Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Back at Station House 4, Watts perched himself against Murdoch’s file cabinets, as he observed Murdoch analyzing the imprints they took at the blast site.
The cast confirmed the impossible fact, that the imprints were of a pair of shoes...small shoes, either a woman’s or a child’s. Watts had seen many strange things in his life but nothing quite like this.
“Anything, Detective?”
Murdoch heaved a frustrated sigh.
“Nothing of use. Nothing to exclaim how those imprints came to be… the sheer force of stamping into pavement would probably have shattered the bones in this person’s feet and legs, if they could survive being so close to the blast point.”
Watts’s eyes grew wide, “You don’t think...that the body...er...disintegrated, do you?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
There was a knock at Murdoch’s door, and Crabtree poked his head into the room.
“Sirs, Henry is booking Mr. Scamander, the person of interest, as we speak. I have confiscated his suitcase.”
“We’ll go and interview this Mr. Scamander. Can you search his case, George? See if there is anything suspicious, anything that could have ignited the bomb.”
“Yes, Sir!”
* * * * * * *
Newt Scamander was trying very hard not to panic. His forehead throbbed where he’d cut it against his case. He’d lost Nick in a strange city, and with the explosion, he was worried sick about the little imp. He’d regained consciousness to find his case open, and he shuddered to think of the number of creatures that could have escaped in the process. He had momentarily considered apparating out, but he hadn’t wanted to risk it with a head injury. He allowed himself to be helped up by two muggle volunteers and led to the makeshift medic station.
Then the woman started screaming how she’d seen Newt acting suspiciously near the explosion, and before he could say “I,” he was being escorted to a muggle police station.
Dust-covered policemen and witnesses came and went. Two dark-haired men made their way over to where Newt stood. He looked about awkwardly, wishing he had risked apparition - the risk of splinching was better than whatever this was. He took some calming breaths.
The constable that was booking him seemed well pleased with himself, though perhaps not too bright.
“State your full name for our records,” he said.
Newt shifted awkwardly and averted his gaze under the constable’s stare.
“Newton Artemis Fido Scamander.”
“Artemis? Isn’t that a woman’s name?” interrupted the constable.
Newt looked up sharply and glared at him.
“It’s my name.”
A sigh interrupted whatever the constable was about to say. “Thank you , Henry, we’ll take it from here. Mr. Scamander, was it? I’m Detective William Murdoch, my colleague Detective Watts and I have some questions for you, if you’d follow me…”
They began to lead Newt away from the desk, when with a sudden nervous realization, Newt froze. He realized he was missing something incredibly important.
“Wait, my case! Where’s my case?” Newt began to look about himself, the bubbling panic overwhelming.
“The booking constables will hold on to it now, they need to make sure you have no weapons or suspicious materials in your person.”
“They’re not going to open it?!”
“Mr. Scamander, you are being detained due to the suspicious behaviour you exhibited at the scene of the crime. Your possessions are being searched as we speak.”
At Newt’s panicked expression, Murdoch continued, “Do you have something to hide Mr. Scamander?”
“Please, It’s very important...it’s all my work, it’s...it’s everything to me…”
“It will be properly looked after,” reassured Watts, “Everything will be returned to its place.”
Newt didn’t look convinced.
A few moments later found Newt sitting in the interrogation room of Station House 4, staring fixedly at his hands as he drummed his fingers on the table top.
Across from him sat Constable Henry Higgins with his notebook and pen at the ready. He looked like Christmas had come early - he never got to participate in interrogations. Luckily for him, George was otherwise occupied. Murdoch took the seat next to Higgins, and Detective Watts remained standing, leaning against the wall near the door.
Watts took a moment to observe the man, Mr. Scamander. He was handsome though dishevelled. His curly copper hair was plastered to his forehead in some places with dried blood. He looked pale despite his freckles and tan...he must have spent some time abroad in the sun, but clearly the blow to his head that caused the bleeding must have left him rattled.
Scamander was a tall man, but he carried himself hunched as if he were trying to make himself appear smaller. He was probably shy, certainly non-threatening. He seemed to have a hard time making eye contact - rather than looking about the room or trying to read the strangers present, he kept his gaze focused on the tabletop. Watts instantly sympathised.
His clothes were neat, despite the thick layer of dust, though perhaps a bit out of style. His charcoal trousers were just a hair too short, his argyle socks (one blue, one green) were just visible over his worn leather boots. His bright teal jacket clashed loudly with his goldenrod linen waistcoat and rusty red bow tie, but there was something incredibly charming about the ensemble. He appeared mild-mannered and studious...an academic, if his ink stained fingers were anything to go by, though his hands looked calloused and scarred...so he was also no stranger to manual work.
Watts’s instincts told him that this man before him was no more a deranged bomber than he himself was.
Murdoch looked at Scamander, and cleared his throat.
"Mr. Scamander-"
“Artemis ,” muttered Higgins, with a chuckle, shaking his head.
Scamander looked at Higgins sharply, his cheeks flushed pink.
Murdoch sighed, wondering if it was too late to swap Henry for George.
“Constable Higgins, need I remind you, you are here to observe and take notes. Another outburst like that, and I will have to ask you to leave.”
“Yes, Sir,” muttered Higgins, properly abashed.
“Mr. Scamander, what were you doing in front of City Hall today?” asked Murdoch, his tone accusatory. Scamander bristled at his words.
“Walking. Is that a crime?” asked Scamander, still shooting dark looks at Henry.
Murdoch blinked. “Mr. Scamander, I suggest you take this seriously. An eye-witness claims you were fleeing the scene of a crime-"
“I was not fleeing a crime scene, Detective.”
Murdoch blinked, and spoke more slowly, his frustration seeping into his tone.
“You were seen suspiciously running across the square, through a crowd of people, away from a place where, seconds later, an explosion occurred.”
“I wasn’t running away, I was chasing after.. .”
“Mr. Scamander, your attitude is not helping matters. What were you doing at that rally?”
Newt paused, shifting in his seat slightly. He tilted his head and looked at the table about a foot away from Murdoch. When he spoke again, his tone was serious.
“Detective Murdoch, I was just passing through. I had just gone to the bank, on Bay Street, to the currency exchange office. I was on my way to look for accommodations, when I happened upon that...demonstration, purely by chance. I saw the crowd gathered, I heard the woman’s shouts and I went to see what was happening.”
“So, you only just arrived in Toronto?” asked Watts with his eyebrows raised.
Newt up glanced at Watts. “Yes, just this afternoon.”
“Where were you before?”
“London, well, at least for a bit. Before then, Woodside in Berkshire, near Windsor, but I’ve spent the past three years in the field...in Africa, Asia, Europe and Oceania. I’m a m...zoologist.”
Murdoch sighed; it appeared they were hitting another dead-end . “Do you have anyone that can vouch for what you say?”
“I have my stamped passport, and my steamer and train ticket stubs in my case, which your friend here has confiscated,” Newt said, throwing Higgins another sideways look. “The clerk at the bank might remember me as well - I had a few different types of currency to exchange…”
Murdoch was pretty certain that Mr. Scamander was not directly involved in the bombing, nor the other cases - how could he be if he had indeed just arrived in the city? However, he couldn’t help but feel that Scamander was hiding something. His intuition was screaming at him, and if his years as a detective had taught him anything, it was never to ignore his instincts.
“Mr. Scamander, I’ll ask you again, no more lies. How were you running away from the explosion moments before it happened?”
“I’m not lying to you, Detective. I do not lie. Everything I’ve said to you so far has been the truth. I found myself at that rally, a boy holding a stack of those leaflets fell into me, knocking my case from my hands…”
“A boy?”
"A pale boy, dressed all in black with a bowl cut…”
“Credence Barebone,” supplied Watts, “That did happen, Detective Murdoch. I was witness to it.”
Newt looked up at Watts carefully. Watts smiled encouragingly before asking “The Barebone woman...the preacher woman at the rally...she called out to you. Did you know her?”
Newt shook his head uncomfortably, “She asked me if I was a ‘seeker of the truth’ I don’t really know what she meant - I never spoke to her before, I’ve never even seen her before today.”
Watts nodded at him, “Please, continue Mr. Scamander.”
Newt continued, “I helped him...Credence...to his feet, and in that moment of distraction, I lost sight of a...friend. I was trying to find him…Then the explosion happened. Your people arrested me then, and brought me here.”
“What’s your friend’s name?” asked Murdoch, suspiciously.
Newt rubbed his neck, uncomfortably, “Well, when I say friend - I meant a creature - a pet of sorts - Nick is his name.”
“What kind of-” began Henry, but Murdoch silenced him with a look.
“And you know nothing about this attack or any of the others?” asked Watts quickly, sensing that Murdoch was rapidly losing his patience.
“No, like I said…” Newt looked from one detective’s face to the other seriously. “Others? You mean there are more of these? That’s...that’s terrible...”
Watts and Murdoch exchanged looks.
Murdoch pulled the stack of photographs of the three murder victims and the previous attacks of destruction out of his jacket pocket. He slid them across the table to Newt and fanned them out. Newt glanced down and visibly paled.
He reached out and picked up the pictures and flipped through one at a time. He looked carefully at each one, his expression growing more grim. He traced a finger along the markings.
“You recognize the victims?” asked Murdoch.
“Not the victims, no” said Newt, his voice hollow.
“You recognize the markings,” said Watts. It was not a question.
Newt blanched and looked visibly disturbed. “I’ve encountered this before. In Sudan.”
He fell quiet. The detectives exchanged looks. Newt was obviously thinking…
“Can I have my case?” he asked finally.
“I’ve already told you…” began Murdoch.
“Please, it’s very important,” replied Newt quickly.
“Why?” asked Murdoch.
“It’ll help me explain if you can see, if I can prove...otherwise it’s too fantastical for Muggles.”
“Muggles?” asked Watts.
Newt blushed. He was growing more and more uncomfortable. “Well, technically, I’m not supposed to tell you -”
Murdoch was angry, “Mr. Scamander, we are not playing games here.”
“Neither am I, Detective - if I’m right, and I’m positive I’m right, you have a very dangerous and serious situation on your hands. By law, I’m not supposed to tell you anything, but this is a matter of life and death, and that gives me certain loopholes. My case, please!”
Watts turned to Henry, “Constable, Mr. Scamander’s suitcase if you will.”
“Right away, Sir,” Henry got up and left the interrogation room.
“Why can’t you tell us certain things?” asked Watts seriously.
“There are laws in place to protect people from certain knowledge. The Statute of Secrecy - it’s an international agreement - but if I’m right, if you’ve got an Obscurus on your hands…I...” trailed off, clearly talking to himself. He stood and began pacing, then shook his head. “Of course, this must be why Dumbledore had been so insistent about Toronto - ” Murdoch and Watts looked utterly bewildered. Newt ran his hand through his hair in frustration.
Just then, a knock was heard on the door. It opened a crack to reveal Terrance Meyers.
“Murdoch, a word?” he said urgently. Murdoch rolled his eyes. Newt looked on with apprehension.
“Meyers, I was just in the middle of interviewing Mr. Scamander…”
“Scamander?! The War Hero?! ” asked Meyers incredulously. He pushed his way into the room, followed by his blond assistant, Mr. Graves, and a brown-haired woman. George Crabtree slipped in behind her, carrying Newt’s case. Newt met his eyes quickly with a pleading look, and Crabtree, understanding, deftly hid the case.
Mr. Graves scoffed, “Not THE Scamander. I’d wager. I’ve met Theseus Scamander...this is certainly no Theseus Scamander.”
Newt stared at Graves sharply. “Theseus is my brother.”
Graves snorted “I would never have guessed. I believe congratulations are in order...your brother’s engagement to Miss Lestrange. Wasn’t she a friend of yours at school?” His tone was surprisingly insulting.
Newt blushed again and averted his gaze, hunching his shoulders, “You seem to know a great deal about me and my family, Mr…”
“It is my business to know things. Meyers, Goldstein, this is Newton Scamander...the lesser impressive Scamander brother...a zoologist of all things. What are you doing in Canada, Scamander? Last I heard, you were chasing butterflies in The Serengeti.”
“I’m sorry,” said Newt, his eyes narrowing, “but who exactly are you?”
The brown-haired woman scoffed. Newt recognized her with a jolt. She was the woman from the rally who had spoken with the elderly muggle man before storming off.
Now she snapped at him with judgement in her brown eyes, “You should speak with a more respectful tone, Mr. Scamander, or you’ll find yourself in serious trouble.”
“I’m Percival Graves,” said Graves, “Head Auror of the Province of Ontario, and I’ll ask the questions here, Mr. Scamander.”
Murdoch’s eyebrows shot up, “Actually-“
“I’ve done nothing wrong, Auror Graves. I can’t see why you would need to interrogate me,” snapped Scamander.
“Mr. Scamander is merely here as a witness to this afternoon’s attack,” said Watts authoritatively, “We don’t suspect him of anything, Mr. Graves. He just arrived in Toronto this afternoon.”
“Convenient,” said Graves suspiciously, still not taking his eyes from Scamander. He had a predatory look about him. “And what brings you to Toronto?”
“I’m researching. For my book on creatures .”
“What, an extermination guide?” asked the brown-haired woman.
Newt stared at her sharply, “A scientific analysis of creatures’ behaviors and habitats, chronicling the native fauna of the world - promoting their care and protection...and you are…”
“Auror Tina Goldstein.”
Newt snorted.
“Something funny , Mr. Scamander?”
“I should have known, typical attitude for an Auror - anytime you encounter something you fear or misunderstand your answer is ‘kill it!’”
Goldstein started forward towards Scamander, her hand flying to her pocket, but Meyers stepped between them.
“Let’s all calm down! If Mr. Scamander indeed arrived today, he’s obviously not involved in any of the murders we are investigating. Mr. Scamander, if you can please explain what you’re doing in Toronto…”
“I’ve already told you, I’m researching-”
“You’re researching animals in Toronto? You must be diligent indeed. Do you plan to include a chapter on squirrels and sparrows, perhaps even geese if we’re lucky,” snapped Graves. Meyers looked at him sharply.
“I’m en route to Saskatchewan,” retorted Newt, “I stopped in Toronto to rest, gather supplies, and plan my trip before I move on... I figured I might as well be around people a bit, catch the sights, maybe take a trip to Niagara Falls, before I spend months in solitude in the wilds of Canada. But again, I fail to see how this is of interest to the Auror Office. ”
“What do you mean 'Auror'?” asked Murdoch.
Newt looked up surprised. He turned to look at Graves with raised eyebrows.
“They’re a specialized branch of the Canadian Government, Murdoch.” Interjected Meyers.
“And what do you want with Mr. Scamander here?” Murdoch asked suspiciously.
“A zoologist, travelling across the world, is a perfect cover story for a member of a terrorist organisation,” snapped Graves, mockingly.
Newt scoffed, “You think I’m a terrorist? If you know as much as you claim about me and my family, you’d know that’s the most ludicrous theory... I’m a pacifist.”
Graves snapped, “You’re an idealist fool. Exactly the type of person who would follow Grindelwald.”
Newt looked up at Graves sharply, as if he’d been slapped. He met Graves’s cold brown eyes with his own blue-green ones that seemed to shine with fire.
“I am not a follower of Grindelwald. My father gave his life fighting Blood Supremacists. For Merlin’s sake, my brother is the Head Auror of all Britain, how could you even think… ”
“Simple, Mr. Scamander, your family’s associations and beliefs are clear, but your record has not been so spotless. Expelled from Hogwarts under suspicious circumstances, quietly discharged from military service for insubordination, and then, rather than follow in your father’s and brother’s footsteps in fightingBlood Supremacists, you’ve opted to traipse around the world chasing tree frogs...you wouldn’t be the first to rebel against a family’s views. Who cares about animals anyway? It could easily be a cover that an Acolyte of the Alliance would use.”
Newt was stunned.
“I swear on my life that I’m not a follower of Grindelwald, I’ll take Veritaserum or make an Unbreakable Oath if you wish.”
For a moment, an emotion flashed across Graves’s face - was it disappointment? It couldn’t have been.
Watts felt the need to interject. “I believe it was Bertrand Russell who said, ‘It is undesirable to believe a proposition when there is no ground whatever for supposing it true,’” said Watts definitively, “Mr. Scamander here is not a terrorist, there has been no evidence to suggest otherwise...to keep pushing would be a waste of time and an injustice...I believe we are done here, gentlemen, ladies.” He opened the door and inclined his head to the hall before meeting Graves’s eyes defiantly.
Newt stared at Watts in shock. Never before had a total stranger defended him so publicly and vehemently.
Graves shot Watts a dark, calculating look, then turned to Scamander, “Do not leave Toronto just yet, Mr. Scamander. I have no doubt that we will talk again very soon.” He left the room with a swish of his long jacket. Auror Goldstein shot Newt another dirty look before following on his heels.
* * * * * * *