On Monday morning, Andrew Wells jumped up and rushed to his supervisor’s office for their ritual briefing as soon as he heard the telltale sounds of his arrival. These typically included muffled swearing and the opening and slamming of his office door. As Andrew was called in today, he half-expected to see a different man than the one he had grown accustomed to for the last few months. In lieu of even a greeting today, however, he was met with the demand, “Do you have any messages from the weekend?”
Andrew’s eyes lit up. “Yes, boss. Papazian’s people called again. They want to sit down for a plea deal. Should I call them back or are we still letting them sweat it out?” he asked eagerly.
William waved impatiently. “Is that all?”
“Yes, boss,” Andrew said. “Who were we expecting to hear from?” he asked, confused about what was bothering his temperamental supervisor. He thought Spike would have been ecstatic the tide had turned so dramatically in the Papazian case, as they had gained the upper hand in a case that looked to be unwinnable thanks to the ADA’s tour de force cross-examination the previous Friday. Then again, he had never seen his boss ecstatic or even remotely joyful. His moods tended to veer between fully irate and merely peevish.
“Where’s Gavin?” William asked, ignoring his question.
“Right now?” Andrew asked timidly.
“No, an hour from now. Of course right now,” William griped. “I didn’t see him on my way in.”
“He’s probably in court already,” Andrew suggested as if it was a question. “Judge Snyder likes to start early.”
“Right.” William nodded. “Fine, you can go now.”
For the next two hours, William tried to focus on the ever-present mountain of work that required his attention. It should have been easy given what a nasty piece of work the subject of his next trial case, Warren Mears, was proving to be. But a niggling sense of uneasiness ate away at his concentration. His mind kept wandering to Buffy. He hadn’t heard a peep from her since he’d last seen her. For three days last week he had half-expected for her to appear unannounced in his office to demand he do something for her, or at least for her to call him on the phone to pump him for information. But now it looked as though the chance of either happening was increasingly slim. What he didn’t know was if she had moved on from the case or was simply done dealing with him. His gut had already made up its mind, however. Seized by an irrational urgency he didn’t care to examine too closely, he was jolted out of his state of suspended animation.
Picking up the phone, he punched in her number and extension hoping this time he’d get a live Buffy on the other end, only to slam it down in frustration less than a minute later when he got halfway through her voice mail message. He had called and hung up without leaving a message once last Friday already. Taking a minute to think, he picked up the phone and slowly dialed again. Instead of directly punching in the last three letters of her name this time he listened to the automated reading of the roster of employee names and took a guess.
“Hello, this is Doris Kroeger,” a woman’s voice answered.
“Yes, hello, this is William Pratt, from the DA’s office. I’m looking for Buffy Summers.”
“You have the wrong number, Mr. Pratt,” Doris informed him politely. “Do you want me to transfer you to her line?” she asked.
“No. I tried it already. Nobody picked up.”
A note of impatience colored the reply. “I’m not a secretary, Mr. Pratt. You can leave a message for her on her voice mail.”
William hastily responded, “I realize you’re not her secretary. That no one is—I just—can you tell me if she’s out of the office? Do you know when she’ll be back today?”
A somewhat mollified Doris disclosed, “No, I believe she has meetings and site visits almost all day today.”
“Do you know her schedule around town?” William didn’t care how desperate he sounded. “Please, I need to speak with her.”
A pause on the other end seemed to stretch on forever. Finally, Doris said, “Well, she should still be at the library right now. She had a meeting at ten.”
“The central one on Grand?”
“Yes.”
“How long was it supposed to go?” William asked, consciously keeping his tone as pleasant as he could.
“I’m afraid I don’t know. Perhaps an hour.”
“I see. Thank you, Ms. Kroeger. Thank you very much,” William said before hanging up. He looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. The library was less than a mile away, he thought. He could even walk it in fifteen minutes, as long as it would take to drive. It was worth a shot.
Within two minutes he was rapping on the door of Andrew’s office down the hallway, poking his head in and saying, “Andrew, I’m going to lunch and I’m turning off my phone. We’ll go over the opening statements for both Levinson and Mears when I get back.“
William’s paralegal looked thoroughly perplexed. “B-but it’s only ten-thirty,” he stammered.
William shrugged. “I’m hungry.” Before Andrew could reply, William was gone.
Outside the central library, William fished out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the interior pocket of his blazer pocket as he paced aimlessly up and down the parallel series of stepped walkways surrounded by lush greenery. His semi-sprint to the grand Mediterranean Revival building had left him with time to spare. As he gazed sightlessly at the ornate pseudo-Egyptian sculptures decorating the massive façade above him it occurred to him he didn’t have a plan beyond finding Buffy. Managing the beginning of a case of nerves, he decided not to overthink it. Once he saw her, he would know what to do.
A few readers seated on the low stone ledges lining the long walkways cast dirty looks at him as he chain-smoked his way through three cigarettes. The lawyer in him briefly pondered the legality of lighting up. Poised between the library entrance and the Maguire gardens, he was technically more than twenty feet away from the building and not within the city park proper, although he doubted a groundskeeper would appreciate that nicety. Smoking in Los Angeles had become an impossible proposition, which fact simply reinforced his refusal to give it up entirely. As he started on a fourth cigarette he started to worry Buffy might exit through to another street and he would miss her entirely, if he hadn’t already. He had inexplicably chosen the scenic entrance to the library, but there were two others. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. He seldom came here but since the first time he had wandered through he had thought it was the most beautiful part of downtown Los Angeles, an oasis in a concrete island.
As if on cue, Buffy came walking through the black glass doors. She turned her head up to the sky as if she was communing with the sun for a long moment before she began to make her way across the top landing and then down the first set of stairs. She wore a sleeveless white cotton shirtdress belted at the waist and beige cork espadrilles and she carried her messenger bag on one shoulder. Her long blonde hair streaming over her shoulders, she could easily pass as the quintessential California girl but William knew better. Flinging his cigarette to the ground, he leaped up two levels of stairs and then dramatically slowed his pace as he made a beeline for her.
“Well, well, Summers. Fancy running into you here. Borrow anything interesting?”
Buffy did a double-take when she saw who had accosted her. Furrowing her brow in confusion, she ignored his question and asked warily, “Are you following me?”
“Fol-lowing you?” William choked out. Hoping it had come across as incredulous rather than guilty sounding, he quickly tried to cover. “Contrary to a certain self-involved point of view, the library happens to be between our offices and other… important parts of downtown,” he bluffed.
“Okay,” Buffy said, relenting.
William cleared his throat. “But since I’ve run into you, we need to talk,” he began.
“Sorry, but I don’t have time to chit chat right now. I’m on my way back to the office and I still need to get to Long Beach today”
“No problem,” William replied smoothly, falling into step beside her as she continued her progress down the walkway. “You’re going my way.”
Realizing she wouldn’t be rid of him that easily, Buffy resigned herself to the conversation. She took a good look at him. He seemed back to his usual smug self, and he looked well, dressed in one of his customary tailored suits, but looks were sometimes deceiving. “Are you ok and everything?” she asked conscientiously.
“What?” he asked surprised. Seeing her serious expression, he assured her, “Oh, yeah. Thanks for asking,” he added, feeling slightly warm. Thinking back to the previous week, he tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. “So the whole mild-mannered juvenile justice agency manager thing is a bit of a front, eh?”
Rather than deny the truth of his statement, Buffy zeroed in on his characterization. “Mild-mannered?” she asked, amused despite herself.
“My mistake,” he chuckled. “I meant belligerent.”
Not rising to the bait, she reminded him a little impatiently, “Was there something you wanted?”
William could see this would be harder than he’d assumed. “Thought you might like to know Holtz’s body still hasn’t been recovered,” he informed her seriously.
She couldn’t help but pause for a moment mid-stride before stating grimly, “I guess I’m not too surprised.”
“So what are your plans now?” he asked, studying her carefully.
Buffy faltered. “What?” she asked. “Why would you think I have plans?” she stalled.
“Seems like you have some vested interest in this case,” he noted with confidence, pleased she hadn’t simply lied to get rid of him. “Plus you don’t seem like the type to give up easily,” he said honestly. “What are your plans now?” he asked again.
Buffy hesitated, biting her lip. “I was thinking of paying a visit to my old department.” She shrugged. “See if they’ll talk to me.”
“And where is that?”
“Southeast Division.”
William knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, as that small detail about her past life made sense of a few things, but he was still a little thrown. Or maybe he was just impressed. “So you used to cover, what, Watts and Jordan Downs and that whole area?”
“Yeah,” Buffy said guardedly as she closely measured his reactions.
William struggled to find an in. “Do you know Detective Gates? He handled Dashawn’s statement. Forrest Gates, I think.”
She shook her head. “No. Personnel can change pretty fast. I don’t know who all’s there anymore.” She wasn’t looking at him as she spoke and William couldn’t get a good read on her.
He decided just to go for it. “Well, perhaps I should join you. When are you planning to go?”
A startled Buffy stopped walking altogether. “Why?” she asked, turning to face him.
“I can back you up,” William offered.
“I don’t need back up,” she immediately replied.
“I do represent the prosecutor’s office,” he reminded her.
Buffy regarded him with visible distrust. “Since when are you helpful lawyer guy?”
William didn’t understand why she had to be so difficult. “Why are you so suspicious of me?” he asked crossly.
Buffy could hardly believe her ears. “All you’ve done since I’ve met you is second guess me, and insult me, and try to undermine me!” she thundered at him with three weeks of pent-up fury.
William was taken aback by her outburst but recovered quickly. “Not really,” he disagreed. He scratched at the back of his neck. “C’mon, you have to admit, you were a little unreasonable in the beginning with your marching orders and holier-than-thou attitude,” he said cajolingly.
Buffy raised her chin up. “Maybe you just had a problem with who was doing the ordering. That who was a her?”
It took William a second to catch the implication behind her terrible grammar. “What, you think I’m a sexist?”
Buffy couldn’t believe he had the gall to look offended at that. “The thought had crossed my mind,” she said bitingly.
“I didn’t have a problem with you because you were a woman, I had a problem with you because you were an annoying bint!”
Buffy’s face wore a twisted smile as she absorbed his latest volley. “You really missed your calling, with your people skills you could be working for the UN. Sure, it might launch Armageddon, but I’ll risk it over seeing you again,” she concluded emphatically.
“Oh, come on. I didn’t mean anything by it,” he protested, reaching out his hand to loosely grab her arm and stop her from turning away.
The hairs on her forearm stood up and her skin felt hot under his fingers. Buffy jerked her arm away. “Don’t touch me,” she cried.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” William repeated, backing away from her with his palms up.
He looked so remorseful Buffy became embarrassed at her over-reaction. She crossed her arms. “It’s okay,” she said, feeling herself blush.
William wasn’t sure how he had managed to screw everything up so badly. “I’m a bad, rude man,” he said apologetically. He thought about her earlier words. “I wasn’t fair to you,” he agreed. He shook his head at himself. “And I’m sorry for that.” William didn’t know if he could make her understand, or if he should even try to. “I just didn’t know then,” he confessed.
“Know what?”
“That you were for real,” he said earnestly.
The way he was looking at her made Buffy uncomfortable. “Well, real is me,” she muttered uncertainly.
“Yeah, I get that now,” he said a little hoarsely. Taking in her closed body language, he ventured to suggest, ”Look, let’s call a truce, all right?
“A truce,” Buffy repeated doubtfully.
“Yeah, you know, I can help you.”
“Help me,” she repeated again.
“We worked together pretty well last week, didn’t we? We got Carlos to fess up and came out on top in the big dust-up after,” he reminded her.
Buffy sighed. “This isn’t an episode of COPS. If you want excitement, go sky diving,” she suggested.
“I’m not looking for excitement,” William replied evenly, working hard to keep the frustration out of his voice. He pulled out his trump card. “I’ve had my eye on Winters for a long time,” he informed her. “And I know he’s dirty.”
Buffy moved a step closer to William. “How do you know?”
William leaned in. “Three, four cases I seen come through the DA’s office in the last five years have had some connection to him,” he revealed. “Tangential, but documented. Securities fraud, illegal lending, you name it. Yet he was always insulated from the fallout.” There was a hardness in William’s eyes as he related the information to Buffy.
Attentive, Buffy nodded. “But it’s weird, isn’t it? That he would get involved with
someone so low-rent like Holtz?”
William rocked back and forth on his heels. “What did Carlos tell us about the pay-off to Holtz? Thirty-five grand, right? Did you know that’s just about the exact amount you need to open a cash-checking franchise?”
Buffy was now hanging on his every word. “You think Winters gave Holtz the money to do that? Open up a third shop?”
“It would be the perfect front for laundering money,” he said with conviction.
Buffy quietly took in the implications of William’s statement. Then something suddenly occurred to her. “But this isn’t even your case, is it? Gavin Park is supposed—“
“To be handling it, yeah.” He just looked at her impassively.
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you kinda going beyond the bounds of your job?”
“I’m game if you are,” he replied, not without a hint of a challenge.
Buffy made her decision. “Fine,” she agreed. “We’ll go to the station together. See if they can tell us anything.”
“Good,” William replied with an air of satisfaction. Then he remembered. “By the way, I’m driving this time,” he informed her.
Buffy rolled her eyes.
“You’re kidding.” And then despite herself, Buffy asked, “What is it?”
“It’s a ’59 DeSoto. They stopped making them in 1960,” William said proudly as they came up to an enormous glossy black vehicle perfectly parallel parked on the street outside Buffy’s office building the day after their library chat. He had come to her office to pick her up so they could drive from downtown to South L.A. together.
“I guess the roads didn’t have room for more than about three of these, huh?“
William bristled. “We can’t all zip around in cute little flower power puffs, Goldilocks.”
“Don’t talk shit about Petunia,” Buffy reproved him semi-seriously as he opened the door for her.
“Oh, it’s Petunia is it,” he said, cracking a wide smile as he slid into the car from the other side.
“Well what do you call this boat?” she challenged him as she located her seat belt.
“Nothing.”
“Figures,” Buffy replied.
“What?”
“No imagination,” she said knowingly.
“Oi, I’ve got plenty of imagination,” he retorted in a leading tone.
“Sure you do,” Buffy told him in a voice one would use to humor a child.
He grunted. “You might want to pay attention here,” he said as he started the car. “Learn a thing or two? Consider it a free lesson,” he continued arrogantly, showily pulling out of his parking spot in reverse before moving forward into traffic.
Buffy wanted to just ignore him but she couldn’t help but watch out of the corner of her eye as he expertly accelerated the car, shifting gears in effortlessly fluid motion.
He forced himself to calm down and speak in a normal tone. “I noticed you have a tendency to let the clutch out too quickly when you’re shifting.”
Buffy knew she should have thought over her choice of automobile more carefully. After all, she had been lucky to pass the force’s driving exam on an automatic vehicle. She had pretty much brought herself to accept the fact that her physical coordination skills, though stellar elsewhere, failed her in a car. “I have to focus on giving it gas,” Buffy complained. “I don’t wanna stall out,” she continued in a defeated tone, her bottom lip jutting out.
A strange sensation washed over William as his eyes fixated on her mouth. He swallowed hard. “Um, ‘course not. But you don’t want to lurch forward either--‘s not safe, yeah?”
Buffy looked away and continued to sulk.
“You just remember to try to slow down a little with your left foot after you hit the engagement point and everything will be fine,” William assured her shakily. “Old cars like yours have unforgiving clutches, so it makes it more difficult to manage it all,” he added, trying to make her feel better.
Buffy sighed and watched out the window as they sped south down the 110. They drove for several minutes in companionable silence.
It was only broken by William’s request for directions as they neared their destination. As they exited the freeway, Buffy shook herself out of her deep thoughts.
With mild curiosity, she flipped through the short stack of CDs piled beside her on the seat. “The Clash, Ramones, Pistols,” she listed aloud. She glanced at him and smiled a little half-smile. “What are you, rebel without a cause?”
“’S good music,” he defended himself. “And… I like the anti-institutional message, I guess,” he admitted. “I know that’s a bit rich coming from a state employee,” he added wryly.
“No, I get it,” she commented, putting down the CDs. Watching her, William saw a far-away look come into her eyes.
He wanted to ask her what she was thinking about when she announced in a clipped tone, “Turn right. We’re here.”
As they passed through the metal detectors at the entrance of the station and waited in line at the busy intake counter, Buffy mulled over whom she should call for. She decided to start small and work her way up to the top. “Is Officer Faith Lehane on duty today?” she asked the weary-looking man enclosed behind glass when they made it to the front.
The man checked his online roster. “I’m sorry, miss,” he shook his head.
“What about—,” Buffy began.
“No way. Is that you, slayer?”
An amused voice that she immediately recognized drifted over the low-level din to her ears. Buffy spun around and broke out into a wide smile when she saw him.
“Riley, hi!”
“How the heck are you?” he asked as he gave her a big hug. He was so tall that he had to lean down to do so.
“Good,” Buffy answered him as she released him from her embrace. They walked a few steps away from the counter, with William following, unnoticed, behind them.
“Wow.”
William quickly sized up the man grinning like a fool at Buffy. He seemed like a typical corn-fed Midwestern type, William thought uncharitably. Not terribly bright but with heaps of bland niceness to spare. He wondered exactly what their relationship was or had been.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Can’t complain,” he replied.
Slightly abashed, Buffy said to him, “Faith told me you made Sergeant last year.” Leaning in a little, she said with feeling, “Congratulations.” Then she cheerily remarked, “I should’ve sent a fruitbasket.”
Riley looked pleased and embarrassed at the same time. “I didn’t do anything special. It was just my time.”
“You’re too modest. It’s a big deal.”
“Thanks, Buffy.” He looked like he was going to hug her again. William cleared his throat, successfully distracting Buffy.
“Oh, um, William Pratt from the DA’s office, this is Sergeant Finn,” Buffy introduced them before gracing Riley with another megawatt smile as she used his new title. Riley beamed. William simply nodded curtly at him and tried to stare him down.
Riley wasn’t even making eye contact with William. “So what brings you by the old station?” he asked Buffy.
“We’re here to see if there are any new developments in the Hamilton case,” she replied. “I--kind of got involved with it through the agency,” she explained hastily to forestall questions. “I don’t know if it’s gotten around the station?” she asked innocently.
Riley nodded. “Oh, there’s been buzz about it. But so far the body hasn’t turned up. And they swept Grape Street twice already. Last I heard from Forrest they’re fanning out the search.”
“Hope he turns up soon,” Buffy commented. But it was obvious to William she had already lost faith in the search.
“Do you want to talk to Ripper about it?” Riley asked.
“If he has time,” Buffy said mildly.
“He always has time for you,” he reassured her.
“If you say so.”
“Go on, it’ll be fine,” Riley encouraged her. “Here, I’ll get your security passes for you,” he offered, turning back to cut his way to the front of the line.
While they waited, Buffy stared at the floor and William pretended to observe the people milling around them while he surreptitiously watched Buffy. She seemed inordinately absorbed by the lines of cracked paint in the drab cement floor that she traced with the toe of her left boot. Her suddenly pensive mood was in striking contrast to the chipper attitude she had displayed during the happy reunion with the sergeant just moments before. William then noticed her breath was coming out shallowly and her hands were gripping her folded arms. He realized she was wound tight as a drum and he could only imagine what was going on inside of her.
“You ready for this?” The second the words left his mouth he regretted it.
Buffy’s head jerked up and she stared at him with wide eyes. But instead of getting angry, Buffy, if it was possible, seemed to steel herself even more against betraying any emotion. “Yes.” She nodded to drive the point home.
At that moment, Riley returned to them with passes in hand, saying regretfully, “I’ve got to round up my squad, otherwise, I’d go back in with you.”
“No problem,” Buffy assured him, clipping her pass onto her jacket. “I still know the way,” she added.
As she said it, William thought he detected a twinge of melancholy in her voice. But the next moment she was telling Riley, “It was nice to see you again,” as she briefly touched his arm.
“Don’t be such a stranger, slayer,” he replied, flashing her his toothpaste grin. Before he departed Riley gave her ponytail a little tug, which William decided was the wanker’s unimaginative version of a slap on the ass.
As Buffy led the way through the dispatch wing to her former captain’s office, William couldn’t help asking about Riley, “He your ex or something?”
“What?” Buffy asked sharply. “No. We went through training together. He was my colleague.” William didn’t understand why she seemed pissed off by his question.
She didn’t look at him again until they were standing before a door marked with the name of Captain Rupert Giles. Turning to William, Buffy said, “I’ll introduce you.” William nodded, trying to assess her feelings. She seemed nervous and William realized he hadn’t yet seen her unsure of herself like this.
After a moment of hesitation, she rapped on the door and waited for the signal to enter. When they heard it, Buffy opened the door.
As they walked in, a man in his early fifties in the middle of perusing a large open book on his desk looked up, his placid expression was replaced by one of surprise before it swiftly reverted back to a more neutral one. From his wire-rimmed glasses to the flecks of gray at his temples, Rupert Giles wore the distinguished look of an academic. But to William’s eyes there was a hardness in the line of his mouth that belied his otherwise innocuous appearance. Or perhaps he was merely swayed by the assumption that like Holland Manners, all men who rose to the top of an organization had to possess a certain capacity for ruthlessness.
“Buffy. Hello.” His tone was familiar and almost warm.
“Hey Giles,” Buffy replied softly before casting her eyes down.
“I’m surprised to see you,” he said as he quickly got up and walked over to her. Though almost as tall, he lacked the bulky frame of an officer like Sergeant Finn, and yet his presence was somehow more imposing. His movements were not free and careless like the other man’s but instead carefully calibrated.
“I probably should have called first,” Buffy said apologetically.
“Nonsense. You’re always welcome,” he immediately replied. He stood very close to her but held himself back from making physical contact. Buffy held her hands somewhat awkwardly at her sides.
“Thanks,” she said simply.
He looked at her closely. “Are you well?” he asked seriously.
“Yes. Very.” She tried to sound upbeat, even though her nerves still felt a little frazzled at suddenly seeing Giles again after so long.
“I’m delighted to hear it.” His voice seemed an understated mixture of happiness and relief and he gave her a small but genuine smile.
Buffy remembered the man at her side. “Captain Rupert Giles, this is William Pratt, from the DA’s office.”
At the mention of his affiliation, Giles became more attentive to the presence of the other person in the room. As they shook hands, Giles said, “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” William understood immediately that it was a statement actually intended as a question.
“We haven’t. I usually work white collar cases.” William decided to keep his explanation as vague as possible.
“Yes, well, that explains it. One of the few areas of criminal activity our division doesn’t excel in,” he remarked wryly. “Please have a seat, both of you,” he invited, gesturing towards chairs and returning to sit himself behind his immaculately kept desk.
“Now how may I help you,” he asked Buffy after they sat down.
“We were hoping we could talk to you about the Hamilton case,” Buffy began tentatively.
Giles took off his glasses and producing a handkerchief from his pocket, began rubbing the lenses slowly. He addressed his words to Buffy. “Of course you know that technically this is all strictly police business.” He looked at William askance. “That being said,” he continued with an ironic smile, “What would you like to know? And why, if I may ask?”
“Um, I interviewed Dashawn Richards for his disposition hearing,” Buffy explained. “The first witness? He ended up telling me about Hamilton then. After that he was turned over to the DA’s office and VCU.”
Giles stopped polishing his glasses for a moment before resuming again. “I didn’t know that,” he stated, somewhat displeased. “Your name wasn’t in the reports.”
“Minor detail,” Buffy said flippantly.
“Hardly,” he countered kindly.
Buffy remained silent.
“So your agency is responsible for the boy? He’s your primary interest?”
Buffy wasn’t sure how to answer that. “He’s Rona’s brother,” she said, knowing he would understand.
Giles put his glasses back on and studied her openly. “The girl from the Compton case,” he said.
Buffy swallowed. “The one and only.”
“I’ve not forgotten,” he replied. There was some underlying feeling in his words but whether it was disapproval or remorse was impossible to tell. “And you’ve seen her recently?” he asked curiously.
“No. But she called me about a month ago. About Dashawn. Asked me to help.”
William felt like he had just been given a clue but he still didn’t know how the puzzle fit together.
“I see.” Giles mulled that over for a moment and then said plainly, “You know that his information hasn’t panned out. We haven’t found a body. We’ve turned Grape Street inside out twice for good measure.”
“I heard,” Buffy said readily. “And I’ve been thinking about it a lot. He was so sure about Marcus’s MO, but the thing is, there haven’t been any bodies linked to him before now. What if he only said that because he knew the Crips used to dump bodies in the boarded up apartments there,” Buffy said, her words tumbling out. “He must have heard the stories, right?” she then asked, searching Giles’s face for his reaction to her theory.
A flicker of awareness dawned in Giles’s eyes. “The sins of the fathers,” he mused.
“Something like that,” Buffy replied.
William decided he had had enough with the vague allusions and familiar shorthand between Buffy and the man he assumed was her former boss. “Excuse me, but I don’t speak cryptic. What are we talking about here?” he cut in impatiently.
Absorbed in her conversation with Giles, Buffy had forgotten William was there. She sent him an apologetic look. She tried to give him only the relevant highlights of the case that ended her first career. “Dashawn has an older sister, Rona. A few years ago she—helped to turn their uncle in for three murders. He killed for one of the biggest dealers around. This guy owned fifteen blocks of prime real estate in Watts and he protected it. Anyway, Trick always used to bag the bodies and seal them in the floor boards and walls of the abandoned units.” She paused to take a breath. “Kind of a do-it-yourself carpentry project,” she summed up with mordant humor.
Giles had been silent and impassive as he listened to Buffy’s recounting of the past. He now spoke up. “It was a highly effective—technique. And it took us quite a while to uncover it.” His voice took on a much harder edge. “But can we be sure that Dashawn has not been lying about the whole thing,” he questioned. “Frankly, it worried me when we didn’t find any casings at the scene. It was why we couldn’t charge Marcus Hamilton when we had the chance. Dashawn may have an axe to grind that we don’t know about.”
“He’s not lying, Giles,” Buffy said firmly. But she looked at him with an expression of defiance.
William could see a battle of wills raged in their unspoken exchange, but he didn’t understand the man’s doubts. “Plus the other kid corroborated the story.” He tried to get the conversation back on a practical track. “So the kid thought he knew something he really didn’t. Where does that leave the search?”
“We could try to talk to Dashawn again,” Giles suggested. “Confirm if your suspicions about his initial information are correct.”
“But odds are he doesn’t actually know anything about what Hamilton did or who helped him. No, someone has to get Hamilton to talk,” Buffy stated.
“Hamilton claimed the boys made everything up. You won’t get anything out of him,” William warned her.
“They have to try again,” Buffy said adamantly. “Find his weak spot.”
“Unfortunately, that will be difficult,” Giles interjected. “You see, he’s disappeared.”
“What?” William exploded. “When?” he demanded.
Giles looked at his watch. “Roughly four hours ago,” he stated flatly. “I was informed he missed his last check-in. It’s too early to say for sure, but I expect it may be a while before we hear from him again. Of course, he could always surprise us and resurface somewhere.”
”I don’t believe this. So now there’s no body, and no perp,” Buffy summarized, deflated. “He must have gotten scared we were getting close.”
Her automatic use of the plural pronoun didn’t go unnoticed by Giles.
William cursed under his breath. “What about Russell Winters? You ready to charge him with anything?”
Giles was affronted by the strident way he was being addressed. “My officers are still investigating Mr. Winters’s alleged involvement,” he said stiffly. “They should be keeping your office abreast of any new developments.”
William was deeply displeased at the thought that Winters would get away scot-free yet again, but he had seen too many cases in his time fall apart to hold out much hope. If history was any guide, the paper trail would lead nowhere. Even if they found the check made out to Holtz, Winters was sure to have a convenient explanation for it.
“Do you have any leads on Hamilton?” Buffy was asking Giles.
“Not as yet,” he said. ”Are you… freelancing now?” he asked her with a hint of humor.
“Not really,” she replied, giving nothing away.
He looked as though he was going to say something but then he sighed. “Very well. I trust you’ll keep in touch as well should any new information arise.”
“Will do.” She signaled to William that it was time to leave. “Thanks for your time, Giles,” Buffy said as they stood up to go.
“Buffy.” He looked at her meaningfully. “Thank you for coming in,” he said softly.
She met his eyes briefly, an unfathomable expression on her face, before turning away.
When they came out of the station Buffy and William unhappily discovered it was raining. It wasn’t pouring yet, but it was clearly on the brink of starting.
“Stupid weather,” Buffy grumbled.
“No point in waiting,” William suggested. Buffy agreed.
Neither one of them had an umbrella so getting wet was inevitable. Buffy was glad she happened to have worn all cotton that day. William popped the felt under-collar of his suit jacket and she held her jean jacket tightly closed as they made a dash for the car.
Once safely inside, they caught their breath. Buffy dried her face off with her sleeve. She watched as William carefully smoothed his curling hair back in the rearview mirror and then removed his wet jacket.
“Too bad about your suit,” she observed sympathetically.
Untroubled, he said, “I have three more just like it.”
“I take it you’re a sucker for variety.”
He smirked at her. “Gotta stick with what looks good.”
Buffy wanted to snort but her nose was uncooperative. Plus she had to admit his English-cut suits always fit him to perfection and their hand-stitched lapels and tortoise-shell buttons screamed quality. She suspected she liked the style better than the Italian Zegna suits with heavily padded shoulders that Angel always wore.
William looked at Buffy quizzically as she seemed to have slipped off into her own world.
“You disappointed?” he asked.
“Huh?” she asked, startled out of her digressive train of thought. Focusing, she said soberly, “You heard him. Nothing but dead ends.”
“I’ll find out what Gavin’s heard,” William promised as he started the car and began the drive back to her office. “The Captain was pretty forthcoming about the case,” he noted casually.
“He knows what it means to me,” Buffy said ambiguously.
“Were you and him like a thing?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent.
“What?” Buffy asked, confused. When she got his meaning, she erupted. “Eww, no!”
“Sorry!”
“He was, like, the father I—,” she broke off, uncertain how to finish the thought. “He’s just Giles,” she finally said, shuddering and still squicked out by the suggestion that they had been a couple.
“Misread the tension,” William said, feeling a little foolish. “What was that about, then?”
“It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen him,” Buffy said. “Or anyone there.”
Thinking back to the first man they had seen, William scoffed, “Oh, right. Captain Cardboard. Forgot him already.” He raised an eyebrow and sent her a sidelong glance. “So it’s ‘slayer,’ is it?” he asked, sounding highly amused.
“It’s just a nickname,” she said, unbothered by his teasing. “Was,” she then corrected. “Don’t you have one?” she added, trying to remember something.
Half listening, he was distracted as they approached downtown. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. Spike.”
“Spike.” She said it like it was the punchline to a joke.
He frowned. “Yeah… but don’t call me that. My friends call me that,” he said, peering through the rapid movement of the windshield wiper for the right exit.
“Got it,” Buffy replied shortly, suppressing an urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t even know why she let herself feel insulted by his casual jibes.
As William got back onto the surface streets he tried to figure out how to ask her about what was really on his mind.
“You, uh, miss it?” he asked after a lengthy silence.
“What?” she asked without looking at him.
“Police work.”
“Sometimes,” she said noncommittally.
“What was your, uh, specialty before? When you were on the force?” William asked, glancing back and forth between her and the road.
Buffy set her jaw. “Homicide.”
“Is that why you wanted to see about Dashawn—,” he broke off as Buffy very deliberately turned her head to look at him. He could practically see the walls come crashing down in front of his eyes.
“I think share time is over, ok?” she said icily.
“Sure,” he said agreeably. “I didn’t mean to pry,” he tried to reassure her.
Buffy exhaled noisily.
He knew he should let it go but as usual, he couldn’t. His eyes flicked over to her. “You just seemed… dunno… sad, maybe… back there.”
To her horror, Buffy felt for a second like she was going to burst into tears. “I’m fine,” she asserted. “And I don’t need your pity,” she said with disdain.
“I wasn’t offering you that,” he countered, hurt by her dismissal.
Before he could think of something else to say they had turned the corner to her office street.
“You can just let me off here,” Buffy was saying, gesturing for him to pull over.
William panicked, unready for her to leave. “It’s raining. I’ll park and—“
“Nah, this is closer, anyway,” Buffy insisted, putting her hand on the car handle and forcing him to come to a stop. “Thanks for the ride,” she said quickly as she popped her seat belt. “See you later,” she tossed over her shoulder without looking back as she jumped out of the car and sped towards her building.
Defeated, William slumped in his seat. “Later,” he echoed, watching her through the car window until she disappeared in a blur of rain.