Cormac scrubbed a hand over his face, and wished he had another headache potion. "We need more help," he said, surveying the mess they had to clean up. They'd dealt with (most) of the witnesses, modifying memories to erase any thought of magic.
"I'll send an owl to HQ, see who's available." He sighed, remembering they had no owls at a crime scene. "An owl-less note, anyway." He turned his back on the massacre and scribbled out a terse note, and did the charm that would send the note back to headquarters.
"Right then, let's start by clearing the bodies out. We need photographs, and outlines." His stomach was doing a good job of trying to rebel, but Cormac had seen enough scenes like this that he was able to hold it together. There was a lot of work to do, and he couldn't be a pussy about it.