The guard opened it a crack and then quickly stepped away, letting it swing wide. He popped instantly to attention beside the doorway. Commissioner Swift stood in the hall, looking thoroughly out of place in the plain, practical quarters of the police station. He wore the same expensive black coat with red trim and matching rosy derby. His collar looked starched, peeking up to frame a dark paisley cravat. He leaned heavily on his polished cane, straightening slightly as Marlowe and I turned to look.

With stiff but purposeful steps, Swift strode into the interrogation room. He fought against his leg braces to affect a normal gait, gritting his teeth every time the mechanism gave out the slightest squeak as he moved. He marched to the table beside Marlowe.

The chief inspector looked as surprised to see him as I was. “Commissioner,” he managed with a respectful nod. “What can I do for you?”

“You can carry on, Inspector. I’ll just be overseeing things. Who do we have here? I thought you were interrogating the infamous Mr. Jackaby.” The commissioner picked up Marlowe’s notebook and flipped back a few pages, scanning the scribbled entries.

“This is his associate, sir, one Abigail Rook. I was just taking a few statements.”

“So I see.” Swift scowled at the notepad and flipped another page. “A banshee? A magic shawl? Really? Trolls, Miss Rook?” His voice dripped with sardonic incredulity as he raised his eyes to mine over the top of the book.

“Just the one troll,” I replied timidly. “I’m told he’s very small.”

“We were nearly finished here,” Marlowe stated, reaching for the book. “If I may?”

Swift tossed it back to the table, ignoring Marlowe’s hand. “You are finished here. I won’t have my chief inspector wasting his time listening to fairy tales while some madman hacks my city to pieces. Do you have any idea how bad that makes me look? Any idea how far I will drop in the polls every time a body turns up in my jurisdiction?”

“Yes, Commissioner. I understand, but . . .”

“But nothing! I want you and your men back out in the streets where you belong, finding answers! Finding me a killer!”

Marlowe, out of self-preservation, bit his tongue before speaking, and I took the opportunity. “Does this mean I’m free to go?”

Swift darted a glance at me as though he had already forgotten I was in the room. “You? Certainly not. Marlowe, keep the both of them locked up tight until this is over. Should keep them out from under foot so you can do your damned job, and teach them a lesson for wasting our time. At least we can tell the press we’ve already taken the prime suspects into custody. The public likes fast action. Justice is swift and all that. Oh, that’s not bad. I should have my campaign boys do something with that. Dixon!”