Donny Dunbar strolled along the corridor. He was carrying his camera, already on its tripod. Dumpy little Anne White was with him, and so was Healer Skoll. The Healer saw me and glared. After her daughter, Amber, and I had—very amicably, I thought—split up, Healer Skoll told me, "I forgive, but I never forget." It seemed to me that she'd been lying about the forgiveness.

'Need any help with the witnesses, Den?' I asked.

'Yes, but you're going elsewhere,' he said. He turned to DC Smith. 'You're Tallulah Smith, right?' he asked.

She nodded.

'We've got an address for the likely victim, Mr Harris,' Dennis told her. 'DCI Bradstreet has sent uniforms to the address, but he wants you to go and check the place out. You can take Stan with you.'

She opened her mouth to protest, but Den cut her off. 'I've already agreed it with your boss, sorry,' he told her.

'Looks like we're stuck with each other, Tallulah,' I told her. 'Look on the bright side; at least it gets us both away from the smell of this butcher's shop.' I pointed at the star on the door. 'What do you think the headlines will say tomorrow, "A Star is Torn"?'

It turned out that black humour was her weakness. She finally cracked a smile. It was a nice smile, too.