darktrent182 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darktrent182) wrote2008-08-21 08:03 pm
darktrent182) wrote2008-08-21 08:03 pm
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FIC: Head Case (3/4) [The Dresden Files]
After what felt like exactly five minutes later, I woke up sluggishly and saw that night had already fallen. My skin felt like it was trying to migrate somewhere, and for some reason, I just felt angry. The investigation wasn't going well, the only person with any idea of what might be going on had been picked up by the Wardens, I'd learned just a few hours ago that if I actually achieved my master plan of freeing Bob from his curse, he was planning on walking out of my life without hesitation, and on top of all of this, I had the feeling that I was missing something obvious. I just had no clue what it was. Trying to ignore the rumbling threats my stomach was making, I headed downstairs and straight for the fridge. After fortifying myself with a Coke, I went to the lab.
"Hey, Bob," I managed around a jaw-cracking yawn, trying to keep calm when everything in me wanted to lash out. "found anything useful yet?"
Bob, who'd had his head shoved into another bookshelf, straightened and looked over at me. "Sadly, no."
I felt my temper flare. "How long does it take to check a book, Bob? Two people are already dead, and Morgan's already been spirited away by the Wardens so that he can recover from having a building fall on top of him. I'm not sure if you're feeling the urgency here, but if anymore people die, it's because I haven't figured out what the hell is going on! So, I kind of need you to get on the ball and look faster! Can you do that?" I stopped myself with some effort, and closed my eyes. After taking a few breaths, I opened my eyes to see Bob watching me, his face expressionless.
"It takes me four hours," Bob said evenly, "to read through a single book, and that is if I know which chapters might be useful for your research."
Four hours. The words were like a splash of ice cold water on my face.
"You know as well as I that I am a ghost. I have been a ghost for several centuries, and I will continue to be so well after you are dead and buried," he continued, his tone not changing. I think that's what scared me the most. He could talk about whole lifetimes -- not just mortal lifetimes, but wizards' lifetimes as well -- without batting an eye. "In the grand scheme of things, these deaths are no more than a drop in the bucket of humanity, and no one will even remember them for centuries to come."
He stepped forward, closing the distance between us. Blue-green eyes looked into mine, completely unafraid of a soulgaze, and he kept talking in that eerie, almost inhuman tone.
"And yet, here I am, spending hour after mind-numbing hour, shoving my head into books and conducting research while you sleep. And why? Because you asked me. Because you need my help. Because, for once in my miserable existence, I have a care-taker who treats me like a person, and not some thing to be used and tossed aside."
He drew himself up, his back ramrod straight, his gaze now capable of withering plants at a hundred paces. "Now, if you wish for further assistance, you need to remember that I'm not mortal anymore. I had one chance to breathe, to feel magic course through my veins, to touch, and I gave it up for you. I realize this might be a monumental task, but kindly refrain from berating me like a child because I cannot work outside of my means."
My heart didn't just plummet -- it went through the floor. Bob can get quite eloquent when he's angry, and when he's feeling really annoyed, he lets go with both barrels. It never failed to make me feel two inches tall when I was his apprentice, and it was still just as deadly as it was back then. It didn't matter that I was half-dead with exhaustion and frustrated because of how slowly the research was going. I had no right to accuse him of not helping to the best of his ability, especially since every time I'd spoken with Bob since this whole mess began, it was in the lab.
I gritted my teeth, my frustration wanting to get the last word in, but shame walloped frustration over the head with something heavy, and I ended up clearing my throat and mumbling an apology, not looking at Bob.
With the kind of satisfied nod that a knight of old gave to the dragon corpse that lay smoldering at his feet, Bob turned back to the bookshelf he'd been standing next to earlier, closed his eyes, and deliberately shoved his face back into the first book in the row, and then moving forward, the gold light fizzing around himself and the books until he was about halfway through the shelf.
I sighed through my nose and left the lab, heading for the kitchen to see if I had another Coke. My stomach had started roiling again about halfway through Bob's sneering reminder of his limitations, and if I was going to be of any use, I would need to calm my stomach down.
When I got to the kitchen, the phone rang. I picked it up. "Dresden."
"I need you to come down to the morgue," Murphy said.
"The morgue? Why, Lieutenant, I didn't know you were into kink," I said, and part of me was glad that my smart-ass gland hadn't atrophied into uselessness.
I could almost feel Murphy roll her eyes over the phone. "Very funny. Butters has something for us."
"I'll be right there." I hung up.
It didn't take long to get there, and when I showed, Murphy was already waiting for me. I don't know if it was a trick of the light, but she was already looking better than she had this morning, which was saying something. "Hey, Murph."
Murphy nodded, and then led the way to Butters' lab.
It was still as bare as it usually was, with one metal desk against one wall, the slab where Mr. Soggy lay a few feet away, and a few feet further down, Mr. Crispy. Both bodies were naked.
"Murphy," Butters nodded to her, and then when he saw me, he looked a bit surprised. "I had a feeling you might be called in."
"Why's that?" I frowned.
"Well, there aren't any interesting looking brands on the bodies this time, but this one--" He pointed to Mr. Soggy and approached his slab. "--certainly had an interesting cause of death."
"Which is?" Murphy asked, trying to sound patient and not managing it too well. A brush with death in the morning can do that.
"Water intoxication."
I blinked. "What?"
Butters smiled a little at the two of us. "Water intoxication. It usually happens when the victim drinks more than three gallons of water in a twenty-four hour period."
"He died because he drank too much water?" Murphy asked skeptically.
"There's been documented cases of it happening," Butters explained. "Your vic's stomach showed multiple tears when I got it out. But he actually died of heart failure due to his internal organs filling with fluid. The pressure caused by the surrounding organs crushed his heart so that it couldn't keep beating." He turned to the body, this time looking like the guy had deflated like a balloon. "From what I could measure, this guy had almost twenty-two gallons in his body when the techs finally brought him here, and that's after he'd been leaking pretty heavily at your crime scene."
My eyes widened. "And how many gallons is normal?"
Butters snorted. "Not this many, that's for sure. Counting in blood and other fluids the body needs in order to continue functioning properly, and the guy's weight, I'd say this guy should've had about ten, ten-and-a-half gallons normally?" He shrugged.
Murphy and I exchanged a quick glance with each other.
"Now, usually," Butters kept going, "water intoxication doesn't happen to the point where the victim is literally leaking all over the floor, but I'm guessing that's where you come in, Harry."
"How can you tell this guy wasn't drowned?" Murphy frowned at the corpse, taking a step or two closer.
"Well, drowning victims usually show either blood shift, where blood moves toward the thoracic cavity to make sure the lungs don't collapse, or peripheral vasoconstriction, where the blood flow to the extremities is shut down so that more blood can get to the vital organs, especially the brain."
"And you didn't find either of those," Murphy said.
"Right." Butters nodded. "Also, if you look at his skin." He moved in close, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves and picked up one of the guy's hands. "He's got washer-woman hands. It's common in floaters."
"But, this guy wasn't found in the water," Murphy said slowly, frowning at Butters,
Butters nodded. "Exactly. Now..."
I'm not sure why I looked up at that specific movement, but when I looked at the door, I noticed a very familiar face walk by the door to Butters' lab. Blinking, I mumbled something about coming right back, and then headed for the hallway. Looking one way, and then the other, I saw another flash of white hair and very dark clothing disappear around a corner, but when I got there and looked around again, it was gone.
"Harry?" I looked up to see Murphy half-jogging down the hallway to catch up with me, looking annoyed. "What're you doing out here?"
"Thought I saw someone," I muttered, frowning. Murphy rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, you probably did. It's a morgue. I'm sure there's other cops down here, talking to MEs. Now, c'mon. Butters still has more to tell us."
I nodded slowly, not wanting to leave the hallway, but letting her take me back. It didn't make any sense. The guy I saw wasn't a cop, because he hadn't been wearing the usual plainclothes suits that I was used to seeing around the police station where Murphy worked. But he also wasn't a medical examiner either, because of the lack of the white coat. And I had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't a relative of someone who'd died, or else he wouldn't have looked like he was almost... smiling.
But it couldn't have been Bob. I'd already strengthened the wards around my home and office to make sure I didn't have a repeat of the last time someone wanted to use Bob for their own ends. And why the hell would Bob be here, of all places?
Murphy half-pushed me back into Butters' lab, and I forced myself to concentrate. Keep your eye on the ball, Harry, I told myself sternly.
"Have you run a tox screen on either vic?" Murphy asked.
Butters nodded. "We're still waiting on results to come back, but I got what I could from both of them."
Murphy nodded, and then asked, "Have you identified either of them?"
"It took a bit of doing with your water intoxication vic, but his name is Marvin Applegate, and his last known address is St. Paul, Minnesota."
"Minnesota?" Murphy frowned. "What's he doing here?"
"Maybe he wanted to see if the Windy City really is that windy," I offered, looking at Marvin again.
Murphy snorted. "And the burn victim?"
"According to the dental records we got from the hospital, this is Patrick McKinley," Butters replied. "Apparently, he chipped a tooth a few days before he died, and he needed to get it looked at. But that's not the interesting part."
"It's not?" I asked.
Butters shook his head. "I found some skin under Applegate's fingernails that had been embedded fairly deeply," he said, pointing at Applegate. "And it matches McKinley."
Murphy blinked. "So our two vics knew each other."
"At least well enough that Applegate scratched McKinley before he died," Butters agreed.
"Was there anything unusual about the burn victim?" Murphy asked.
Butters nodded. "No sign of accelerant, or anything else that would've caused him to go up," he said. "But there were patches of his arms that look like he'd been literally tearing off pieces of skin before he became the Human Torch."
I glanced at Murphy. "The witnesses said that he'd started screaming about cockroaches all over him, right?"
Murphy nodded before looking at Butters. "Did you check his brain?"
Butters nodded. "Just like you asked, and no, he didn't have any brain tumors or anything that would've caused hallucinations."
Murphy looked up at my face without meeting my gaze. "Any thoughts?"
"I'm not sure about him," I said, pointing to Applegate, "but Dark magic could've been on this guy. Hang on." I closed my eyes and concentrated questing out to feel the aura of magic around the body. And then I frowned. "I don't feel anything."
"And?" Murphy asked.
"Magic tends to leave residual energy, especially in an area where magic was used for a spell or a ritual," I explained.
"Like fingerprints?" she asked.
I nodded. "The only trouble is that if only a little bit of magic was used, sunlight is usually strong enough to erase it. Light banishing the darkness, that kind of thing."
Murphy nodded. "But Applegate was inside of a steel mill that had been closed down for years. Could that have done anything?"
I shook my head. "The building was abandoned, but it had broken windows. Light still could've gotten through." I looked at Sloane again. "And this guy was in a diner in broad daylight." Then I remembered something. "But... at both crime scenes, I still felt some residual energy."
"Which you shouldn't have, because of the sunlight thing, right?" Murphy asked, frowning. I nodded. "Would you be able to identify the magic if you came across it again?"
"It was... more like a buzzing sensation." I frowned. I knew I'd come across it somewhere before. I just couldn't remember where. I gave up and nodded. "Yeah, I can identify it again."
"Good," Murphy nodded. "Butters, was there anything else?"
"Not really. The next of kin needs to be notified, and that's it from my end," he said, looking curiously between the two of us.
"If anything else pops up," Murphy said, "call me."
"Will do, Lieutenant," Butters nodded. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a date with a gunshot victim."
Murphy and I went our separate ways in the parking lot, and when I got home, I felt really tired. I usually feel pretty tired a lot of the time, since I don't exactly get to choose my own hours or when any bad guys decide to attack me, but this felt... different somehow.
I don't like looking at bodies, especially ones that were killed by magic. Bob had taught me that magic stems from the essence of life. Being able to tap into a force of nature that can create such wonderful and powerful effects is like being an artist. And when someone uses magic to hurt, to kill, to destroy... it feels wrong on a level that I can't describe.
But, that wasn't it. Most of the time when I look at bodies, I want to throw up, or hide somewhere where I don't have to look at them again. This time, I just felt numb. And that's not typical.
I got to the front door of my building and went inside, I could feel the numbness and the exhaustion wash over me, and all I wanted to do was sink back into bed, feel the warm sheets around me, and drift back to sleep.
Instead, I headed straight for the lab. I shoved open the steel door and stripped out of my coat, laying it over the seat of the stool. Bob had his head thrust inside one bookcase, and after a minute, he righted himself and nodded. "Ah, Harry. There you are."
"Here I am," I nodded, still feeling tired as I sank onto the stool. I rubbed my eyes and asked, "How can a guy drink too much water?"
"I beg your pardon?" Bob asked, sounding confused. I recapped the visit for him while I tried to wake myself up, leaving out the part where I saw him walking down the hallway.
When I was finished, Bob blinked. "Water intoxication?"
"Apparently, the guy drank too much water and it crushed his heart," I said. "It sounds crazy."
Bob frowned. "It's not actually that crazy, Harry. A spell could have done it, certainly."
I lifted my face out of my hands to frown at him. "What, like he cast a spell that made any standing water in the area drinkable?"
Bob shook his head. "More like he devised a spell where he could pour water directly into his mouth. It's rather useful if you're in a tropical climate, and you might not have the energy to actually drink something."
"But I thought spells like that only lasted as long as the wizard kept the energy going?" I asked, frowning. "Applegate had more than twice the normal amount of water in his body when he died."
Bob pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing as he thought. "It's quite possible that he devised a spell to pour a set amount of water into his mouth."
"Twelve extra gallons worth?" I demanded. "Could he have screwed up his calculations?"
"Anything's possible, I suppose," Bob said, not looking as confident as he sounded. "Why could it not have been an attack from someone or something else?"
"There weren't any signs of a struggle," I pointed out, feeling my eyelids droop. "And the only water was around the victim."
"Perhaps the homunculus idea?" Bob suggested.
I rubbed at my face and sighed. I'd gone to bed earlier today, and I felt crappier than I had before I'd gotten some sleep. I got up from my stool. "Bob, I can barely think straight. I need food."
Bob frowned. "You need rest."
I shook my head. "Already tried. Still tired."
Bob's frown deepened, but he nodded once. "You should still have some soda in the refrigerator."
"Thanks," I mumbled, and headed for the kitchen. I'd popped open a can of Coke and drank half of it, wishing that I had remembered to buy coffee on my last run to the grocery store when Bob emerged from the lab, looking at me intently. I felt a buzz against my skin, but it barely registered.
"You found something?" I asked, blinking a few times.
"Not precisely," Bob said, shaking his head. "But I think I might have figured out one method that the water intoxication could still have been a rather gruesome form of attack."
I frowned. "What happened to the homunculus idea?"
"Has the body degraded into something non-human?" Bob asked.
I shook my head, taking another sip of Coke.
"There's your answer," Bob said. "You know that homunculi aren't wholly human, and when the machine deteriorates, it would break down to its component elements, and it would no doubt have given the medical examiner quite a shock."
"But how can it be an attack?" I asked, still confused. "There weren't signs of a struggle."
"What about the victim's fingernails?" Bob asked. "He obviously knew the burned man enough to scratch him."
"Not even the most powerful wizard could cover up his tracks that well," I argued, "and it would've taken a freaking huge amount of power to kill somebody using water."
Bob watched me for a long minute, one eyebrow arching. "Why not conduct an experiment?"
"An experiment?" I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"See just how much power it would take to kill someone using water, and replicate spells you know. If one wizard attacking another creates the conditions that you discovered when you first saw the crime scene, then you have your answer."
It was an indication of just how tired I was, because what he said didn't sink in immediately. "You're proposing I go out, kidnap someone, and kill them?" I demanded.
Bob sighed, glaring at me. "No, Harry," he said evenly, "I am not advocating Dark magic. I am merely suggesting that you find a suitable substitute. Perhaps a rat or two, so that you can duplicate the experiment and be sure of the results."
"Rats," I said slowly.
Bob nodded, smiling a little and actually looking like he was getting into the idea. "Yes. While certainly not genetically similar to humans, rats are still mammals. However much water it would take to drown one of the little pests, you could devise a formula and then apply it to a person's size and stamina."
I stared at him, and I could feel my blood run cold. There were times when Bob's scientific curiosity got more than a little morbid, and it tended to take me by surprise whenever it made an appearance, but there was something... off about this. Callously killing rats, even if they are pests that I could live without, felt too close to torturing small animals. And drowning them, just to see how long it would take....
I shook my head firmly. "No," I said, sounding calmer than I felt.
"No?" Bob asked, looking disappointed.
"No." I downed the rest of my Coke and tossed the can in the trash without a word. And then I headed to the lab. Sitting down on my stool, I watched Bob turn around to look at me.
"Harry--"
"I am not drowning rats, Bob," I snapped.
Bob blinked, his eyebrows lifting. "Very well," he said slowly. "What brought that idea on?"
I opened my mouth to remind him about... something. I stopped and blinked for a second, hearing a faint buzzing in my ears. There was something I was going to tell him. Something important, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was.
Bob frowned. "Harry?"
I shook my head. "Never mind."
Bob's frowned deepened. "Harry, are you feeling well?"
I blinked at him. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Perhaps you need some rest," he suggested gently. "You look terrible."
I shook my head, resisting the urge to yawn. "I can't. We'll get through these faster if we work together." I shot him a smile, which he returned after a moment.
"As much as I would appreciate the company," Bob said, "you look as though you haven't slept."
"It didn't feel like I did," I said, reaching over to rub one of my arms absently.
Bob frowned. "I've heard that warm milk does wonders for insomnia."
I smiled a little, touched by the suggestion. Warm milk had helped me get to sleep when I was a kid, when living at the Morningway estate had been new and scary. "Yeah, but this is feeling like I've been through the wringer even after a few hours of shut-eye. I've gone without sleep before. Besides, I should be working with you on this, not sleeping the whole day."
Bob sighed. "Go back upstairs and lay down, at the very least. Even if you can't sleep, you can still give yourself some rest. And who knows? You might think of a solution to this conundrum."
I was a bit skeptical, but I couldn't suppress a wide yawn, exhaustion hit me like a wave, and I relented. "Fine, but wake me if you find something."
He smiled a little. "Of course."
***
Back to Part Two.
Continue to Part Four.
"Hey, Bob," I managed around a jaw-cracking yawn, trying to keep calm when everything in me wanted to lash out. "found anything useful yet?"
Bob, who'd had his head shoved into another bookshelf, straightened and looked over at me. "Sadly, no."
I felt my temper flare. "How long does it take to check a book, Bob? Two people are already dead, and Morgan's already been spirited away by the Wardens so that he can recover from having a building fall on top of him. I'm not sure if you're feeling the urgency here, but if anymore people die, it's because I haven't figured out what the hell is going on! So, I kind of need you to get on the ball and look faster! Can you do that?" I stopped myself with some effort, and closed my eyes. After taking a few breaths, I opened my eyes to see Bob watching me, his face expressionless.
"It takes me four hours," Bob said evenly, "to read through a single book, and that is if I know which chapters might be useful for your research."
Four hours. The words were like a splash of ice cold water on my face.
"You know as well as I that I am a ghost. I have been a ghost for several centuries, and I will continue to be so well after you are dead and buried," he continued, his tone not changing. I think that's what scared me the most. He could talk about whole lifetimes -- not just mortal lifetimes, but wizards' lifetimes as well -- without batting an eye. "In the grand scheme of things, these deaths are no more than a drop in the bucket of humanity, and no one will even remember them for centuries to come."
He stepped forward, closing the distance between us. Blue-green eyes looked into mine, completely unafraid of a soulgaze, and he kept talking in that eerie, almost inhuman tone.
"And yet, here I am, spending hour after mind-numbing hour, shoving my head into books and conducting research while you sleep. And why? Because you asked me. Because you need my help. Because, for once in my miserable existence, I have a care-taker who treats me like a person, and not some thing to be used and tossed aside."
He drew himself up, his back ramrod straight, his gaze now capable of withering plants at a hundred paces. "Now, if you wish for further assistance, you need to remember that I'm not mortal anymore. I had one chance to breathe, to feel magic course through my veins, to touch, and I gave it up for you. I realize this might be a monumental task, but kindly refrain from berating me like a child because I cannot work outside of my means."
My heart didn't just plummet -- it went through the floor. Bob can get quite eloquent when he's angry, and when he's feeling really annoyed, he lets go with both barrels. It never failed to make me feel two inches tall when I was his apprentice, and it was still just as deadly as it was back then. It didn't matter that I was half-dead with exhaustion and frustrated because of how slowly the research was going. I had no right to accuse him of not helping to the best of his ability, especially since every time I'd spoken with Bob since this whole mess began, it was in the lab.
I gritted my teeth, my frustration wanting to get the last word in, but shame walloped frustration over the head with something heavy, and I ended up clearing my throat and mumbling an apology, not looking at Bob.
With the kind of satisfied nod that a knight of old gave to the dragon corpse that lay smoldering at his feet, Bob turned back to the bookshelf he'd been standing next to earlier, closed his eyes, and deliberately shoved his face back into the first book in the row, and then moving forward, the gold light fizzing around himself and the books until he was about halfway through the shelf.
I sighed through my nose and left the lab, heading for the kitchen to see if I had another Coke. My stomach had started roiling again about halfway through Bob's sneering reminder of his limitations, and if I was going to be of any use, I would need to calm my stomach down.
When I got to the kitchen, the phone rang. I picked it up. "Dresden."
"I need you to come down to the morgue," Murphy said.
"The morgue? Why, Lieutenant, I didn't know you were into kink," I said, and part of me was glad that my smart-ass gland hadn't atrophied into uselessness.
I could almost feel Murphy roll her eyes over the phone. "Very funny. Butters has something for us."
"I'll be right there." I hung up.
It didn't take long to get there, and when I showed, Murphy was already waiting for me. I don't know if it was a trick of the light, but she was already looking better than she had this morning, which was saying something. "Hey, Murph."
Murphy nodded, and then led the way to Butters' lab.
It was still as bare as it usually was, with one metal desk against one wall, the slab where Mr. Soggy lay a few feet away, and a few feet further down, Mr. Crispy. Both bodies were naked.
"Murphy," Butters nodded to her, and then when he saw me, he looked a bit surprised. "I had a feeling you might be called in."
"Why's that?" I frowned.
"Well, there aren't any interesting looking brands on the bodies this time, but this one--" He pointed to Mr. Soggy and approached his slab. "--certainly had an interesting cause of death."
"Which is?" Murphy asked, trying to sound patient and not managing it too well. A brush with death in the morning can do that.
"Water intoxication."
I blinked. "What?"
Butters smiled a little at the two of us. "Water intoxication. It usually happens when the victim drinks more than three gallons of water in a twenty-four hour period."
"He died because he drank too much water?" Murphy asked skeptically.
"There's been documented cases of it happening," Butters explained. "Your vic's stomach showed multiple tears when I got it out. But he actually died of heart failure due to his internal organs filling with fluid. The pressure caused by the surrounding organs crushed his heart so that it couldn't keep beating." He turned to the body, this time looking like the guy had deflated like a balloon. "From what I could measure, this guy had almost twenty-two gallons in his body when the techs finally brought him here, and that's after he'd been leaking pretty heavily at your crime scene."
My eyes widened. "And how many gallons is normal?"
Butters snorted. "Not this many, that's for sure. Counting in blood and other fluids the body needs in order to continue functioning properly, and the guy's weight, I'd say this guy should've had about ten, ten-and-a-half gallons normally?" He shrugged.
Murphy and I exchanged a quick glance with each other.
"Now, usually," Butters kept going, "water intoxication doesn't happen to the point where the victim is literally leaking all over the floor, but I'm guessing that's where you come in, Harry."
"How can you tell this guy wasn't drowned?" Murphy frowned at the corpse, taking a step or two closer.
"Well, drowning victims usually show either blood shift, where blood moves toward the thoracic cavity to make sure the lungs don't collapse, or peripheral vasoconstriction, where the blood flow to the extremities is shut down so that more blood can get to the vital organs, especially the brain."
"And you didn't find either of those," Murphy said.
"Right." Butters nodded. "Also, if you look at his skin." He moved in close, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves and picked up one of the guy's hands. "He's got washer-woman hands. It's common in floaters."
"But, this guy wasn't found in the water," Murphy said slowly, frowning at Butters,
Butters nodded. "Exactly. Now..."
I'm not sure why I looked up at that specific movement, but when I looked at the door, I noticed a very familiar face walk by the door to Butters' lab. Blinking, I mumbled something about coming right back, and then headed for the hallway. Looking one way, and then the other, I saw another flash of white hair and very dark clothing disappear around a corner, but when I got there and looked around again, it was gone.
"Harry?" I looked up to see Murphy half-jogging down the hallway to catch up with me, looking annoyed. "What're you doing out here?"
"Thought I saw someone," I muttered, frowning. Murphy rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, you probably did. It's a morgue. I'm sure there's other cops down here, talking to MEs. Now, c'mon. Butters still has more to tell us."
I nodded slowly, not wanting to leave the hallway, but letting her take me back. It didn't make any sense. The guy I saw wasn't a cop, because he hadn't been wearing the usual plainclothes suits that I was used to seeing around the police station where Murphy worked. But he also wasn't a medical examiner either, because of the lack of the white coat. And I had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't a relative of someone who'd died, or else he wouldn't have looked like he was almost... smiling.
But it couldn't have been Bob. I'd already strengthened the wards around my home and office to make sure I didn't have a repeat of the last time someone wanted to use Bob for their own ends. And why the hell would Bob be here, of all places?
Murphy half-pushed me back into Butters' lab, and I forced myself to concentrate. Keep your eye on the ball, Harry, I told myself sternly.
"Have you run a tox screen on either vic?" Murphy asked.
Butters nodded. "We're still waiting on results to come back, but I got what I could from both of them."
Murphy nodded, and then asked, "Have you identified either of them?"
"It took a bit of doing with your water intoxication vic, but his name is Marvin Applegate, and his last known address is St. Paul, Minnesota."
"Minnesota?" Murphy frowned. "What's he doing here?"
"Maybe he wanted to see if the Windy City really is that windy," I offered, looking at Marvin again.
Murphy snorted. "And the burn victim?"
"According to the dental records we got from the hospital, this is Patrick McKinley," Butters replied. "Apparently, he chipped a tooth a few days before he died, and he needed to get it looked at. But that's not the interesting part."
"It's not?" I asked.
Butters shook his head. "I found some skin under Applegate's fingernails that had been embedded fairly deeply," he said, pointing at Applegate. "And it matches McKinley."
Murphy blinked. "So our two vics knew each other."
"At least well enough that Applegate scratched McKinley before he died," Butters agreed.
"Was there anything unusual about the burn victim?" Murphy asked.
Butters nodded. "No sign of accelerant, or anything else that would've caused him to go up," he said. "But there were patches of his arms that look like he'd been literally tearing off pieces of skin before he became the Human Torch."
I glanced at Murphy. "The witnesses said that he'd started screaming about cockroaches all over him, right?"
Murphy nodded before looking at Butters. "Did you check his brain?"
Butters nodded. "Just like you asked, and no, he didn't have any brain tumors or anything that would've caused hallucinations."
Murphy looked up at my face without meeting my gaze. "Any thoughts?"
"I'm not sure about him," I said, pointing to Applegate, "but Dark magic could've been on this guy. Hang on." I closed my eyes and concentrated questing out to feel the aura of magic around the body. And then I frowned. "I don't feel anything."
"And?" Murphy asked.
"Magic tends to leave residual energy, especially in an area where magic was used for a spell or a ritual," I explained.
"Like fingerprints?" she asked.
I nodded. "The only trouble is that if only a little bit of magic was used, sunlight is usually strong enough to erase it. Light banishing the darkness, that kind of thing."
Murphy nodded. "But Applegate was inside of a steel mill that had been closed down for years. Could that have done anything?"
I shook my head. "The building was abandoned, but it had broken windows. Light still could've gotten through." I looked at Sloane again. "And this guy was in a diner in broad daylight." Then I remembered something. "But... at both crime scenes, I still felt some residual energy."
"Which you shouldn't have, because of the sunlight thing, right?" Murphy asked, frowning. I nodded. "Would you be able to identify the magic if you came across it again?"
"It was... more like a buzzing sensation." I frowned. I knew I'd come across it somewhere before. I just couldn't remember where. I gave up and nodded. "Yeah, I can identify it again."
"Good," Murphy nodded. "Butters, was there anything else?"
"Not really. The next of kin needs to be notified, and that's it from my end," he said, looking curiously between the two of us.
"If anything else pops up," Murphy said, "call me."
"Will do, Lieutenant," Butters nodded. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a date with a gunshot victim."
Murphy and I went our separate ways in the parking lot, and when I got home, I felt really tired. I usually feel pretty tired a lot of the time, since I don't exactly get to choose my own hours or when any bad guys decide to attack me, but this felt... different somehow.
I don't like looking at bodies, especially ones that were killed by magic. Bob had taught me that magic stems from the essence of life. Being able to tap into a force of nature that can create such wonderful and powerful effects is like being an artist. And when someone uses magic to hurt, to kill, to destroy... it feels wrong on a level that I can't describe.
But, that wasn't it. Most of the time when I look at bodies, I want to throw up, or hide somewhere where I don't have to look at them again. This time, I just felt numb. And that's not typical.
I got to the front door of my building and went inside, I could feel the numbness and the exhaustion wash over me, and all I wanted to do was sink back into bed, feel the warm sheets around me, and drift back to sleep.
Instead, I headed straight for the lab. I shoved open the steel door and stripped out of my coat, laying it over the seat of the stool. Bob had his head thrust inside one bookcase, and after a minute, he righted himself and nodded. "Ah, Harry. There you are."
"Here I am," I nodded, still feeling tired as I sank onto the stool. I rubbed my eyes and asked, "How can a guy drink too much water?"
"I beg your pardon?" Bob asked, sounding confused. I recapped the visit for him while I tried to wake myself up, leaving out the part where I saw him walking down the hallway.
When I was finished, Bob blinked. "Water intoxication?"
"Apparently, the guy drank too much water and it crushed his heart," I said. "It sounds crazy."
Bob frowned. "It's not actually that crazy, Harry. A spell could have done it, certainly."
I lifted my face out of my hands to frown at him. "What, like he cast a spell that made any standing water in the area drinkable?"
Bob shook his head. "More like he devised a spell where he could pour water directly into his mouth. It's rather useful if you're in a tropical climate, and you might not have the energy to actually drink something."
"But I thought spells like that only lasted as long as the wizard kept the energy going?" I asked, frowning. "Applegate had more than twice the normal amount of water in his body when he died."
Bob pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing as he thought. "It's quite possible that he devised a spell to pour a set amount of water into his mouth."
"Twelve extra gallons worth?" I demanded. "Could he have screwed up his calculations?"
"Anything's possible, I suppose," Bob said, not looking as confident as he sounded. "Why could it not have been an attack from someone or something else?"
"There weren't any signs of a struggle," I pointed out, feeling my eyelids droop. "And the only water was around the victim."
"Perhaps the homunculus idea?" Bob suggested.
I rubbed at my face and sighed. I'd gone to bed earlier today, and I felt crappier than I had before I'd gotten some sleep. I got up from my stool. "Bob, I can barely think straight. I need food."
Bob frowned. "You need rest."
I shook my head. "Already tried. Still tired."
Bob's frown deepened, but he nodded once. "You should still have some soda in the refrigerator."
"Thanks," I mumbled, and headed for the kitchen. I'd popped open a can of Coke and drank half of it, wishing that I had remembered to buy coffee on my last run to the grocery store when Bob emerged from the lab, looking at me intently. I felt a buzz against my skin, but it barely registered.
"You found something?" I asked, blinking a few times.
"Not precisely," Bob said, shaking his head. "But I think I might have figured out one method that the water intoxication could still have been a rather gruesome form of attack."
I frowned. "What happened to the homunculus idea?"
"Has the body degraded into something non-human?" Bob asked.
I shook my head, taking another sip of Coke.
"There's your answer," Bob said. "You know that homunculi aren't wholly human, and when the machine deteriorates, it would break down to its component elements, and it would no doubt have given the medical examiner quite a shock."
"But how can it be an attack?" I asked, still confused. "There weren't signs of a struggle."
"What about the victim's fingernails?" Bob asked. "He obviously knew the burned man enough to scratch him."
"Not even the most powerful wizard could cover up his tracks that well," I argued, "and it would've taken a freaking huge amount of power to kill somebody using water."
Bob watched me for a long minute, one eyebrow arching. "Why not conduct an experiment?"
"An experiment?" I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"See just how much power it would take to kill someone using water, and replicate spells you know. If one wizard attacking another creates the conditions that you discovered when you first saw the crime scene, then you have your answer."
It was an indication of just how tired I was, because what he said didn't sink in immediately. "You're proposing I go out, kidnap someone, and kill them?" I demanded.
Bob sighed, glaring at me. "No, Harry," he said evenly, "I am not advocating Dark magic. I am merely suggesting that you find a suitable substitute. Perhaps a rat or two, so that you can duplicate the experiment and be sure of the results."
"Rats," I said slowly.
Bob nodded, smiling a little and actually looking like he was getting into the idea. "Yes. While certainly not genetically similar to humans, rats are still mammals. However much water it would take to drown one of the little pests, you could devise a formula and then apply it to a person's size and stamina."
I stared at him, and I could feel my blood run cold. There were times when Bob's scientific curiosity got more than a little morbid, and it tended to take me by surprise whenever it made an appearance, but there was something... off about this. Callously killing rats, even if they are pests that I could live without, felt too close to torturing small animals. And drowning them, just to see how long it would take....
I shook my head firmly. "No," I said, sounding calmer than I felt.
"No?" Bob asked, looking disappointed.
"No." I downed the rest of my Coke and tossed the can in the trash without a word. And then I headed to the lab. Sitting down on my stool, I watched Bob turn around to look at me.
"Harry--"
"I am not drowning rats, Bob," I snapped.
Bob blinked, his eyebrows lifting. "Very well," he said slowly. "What brought that idea on?"
I opened my mouth to remind him about... something. I stopped and blinked for a second, hearing a faint buzzing in my ears. There was something I was going to tell him. Something important, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was.
Bob frowned. "Harry?"
I shook my head. "Never mind."
Bob's frowned deepened. "Harry, are you feeling well?"
I blinked at him. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Perhaps you need some rest," he suggested gently. "You look terrible."
I shook my head, resisting the urge to yawn. "I can't. We'll get through these faster if we work together." I shot him a smile, which he returned after a moment.
"As much as I would appreciate the company," Bob said, "you look as though you haven't slept."
"It didn't feel like I did," I said, reaching over to rub one of my arms absently.
Bob frowned. "I've heard that warm milk does wonders for insomnia."
I smiled a little, touched by the suggestion. Warm milk had helped me get to sleep when I was a kid, when living at the Morningway estate had been new and scary. "Yeah, but this is feeling like I've been through the wringer even after a few hours of shut-eye. I've gone without sleep before. Besides, I should be working with you on this, not sleeping the whole day."
Bob sighed. "Go back upstairs and lay down, at the very least. Even if you can't sleep, you can still give yourself some rest. And who knows? You might think of a solution to this conundrum."
I was a bit skeptical, but I couldn't suppress a wide yawn, exhaustion hit me like a wave, and I relented. "Fine, but wake me if you find something."
He smiled a little. "Of course."
***
Back to Part Two.
Continue to Part Four.