A Cloud Before the Moon

Chapter 19

Half an hour later, they were in the basement of the Police Station, standing in front of a large desk. The woman behind the desk was checking through a large ledger book. "Sorry," she said, "all the evidence in that case was sent up to London."

"Are you sure, Gladys?" Adams asked.

"Take a look yourself."

"Can't we look around in the store room, to see if there's a mistake?" Letha asked in dismay.

"No ma'am."

Letha was puzzled. "Do you know when it was sent to London?"

The woman ran a manicured finger down the page. "Oh, about two months ago, dear," said Gladys.

"That can't be!," Letha blurted out. Adams and Gladys looked at her in surprise. Of course, she couldn't tell them how she knew this was not true. She considered. "What about Inspector McCullough's personal papers? Are they here?"

Gladys walked over to a shelf on a far wall, and came back with another ledger book. She dropped it on the desk and opened it up, flipping to the recent entries. "Nobody's picked them up, so they must be here. But you can't see them."

"No?"

"Well, they're personal, you know," she explained, regarding letha quizzically.

"I understand. Thank you." Adams also thanked Gladys, and he and Letha left the station house. Letha chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Davy, I'm not sure exactly what's going on, but something's odd. Would you be willing to help me figure it out? I have to tell you right now, there are things I can't disclose."

"Like your real name?"

"Right. I wish I could but - "

"Then you'd have to kill me."

"What?" She looked at him, perplexed. "Of course not! Why would you say such a thing?"

"Sorry. It was supposed to be a joke. I can see you're not amused."

"No, not at all. If my employers knew I was poking around like this, I'd be sacked for sure. If anyone should ask you about me, under oath, let's say, ('or under Veritaserum, let's not say', she thought), well I couldn't ask you to lie, could I? "

"'Course not." Then, out of the blue, he asked, "Do you like to go fishing?"

"What?"

"There's a lake a few miles north of here - great fishing this time of year. We can take along a lunch, toss out a line, and talk about whatever you like. Sound good?"

Letha shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

They traipsed around from grocer's store to tackle shop to his flat, where he picked up fishing gear and a bottle of whiskey. Then they put everything in his car, and got in. She sat down and he said, "Okay, you have to wear your seat belt in my car."

Seat belt? She saw that he'd wrapped himself in some kind of contraption, and she tried to do the same, with little success. He looked at her with a bemused expression. "Wherever it is you come from, don't they have safety belts?" He sighed, leaned over and hooked it in.

"I'm afraid broomsticks don't come with safety belts. Though they probably should - I think I'll suggest it.," she joked.

When they stopped at a traffic light, he said, "Broomsticks? Ah, now that would explain it all. Could our mystery girl be a witch? Now, let's see here." He examined her face. "Nah - no green skin and not a single big hairy wart on your nose."

"Green skin? Hairy warts? I hate those stereotypes!" she exclaimed with irritation. "I've never yet seen - um - " she looked at him sheepishly - he didn't know better, and she was making improvident statements. "I hope you don't think I'm crazy."

"Crazy? Not at all. Well, perhaps a bit. So, why are you so convinced there's something fishy about the Black case?"

"The evidence was there last week. I know it! So, why does that book say it was sent out two months ago? Something is definitely fishy, as you put it. Somebody knows the matter's being looked into. And doesn't want that to happen. Somebody's playing games."

He looked skeptical. "And changing the records around? Those books are locked up when no one's around. Maybe it's magical."

"Oh, be quiet, you. I'm very serious. I thought this was a matter of sloppy investigation and pigheadedness. Now I wonder if it isn't more insidious."

Adams sighed. "Oh dear, are you one of those conspiracy theory types? The government is monitoring our brains through the telly. The Queen herself is watching us through the rear view mirror...."

Letha made a face. This was not going well. "No, nothing like that. (Actually, she thought, something exactly like that). I didn't know you were so cruel."

Immediately, his attitude changed. "I'm sorry; I was just pulling your leg. Can you forgive me?"

"Certainly. Just warn me when you intend to make a joke at my expense, would you? When we get to where we're going, I want to show you something. Maybe then you won't think I'm crazy." This was probably a very bad idea, but if necessary, she thought, she could always use a memory charm.

A little while later, Adams pulled into a lovely little tree-lined grotto, and parked on the side of the road. They got out, unloaded their supplies, and followed a dirt path to a charming secluded spot alongside a lake.

After they'd eaten lunch, Adams set up the fishing gear (and was immensely pleased when she baited her own hook). They cast their lines and sat down. "Can I show you something, Davy?" Curiously he leaned over to take a look, as she pulled a sheet of yellow notepaper out of her bag.

As he examined the paper, he let out a whistle. "I know that handwriting." Oh yes, he'd received loads of friendly little notes from Mick McCullough. Finish these reports! Come in tanked again, and I'll have you sacked! Adams made a face like a prune. "Where'd you get this?"

She knew this was risky. "From the evidence room. It was in with McCullough's things"

"You nicked it? When? How?"

"The first time I was here."

"And I didn't think you were a good thief. How'd you do that?"

"Well..."

"I know. If you told me, you'd have to kill me."

"That's a joke, right? Just making sure." He made a face. "At any rate, there was also a box full of photos, samples and other stuff in the evidence room. I swear I didn't take any of it. So it should still be there. At least, it was there last week."

Adams looked at her thoughtfully. Then he examined the yellow paper again. "You are a troublemaker, aren't you? If I lose my job and end up in the nick myself, I don't even know your name to blame it on you properly."

"That's the general idea."

He brushed a wisp of hair out of her face. "I'm not sure this was such a good idea, coming here."

"I'm sorry. I've put you at risk of losing your job."

"Not so much losing my job, as this," he said, putting his hand on his chest.

"Oh dear." She couldn't help feeling a bit guilty. Not that she'd encouraged him - had she? She thought a moment. ""Here's an idea. Let's catch some fish, gut'em and clean 'em. By the time we're done we'll smell like rotting fish guts. I bet that works better than a cold shower."

Davy chuckled. "A real fisherman loves the stench of rotting fish guts." Having gotten past an awkward moment, they spent the rest of the afternoon fishing and talking. Davy told her about his ex-wife Annie, and Letha did a great imitation of Crouch's prissy officiousness and Fudge's blustering self-importance, for his amusement.

After a while, he interrupted,. "Here I am, reliving my miserable marriage for you, and you haven't said a word about your bloke with the necklace."

She sighed. "I can't claim that he's "my" anything, actually. But since you asked.... let's see, what can I tell you? Well, you see," she glanced abashedly at Adams and continued, "he's tall, thin, pale, with longish black hair and usually doesn't look very happy."

"Now maybe I'm all wrong here, but so far, he rather sounds like the bloke I look at in the morning when I'm shaving. That explains a bit" Davy grinned at her and she blushed.

"Oh, but there's more to it, you see." She looked around. "I thought I saw - aha!" She opened out a large black tarp Davy had brought along in case of rain, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she stared at him icily and swept the tarp around herself. In a deep, dramatic voice, she said, "May I offer you a goblet of poison? It will turn you into a flobberworm, which will surely be an improvement." Then she glared at him unpleasantly until she couldn't help laughing.

"After a long night at Mulligan's, that could be me."

"Oh no - you're lacking that certain je-ne-sais-quoi. Greasy hair, perhaps."

"Greasy hair? I guess that's part of his charm."

"Charm? Severus is completely lacking in charm! He's - sneaky. Dishonest. Miserable. Vindictive. Unforgiving." Having started, Letha was quite prepared to continue with an extensive list of the wizard's faults, but the policeman interrupted.

"Unforgiving? What is it he won't forgive you for?"

"I never said...." she began. "Well, nothing that makes any sense," she said sourly. "He can be so irrational. He should have apologized to me, actually. I don't need his forgiveness."

He squeezed her hand gently. "I didn't say you do. You still want it, though, don't you? He could be the biggest jerk, and it sounds like he is, but I know what you want to hear, 'That's alright, I love you anyway.' It doesn't sound like that's going to happen."

"I already know that." Defensively, she added, "but you misunderstand. Severus was just a childhood friend who," her voice grew sharp, "betrayed our friendship- no more and no less. 'Love' has nothing to do with it. That would be - preposterous."

"Right. Emmet Harris is my childhood friend. But even if he never spoke to me again, you wouldn't catch me moonin' over him. Now, Annie, she was always going off with one bloke or another. I'd be on duty, an' she'd..." His voice trailed off. "Then, like a stupid git, I'd come begging her to forgive me. Now, I'd say I'm a lot better off without Annie and you're a lot better off without - what's his name? Severus? What can you expect from a bloke with a name like that anyway?"

Letha laughed. Davy poured them each a shot of whiskey; they touched their glasses together and drank it down. The he handed her the bottle. "You hold this, will you? I've got to drive you back safely."

When they got back to town, Letha bid Davy goodbye. She told him, truthfully, that she would be taking the bus home (the Knight Bus, of course), and, with a bit of trepidation, left McCullough's note with him, thinking he might make better use of it than she, at this point. She also left him an address where he could reach her; she told him to write to "N.J. Baker," at the address of her friend Anjana's parents. Mr. And Mrs. Rao were accustomed to receiving some strange mail, by Muggle standards.