On the Case

'Fancies himself, doesn't he?' Sam said to me as she watched Stan Cresswell stroll confidently into the theatre.

'He's young, he's fit, and he knows it,' I told her. 'But he's not your type, is he? He's not even the right gender.' The probationer standing next to her tried not to look surprised.

Sam noticed, tilted her head towards her colleague, and laughed. 'I told Pinner that my partner's called Toni. He didn't catch on,' she said. 'Same thing happens when Toni tells people my name. So you're married? Let me guess: he's tall, broad-shouldered, and a fitness freak.'

'Professional Keeper,' I told her the truth, and let her assume I was talking about football. 'He's called Ollie, and he's a Scot.'

I pulled out my phone and showed Sam some photos of my husband and sons. She made the appropriate congratulatory noises.

'You're looking well, Bobbie,' Sam told me.

'Thanks, so are you.'

'So what, exactly, does this Auror Service of yours do?' she asked.

'They're definitely not mine! Officially, they're a division of the Security Service. They work with us, with SO15,' I said.

'Unofficially?' she asked.

'I'm sure you've heard the rumours, Sam. We get called in to look at the weird stuff. Locked rooms, impossible crimes, that's our speciality,' I admitted.

'Ghosts and vampires?' she asked.

'I've never seen a ghost,' I told her honestly.

What I was thinking, but didn't say, was: A tiny fraction of a percent of Muggles can see ghosts, and I'm not one of them. I didn't mention vampires, because I've worked alongside one on many occasions. Instead I looked honestly into Sam's face. 'I've never investigated a crime where a ghost was responsible,' I told her truthfully, 'although we were involved in that "Werewolf" case in Yorkshire a few years ago and the "Whitby vampire" case a few years before that.'

'That wasn't a real werewolf, or a real vampire,' said Sam dismissively.

She was only fifty percent correct, but I didn't tell her that. Instead, I laughed. 'A real werewolf! Is that what people think we're looking for?' I asked. 'It might be cool to carry a gun that fires silver bullets, but I don't. I've been in this job for years, and we've had a hand in arresting several killers, but none of them have been ghosts, or werewolves. Or Martians for that matter! Despite the coats, we aren't the Men in Black.'

Sam looked into my eyes, trying to determine whether I was lying. I was grateful that she hadn't mentioned witches or wizards. I wasn't lying, although I was skating across the thin ice of a near-truth. I couldn't tell her that ghosts, vampires, and werewolves exist. It was my job to make sure she didn't find out. Sam—like me—was a Muggle; unlike her, however, I knew the truth. It was my job to make sure that, for her and the others, the monsters stayed hidden under the bed.

Sam stared thoughtfully at me. I thought that she was going to continue to question me, but she was distracted by something going on over my shoulder. 'Yours?' she asked.

I turned to see Forensic Magic Specialist Anne White, Imager Don Dunbar, and Healer Dacia Skoll approaching. 'Yes,' I told Sam, 'SOCO, photographer, and pathologist.' I turned my attention to the trio. 'Evening all, the crime scene is just down the corridor. Stan is there.'

'Is he,' Dacia said grimly.

Sam noted the hostility in Dacia's voice and raised an enquiring eyebrow. I waited for the trio to enter the building before speaking. 'Stan and Dacia's daughter,' I said. 'It ended very badly, almost a year ago. Amber is over it, but Dacia has a very long memory. She claims all is forgiven, but it seems she hasn't forgotten.'

'Very few of us do,' Sam observed.

I shrugged. 'Thanks for the information, Sam. Let's try to keep in touch. I could meet you for a coffee sometime, and we could catch up on the gossip.'

'Yeah, why not?' agreed Sam. 'You hear what happened to old Abberline?'

'No,and now I definitely want to catch up, but now I need to speak to the SIO. Here!' I handed her my card. 'You can reach me on that mobile number at any time,' I told her. 'I hope Dennis has prepared DCI Bradstreet for us, I don't want to fall out with him.'

It was almost three am when I crept quietly across the bedroom. As I slid under the duvet, I disturbed my husband.

'Late night call,' Ollie mumbled.

'First in a very long time,' I reminded him. 'I peeped in to see the boys; they're both fast asleep. Thanks.'

'So was I,' he whispered. 'They haven't stirred since we put them to bed.'

He rolled over, kissed my cheek, hugged me, and immediately drifted off to sleep. As I lay there, his arm a comforting weight across my waist, I stared at the ceiling, wondered what we were dealing with this time. I also tried to figure out how to deal with the changes in the team. The Muggle Interface Team wasn't the same without Susan, and Lavender was taking a long holiday.

I needed to do something about Dacia's continued hostility towards Stan, too. It could have led to an unprofessional argument at the crime scene. It was fortunate that Dennis was aware of the problem. He'd taken care of it by arranging for Stan, and a fierce and keen as mustard young DC called Tallulah Smith, to go and check out Tommy Harris's home address.

Dennis was extremely capable and, as I lay on my back looking at the bedroom ceiling, I once again wondered whether I was still needed. He'd been placed in charge while I'd been on maternity leave, and he'd done a very good job. While I'd been talking to Sam, Dennis had worked his magic—the magic of his personality, not his actual magic—on the police. His combination of politeness, deference, and respect in the face of mistrust had worked. He'd impressed DCI Bradstreet. By the time I went to speak to Bradstreet, Dennis had already persuaded him to e-mail us copies of the witness statements his officers were taking.

We cleared SOCO from the scene for a few minutes to allow Dacia, Anne, and Don to do their jobs. Afterwards, Dacia wanted to take the remains back to the Auror Service for further tests. That had been one request too many for DCI Bradstreet. He'd objected vociferously.

It took all our powers of persuasion, but eventually Dennis and I convinced him to agree to allow us to take the lower torso and legs away from the scene. We'd had to include Dacia in our discussions. When she promised that she would work overnight, send him a copy of her report, and ensure the remains were sent to the Coroner's mortuary before dawn, he finally acquiesced.

Bradstreet knew that he wouldn't even get the official post-mortem started until later that day and the prospect of an early report was enough to tip the balance in our favour. All in all, I thought, it had been a successful start to our investigation. We had managed to carry out the work we needed to do without alienating the police. Bradstreet hadn't even objected when, after a call from Stan, we sent Anne and Don across to check out the victim's flat.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I heard was a cry from one of the boys. It was seven a.m., and I was tired and slow. Ollie moved first, so I rolled over onto my side and left him to it. The next time I opened my eyes it was almost ten, and I could hear Ollie and the boys beneath me in the living room.

'Morning,' I shouted down the stairs. 'I'm awake, and I'm going for a shower.'

By the time I finally got downstairs, Ollie had made me breakfast. I fussed over the boys and, as I ate my muesli and yoghurt and drank my tea, I watched "Show Me Show Me" on CBeebies with them. They were still watching telly as I prepared to leave. It was a gloriously sunny day, and Ollie promised that he'd take the kids to the park once I'd gone.

'Do you want to tell me what you're dealing with?' Ollie asked.

I rapidly explained what we'd been called to. 'We're fairly confident that someone Apparated into Mr Harris's locked dressing room, and then Disapparated out, leaving the bottom half of a body behind,' I concluded. 'There are still a lot of questions to answer. Hopefully Dennis will have copies of the witness statements. I'm sure he'll be in the office by now. I'll phone you when I know what's happening. But I will be home before the boys' bedtime, I promise. Cheerio.'

As I turned to leave, Ollie lifted the boys into his arms. He followed me through the kitchen and out into the garage. They watched in silence as I unlocked the car.

'Bye, Ollie, bye-bye boys. You be good for Daddy while I'm at work,' I ordered.

'Bye-bye, Mummy,' Ollie answered on their behalf.

I kissed my husband and sons, then climbed into the Range Rover. Reaching across to the passenger side, I dropped my Muggle mobile phone in the shielded glove box before the car's magic rendered it useless. Ollie had stepped back. He stood in the door and was encouraging the boys to wave to me. I strapped myself in, waved goodbye to my family, and used my Mirrorphone to call the Portkey Office for a remote activation. After a few moments, the Portkey Office did their job; there was a flash of blue light and an instant later I was in my parking space in the Ministry car park. Unlike my arrival the previous evening, I didn't simply sit and wait for my colleagues. Unbuckling my belt, I picked up my Mirrorphone, crossed the street, and entered the Ministry.

hr

Harry's secretary, Martha, looked up when I entered the Auror office. She inclined her head to the glass box behind her. I looked over and saw that Harry was in his office. My boss, the Director of Auror Services, had only recently returned from the Quidditch World Cup in Patagonia. He was buried in a backlog of paperwork.

'I have to let him know the moment you arrive,' Martha warned me.

I nodded. Harry would want an update. It was no surprise to me; I'd been working with him for more than a dozen years. He was always very interested in any case where it appeared that a Muggle had died at magical hands, and they were the cases we dealt with. Unfortunately, I had nothing concrete to tell him.

There was no sign of either Dennis or Stan in the main Auror office, so I pushed open the frosted glass door marked "Auror Forensic Unit & Muggle Liaison Officer" and entered the corridor from where I, and the rest of Harry's "Support Staff", worked.

My office, the office of the "Muggle Liaison Officer", was first on the left. After hanging up my hex-proof coat, and admiring the view from my windows, I checked my in-tray.

Windows fill two sides of my office, they look out over London from the thirtieth floor of the Shard. My office isn't in the Shard. It's off the Strand, about two miles away, and it's underground. The view has been magically borrowed, I've no idea how it's done, but I like a light and airy office, so that's what the Ministry provided for me.

Sitting at my chrome and glass desk, I checked through my in-tray, hoping that it would contain something useful. At the top was a neatly handwritten memorandum. The memo was embossed with the DMLE: Auror Service stamp. The crossed wand symbol next to it, and the initials FMU, showed that the memo was from the Auror Service Forensic Magic Unit, and therefore from Anne White.

Anne's message was, like Anne herself, short and to the point; it was an easy decision for me to read it first.

AOFMU/FMU#1/MIT: 0608 AJW1

Bobbie,

The theatre shows the residual effects of magic. I have confirmed only that someone Apparated into and Disapparated out from the room. If there were any other spells used, then they have been extremely well camouflaged. In my opinion it's extremely unlikely that any other spells were used. I can't be 100% certain of course, only about 99.9%. The victim's flat shows no signs of any magic at all.

Preliminary conclusion: Either, the killer used a very sharp blade and then Disapparated with the upper half of the body; or, this is a fatal Splinching. That last doesn't rule out murder, but deliberately Splinching someone isn't easy.

Anne

I placed the memo in my pending tray and examined the next item. It was a manila envelope also marked DMLE: Auror Service and labelled with the same case reference, MIT: 0608, as Anne's.

Dennis had obviously created the case file for me. Six hundred and eight! I could remember case zero-zero-zero-one. I'd dealt with most of them, some so small that they didn't even register with the Muggles, some so big that they'd made the national news. If I could still remember the case reference, it had been a big one. Forty—that was the first time I witnessed a curse-death. One-twenty-two—the vampire. Three-seventy-one—the "werewolf".

Realising that I was daydreaming, I brought myself back to the present and opened the file Dennis had left for me. It was marked "Evidence". A memo from Den was attached to the front. His note wasn't much longer than Anne's.

MIT: 0608 DC1

Bobbie

Take a look at these letters. The police have the originals. These are the Geminio copies that Stan made. The envelope, however, is the original. I think we should check this out. The latest letter, the only one still in its envelope, was found at the crime scene. Stan found the other five at Mr Harris's apartment. They're all in the same hand, from the same person.

The parchment is interesting. It's manufactured by Plume et Encre, in Paris, and so is the envelope. From the witness statements, it seems that the letters were delivered to the victim's changing room at the theatre, but no one saw who delivered them.

According to Stan, DC Smith was very interested in these letters, too. It's possible that the Met have already contacted Interpol. I've alerted the Bureau de la Justice Magique in Paris, and suggested that they may want to involve their Bureau des Aurors. I've also asked them to check up on French witches named Éloïse, but I'm not sure that will get us very far.

Dennis

I looked through the folder. It contained six letters.

The parchment was obviously expensive. Each perfumed, pale pink, A5 rectangle was bordered by two intertwined stems. Rose thorns crept along the bottom and up both sides; two blood red roses met at the top. Every letter was on the same parchment, all began "mon chéri Tommy", and they were signed "votre fille Éloïse". Even the most cursory of glances showed that the writer was—in good, but not perfect, English—baring her heart to a man she didn't know, and that she was professing her undying love to Tommy. The only envelope, which was also pink and bordered with thorns and roses, had the tell-tale imprint of an owl's beak. It was obvious, even to me, because Dennis had magically highlighted it.

I sighed.

The final item in my tray was a hefty-looking document. The green caduceus—and the words Auror Service Emergency Healer Team—meant I was facing another epic Healer's report.

Dacia Skoll had, as usual, gone into an enormous amount of detail; I expected nothing else. Her reports were always comprehensive, sometimes to the point of being incomprehensible to a lay-person like me. This one was certainly long and complex. I flicked through the first few pages, which carefully detailed every severed bone, muscle, vein, and organ, and realised that it would be a very long read. Fortunately, like Dennis, she had scribbled a short note, which she had pinned inside the cover.

Bobbie,

It's 06:30, and I'm going home to bed.

The Muggle police now have the remains and a copy of the edited (Muggle-friendly) version of my report (which is also appendix B of this report). It tells them nothing but the blatantly obvious: Death was a result of catastrophic exsanguination caused by the sudden severing of the torso. I have no doubt that the top half of the remains (wherever they are) cannot possibly be alive. The cut line through the abdomen is straight and clean. Death would have been instantaneous.

The victim is definitely Tommy Harris. The hair samples Anne took from both the changing room in the theatre and his home match the blood from the remains. This looks very much like a death by Splinching. I can't rule out a cutting charm until I carry out more tests. However, I believe that if he'd been cut in half by a spell there would be a lot more blood at the scene. Anne may have more for you.

If you need anything more from me, call. Otherwise, I'll check in at 16:00 to make sure everything is satisfactory.

Dacia

'Damn,' I said loudly.

Harry chose that exact moment to walk through my door. It was the first time I'd seen him in a year, but he hadn't changed. He'd unfastened the top button of his white shirt and, consequently, his grey-check tie was slightly askew. He'd also discarded the jacket of his charcoal grey suit and, although all five buttons of his collared waistcoat were neatly buttoned, the off-centre tie was enough to make him look slightly dishevelled. I'd known him for years. It was a gift he had. Almost tidy was the best he could ever achieve.

'Are you okay, Bobbie?' he asked. 'It must be difficult, coming back from maternity leave and jumping straight into a case.'

'I'm fine, although I'm certainly not used to the hours,' I admitted. 'I miss Susan. I even miss Lavender, but that'll probably change when she gets back.' Harry smiled. 'I'll get back into the swing of things soon enough. How was the World Cup? Ollie wanted to go, but he was needed at Puddlemere. He was really jealous.'

'It was great. We saw some brilliant games,' said Harry. 'Although why the Prophet thought it was a good idea to stick Ginny and Rita in the same commentary box for the final, I have no idea.' He gave a rueful grin. 'Instead of concentrating on watching the game I spent half of the game worrying about what was happening in the press box. I know that "Head Auror's wife murders gossip columnist" is a headline Rita would love to write. But she wouldn't want it as her epitaph.'

'So the newspaper reports were true, Ginny hexed her?' I asked.

'Yes,' Harry admitted. 'Rita deserved it. She'd been making ridiculous comments about me, Ginny, and the Weasleys for days. And then she decided to pick on Neville, Hannah, and the others. I think her comments about Luna and the twins were the final straw. Fortunately, a disagreement between two Daily Prophet reporters in a foreign country is something for the Prophet to deal with.' He stopped and looked serious. Waving his hand, he brushed the small talk aside. 'Are you dealing with a magical murder, Bobbie? Do I need to allocate more Aurors to this case?'

'I don't think so,' I told him. 'I've got Dacia's report here, if you want to read it,' I added, lifting her report for him to see.

He looked at the thick file I was waving at him and smiled. 'Not really,' he admitted. 'Summary?'

'I haven't been in the office long enough to read it all myself,' I admitted. 'It's looking very much like a death by Splinching.' I shuddered at the thought. 'I never liked being taken anywhere by Side-along, I puked every time.' I admitted. 'The inbuilt Portkey in the car is smoother and, apparently, foolproof. There's a chance that the Splinching could have been deliberate. We'll need to find whoever did it, but...' I shrugged.

Harry nodded sympathetically. 'Any problems with the local police?' he asked.

I shook my head. 'No, I knew one of the uniforms from my old days at Kensington and Chelsea. Sam Shetty—she was helpful. We lost touch several years ago. Sam's based in City of Westminster now, she was first on scene. Dennis managed to persuade the man in charge, Bradstreet, to let us work with him. I think it would be a good idea to pass on our thanks to Bradstreet and Shetty through the Commissioner. Best keep the cops sweet,' I stood. 'I was just going to take a walk along the corridor to re-examine the crime scene. Do you want to come with me?'

'I'd like to take a look, if you don't mind,' said Harry, nodding. 'But I won't interfere. Unless you want me to.'

He opened my office door, waited for me to stand, and motioned for me to go first. We walked in silence along to the Imager's Office. Don Dunbar's desk was the only one occupied. He looked tired and very worried when I walked in. His expression changed to one of sheer terror when Harry followed me through the door.

'Sorry, sir,' he said immediately. 'I've learned my lesson. It won't happen again!'

Harry looked at me for an explanation. I shrugged. I didn't know Don Dunbar; he'd joined the Imagers while I had been on maternity leave. I'd shaken his hand for the first time the previous day, and I had no idea what he was apologising for.

'What's happened, Don?' I asked.

Before he could reply, Dennis Creevey entered the office from one of the other doors; the one marked "Active Image – Crime Scene – Authorised Personnel Only."

'Thought I heard voices,' Dennis said cheerfully. 'You're in luck, Don. Fenella has fixed it.'

'Fixed what?' Harry asked.

'I photographed both the crime scene and then went to the victim's flat,' Don admitted unhappily. 'But I forgot to change plates after leaving the crime scene. I double exposed the crime scene with the image of the victim's lounge.'

Fenella Boot, head of the Imager Section, appeared behind Dennis Creevey. A six-footer, she towered over the little Auror, her new assistant, and Harry. Fenella's thick, normally well-coiffured, black hair was unusually unkempt; she looked weary and extremely annoyed.

'Sheer incompetence' she told Don furiously.

Harry and I stared at her in surprise. Fenella was the meekest person in the Auror Service. Her default setting was nervous deference. She never got angry.

'It's taken me three hours to fix a mistake that I haven't made since I was twelve! Separating the images should have been easy, but no! You tried to fix it yourself and ended up melding them together.' She turned to Harry and me. 'I've finally managed to get a working image for you.' She again glared at Don Dunbar. 'I could have fixed it in ten minutes if he hadn't interfered.'

Harry turned to Don and fixed the white-faced young man with the steely gaze that made many felons surrender immediately. 'If you make a mistake, and you don't know how to fix it yourself, admit it and get help. Don't try to cover it up,' he told the young man firmly.

'Yes, sir,' said Don, shaking.

'And my name is Harry, use it,' Harry ordered.

'Yes, sir… Harry.'

'Harry hasn't been knighted,' Dennis observed dryly.

The colour had drained from the young Imager's face and he was squirming uncomfortably. Many witches and wizards do when they're facing Harry. It's quite amusing to watch, but I was beginning to feel sorry for him.

'Can we go through?' I asked Fenella. Nodding, she stepped aside. Harry and I followed Dennis into the room, into the crime scene image. Harry looked around in interest, and then hunkered down to look at the lower torso and legs that lay on the floor.

'Did you see my note?' Dennis asked me.

'Yes,' I told him. 'I think I know where you're going with this, Dennis. I'm very much afraid you may be right.'

I walked over to the make-up table, looked at the paltry pile of fan-mail, and nodded to Dennis. He pulled out his wand and manipulated the Image. Pulling the Image of the letter from the pile of envelopes, he showed it to Harry.

'Delivered by owl,' Harry observed. 'What does it say on the back?' he peered closely at the image Den was levitating in front of him.

'Réponse payee. It means reply paid.' Dennis provided a translation. 'The police SOCO team took a lot of interest in it, because of the complete lack of any stamps or franking marks on it.'

Harry peered at the envelope. 'You think it's from a French witch?'

Dennis nodded.

'And there were five more letters at the victim's flat, all on the same paper, so likely from the same person,' I told Harry.

'What's your theory?' Harry asked.

Dennis told him.

'I've contacted the Bureau de la Justice Magique in Paris. I was going to take a look around the Image of Mr Harris's apartment. I want to see if the other envelopes were still in there somewhere. Neither the police nor Stan found them, but I think we should double check. The letter writer, Éloïse, may have written an address on one of them,' Dennis added.

'Good thinking, Den,' I said. 'It may not be her, of course, but I think you should keep following that lead. I'll take a gander at the other evidence, see if there's anything else of interest.'

It was a little after two, and I was still reading through Muggle witness statements that did nothing other than confirm to me that our suspicions were correct. The lack of any alternative exit, the people in the corridor who swore that no one had entered, and the reports of a pop, or a bang all confirmed Anne's analysis. Someone had Apparated into and Disapparated out from the room leaving half a corpse behind them. I was looking at the penultimate statement when Dennis dashed into my office.

'The chef du Bureau des Aurors has just contacted Harry,' he said. 'He's been told that one of their Aurors has found "the other half of our puzzle." I'm about to arrange a Portkey to Paris, do you want to come with me?'

'Thanks, but no thanks. Take Stan with you,' I ordered. 'Where is he? I haven't seen him today.'

'I think he scored with DC Smith last night,' said Dennis uncertainly. 'At least, that's what Don Dunbar said. I got the impression she didn't like him, so I'm not sure.' He scratched his head as he thought. 'Don doesn't seem to notice much, which is odd. I'd have though that an Imager would be very observant. Fenella never misses anything! Anyway, last night Stan told me that he had a date with a Japanese girl he'd just met. He had today booked off, annual leave, so I told him that we wouldn't call him in unless we needed him.'

'Susan's left us! Lavender's sailing around the Mediterranean with Mark and Violet, and Camelia and Polly are in the USA helping out the Federal Bureau of Illumination chase down their rogue vampire,' I said. 'You're not going to Paris alone, Dennis, and I promised Ollie that I'd be home in time to put the kids to bed. Stan can take the late shift. He's all we have, and it's not as if he's gone on a proper holiday. Keep me posted.'

'Will do,' Dennis promised.