Petrillo stuck one of his size 12 shoes into the elevator just as I pushed the “down” button. The closing doors slid open again.
“Got a minute Doc?” he asked.
“Got a minute?” may just be the three scariest words in the English language when your life is measured in appointments and you haven’t eaten lunch or dinner.
“It won’t take long,” he promised. “And I think you’ll find it interesting.”
I sighed and got out of the elevator.
“Thanks,” he said.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” he said and I sighed again.
It wasn’t like Petrillo to play coy so whatever was going on probably was worth my time.
We walked through the squad room and into the hallway overlooking the interrogation room. His partner, LeAnne Jacoby, was questioning a handsome blond man who appeared to be amused by the process. He was practically sprawling in a metal folding chair pulled up to a table, his body language completely relaxed.
“Who is he?” I asked Petrillo.
“That’s a good question,” he said, “but a better one would be, ‘What is he?’”
I raised my right eyebrow, a useful skill when I’m trying to figure out what to say next while waiting for someone to fill in the blanks.
Petrillo obliged.
“He claims he’s a fairy.”
He saw my expression and quickly clarified. “As in one of the fae, not as in the derogatory slang expression for a homosexual.”
#
LeAnne looked up with relief when I entered the interrogation room. She gave me an eye-roll as she passed me on the way out and whispered, “Good luck.”
I turned toward the prisoner. He was smiling slightly, his expression open and sincere.
“So you broke into the museum to steal a bracelet you think was stolen from the fairies?” I asked. “Haven’t I seen that in a movie somewhere?”
“You’re thinking of Hellboy 2,” he said, “except it was a crown in an auction house and they were elves, not fairies.”
“What’s the difference?” I asked.
