On the Cusp

Pushing aside the remains of my Szechuan chicken and fried rice I hit enter, saving my latest amendments into the folder I'd named "Auror Office". My trip to the West Country had confirmed that the third of the three addresses I'd traced was correct. Detective Chief Inspector Roberta A Wood lived in a tiny village in rural Dorset, a place called Bere Regis.

It was ridiculous. She'd just returned to work from maternity leave, yet she lived more than a hundred miles—a two-hour drive—from London. Despite a lot of digging, I'd been unable to determine what her husband, Oliver, did for a living; it seemed he was a house-husband. After pinning her address on the map, I linked all of the data I'd collected on the Wood family to the pin and looked through the other folders.

No one, not even DCI Bradstreet, was interested in pursuing the Tommy Harris murder. It was "an international case," he told me when, only days after we'd found half a corpse, the investigation was shut down. The security service was working with the French Authorities, who had the other half of the body. The order to close the case had come from the very top. Amazingly, despite the gory details, the press appeared to have forgotten the story.

After two weeks of off duty investigations, I had not made much progress in my enquiries about the murder. The Home Office pathologist wouldn't talk to me, and I'd been unable to get any sense from Harris' boyfriend. He seemed to be taking comfort from the fact that the death had been accidental. I'd asked him how and why he'd reached that conclusion, but he couldn't give me an answer. Frustrated, I had turned my attention to "The Auror Office" and its staff. I knew that they operated out of the Home Office, and I'd discovered that their head was someone named "Mr H J Potter". The only staff members I'd been able to track down were the trio who'd attended the crime scene.

Dennis Creevey lived in Esher with his wife and a young daughter. His home was some distance outside London, but it was a much more reasonable commute than DCI Wood's. Stanley Cresswell was the only person who lived centrally; he had a small flat in Camden. According to my research, both Creevey and Cresswell were civil servants, but that was a job title that could mean anything.

I'd checked out creepy Cresswell first; I thought that he'd be easy. I'd never had any intention of seeing him; he was one of those men who thought that no meant yes, so when he'd asked me out I'd said yes and agreed to meet him at a restaurant. I'd never had any intention of going, but at least my agreement had stopped him pestering me.

When the case was suddenly closed I changed my plans. Instead of simply standing him up, I parked in a side street overlooking the restaurant where we'd arranged to meet, and waited. He didn't turn up. The fact that he'd stood me up annoyed me more than it should have. It took me days to find his address, and when I did his neighbour told me that Cresswell was in France. I assumed that he was still on the case, as the neighbour had no idea when he'd be back.

In desperation, I went online and checked out the police message boards. When I asked about the Auror Office, everyone warned me off. According to the gossip, they were the Home Office's "X-files" squad: interested in flying saucers, ghosts, vampires, and werewolves. I'd said that my case wasn't like that; it involved a violent death—a man had been cut in two. Even then, very few messages came back, and most of them told me to drop it.

The few helpful messages gave me some other names: Beadle (DCI Wood's maiden name, I later discovered), Bones, Brown, Moon, Protheroe, and Tepes were the names that appeared most frequently. The only really useful reply I got enclosed a few scanned documents. The message said, "They like locked rooms and invisible men, too. And magic. Is your case anything like the sawing a woman in half trick? Good luck."

I began rereading the files I'd been sent. The biggest file was a report about an estate agent, a missing police officer, and a mysterious house that had not appeared on the map of the area. Like the Tommy Harris murder, it was a series of very strange events. Although, in that particular case, no one had died.

The report was useful, despite the fact that it had obviously been doctored. I'd already noted the names of the estate agent and several of the Norfolk police officers who'd been involved, and I was trying to track them down. I was about to get back to the task when my doorbell rang. Whoever it was had entered the building without buzzing my intercom. It could have been a neighbour, of course, but…

I went into my bedroom and collected my bokken from the wardrobe before going to the door. When I peered through the peep hole, I saw DCI Wood.

'What do you want?' I shouted through the door.

'The case was closed, but you kept on investigating, Detective Constable Smith,' she said. 'And now you've decided to investigate us! I'm here to tell you to stop.'

'How did you find me?' I asked.

'The same way you found me,' she said. 'Good honest coppering. Are you going to let me in? I'm unarmed, if you're worried.' She took off her long black coat, revealing the white blouse, grey cravat, and black trousers she'd worn at the crime scene. There was no sign of any weapon; she wasn't even carrying a handbag. After lifting the wallet containing her warrant card from a pocket, she raised her arms and performed a slow pirouette.

Satisfied, I opened the door and she stepped inside. I kept a tight grip of my bokken, ready to strike.

'Nice place,' she said, apparently unperturbed by my stance.

'Thanks,' I told her. 'Leave the coat there!'

She smiled as she hung it on one of the pegs next to the door, and nodded politely as I ushered her into the lounge.

'Detective Constable Tallulah Smith.' When DCI Wood reached the sofa, she turned to face me. Her expression was assessing, and she didn't appear to be alarmed by my weapon. 'You entered the police service immediately after leaving university. You have a law degree, a two-one, from the University of Reading. You specialised in criminal law. While you were at university you took up both Kendo and archery, and in your final year you became treasurer of the Kendo club.' She pointed at the bokken I still carried. 'That's a kendo sword of some kind, isn't it?'

'It's a bokken, a practice katana made from wood,' I said. 'It won't kill you, but I know how to use it. I could certainly break a few bones.' I used it to point at the sofa; she sat.

'I was a beat bobby when Harry recruited me,' DCI Wood said, crossing her legs and staring up at me. 'You remind me of me. Keen as mustard, angry at the injustice, and not sure about what you're dealing with. Would you like to know?'

'Yes!'

'Are you completely sure?' she asked. 'This is your last chance to walk away. You could just delete those files you've been emailed, and that would be the end of it.'

'Is that a threat?' I asked her.

'Of course not,' she assured me. 'But I should warn you that, one way or another, I'm about to change your world.'

'One way or another?' I asked suspiciously.

'I've been working for the Auror Office for fourteen years, that's most of my career. I'm thirty-seven years old and I have two sons, one almost five and the other a newborn. You already know all of that, because you've been investigating me. What you don't know is that I've just been offered a Superintendent's post with Dorset Police. It's a promotion to a desk job, and it's a lot closer to home. I'm a mother, I've seen enough strange sights and mangled corpses, and I've met a lot of monsters. I want to spend more time with my family, so…'

She hesitated. I waited for her to continue.

'Harry—he's my boss—his title is Head Auror.'

'Mr H J Potter,' I said, nodding.

'You found Harry's name? Well done,' she said. 'You'll have to tell us how you did that.'

I shook my head.

'There's going to be a vacancy in our office. There may even be two, if Stan means it when he claims that he's going to learn French and stay in Paris as part of the Auror exchange programme. There'll be dozens of internal applications for Stan's job. But mine is more specialised, and it isn't a job that can be advertised,' she continued. 'Harry suggested that Dennis take charge of the team. I think that's a good idea. Dennis will make a good boss, but after a lot of thought, and a long meeting, I've come to realise that the Auror Office still needs a copper, a liaison officer, on their staff. Someone like you; you're young, fit, and clever, and you're on the fast track for promotion. I've checked up on you. DCI Bradstreet thinks very highly of you.'

I grunted dismissively.

'He does,' she assured me. 'But he's worried that you're throwing away your career by investigating us. I disagree. I think you'd be an asset to the Auror Office. I can't offer you a job, but I can offer you an interview. The Muggle Liaison Officer's post was created for me, and I was beginning to wonder if I'd made myself redundant, but both Harry and Dennis think it's become essential. They really need someone to explain how our world works, particularly the police procedures. Now that I'm married to Ollie, I'm beginning to lose touch with Muggle technology. They need fresh blood.'

'Muggle?' I asked. 'Our world? What are you talking about? Are you going to tell me ianything/i about the murder of Tommy Harris? Are you interested in finding out who killed him? Or do you know?'

'We shut down your investigation as soon as we knew what we were dealing with, and after Stan averted a second death.'

'What?'

'The teenage girl who was responsible for Mr Harris' death tried to poison herself. Stan's back in France. He claims to be in a purely platonic relationship with the little mademoiselle who helped him find the perpetrator. I'm not sure I believe him, but there's a first time for everything, I suppose.'

She paused, and shook her head. 'That's beside the point. We know how Tommy Harris died and who was responsible. His boyfriend has been told an acceptable truth. It wasn't a murder, Tallulah, it was…' DCI Beadle hesitated. 'Unfortunately, I can't give you an explanation that you'll understand. If you really want to know…'

Opening her wallet, she pulled out a card and placed it on my coffee table.

'It was like a car crash, I suppose,' she said. 'The driver made a serious mistake while over-emotional, and the passenger died.'

'An accident?' I snorted dismissively. 'You expect me to believe it was an iaccident/i? Don't be ridiculous!'

'This is one of those occasions where I haven't been able to come up with a Muggle-friendly story,' she said apologetically.

'What the hell is a Muggle?' I asked.

'You are,' she said matter-of-factly. 'And so am I. If you want to know more, if you really want to know what happened, read the card and attend the interview.'

'I still have this,' I reminded her, waving my wooden sword.

'And I really am a Detective Chief Inspector with the Met.,' she reminded me. 'You've checked up on me, so you know that's true. You're not really going to assault me. That would end your career.'

Standing, she pocketed her wallet, walked to my front door, and picked up her coat. I followed her, uncertain what to do. Opening my front door, she turned and gave me a mischievous smile. 'Besides, I'm armed.' Reaching under her shoulder, she pulled a Taser out from nowhere. I took a hasty step backwards. 'Invisible holster, it's based on the same principle as a Headless Hat. It's proved very useful over the years. If you're interested in a job, you'll get to meet our suppliers, Ron and George Weasley. That will be a real treat for you. They'll provide you with a lot of cool toys to play with. Read the card, go to the Ministry. All your questions will be answered, but then you'll have even more. To be honest, there are still things I don't understand, and I'm married to a wizard.'

With that, she turned and left. As I watched her go, I wondered whether she was insane. The thought that I might be the crazy one pushed itself forwards, but I tried to ignore it.

At quarter to ten the following morning I was walking along the Strand, heading from Trafalgar Square towards Covent Garden. I looked down at the card in my hand.

Auror Office,

Department for Magical Law Enforcement,
Ministry of Magic,

Merlin Street,

LONDON

On the reverse DCI Wood had written: It's off the Strand, head east from Trafalgar Square. Be there at 10:00 am tomorrow, if you want answers and, possibly, a job. R A W

That morning I'd shown the card to my neighbour and asked him to read it. He read DCI Wood's handwritten words, but when I turned it over, he said that the obverse was blank. So did the newsagent where I bought my paper. I attempted to read the address aloud to him, but I couldn't, instead I had a coughing fit.

The woman sitting next to me as I rode the DLR from Lewisham to Bank agreed with them. I showed her the card, address side up, and asked. 'Excuse me, do you have any idea which is the nearest tube station to this place?' She'd looked at me as though I was mad before turning the card over.

'For the Strand? Charing Cross, or Embankment,' she said before pointedly turning away from me.

Merlin Street wasn't on any map, but I found it easily enough. The building was large, and it looked to be Victorian. The only sign outside was a small brass plaque which read "Ministry of Magic". Apart from that, it looked like any other building. When I walked through the revolving door and into a foyer filled with fireplaces I realised that Inspector Wood had been telling me the truth.