Sonny Weselton looked at the report in his hands. He looked at Berlin. The lab rat shrugged at him. The detective opened his mouth to say something derisive. Instead he paused.

“Are you sure about this?,” he asked, gesturing with the file.

“Pretty sure,” said Berlin. “I'll have a more complete report at the end of the week but the prelim looks good enough to work on.”

“You are talking about a thousand people chanting the same spell and using it,” said Weselton. “That's not even possible.”

“It's possible, but unlikely,” said Berlin. “What I think happened was the murderer used an aura grab on any individual he met and stored the energy until he wanted to use it. When he did, it overclocked the target and caused him to explode in his car. The spell is the same the department uses for lethal measures. I've just never seen so many auras used like this.”

“So this is the most powerful use of a police spell you have ever seen?,” said Weselton.

“Without a doubt,” said Berlin. “The man exploded. I have never seen that happen using this spell, or type of spell. I would have expected to see his body turn to slush instead.”

“Do we know who he is?,” asked Weselton.

“We're certain he's Mormon Snail,” said Berlin. “We found some things we could use for identification. The passenger was Susan Bricola.”

“So a minor league mobster and a woman who could have been a pro were stopped on the side of the road long enough for the killer to approach them,” said Weselton. “Then the killer floods the car with a killing spell. He leaves, happy in a job well done.”

“That's what it looks like,” said Berlin. “I doubt she was the target. Snail is just big enough to make someone mad enough to whack him. I can't see that much overkill for someone who might not even be famous enough to garner special attention.”

“I'll have to have something on her to hand to Hurry to keep him from horning in,” said Weselton. “You know how he is.”

Berlin nodded.

Hurry Hamelin had a reputation for wanting to solve every murder in the city. He was known to chase after anything that might look like a clue to rule it out. It made his detectives crazy having him follow them around while they were trying to sort things out.

He also had a great arrest and conviction record compared to anyone else in the department.

“So we have the scene which we will have to ask for a public ad to see if any witnesses come forward, the spell which is more powerful than a police spell but similar, and the victims' names which might suggest motives,” said Weselton.

“I'm going to leave that up to you,” said Berlin. “This is the first I've seen of such a spell being used. I'll keep an eye out in case it comes up in another case.”

“Could you call other jurisdictions around the city and see if something like this has happened?,” said Weselton. “Maybe this isn't the first time it's been used.”

“It's something to rule out,” said Berlin. “If there are more victims, there might be a clue on what the motive is.”

“Right now the most likely motive is someone hated Snails, or was paid to kill him in the most public fashion they could think of as a warning. The woman has to have been collateral damage.” Weselton shrugged. “If we can narrow it down to whom hated Snails the most, that might get us something.”

“Good luck on that,” said Berlin. “I'll send out a call to see if anyone else has seen anything like this. I'll send up any answers when I get them.”

“Thanks, Percy,” said Weselton. “I guess I should inform the next of kin and see what I can find out about our victims.”

Berlin nodded. That was going to be tough, especially if Snails had a wife who didn't think he was a philanderer.

Weselton tucked the report under his arm as he reached for the police net. He stepped into the aether and out at Hundred Squared. He took the elevator up to the squadroom. He didn't see Hamelin waiting to pounce on him to check on his progress. He locked the prelim report in his desk for reading later. He ran the victim through Records to see if they had home addresses.

Snails had a place on the Bay. It was in a place designated for rich people. You needed a key to get through the gate.

Bricola lived in a place not far from where she had been killed. He checked the address. It was almost within sight of where the car was found.

That was an odd coincidence. He didn't change his mind that Snails had been the real target. He had taken the brunt of the explosion. If the woman had been the target, she would have taken the brunt, and they would have found more of Snails.

He needed to go by and check if she lived alone. That was the least he could do. Then he could check on Snails's family if he had any.

He was in for a long day of checking on the victims. It was too bad everyone else had their own cases to work. He could use some help.

Maybe he should ask Hamelin to give him a hand. The inspector would love that tedious sort of tracing the job involved. And it had to be better than working on anything from the Lord Mayor.

Weselton decided that wouldn't work now. The captain would come down on both of them for not doing the Mayor's bidding. He didn't want to go back to uniform. It had taken him too many times with the tests to get on the detective staff.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He made notes for his next few steps. Then he shut down the Records call, and headed out. He couldn't solve the case from his desk.

Weselton grabbed the police net and translated across to Bricola's place. It was an apartment complex within sight of the highway. He had to check the building numbers to find the right building. He searched the door numbers until he found the designated apartment and knocked.

Just because she was dead didn't mean he could barge in. She might have a family, roommate, or a guest holding the place. He couldn't just open the door and expect cooperation after violating their privacy.

It was better that they opened the door for him and answered his questions while he tried to avoid giving them too many answers for their own questions.

Weselton knocked again after no one came to the door. He listened. He needed to talk to the manager of the complex. Once he knew everything the manager did, he could come back and open the apartment and look around.

Once he had looked around, he could visit the Snails address and talk to anyone there who wanted to talk to him. He doubted anybody would. The police were the enemy. No way would the murder of one of their own be solved by the city.

It was better to take the law in their own hands and find out who had killed Snails before the police did. Then they could inflict their own justice on whomever they blamed for the crime.

Weselton objected to it because they tended to get the wrong guy. He was a lot more comfortable if he did the mystery solving instead of leaving it to idiots he wouldn't trust to feed themselves.

He found the manager's apartment and knocked on the door. He needed to know about Bricola. Once he had that, he could do his search, and visit the Snails house.

He hoped he didn't have to break any bad news. He hated that part of his job. Asking questions of the grieving kin had to be the worst in his judgement.

“How's it going?,” said the manager after opening the door. He frowned at Weselton. Apparently the detective didn't fit in with the usual renters.

“Detective Weselton,” said Weselton. He showed his glowing copper badge. “Do you know anything about a Susan Bricola?”

“Sue?,” said the manager. “She pays her rent on time, works down at the Clarity as a waitress, and has a son. I haven't seen her today. Is there some kind of problem?”

“The boy at school?,” asked Weselton. He would have to call Social Services. He didn't like that at all.

“Peach Tree Elementary,” said the Manager. “The buses will be running in the next hour, or so.”

“Is there any other next of kin that you know about?,” asked Weselton.

“Not really,” said the Manager. “I think she listed her mother as an emergency contact number on her paperwork. What happened?”

“Miss Bricola was killed a few hours ago,” said Weselton. “I'm going to need her mother's phone number so I can call her, and I am going to need to look around her place before I seal it. Did Miss Bricola have any friends that I can talk to here?”

“I think she went out with her neighbors once a week,” said the Manager. “They had some kind of club.”

“Go ahead and get that number for me,” said Weselton. “I'm going to have to make arrangements for the boy before he comes home.”

“Right,” said the Manager. He retreated from the door.

Was there something there? Weselton thought the man was crying. Maybe he liked Bricola more than he was letting on.

“Dispatch, this is Weselton,” Weselton said to the aether. The box of strings at Headquarters caught his voice for the operators on the job. “I'm going to need a pick up for Susan Bricola's son at Peach Tree Elementary. Social Services is going to have to be involved until I can notify his grandmother. I'm getting a location and number for her now.”

“Will hold,” said the operator.

Weselton ignored the open connection he felt in the back of his mind. Once he knew the boy's name, uniforms would be tasked to pick up the boy and transport him either downtown, or to the grandmother's depending on Social Services. He might have to check with the boy on his mother's social life, but he could put that off until he talked to her neighbors and coworkers.

Talking to the next of kin was the worst part of his job and he would rather leave that to others when he could. He just happened to be working this one solo, so he would just have to face the grim reality of things.

It didn't make things easier.

“Here you go,” said the Manager. “Carol Finkel. The address is three thousand forty six Longview. I don't have a call number for her.”

“What's the boy's name?,” asked Weselton.

“Charlie,” said the Manager. “She was such a nice lady.”

“Open the apartment for me,” said Weselton. “As soon as I look around, I'll seal it up until I know what's going on.”

“All right,” said the Manager. “I have my lock cards here.”

The two men walked back to the apartment. Weselton relayed the necessary information. Dispatch assured him that someone would pick up the boy before he got on the bus to come home. The Manager pressed a card to the door's lock plate. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

“Thanks for your help,” said Weselton. “I'm just going to look around. If I find anything suspicious, I'm going to have some people come over and inspect things. Otherwise, no one will be able to get in until we know what's going on.”

“All right,” said the Manager. He put his lock cards away.

“You said Miss Bricola used to go out with her neighbors,” said Weselton. “Do you know which ones?”

“Only Raven Dooley,” said the Manager. “She lives in Oh Four down the breezeway here.”

“Thanks,” said Weselton. “I'll knock on her door before I leave to see what she can tell me.”

“I don't think she's home,” said the Manager. “I think she has a job across the bay.”

“Thanks for that,” said Weselton.

“I hope you catch this guy,” said the Manager. “Sue was a nice lady. I wished many a time more of my renters were like her.”

“If I can't do the job, we have a human bloodhound that we like to turn loose,” said Weselton. “Don't worry. We'll find out what happened.”

“Thanks,” said the Manager. He turned and went back to his apartment.

Weselton stepped inside the apartment and looked inside. He turned on his third eye. Bricola lived with her son and didn't bring anyone home as far as he could see. The aether was calm so magic hadn't been used inside the apartment until he started looking around himself.

He decided to look at her financials to see if she had someone she bought things for, but it looked like she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He hated to think he was going to have to tell Bricola's mother that she had been killed because she had been riding around with the wrong guy.

On the other hand he couldn't see telling her that her daughter had been killed by a jealous boyfriend was any better.

He definitely wasn't going to tell her mother that the damage to her daughter's body had been so extensive that they had identified her through a tooth and an aura check.

Weselton took another look around, checking the mail by the door, and the computer calendar. Nothing stood out to him. He had to talk to the mother, then head over to the Snails residence.

He had a feeling he was going to see more exploded bodies before this was done. It looked like that kind of case.

He stepped out of the apartment after making sure every window was shut. He pressed his badge to the door. The aether twisted to seal the door into the frame, seal the windows the same way.

It might be a bit of overkill, but you never know when something became important and you had to return to the residence of a victim to look around again.