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“Three leaves,” George went on, “Oak, ash and thorn. All 507 of them. That’s thirteen times thirteen times three.”

“That’s significant?” Colby asked.

George and I both shrugged. “The number three,” George lectured, “Is obviously magical. You could probably name ten fairy tales where the number three is important, without even stopping to think about it. Thirteen is a potent number too. Very popular in Unseelie magic – evil magic. Maybe because it’s unlucky to us. It might not even be important to the magic that was used, really. But even when they don’t actually have to use them, the Fae are drawn to, to mystically significant numbers.”

George, I realized, was over-playing the professor thing and starting to lose them. I broke in, “In a way, it doesn’t matter whether the numbers were really part of the magic. They’re compulsive about numerology. I mean, you don’t have to believe in astrology to believe in the Zodiac killer, right?”

Colby started to speak, but stopped when George raised his hand.

“But Jenny Kim could have figured that out too, with a little time on Wikipedia? Sure, she could have. But there’s more. I’m not an expert, but these leaves don’t look like the oak, ash or thorn leaves we get around here to me. I’d bet good money that once we do some tests, we’ll find out that they’re variants that are only found in Britain, Ireland… and Fairyland.”

I smiled, and not just because we had Bradley on the ropes. I was sure that George was right, but the thought of him betting good money? Now that was funny.

Colby glanced at Bradley, and shrugged.

“Magic,” said Bradley, in the tone of voice that most people reserve for discussing the result of the less pleasant bodily functions.

“Yeah,” I said, “Magic. Look, your partner’s the one who quoted Occam’s Razor at us. Well, as of this moment, the simplest explanation is that this was a magical crime. Doesn’t that make a lot more sense than Jenny Kim trying to game the system with a precisely mystically significant number of leaves from another spurking country that she, what, bought on eBay? Come on, Detective.”

He chewed his lip, and for a moment I thought that he’d finally given up. I should have known better.

“But –”

“No,” I said, “No more buts. Seriously. Has it not occurred to you that if Jenny was capable of putting together a plan this ornate — the right kind of tree, the right number, leaves actually from Fairyland, even… that she’d have a better story ready? One that, say, didn’t fall apart the second you guys checked up on it?”

Bradley stared. Colby was, at long last, nodding.

“I know that a con can fall apart for all sorts of reasons, but do you really think someone would try running something that was this baroque and this half-assed at the same time? It doesn’t add up. But, just for a second, try another theory. Try Jenny being a patsy, not of Glenn Jackson, but of whatever miserable little Puck gave Jackson a suitcase full of what turned out to be Fairy funny money. Which is, by the way, one of the oldest Fae cons in the book.”

Colby looked at Bradley. George looked at Bradley. I looked at Bradley, and Bradley looked at me. He was chewing his lip again, kept chewing it for a full minute, and then…

“Oh, shit,” he said.

Bradley looked a little worried, as well he should have. He’d been so sure the leaves were window dressing for a con that he hadn’t given them any more thought… and so until now, he’d been able to dismiss my objections as twee, elfy-welfy nonsense from the Pixie Patrol.

But now? Now we were talking about evidence.

Bradley stuck out his jaw. “They’re just leaves,” he said.

I didn’t squeal with delight, not outwardly. I just turned my smile up another notch or two, and folded my arms. And leaned back to watch what promised to be a truly epic smackdown unfold.

“Just leaves,” nodded George, “Right.”

I watched Bradley’s face, saw him going through stages of indecision and reflected, not?for the first time, that George must have been a hell of TA.

“Look, if you’ve got something to put on the table, just do it and quit playing Plato.”

Even Colby winced at that one. It had officially turned into a day full of win for me.

“Socrates,” I said, helpfully.

Bradley waved it off. “It doesn’t matter, the point –”

“Doesn’t matter?” George was, I think, genuinely appalled, “Because they’re inconvenient, because they aren’t what you want to hear, details don’t matter? What’s right, what’s true, those things don’t matter? I thought I was talking to a cop, Detective Bradley, not a… a…. a spurking lawyer.”

It was beautiful. Bradley just wilted.

“If I can bother you for a moment with something as irrelevant as facts and evidence, here’s a point you might want to consider,” George said, and handed Bradley a leaf. “Here’s another, and a third,” he added, passing Bradley two more leaves, each a different shape, I noticed.

Bradley stared down at the leaves, then at George, then finally, helplessly, at Colby.

Colby responded with the conversational equivalent of a mercy killing. He stepped closer, closing the circle formed by the four of us, and took the leaves from Bradley.

“Help us out, Officer,” Colby said, “What, exactly are we looking at here. Besides leaves. I got that part.”

George nodded. “Each of these leaves is significant. This one is oak. This is ash. And this one is thorn.”

“Oak, ash and thorn,” I said, softly, “Of course.”

I noted Colby’s cocked eyebrow, and went on, “Oak, ash and thorn trees are all particular favourites of faeries. Any time the three are found together, you’ll find the Fae. It makes sense that they’d use these leaves.”

“I get the impression that bit of folklore isn’t exactly a secret, though, is it?” Colby asked, “Jenny Kim could have known that.”

“And besides,” said Bradley, “Just because three of the leaves–”

“You don’t understand,” said George, “It’s not that these three leaves are oak, ash and thorn. All the leaves Glenn Jackson gave Jenny are. In exact proportion. That means the same number of each, Plato,” he said to Bradley.

I’d been on the receiving end of George’s sarcasm, smugness and, yes, snobbery more than once myself. It isn’t fun, because he’s so damned good at it. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for Bradley.

But then I didn’t.

I smiled.

I didn’t turn as George walked up behind me to join us. I didn’t need to see what I knew would be a cocky grin that put Bradley’s to shame – even though I was very, very curious to know what he had to smile about, and what was making the rustling sound that became obvious as he got closer.

I didn’t turn around because even though Bradley was, clearly, a smug putz and I am, equally clearly, a pretty huge witch-with-a-capital-B, this dispute wasn’t actually about our clashing personalities. What this was, was one small skirmish in an ongoing inter-service rivalry that makes the Army-Navy conflict look like the freaking Care Bears.

What I’m getting at is that George knew how to act, and so did I. I was going to display confidence, total confidence, even in the face of having no idea if my partner was about to place an ace or a deuce.

“That was one hell of a smoke break,” I said, my smile never wavering, “What, you had to harvest the tobacco leaves yourself?”

“Funny you should mention leaves,” he said, and stepped forward a little more, standing beside me. He was holding a bag full of autumn leaves, and my smiled became a little less forced. I’d guessed right, and pitched him a decent straight line to play off.

“I had a hunch,” he said, “That the leaves Jenny Kim got from Glenn Jackson might do with being examined a little more closely.”

My eyes met Bradley’s and I didn’t stop smiling, “And let me guess, George. You found something?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed.”

#

I’ve probably given the impression by this point that my primary concerns in this whole sorry story were a) the minutiae of the Iron Badge jurisdictional dispute with the self-proclaimed “real cops” and b) scoring points off Bradley, with c) getting an innocent young woman out of trouble and catching the real perp coming a distant third.

But really, and I know that I’m going to have to ask for your indulgence on the point given my behaviour so far, that’s not the case. I was very concerned about Jenny Kim, and I had high hopes for tracking down the spurk who was behind the whole mess.

But the fact was, like it or not, I had to deal with a) and b) before I could have a hope of moving on to c) at all. We needed to make it utterly, totally, unequivocally clear that this case was Borderland Guard business, and we had to cut off Bradley’s power-tripping on the subject off at the knees, to get Jenny released, and get ourselves out of there to go do our actual job.

Out in the hall, I watched the door to the interview room close as a uniform slipped in to baby-sit Jenny Kim. As we left, Bradley had tried to salvage the usual power dynamic by playing it tough and curt, but it wasn’t working and he knew it.

I fought a grin; it wasn’t going to help matters any, and although I didn’t think it was possible to antagonize Bradley any further, I was pretty sure that it would be a bad idea to find out I was wrong.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at, you stupid cow?”

“Officer,” I said.

“What?”

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at, you stupid cow, Officer.” I answered, trying to make sure every word was calm and measured. “Show some respect for the badge, Detective Bradley.”

Okay, not the best approach to avoid further antagonizing. But it was worth it to see his slick façade collapse beyond all hope of repair as he spluttered and turned purple.

“Respect the badge? This isn’t one of your magic playtime let’s pretend parties, Officer. This is a by-God real police investigation, and you just bought yourself a world of hurt for screwing it up! You come here, undercut me in front of a collar, and –:”

Calm and measured had outlived its usefulness, I decided.

“Not a collar, Detective, since you haven’t arrested her. And it’s a spurking good thing I pulled the plug on your alpha-male power trip before you got that far.”

“This is our investigation, you freakshow fake cop bi—”

“—Finish that word, and the lawsuit for wrongful arrest that Jenny Kim hits your ass with? That’ll be the least of your problems, donut jockey!”

Bradley drew himself up. He was either going to punch me, or arrest me. More likely both.

“Ken,” Detective Colby said.

Bradley and I both jumped. I’d forgotten Colby was there.

He unslouched from the wall and joined us.

“Maybe time to dial it down a notch.”

Bradley took a deep breath, then nodded.

Colby looked at me. “Of course, as per regulations, we welcome any legitimate input of our colleagues from the Borderland Guard.”

He wasn’t leaving me a big opening, but it was something.

“Look, Detective…” I said, “Detectives, that girl’s not a criminal. She’s the victim of a crime, and you know it.”

“I don’t…” Bradley started in high dudgeon, then caught Colby’s raised eyebrow and lowered the volume. “… I don’t know that. Magic? Fine. It exists. I get it. But do you have any idea how many perps we have to hand over to you people because they play the magic card? It’s gaming the system, it’s bull and I’m sick of it!”

I thought of the old saying about the thousand guilty men and the one innocent one, but I didn’t say it.

“And do you have any idea how many of those perps we hand right back to you, because their stories don’t hold up?” I asked him, “You think I don’t know when someone’s trying to play me?”

Bradley frowned, but he was thinking. Finally.

“I think,” said Colby, in a way that made me think even his voice slouched, “That all other things being equal, you might have a point.”

I raised my hands to thank the Goddess for common sense prevailing at last, just as Bradley threw up his arms in protest. It got a little complicated, and by the time we were sorted out Colby had raised his own hand in a “Shut up, I’m not done talking,” gesture. We both shut up.

“But all other things,” Colby went on, “Aren’t equal, are they? Jenny’s story fell apart the second we checked up on it. Does her word count for more than Glenn Jackson’s just because she’s crying magic?”

This, by the way, is why I hate working with regular cops. Anyway, it was obvious that I’d been wasting my time arguing with Bradley. It was Colby I needed to convince.

“Jenny is the only one reporting that she’s been the victim of a magical crime,” I said, “But that’s only because Glenn doesn’t know yet that he’s been the target of a?Fae identity theft.”

Bradley, luckily for his balls, didn’t quite roll his eyes, but he thought about it real hard. “Oh, come the hell on! You’re stacking magic on magic on magic. The girl has a bag full of leaves? Magic. She can’t explain it? Magic. The guy she says did it has an alibi? Magic! Why doesn’t any of it make any freaking sense? Because of magicky magical magic!”

“I’m afraid,” Colby said, “That I tend to agree. Occam’s razor, Officer. There’s nothing here that can’t be more easily explained by Jenny Kim and her boyfriend running a con than by magic. Nothing:”

“Not quite nothing,” said a voice from up the hall.