53 Detective from Across the Pond

**Genine Diggory**

"Detective chief inspector coming through!" The twang of my accent pushes against the crowd. The yellow glow of streetlights reflects against the downpour as my brown fedora keeps my black hair, tied up in a knotted bun, dry. Warmth flutters through my heart at the topic of Amos' Christmas gift to me.

The shouting of my fake rank started to work, as my thin frame met less resistance on my fight up to the Bedazzling Hex. The water clinging to my grey overcoat evaporated as I stepped into the hex. The sounds of hushed murmurs mute as they're replaced with busy background of, what muggles would call, cop talk.

"Ma'am, sorry but we can't let you through. If you wouldn't mind, I'll escort you to through the fleur network," a male Auror patronises, but not before leering at my subtle hourglass figure.

Knowing fully well he knows I'm an Auror, I swallow my insult and humor him. Digging through my pocket, I pull out my badge shove it in his face. To muggles, it would look like whatever I need, but for wizards, it says 'Detective Inspector for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement'.

"Apologies," he says as he moves aside. Brushing past him, my tan skin glows in the shine of the streetlights. He doesn't even wait until I'm out of earshot to mutter under his breath, "Cursed freak."

Insult boiling up, I turn to reem him until I catch sight of the body. Collapsed in front of the Leaky Cauldron sits a half forest troll, pilfered with stab and slash wounds, missing most of his upper arms. Stopping for a moment, I take a deep breath.

"Seen anything like it?" Draven asks, our blond healer/death fanatic, crouched beside the body.

"Not in M.I.D." Referencing my old job in America, I scan the scene. Glancing to the left of the body, I spot the rest of his upper arms. "Did you get anything from him?"

"Time of death looks to be just last night. His first wounds were his arms, cut clean off by some sort of sword. The same sword was used to then impale him in the heart over there," he gestures with his wand, pointing at a pile of blood a little to the left, "the killer then dragged him over here and proceeded to cut and stab him 28 times."

"Merlin, Five in a mouth!" I exclaim, banishing my coat and fedora. An off-white dress shirt and khakis held up by black suspenders allow more freedom of movement. Crouch beside the half-troll, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. "Same MO?"

"He has all the markings of the Drink of Despair and a tooth was taken," his green eyes twinkle as he gets up. The Drink of Despair is an illegal potion that causes fear, delirium, and extreme thirst. A sliver of light shins from one of the victim's wounds, catching my eye. "Speaking of despair, looks like you have a jurisdiction issue."

Looking up, my deep black eyes land on a husky brown-haired wizard as he hurries to me. Gold rectangular frames sit over bright brown eyes, matching the gold and dark green tie hiding under a green sweater vest. khakis, a wee bit darker than mine, cover his legs as he bounces over.

"Did they seriously think sending my husband to take my case was a good idea?" Even under these circumstances, his posh accent still can't help but warm me as challenge fires in my eyes.

"Luckily my superiors are smarter than that. The higher-ups are being pressured to solve the case quickly assigned me to help you as a joint investigation." Amos's explanation hangs in the air along with the awkwardness it brings. Returning back to the body, I search my memory for spells that would save me from digging into the chest wound. "What spell did that?"

"No spell marks were found on the body," I say casually, too engrossed in the case to worry about politics.

"Are you telling me this was done by hand?" Amos exclaims as I free my wand from its hip holster. "Could these be a muggle thinking they're killing monsters?"

"Possibly. Or a squib?" Flicking my wand, the small shard of silver metal flies from his chest and into my hand. Scrunching my face, I look around; dreading what I have to do next.

Holding it up to my nose, I close my eyes and concentrate on its smell. Instantly, the copper tang of blood and the Half-troll's musk overpowers everything else. Good thing trolls have such a potent odour, I think as I memorize the smell.

Worry paints Amos' face as I hand him the silver shard, "Don't worry, this much should be fine."

Looking around, an area slightly away from the victim reaks of him. My black loafers splash through the pools of water as I approach the curb. Even with the sun bloated out by rainclouds, the silver sword still shined from the streetlights.