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?We rode in the back of an NYPD police car that had been waiting to transport us. It was a bit disconcerting to be in the back with the door locked.
?As if we were being arrested.
?It was a short trip west to the station house on 54th Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenue. It was housed in a rather gothic structure. When we arrived, we were separated and I was shown to an interrogation room on the second floor.
?DeStadler’s partner offered me a cup of coffee, and it was soon brought by a uniformed officer.
?It was dreadful.
?I sat alone for over forty-five minutes, staring at myself in the large one-way mirror.
?I wondered if they were watching me.
?I was also concerned about Sheryl, what she was going through, and if she was all right. It was an odd sensation. A few hours ago, if she’d been taken for questioning by the police, I would’ve been pleased and hardly surprised.
?Now, I felt protective of her.
?About an hour after our arrival, DeStadler and his partner came into my room.
?“My partner, John Elvis—”
?“Elvis?” I repeated.
?“No jokes,” the large dark-skinned man warned. “I’ve heard them all and they ain’t funny.”
?“I guess you should be grateful your parents didn’t name you ‘Presley,’” I offered, unable to help myself.
?“Right,” he replied deadpan.
?“We need to speak to you about a few things,” DeStadler asserted.
?“How is Sheryl? Is she all right?” I worried.
?DeStadler sat at the table across from me, as his partner, who I now envisioned in sideburns and a spangled jumpsuit, remained standing.
?“How well do you know Ms. Homes, Mr. Watkins?”
?I blinked. “Well, I don’t really know her at all.”
?“You seem very concerned over someone you hardly know.”
?“Yes, well, I’m a fan…of her books.”
?DeStadler nodded. “You write, too. Is that correct?”
?“I used to,” I lamented, and looked at my hands.
?“Why’d you stop?”
?“My wife passed away. I wrote the stories for her.”
?DeStadler nodded. “That’s rough.”
?I nodded back, my jaw tight.
?“Apparently, you and Ms. Homes had words” –he extracted a notebook from his pocket and flipped to a page— “last night and again this afternoon, is that correct?”
?“We each have different ideas about Sherlock Holmes.”
