Inspection
After the death of Benjy, they had stopped the operation. He attended the funeral and saw his family there, sobbing and weeping. Guilt had swept him up and clawed at him until any other emotion had dissipated. He was there. The killer was there and Benjy knew it. Yet he dismissed his fear. He did not do his job, to keep him safe. He had promised. And he failed him. Why was he never good enough?
But, James felt meaningless, empty. Without the chase, the hunt, the obsession that consumed him, the only thing keeping him busy in his otherwise mundane life had disappeared. They had not met to discuss anything further in almost two weeks. He had begun to lose hope, maybe they were not allowed to do anymore and he would be forced back into his old job. Not being able to fight for what he knew was correct. He would have to sit all day watching his colleagues go round and round in circles, chasing their own tales as they ignore the obvious signs that point to James being correct. But, at least then he would have something to do that meant guilty thoughts didn't worm their way into every thought he had.
When James woke up on another day of nothing, expecting the same cycle: get up, stay in bed, make lunch, go back to bed, make dinner, go to sleep. He was reminded of Sirius, when he first moved in with James after leaving his family home. The stress of leaving his brother at home, of which James had never heard of before, nor ever again after, had taken a huge toll on his well being. As happy as Sirius was to have escaped into the comfort that was the potter’s home, he was torn up about leaving his brother. But he took his only opportunity to leave and ran with it. These were how Sirius’s days were. The guilt that plagued him was too much, for a very long time, until he came to terms with it. What didn’t help was the fact that only a year after he left, his brother died.
His whole family had died in a house fire. Sirius was 17, his brother, James later found out, would've been 16. The charred remains found when the house was put out, their cries already engulfed by the flames. While James had never met the family, he was glad of their demise. The torment Sirius to this day suffers through is unimaginable, the trauma he relives painful for him and James both. To not know how to help your best friend is maddening, watching them suffer with no way of getting them out. But James has always been there, and while Sirius would never speak of what happened in that house, James can guess, and James can hate them for it.
But, when Lily texted him that morning, telling him to meet her back at the office, his skin started blazing, excitement pricking at his skin like needles, injecting adrenaline into his bloodstream. He scrambled out of bed, pulling on his jeans, polo and his old school sweatshirt he bolted out his building and headed towards his office.
When James walked in, Remus and Peter were already sitting at the table, mugs in hand. Lily emerged from around the corner with a mug of coffee for him and herself.
“Take your bloody time, why don't you? Sit, we've got loads to discuss.” She brushed her long ginger hair out of her eyes and took a seat next to Peter, gesturing to him to sit down.
“What’s going on, Lils? I thought we were done with this, after what happened to Benjy.”
“Right, so. About that. I tapped into the security footage to find the hour that you were there missing from all of the cameras. We just see you enter, then when the ambulance gets there. The only thing I found was a blurry figure in the corner of one of the cameras leaving the back way. They have a three broomsticks uniform on. But we can only see the left half of their body. I know we never sat to discuss what Benjy told you, James. Is there anything that you saw that could establish who the worker was? It may be a coincidence, or it may be him. He clearly knew that there was a camera there and avoided it. But, I know it was stressful, what do you remember?”
A memory flickered before James’s eyes. Warm soft lips melting into his, hands in his hair pulling at his scalp desperately, dark curls like silk under his touch, stone grey eyes boring into his, lavender infiltrating his nose, a cold smirk embedded on his brain. “Um,” he coughed. “Yeah he did tell me some things. I recorded our conversation.” James reached into his bag, the one he takes everywhere, it was lying on the floor next to him. It was clearly battered, but James had previously assumed it brought him luck. Maybe he was wrong. But maybe, as his trip to the bathroom flashed through his mind again, he was right. They listened to it in silence, Lily making brief notes, Remus nodding along, Peter looking a bit spaced out. They got partway through before Lily stood up.
“Hold on, I’ll be back.” she said suddenly, and briskly swept off to her desk before the recording finished.
“Okay then, back to work soldiers.” James saluted, Peter laughing and following suit, saluting at James. Remus only rolled his eyes, as he saluted he turned to flip James off as he went over to his desk as well. James just laughed.
When he settled at his desk, James pulled up his file, full of the murders across Europe, the one that Mcgonagall had reviewed, the one that started this whole operation. His passion. He had wondered whether these kills were done by one person, rather than a load of different ones. He had seen links between them, reviewing the causes of death and who had been killed. Most of them were rich, important and very influential. It was clear that there was reason behind each kill, even if the local police had deemed it a suicide, James knew better.
The deaths were flamboyant, exciting. Not every killer was as dramatic, as reckless as this one to take this much chance, put this much effort into each kill. James was enthralled by this. It was clear that they wanted to make a scene, to show off. They were clearly trained and skilled. How could people keep ignoring the signs? James went in on the crime scene photos again, zooming in over and over, each miniscule detail, each drop of blood, each hair left, each mark on each body, until he found something.
A kill in Paris, two years ago. Some daughter of an old money family was found with a silver spoon shoved down her throat, she suffocated to her death. Such a peculiar way to kill someone, but it clearly made a statement. He zoomed in on the spoon, the handle protruding from her mouth. It was engraved. R.A.B.
James opened another crime scene photo, Sicily, four years ago, a mafia leader, his trigger finger cut off, gun shoved up his anus, trigger pulled. Classy. James shivered at the thought. The finger was left on the gun, a gold band left round it, engraved once again. R.A.B.
This was not a coincidence. James searched each crime scene photo, each and everyone had R.A.B left somewhere. What did this mean? Was this the name of the operation? A coincidence? A message? Why the risk? James didn’t know, but he did know that it was a step closer to identifying the murderer.
James called for the group, and they gathered again around the table. “They are all linked, the kills. They are all done by the same person, or group. They have been leaving a message each time. R.A.B. I don’t know what it means but, we were right. These aren’t random at all. They are targeted.”
“Woah.” Remus sighed. He let out a chuckle. “James, you were right.”
“Well is that such a shock dear moony?” He rolled his eyes.
“I’ve taken a look at the employee log for the day you were at the three broomsticks.” Lily interrupted. “James, we know that they were in a uniform, so do you recognise them from any of these pictures? Just so we can check it was only an employee. Here.” She pushed the printouts of the images of each employee.
He scanned the sheet she had printed. He searched for dark curls, piercing grey eyes, a cold smirk. Nothing. “Lily, you're missing one.”
“No I am not, they assured me that this was everyone that was working that day.” She looked puzzled. Wait, what does that mean?
“No. You are. The man from the-” He broke off suddenly. Remembering the vital information Benjy gave him. The drawing.
“James what is it?” Remus asked.
“Shit, shit. I forgot. I got him to draw what he looked like - what the assassin looked like. He told me he could draw, so I got him to draw him. Fuck.” James scrambled through his bag frantically, searching for the piece of paper. He knew what he was going to see. He knew it.
Fear infiltrated his veins, running cold down his back, he shook violently as his fingers grasped around the piece of paper. How could he forget?
“Here it is.” He unfolded it, knowing what to expect. His heart fell straight to the ground, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
There they were, grey eyes, dark curls, cold smirk, high cheekbones, in all their glory.
“Oh shit.”