Chapter Text
Detective Inspector Miller had seen a lot of strange during his time on the force. Odd murders, unaccountable DNA evidence, lost witnesses, bizarre motives…He joked, in the way surprised people do, that nothing could surprise him anymore. He had to look seasoned and world-weary to the juniors after all.
But the last few weeks had been, well, even stranger. Three bodies each a week apart, not a scratch on them, no forced entry to their homes and nothing to suggest a struggle. DNA found on the victims matched no one on their database, and each of the victims, all young brunette women, had had no enemies, not even so much as a squabble with anyone. There was nothing to connect them except that they all lived in the area. That was all strange even against the average strange you saw on the job. But the really strange part, the part that had made the hair on the back of his neck prickle and made the officers fidgety because admitting the reality of what they were seeing must mean admitting to…well something that burly police officers straight out of Hendon simply didn’t hold with.
All the victims had had their mouths sewn shut, except they hadn’t because there were no stitches, no marks, not even a seam. Where their mouths should have been there was just skin.
Detective Inspector Miller’s first thought had been magic and curses and witchcraft, but he had shut that thought behind the little door at the back of his mind that sometimes creaked open when odd things happened, and which he kept having to shove closed again against the draft of doubt. There was an explanation. There always was.
He was feeling happy now. Not happy. Relieved? Whatever was going on, he was about to get some answers and even though his body was complaining that is was 6am and that the station coffee was truly a weapon of torture, and that he had had no sleep, his dreams plagued with screaming girls who couldn’t scream because their mouths were sewn up…Detective Inspector Miller made himself take a breath. He was going to get answers. The man sitting at the interview desk was going to give him some.
You just knew sometimes, seeing witnesses or a specialist, something in the way they sat, you just knew that they were ones that would have answers. This man was going to have some for him.
Miller shouldered the door open and transferred his coffee to his other hand and held out his free one. The man rose half out of his seat and shook Miller’s hand with a nod and a small smile.
‘D.I. Miller, it’s good to meet you,’ the man said, his voice was soft but full of authority. He was definitely police or maybe special ops. He had the bearing of someone who made themselves sit still but who was a second away from bursting into action. Men like that made him nervous. They were usually the sort of men who brushed themselves off cheerily, barely noticing they had been stabbed and then were signed off a week later because they showed up to work shit-faced and jumping at small noises.
Miller tucked this thought behind the door in his mind labelled ‘don’t be a dick to someone you’ve just met’ and smiled back at the man. ‘Thank you for coming in, Mr…’
‘Potter,’ said the man, sitting once more and clasping his hands together on the table.
‘I’ve been told you’re here to offer some…advice on the case.’ Told by the commissioner no less. ‘But they haven’t really said who you are.’ Miller smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
The man, Potter, inclined his head. He had very green eyes Miller noticed, behind glasses that made him look younger than he was. ‘I’m a consultant. I’m here to find out what you’ve gathered and help where I can.’
‘So you’ve seen this sort of thing before?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve seen things like this before?’ He tapped the file in his hand to show what he meant.
Potter gave him a pained look. ‘Yes. I’m sorry that you have. It’s…unpleasant.’
He looked sorry too and Miller felt a small rush of warmth for him. He looked exhausted now Miller thought about it. There were dark smudges under his eyes. ‘Would you like a coffee? Tea?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Potter. ‘Why don’t you tell me everything you’ve found? I’ll tell you what I know.’
Miller hesitated. Usually meetings like this were proceeded with the case being swiftly torn from his hands and thrust into the smug faces of whichever department or inspector was ‘better equipped’. But he didn’t feel like that was what was happening. For one thing Potter didn’t look smug. He looked…he looked sad.
‘Alright,’ he said, opening up the file and turning it round to show the man. Potter listened quietly through it all, his eyes scanning the pages, the photographs, the reports with a small frown, his eyes occasionally flitting up to Miller’s as he outlined all the pertinent detail. He ran a hand through his hair once and Miller caught sight of a scar on his forehead, shaped charmingly like a bolt of lightening.
‘That’s everything,’ Miller said, taking a sip of his coffee and wincing. ‘Weird, right?’
Potter nodded, still looking at the reports. ‘Can you show me the crime scenes?’
‘Yes. If you’d like. You said you had seen things like this before?’
Potter looked up. ‘There’s always an explanation,’ he said, and Miller had the strong sense that the man was saying exactly what he thought he would want to hear.
There was a knock on the door and the desk sergeant, Jenny, stuck her head round. ‘Mr Hughs, sarge,’ she said. ‘He’s working with Mr Potter, here.’ Jenny looked curiously at Potter and moved out of the way to admit another man, older, balding and carrying a briefcase. He looked harried.
Jenny left them to it, and Hughes shook his hand, moving round the desk to sit with Potter. Miller saw them exchange a glance, a nod.
‘Where are we up to?’ said Hughs and Miller, who had been about to answer that he hadn’t been expecting another expert sent from the commissioner, stopped himself when he realised Hughes was addressing Potter.
Potter breathed out a small sigh. He picked up the file and showed Hughes the pictures. ‘You need to get rid of the curse and this conversation. You’ll need to change how he sees the photos. I think that’s all for now. I still need to see the crime scene so…don’t erase me completely. Then you’ll have to get everyone that saw the bodies. Sorry.’
Miller was sure he had understood all of those words, but his brain was having significant trouble comprehending them altogether.
‘What - ‘
‘I’m sorry, Miller. This won’t hurt a bit.’
‘Won’t - what are you…’
He was too busy looking at Potter’s tired expression to notice the other man drawing out a long thing strip of wood until it was pointing squarely at his head. He drew a breath to yell, heard a shout and a flash and then…
Miller coughed. ‘I…Sorry, I must have…what were you saying?’
The man…what was he…Potter, that was it, was watching him carefully. They were alone in the interview room because…because he was helping with the case.
‘I was just saying that you’ve done well given how little evidence was left by the killer.’
Miller nodded, grateful for the compliment, even if it was just a polite formality. ‘We have no leads. Unless he kills again.’
Potter gave a troubled frown. ‘Can I see the crime scene now? If that’s alright?’
Miller got to his feet. ‘We can go now. I’ll drive you round. It’s…there’s not much there.’
‘I know,’ said Potter.
Miller rubbed his eyebrow, the beginning of a headache forming. He had a strange feeling that he had forgotten something…someone?
‘Are you alright?’ Potter was looking at him with a small line of concern between his eyes.
‘Yes. This way.’
They said little as they drove east. The rain was spitting and the puddles shone in the morning light. Potter followed him up the stairs, his eyes sweeping every corner and door, until they reached number 9b and ducked under the police cordon tape. Inside, the flat had the weird dead dullness that all crime scenes had. Miller watched as Potter moved from room to room. When they reached the living room, he crouched down to where the body had been found.
‘SOCO have been in. There’s not much left now,’ he said, redundantly. He wasn’t sure Potter had heard him. Miller wandered back through to the hall, leaving Potter to his contemplation. Outside it was still drizzling. He leaned against the balcony, watching the cars on the street below. They had questioned all the neighbours but no one had seen or heard anything. It was strange. Not the strangest case to be sure, but odd all the same. Frustrating more than anything. He looked up as he saw a postman reaching the top of the stairs. Miller felt a pang of envy. Sometimes he thought that if he were to ever pack it all in, he wouldn’t mind being a postman. He liked walking.
The postman reached the landing and gave him a friendly nod. His shoes were wrong. They were new and suede. Suede?
‘Excuse me,’ said Miller, putting his hands in his pockets to show he meant no harm. The door to the flat was left ajar. ‘Sorry. Do you usually deliver the post round here?’
The man blinked. ‘Uh…I’m new,’ he said. ‘Only been at it a few days. What’s gone on here, then?’ he added, nodding at the police tape.
‘Did you deliver anything to this flat?’ He asked, ignoring the man’s question.
‘Maybe? Like I said, I’m new.’
Miller looked again at the man’s shoes. ‘No chance you were here yesterday morning. See anything, anyone acting strangely?’
The postman opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment Potter shouldered out of the door, looking tired. Miller stepped forward, not wanting to let the postman go. He was just about to repeat his question when he saw the postman’s eyes light up with instant recognition and fear. He was staring at Potter who still hadn’t seen him. This man knew him. What the hell?
‘Do you - ‘ he began, but the man was already reaching inside his jacket and Miller saw the future events in the space of a breath: saw the knife, saw him rush at Potter, saw the blood, the violence and his body acted without thought. He had just enough time to register that there was no knife only that the postman had a long thin stick, and to feel happily relieved because really there only so much damage he could do with that, before he saw a flash of green that was so bright he was blinded. He thought of falling and that he didn’t understand and that, in the grand scheme of things, that was alright.