“Buffy?” an unfamiliar female voice called from behind the door. “My name is Tara Maclay, and I’m a friend of William’s. He sent me over to check on you. Can you let me in?”
At that, Buffy perked up, albeit slightly. She’d never heard of Tara Maclay, but if she’d spoken to Will…
She pulled herself up and went to the door, opening it slowly. As soon as she did, Tara gasped, taking in Buffy’s disheveled, bruised form.
“Oh, goddess…” was all she could manage to say as she stepped inside and locked the door behind her. William had told her she was in bad shape, but…
Tara tucked a piece of blonde hair behind Buffy’s ear. She looked so completely and utterly destroyed, and all Tara wanted to do was fix her. “Did William’s father do this to you?”
Buffy nodded slowly. “Liam was my husband.”
Tara nodded. She’d known a little bit about Buffy, though William had been reluctant to talk about a lot of it. What he had said was after a night of a little too much to drink and way too little sleep. She hadn’t been aware things had started up again after Drusilla. “Is that what happened to William? He killed his father to protect you?”
Buffy looked at Tara sharply. “Is that what he said happened?”
Tara eyed the other woman skeptically for a moment. “He said he killed his father.”
Buffy reached into the pocket of her robe, rustled what sounded like paper, and whispered, “That’s what happened.”
And in that instant, Tara knew the truth. She’d always been able to read people, always been able to see what was beneath the surface, and this was glaring. Part of her wanted to march right over to the jail and yell at William for being an idiot, but then she took another look at Buffy and knew why he was doing this.
This girl wouldn’t last a moment in his shoes. She was barely making it as it was.
“Buffy, we need to clean you up, but first, I want to take pictures of these bruises, all right? We might need the proof later that Liam beat you. Can you let me do that?”
Buffy’s eyes were pointed at Tara’s face, but it was if she wasn’t really looking at her at all. “Did you talk to Will? Is he all right?”
Tara put her hand on Buffy’s arm and spoke soothingly. “Will is fine, sweetie. He just wants me to take care of you. I’m going to do that, but first I want to get these bruises on film. That might help William, okay?”
Buffy’s eyes met Tara’s then, though Tara could tell the other woman was not fully with her. “It will?”
“Yeah, it will. Are you going to let me do it?”
For a moment, Buffy was still and silent, but she finally nodded.
Glad she happened to have a digital camera in her purse, Tara gently led Buffy in the living room.
If nothing else, jail was boring. Spike had spent incredibly too much time already simply lying on his bunk, watching the ceiling and trying not to get blinded by the glare of way too much orange on his body.
“Angelus, get up. You’ve got a visitor.”
Spike turned, eyeing the guard on the other side of the bars. “Visitor?”
“Yeah, your lawyer’s here.”
“I don’t have a lawyer. Waived the right to counsel and all that.”
The guard shrugged. “Look, buddy, I just relay what I’m told to, and they’re telling me Lindsey McDonald is here to see you and he’s your lawyer.”
Spike blinked, gaped for a moment. Lindsey? His father’s lawyer? Why in the world would his father’s lawyer be representing him when he was charged with the man’s murder?
Unless his mother had sent him… Spike was observant enough to know what had been going on between his mother and Lindsey, and the best he could think was that she had convinced Lindsey to represent her son. Which William had to say surprised him since he didn’t think his mother would care one way or the other if he rotted away in prison.
“Yeah, all right. I’ll talk to him.”
The guard said nothing as he cuffed Spike and led him out of the cell, down to the visitor’s area. Spike looked around, noting that he’d be behind a window, talking through a phone, just like in the movies. How quaint…
He picked up his phone, waited for Lindsey to grab the other line. “And you’re here because…”
“You’re in jail for murder, William,” Lindsey said without preamble. “You need a lawyer.”
“No, I don’t, and especially not my father’s lawyer. You’re a dick.”
Lindsey smirked. “Well, yeah, I’m a lawyer. Your mother sent me. She’s beside herself at the thought of you in here.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure she is. That tearful visit I haven’t gotten from her really proved that.”
“She sent me here instead. She wants you out.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not getting out. I confessed.”
“I can get that thrown out,” Lindsey said. “You were under duress.”
“The hell I was. I confessed, and you’ll bloody well leave it alone!” Spike snapped. This was the last thing he needed, some meddling lawyer trying to push the case in another direction. He wanted things to be open and shut.
“Will, come on. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but there’s no reason to rot away in here.” Lindsey smiled too easily. “You’re a rich boy, William. I can get you out of this in my sleep. And I’m working on getting bail for you, too. This ‘flight risk’ stuff is just bullshit.”
“I fucking shot my own father. I don’t want out. So just go away. Hold my mother’s purse while she dances on Liam’s grave.”
“William…”
“We’re done here, Lindsey.” Spike hung up the phone and called for the guard, not bothering to look at Lindsey as he was led back to his cell.
Assistant District Attorney Charles Gunn didn’t realize there was a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth as he walked into the crime lab. A thin, brunette woman in a white coat leaned over a table, examining something he couldn’t see from where he was standing.
“Dr. Burkle?”
She turned around, an almost imperceptible blush crossing the young woman’s face as she pushed her glasses up further on her nose. “Mr. Gunn. I didn’t see you standing there.”
“I just got here. And you can just call me Gunn. Everyone else does.”
The blush darkened. “Then you can call me Fred. It’s short for Winifred, which you probably figured out if you knew my name, but if you didn’t, well, now you do, and…” She looked down at her fingers. “And I’m totally babbling.”
Gunn’s smile grew. Like he minded a babble when it was that adorable… But he was here for a reason, and it wasn’t to check out Dr. Foxy. “Have the prints come back from the gun in the Angelus murder yet?”
Fred nodded and pushed her glasses up again. “They have. They match the son’s.”
“Any sign of the wife’s on there?”
“Not that we could see,” Fred replied with a shake of her head.
“Dammit.”
“Is she a suspect?”
“Not officially, but I think she is. Where’s the gun now?”
“Ballistics. I’m having them run tests to compare it with the bullets we found at the crime scene.”
Gunn frowned. “Is there doubt it’s the murder weapon?”
“I don’t know. I found something weird when I was at the crime scene earlier, and I wanted to check it out. I mean, it might just be nothin’, but it could be somethin’, too, so I knew I couldn’t ignore it.”
“What is it?” Gunn asked, his arms crossing in front of him as he began to worry that his case might be falling apart right then and there.
“Well, the son said he fired the gun three times, right? I mean, that’s what they told me he said in his confession, so I guess that’s what he did.”
“Yeah, he did,” Gunn replied with a terse nod.
“Well, there’s eight bullets at the crime scene. Three in the wall and five in the body. And, well, I’m not sure they’re even from the same gun. They don’t really look like it, which is why I sent the gun to ballistics. I want to know which, if any, of those bullets came from that weapon.”
That was a turn Gunn hadn’t been expecting at all. “Huh.”
“I thought the same thing, only it was a little more than ‘huh,’ because it’s a pretty weird thing to show up at a crime scene. I mean, why would anyone want to shoot a wall?”
“I don’t…” Gunn shook his head. “Keep me posted on that one, Fred,” he told her as he started towards the door again. “Let me know what you find out as soon as you do.”
The blush was back. “I will, Mr. Gunn. Er…Gunn.”
He smiled. “Thanks.”
Alone in her lab again, Fred sighed softly before she turned back to her work.
Buffy hadn’t wanted to shower, hadn’t wanted to change her clothes, and certainly hadn’t wanted to eat the sandwich that was now in front of her. Yet every time she met opposition, Tara reminded Buffy that William wanted her taking care of herself, and then, it got done.
Buffy blonde hair was a mess, tangled even after the shower, and as Buffy finished her sandwich, Tara went to get a brush, then set to work detangling the mass of golden waves.
“You know the truth, don’t you,” Buffy said, her soft, pained voice surprising Tara since she’d spoken so little since she’d gotten there.
“Yeah, I do.”
“I don’t want him taking the fall for me. I don’t. I…” Buffy trailed off as she burst into tears.
Tara put the brush down and came around to kneel beside Buffy, letting her lean forward and wrap her arms around her. Tara rubbed the other girl’s back, wanting to tell her it was going to be all right, but knowing she couldn’t put the confidence Buffy would need to hear in those words right now. “I know you don’t, sweetie.”
“He told me I had to. He left me a note and told me I had to, and I don’t know what to do, and I’m scared, and I miss him, and…and…” Buffy couldn’t find anything else to say. Not even the tears seemed like enough, but they were all she had.
“William’s okay right now,” Tara said, hoping it was the truth. She didn’t know what to do any more than Buffy did right now. Should Buffy decide to go against what William had asked her to do and turn herself in? Would it be better for both of them if Spike was the one to serve the time? She didn’t know, and she didn’t think there were any easy answers for something like this.
“What do I do?” Buffy asked, pulling back to look at Tara’s face.
Tara thought for a moment, then answered. “You take care of yourself. When I talked to William, he told me that was all that mattered to him. He just wants you to be okay.” She didn’t know what else to say. She was out of her depth, in the dark about the details, and knew any final decision had to be Buffy’s.
Buffy reached out and grasped on to Tara’s forearm. “Can you stay with me now? I know you don’t really know me or anything, but I don’t think I can be alone right now.”
“I won’t make you be alone. If William loves you the way he obviously does, then I know you’re a good person, Buffy. I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“Thank you.”
Somehow, Tara found a way to smile.
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