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Who: Regulus and Malcolm Bright (maybe some appearances by Gil Arroryo)
What: Murder in NYC, who done it, plus magical mysteries
When: 2021
Where: NYC
Rating/Warnings: High for mentions of murder, other people might die, evil is out and about

A small crowd had gathered at the edges of the cordoned off section of the street, wherein the middle lay a form under a curtesy sheet. To protect the identity of the victim, to preserve the evidence of the scene of the crime.

Regulus suspected the only evidence lay exactly under that sheet. But it was a question if these police officers knew what to look for.

A small peek of the heel of Emelia’s right boot, the inadequate concealment of which somehow overlooked. Regulus had an eye for clothing and Emelia had a love of fine footwear. And these boots, the ones she loved most, had a distinctive brand element etched into the sole of the treads that he recognized instantly.

Sure, he couldn’t see her face, but this was enough for him to know.

He quickly scanned the crowd for William, Emelia's husband. No luck. He checked his cell – Regulus had learned a lot in the last six or so years hiding among muggles, he’d learned a lot from Emelia. No response to his coded text. The message that if anyone else had seen would seem innocuous, but if he or William or Emelia had seen on their phones they would know to respond immediately in coded kind.

And, he checked the back of the phone casing, as that would be where any magical message would appear.

Still nothing.

This changed everything.

Panic or grief would be gripping anyone’s heart in this situation, but neither showed on Regulus’ face, as if it was someone else experiencing the tightening of their chest, the quickening pounding of their heart, the sound of air rushing in their ears. He’d been carefully taught from a young age to conceal what he felt, and he was doing that now. Carefully practiced, curated habit. And, of course, he couldn't show a connection between himself and the woman lying under the sheet even if he wanted to, if simply to honor the cause for which she gave her life.

In this fight, tears were an extravagance, and he couldn't indulge here and now.

He scanned the crowd again, but this time for anyone that might appear out of place, such as the killer. The Death Eaters had gotten smarter in the last decade, expanded to foreign shores, allowed those of questionable blood status to join their ranks, but they hadn't quite assimiliated in with the muggles as well as the side in this fight that actually liked muggles had. But Regulus didn't see anyone who appeared just slightly off in that way only a deeply bigoted witch or wizard would look in a crowd of muggles.

He glanced the apparment building where he'd been living with William and Emelia, the front door to the building just barely visible at the corner end down the block and across the street. None of the warning spells on their wards had been tripped in his mind, but sometimes an occasional Death Eater used finesse over force, and he couldn’t rule out anything until he’d checked for himself.

He looked back at Emelia’s covered body and started formulating his next move when-

“Do you mind answering a few questions, sir?” said a uniformed officer.

Regulus wasn’t surprised, there were a few officers in the and among the crowd, talking to others that had gathered.

The plan: he’d answer the officers questions and then go to a café to wait until the scene was cleared and he could get back into his building without notice, then he'd decide his next move from there.

He pulled his attention away from Emelia to play the confused, ignorant bystander, “What’s happened?”

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Malcolm has crouched next to the body for Edrisa's very inconclusive observations, but he was always scanning the crowd. Some killers liked to show up and see how people reacted to their handiwork. Some killers liked to see if the police had any leads.

A voice saying "What's happened?" catches his ear and he turns, moving towards the officer and the person he's questioning. "That's our question," he says. "What's happened? That's what we're here to find out. Do you live here?" he asks, indicating the building.

Regulus' accent was unique, so he'd been told, by Emelia. Archaic. A hint at the death grip his family had on the old and presumedly purer ways of the wizarding world of England. Emelia had tried to help him tone it down a bit, not draw so much attention to himself, make him sound academic rather than a prim and proper characature.

But if he doesn't exactly succeed, he's not so concerned about some muggle police officers catching on. They weren't the ones he needed to look out for.

At least not all of them.

In a split second, a mere blink of the eye, he sized up the new come.

About the same height as Regulus. Eyes just a bit too light a shade of blue to be calming. And no uniform, but that didn't mean he wasn't an officer of some kind. Though Regulus was woefully ignorant about anything that might indicate specifically.

But he did recocoginze tailoring when he saw it, which was odd to him. As far as he was aware, police didn't make high salaries.

"I live in that building," Regulus said evenly and pointed at the one, giving the street address.

"What's happened?" he reiterated his question, playing ignorant- and there was enough here he didn't know to grasp on the shreds of the truth to that lack of knowledge and weave it into the words he spoke. "Did someone die over there?"

Malcolm, still watching him carefully, says "You were looking at the body. I think you know the answer to that." He looks over his shoulder at the sheet draped figure, then looks at Regulus again. "Did she live here too?"

"Her?" Regulus asked, and he let a line crease between his brow.

"I'm sorry," he added, still inflecting his voice with a touch of confusion. "I... don't know. That it was a woman who died is the most anyone's told me. Who was she?"

Malcolm nods to the officer to escort Reg under the tape. He pulls back the blanket from the dead woman's face, but he's watching Reg's.

Regulus took the moment walking over to Emelia's body to scan the crowd again- still no sign of any Death Eaters. He tucked that information away for later examination.

They, and by 'they', Regulus meant him, Emelia, and William had planned for this. They'd all known the world they lived in and the secret war they were fighting. If any of them stood now in Regulus' shoes, this would not be a sight new to any one of them. and they'd all planned the same lie: passing familiarity on looks alone, but none of them would claim to know nothing more of the other.

A terrible precaution to plan, but necessary.

Regulus' emotions were folded neatly away in a mental space far from his present thoughts. So it was with a deep calmness that he looked down at Emelia's face, not too close to her body but not too far away either.

He knew he only had a moment to assess.

A stack of relief was added to the emotions locked away in his mind because she looked peaceful, eyes closed, hair a bit disheveled, but that could have been an effect from falling to the ground. But she wasn't mutilated, not tortured to death, whatever curse was used to kill her at least there were no signs, physical or magical, of the usual trechery Death Eaters brought to the table.

Hardly much of a comfort, and Regulus would not extend the grace of thinking it so to her murderer.

His brow knit closer together, groudning him to the present, because he knew he should show something. But he didn't have it in him to recoil or fein horror at the sight of death. Emelia deserved as much honest recognition as he could show her without giving up his cover.

"Yes," he said, while looking down at Emelia. He gave a small nod. "I've seen her in the corridors. I think we rode the lift together once, maybe twice." Not a complete lie, but far from the whole truth. Which he wasn't inclined to explain to any of the muggle police. Or the magical police if they happen to show up in the middle of this. Oh that would be quite the scene Regulus wanted no part of.

He looked at Malcolm now. "So I assume she lived in the same building- what was her name?"

Malcolm covers her again and ignores his question.

"Have you seen anyone new or strange lingering in the area lately? Inside or outside of the building?"

"Not that I recall." Both completely true and a complete lie. Everyone looked new and strange to him in this city because he still wasn't quite used to living so much in the muggle world. Old lessons died hard. But that wasn't what was asked of him- and no, while he and Emelia and William has started to suspect in the last week they may have been compromised, they hadn't yet seen anyone from the other side lurking or following them about. The tip-off had been something else.

If they had seen Death Eaters, they would have abandoned this building that very moment.

"... Was there anything else you required from me?"

Regulus felt it was time he extricated himself from the scene. No Death Eaters yet, but he didn't want to push his luck.

"I don't know yet," Malcolm tells him. "We'll see."

He nods to the officer, who turns to Reg to take his name and contact information while Malcolm slips back under the tape.

A fleeting thought flickered through Regulus' mind, but he dismissed it quickly. He did not need to linger here just to see what was ruminating in this plain-clothed officer's mind. Regulus would extricate himself from this situtation and disappear as easy as magic. Scrying the man's mind for information wouldn't likely result in anything worth the risk.

He turned to the other officer, the one that wore the uniform of a policeman, and gave a false name and address, just like he and Emelia and William had discussed doing if this situation should happen. Of course, the false address seemed like it was in the building Regulus acknowledged living in. But there wasn't a flat number 7G (the number of flats per floor were only 6), and if luck was on Regulus side, this policeman wouldn't notice anything amiss until they tried to find the front door.

And Keiran Drake wasn't on any paper trail these officers would be able to find. He didn't exist, either.

False name and address given, Regulus slipped into the crowd, ignoring any questions the curious asked of him as he pushed through. Out of the crowd, he left the street and when it was safe, slipped into an ally to apparate somewhere where he could start to plan.

They, Gil and Malcolm, were waiting outside the apartment door said to belong to Emelia Bitteridge.

The landlord was down in his office, seven floors down, grabbing the key, leaving them to discuss the facts of the murder without anyone overhearing sensitive truths.

"A single woman," according to the landlord. "No one recalls seeing her with any one specific person, going into her place or leaving." So no significant other, yet. "No one saw what happened last night." So no suspects, yet. "And somehow she ends up with a mysterious broken neck that defies even Edrisa's understanding." How does someone's neck snap so cleanly with no residual trace evidence? No brusing. No other trama. No evidence in the street. Not a hair out of line.

Gil wanted to sigh deeply because was it just his imagination or had murders become increasing weirder since he'd brought Malcolm in as a consultant? As if the universe was purposefully tossing out puzzles to keep the younger man intrigued.

"Give me something," he said to Malcolm. "Spin this in that way you do so it all makes strange but perfect sense."

"I wish I could," Malcolm tells him. "A murder this precise must have been targeted," he muses. "There was a man in the street. I think he knows more than he said. He claimed he didn't know her, but he was looking at the body for too long before we walked up to him, then he barely looked at it at all." He glances around. "Do we know where she worked?"

Gil needed more than a bystander 'looked too long'. All the bystanders looked too long. Looking too long was not even a cliff to hang probably cause on.

But he also knew that Malcolm's intuition usually pointed them in the right direction, and if it wasn't spot on, it was generally close enough to the truth they'd course correct and end up in the same place anyways. They'd just need to investigate this individual more and see where it led.

"The landlord said something about her putting receptionist down on the rental agreement," Gil said. "Hopefully she also put down an actual company name, something to follow."

He held back another sigh - it was too early for sighs.

"Did you get the long-looker's information to follow up?" Maybe they could do that after going through the woman's apartment.

"The uniformed officer did," Malcolm tells him, distraction in his voice as he looks around.

"Doesn't this apartment seem a little too... " He makes a gesture with his hands, searching for an adjective. "Empty? Not of stuff. Of... personality. This is like an apartment in a sitcom, not a home where someone lives. It's a hotel room."

Gil reached into his pocket and pulled out a glove and put it on before walking to the refridgerator and opening it.

After Malcolm had pointed out the eerie pristineness of the living room, Gil was acting on a hunch.

He left the door swinging wide to reveal there was nothing on the shelves or in the clear plastic drawers.

"Are you sure this was Ms. Bitteridge's apartment?" Gil asked the landlord.

"Yes-" the man looked genuinely shocked. "Paid rent on time every month."

Gil started opening cabinets, only to find the same lack of food. There weren't even standard kitchen items like plates or mugs or oven mits. Nothing.

"How?" Gil asked, hoping the landlord wouldn't say-

"Money order." Okay that was slightly better than cash, but not by much. They could trace an order back to the establishment that issued it and ask employees if they recognized the victim, but Gil had a sinking suspicion that the orders will have been purchased with cash. So, another dead end.

He sighed and directed his attention back to Malcolm. "... Anything?" Maybe there was something. Of course they'd send a crew up for evidence collection, but it seemed that was going to be an exercise in futility.

Malcolm looks at the landlord. "Did you ever see them come and go? She was near here when she was killed; she was in the neighbourhood. Did she enter the building on a regular basis?"

The landlord stumbled over his response. This was New York, shows like Law and Order made it seem like a murdered body was just waiting to be discovered around every corner, but it was clear this was an event this man had never prepared for.

"Yes- I, mean I think so. I'm not on site all the time. And you know, I'm not monitoring everyone coming in or going out. We ain't one of those uptown apartment buildings that has a doorman, you know. But uh- I did, uh- about a month or two ago, I was here fixing the plumbing in 2A, I was here early, you see, and when I was getting some tools from my truck I saw her leaving that morning. I said 'good morning' like you do and she said it back. And she looked like she was heading to work. So I- I assume she did that regularly."

Malcolm looks at him, then drops down to his knees and bangs on the floor, crawls ahead a little, knocks again, and then does the same thing across the floor. Then he gets up and bangs his way along each wall.

"Something doesn't add up," he explains to Gil as he moves around the room.

A significant understatement if Malcolm was saying this.

A lot of weird things happen in a city the size of New York. Criminals get creative, or just dumb luck throws a curve ball right through the evidence staring in front of them. And Gil wouldn't say anyone on his team was a bad detective, but sometimes it took Malcolm's interesting perspective to reorder the evidence into a clear picture.

But in this case, it seemed as if every new piece of evidence distorted the picture even more.

A shell of a living space like this usually hinted at a cover for nefarious activity. Not all victims had squeaky clean pasts. Smuggling, human trafficking. A cover that keeps the average person from looking under it.

But this victim was seen occasionally in the building, which mean she must have had to use this space some of the time.

He turned to the landlord. "You don't allow renovations like... adding additional rooms?" Like a hidden room, maybe?

The landlord shook his head. "Tennents can't even paint the walls- it's right there in their lease agreement. Look- like I said, I don't babysit, but I'd notice if someone was knocking out walls or adding them- hell, the walls are thin enough multiple neighbors would be filing noise complaints. And no one ever filed a complaint against Ms. Bitteridge."

Gil held back a sigh. "We want copies off all your records you have for Emelia Bitteridge- all of it." And he was fairly sure the landlord was going to comply.

Gil turned back to Malcolm. "Let's let Evidence get up here and sweep the apartment, maybe they'll find something. The body should be back at the station by now and maybe the ME will have something more conclusive for us."

After leaving the crime scene, Regulus regrouped. He’d hidden something via magic in Emelia’s soul and he had a very short window to retrieve the item. At best, some point in the day, Emelia’s murder would reach the ears of the Unite State’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and they would claim the body, given the use of magic in her murder. At worst, whoever on Voldemort’s side had done the killing would claim the body. Either way, Regulus would lose his chance to get back the item – and Emelia would never forgive him for that.

That meant he needed to get to her before anyone else from his world did.

He learned where the police would take Emelia’s body and then parked himself in a café to wait until later in the evening to sneak into the station, all the while periodically checking his sources for any indication that Magical Law Enforcement or Voldemort’s forces were on the move.

Getting inside the station wasn’t that hard – he had magic on his side. A glamour charm to make him invisible and he was able to slip through any security check point or badge-locked door by simply waiting for the right person to walk behind. He found where the body was being kept inside the building, then swiped a security badge for later (he’d need it to get back into the morgue later that night) and then park himself on an empty chair to wait until there were fewer muggles.

Sometime around midnight, when the lights were all shut off and the barest of essential personnel were left on site, Regulus made his way down the dark morgue. He was so sure he was alone.

He needed to release the glamour charm in order to do reclaim the item, and he waited until inside the morgue to drop the charm.

And just as he did, the lights came on and two individuals entered the room from a door on the opposite side.

“Fuck!” he said under his breath, and he raised his wand to point it at them.

He recognized one person to be the plain clothed detective at the crime scene and cursed again in his mind. He’d so hoped to not have to leave a trail of magicked muggles in his wake–

But, needs must-

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Thread for collecting plotting discussions

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ignore Reg's face here, imagine Gil's

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Regulus and Malcolm (and some Edrisa)