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I cooled my heels in the hallway, waiting for George and Colby to get back. Across the way, Bradley waited too, his highly trained investigative eyes trained on his shoes.

George had suggested — and it was, unfortunately, hard to argue with him — that after all the recent… drama, that it would probably be a good idea for him and Colby to let Jenny know that she was free to go, thank-you-very-much-for-your-cooperation-ma’am-we’ll-be-in-touch.

I would have loved to be there to see her face, and more importantly, Bradley’s. But now that we’d finally made some spurking progress, there was no reason other than the sheer joy of it to tick off our colleagues in what we prefer to call the “conventional” police.

So instead I just glanced at Bradley, and basked in the cozy afterglow of his humiliation.

#

I’ve mentioned before, I think, the tendency of some Iron Badges – and George is one of them – to sometimes model their behaviour on TV cop shows. So why, you’re probably wondering, did Bradley get my nose so out of joint by doing exactly the same thing?

And, uh, that’s a really good question, come to think of it.

It could be that I cut George and the other guys – it’s usually the guys – some slack, because I know that all too often, we have to operate far outside of the bounds of normal. We deal every day with things right out of mythology, and it helps to have your own mythology to draw on, to help you cope. And you could do a lot worse in finding a mythology to inspire you than the secular, pop-culture myth of the heroic cop… provided, of course, that you pick the right cop to emulate.

That’s another thing that bothered me about Bradley, I guess. He so obviously took so much delight in a particular kind of detective work: picking at people’s stories until they fell apart. It didn’t seem to have occurred to him that just because something doesn’t make perfect logical sense doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

I’ve seen that work on TV. You know, where catching a guy in a lie about what colour shirt he was wearing upsets the whole applecart and he confesses to sixteen counts of murder.

And maybe that even works in the ordinary world, with ordinary people who commit ordinary crimes. But there’s nothing ordinary about Fairyland, and the regular rules don’t apply there. Not at all. I learned that a long time ago. Now it was Bradley’s turn.

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.

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.