Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [119]
“Fill me in,” I said.
He did. It was pretty much what Dolph had told me. The only addition was that it had been Lorraine who slammed the man into the wall, which explained her tears. She probably thought she’d be going to jail. I couldn’t promise she wouldn’t be. If she’d been a human female that had just saved a policeman’s life by inadvertently killing a bad guy, she wouldn’t go to jail, not today. But she wasn’t human, and the law isn’t even-handed, or blind, no matter what we’d like to believe.
“Let me test my understanding here,” I said. “The officer on the door was down. The shooter had the gun pointed at the officer’s head and was about to deliver the coup de grâce when the woman dived into him. Her momentum carried them both back into the far wall, where he hit his head. That about right?”
Padgett glanced at his notes. “Yeah, that’s about right.”
“Why is she in handcuffs?”
His eyes widened, and he gave me his best little boy smile. Detective Padgett was a charmer. Didn’t matter that he looked like a scarecrow, he was accustomed to getting by on charm. At least with women. I was betting his act had worked even less well on Lorraine.
“She’s a lycanthrope,” he said smiling, as if that explained it all.
“She tell you that?” I asked.
He looked startled. “No.”
“You assumed she was a shapeshifter because why?”
The smile wilted, replaced by a frown that made him look petulant rather than angry. “She threw a man into a wall hard enough to crack his skull.”
“Little old ladies lift cars off their grandchildren. Does that make them lycanthropes?”
“No, but…” His face closed down, defensive.
“I’m told you don’t like shapeshifters much, Padgett.”
“How I feel personally doesn’t interfere with my job.”
I laughed, and it startled him. “Padgett, how we feel personally always affects our job. I came here pissed because I’d had a fight with an ex-boyfriend, so I got in Murdock’s face about his holster. Why don’t you like lycanthropes, Padgett?”
“They give me the creeps, okay.”
I had an idea. “Literally?” I asked.
“What do you mean, literally?”
“Does being around shapeshifters actually make your skin creep?”
He glanced up towards where the other cops were clustered. He bent forward and lowered his voice, and I knew I was right. “It’s like bugs crawling on my skin every time I’m around them.” He didn’t look twelve now. The fear and the loathing in his face showed lines that put him closer to thirty than twenty.
“You’re feeling their energy, their aura.”
He jerked back from me. “The hell I am.”
“Look, Padgett, I knew you were psychic the second I shook your hand.”
“You’re full of shit,” he said. He was scared, scared of himself.
“Dolph’s put the word out for any cops that have talent in this area. Why didn’t you apply?”
“I am not a freak,” he said.
“Ah, the truth comes out. You’re not afraid of lycanthropes. You’re afraid of you.”
He raised a large fist, not to hit me, but just somewhere for his anger to go. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“They make my skin crawl, too, Padgett.”
That calmed him, a little. “How can you stand to be near them?”
I shrugged. “You get used to it.”
He shook his head, almost shivering. “I’d never get used to this.”
“They aren’t doing it on purpose, Detective. Some shapeshifters are better at hiding what they are than others, but all of them give off more energy during strong emotions. The more you questioned them, the more distressed they got, the more energy they gave off, and the creepier you felt.”
“I had the woman in a room alone and I thought my skin was going to crawl off my body.”
“Wait, alone? Did you Mirandize her?”
He nodded.
“Did she tell you anything?”
He shook his head. “Not a damn word.”
“What about the others?”
“The men didn’t do anything.”
“Are they free to go?”
“The big one won’t leave her and the other one is in the room with the two injured ones. Says he can’t leave them unguarded. I told him