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"You're not going to leave me alone are you?"

Buffy huffed out, standing up from the floor with her hands full of coffee drenched napkins. It had taken her a few moments to shake off the feeling of ice-cold fingers wrapped around her wrist before she could move. Still a bit unnerved and wary over the fact that her ghost had yet to leave her alone, she went to the counter and started to unpack a shipment that had been delivered late the day before. Anything to keep her busy and not thinking about what had just transpired.

"What part of grave danger are you not hearing, dear? This is serious!"

"That is exactly the part that I am listening to! Why on God's name would I rush to help someone who is in grave danger. You're a ghost for Christ sake! You're not even real! This is so not happening to me." Buffy dropped the wooden statue that she held in her hands back into its box, packing peanuts spilling over the edge and onto the countertop. With an exasperated sigh she spun to face her ghost, ready to give her a piece of her mind, but stopped as she met the woman's eyes. She stood with her hands on her hips, her lips set in a firm determined line with a fierce look on her face.

"My son is Police Detective William Giles, Sunnydale Crime Unit and if you do not help me he is going to DIE!"

"There's no need to yell at me!"

Buffy shouted back, eyes widening as through the glass windows of the shop front she saw Mrs. Mackenzie from the store next door stop to stare at her. Mouth open wide in shock.

"A-are you alright dear?"

"Yes I'm fine! Thank you for your concern Mrs. Mackenzie! Ok bye." Buffy turned around and rushed behind the counter, ducking down behind the desks to sit on the floor. "Oh my God!" There was a few moments of silence, her eyes tearing up at the thought of Mrs. Mackenzie seeing her talking to herself.

"I'm not going away until you help me."

"Jesus Christ!" Buffy sat up straight at hearing the voice coming from right in front of her. Sitting on the floor opposite her against the wall was the blurred form of her persistent ghost. The woman crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow, lips still set in a firm line of determination. "You're really not are you." Buffy didn't need a response, she already knew the answer. "Fine! I'll talk to your god damn son if you agree to leave me alone."

"There is absolutely no need for such language."

Her ghost chastised as she stood and dusted off her pants.

"Look lady, I've had a-"

"Anne. You may call me Anne."

"Ok, Anne..." Buffy rubbed a hand down her face, her back to the glass window of the shop front as she spoke. "I've had a rough morning so I would really appreciate it if we kept the talking to a minimum."

"That's fine by me but you are still going to have to listen to what I have to say. My son can be quite difficult-"

Buffy mhh'd her response, grabbing her purse from below the register and fishing out her keys. She flicked the shop lights off, turning the door sign to 'closed' before locking up all the while only half paying attention to Anne as she nattered on about her son.

"God damn ghosts are going to drive me insane."

"So it's best if you just repeat everything I just explained and it's sure to make sense."

"Sure, why not because he is totally going to believe that the ghost of his dead mother decided to pop up in the middle of my store and annoy the living daylights out of me just to save his life. Yup, I would totally believe me too. No worries!"

Buffy all but trudged down the street all the while muttering to herself as Anne floated on behind her.

"You really shouldn't slump like that dear, it's bad for your back."

"What did I just say about keeping talking to a minimum!"

"Yes dear."

..................................


"Suspect is female, most likely caucasian, age is hard to tell. I'm thinking that she's in her late thirties, this is a tough one guy's. Judging by the precision and the time she has taken to place all of the body's in these particular positions after their deaths indicate that she's smart which comes with age, but there's just something that's not quite right. She's careful, methodical. Takes her time. Why?"

"Why?"

"She's no Black Widow and definitely not a sexual predator. It could be revenge, no, there's no connection between the victims so that's not right."

Spike knew it was pointless to interrupt Andrew Wells when he was in the middle of a profile. Once the boy was on a roll he tended to spout out whatever he was thinking, usually random facts of information until he seemed to find himself a conclusion. Andrew had more degrees than Spike could count, but he was the units best profiler. He had a masters degree in psychology as well as a degree in forensics and had spent the last three years working closely with Fred.

"Black widow is the killer that usually dates or gets close to the victims first, right?"

Gunn was sitting in Spike's chair, watching as Andrew stared at the board with his analytical eyes, pulling information out of the crime scene photos and papers that neither he nor Spike could see. There were certain 'tells' as Andrew liked to call them that spoke to him that helped him form his images of what the killer looked like and helped him form his opinion of who they were as a person.

"Correct. Black Widows will get emotionally close to their victims before they kill them, normally killing for material gain. Which this is not the case here, so, speaking of let's get back on topic."

"Yes, lets."

Spike shot Gunn a look which shouted 'don't interrupt the bloody man.' It had Gunn slumping back in the chair with his arms folded.

"There's no profit of the crime, nothing was taken from the scene. No money. I would say team killing based on some of the information here, but there's no evidence to suggest a second party was involved. Her sanity is definitely up for question though. I don't think your girl is all quite there. None of the cuts to the victims throats have been sloppy so she's experienced with the weapon. Has Winifred sent up the list of possible weapons?" Andrew Wells stood back from the white board that occupied most of the space next to Spikes desk, finger tapping against his forearm as they sat folded across his chest as he spoke.

"Here."

Spike handed over the list of possible weapons Fred had given him hoping that Wells was able to narrow down their large list. Andrew was his best chance of attempting to understand the killer and was a critical part of catching the murderer.

"I'd almost bet money that this stems back to a married man she lost," his eyes skimmed down the page. "or you know, the one she killed first."

"But why?"

"Why? There doesn't need to be a reason. To a psychologically unstable person everything is justified in his or her own way. This one." Andrew pointed out a weapon on the page.

"A surgical knife?" Spike raised an eyebrow.

"It fits the profile. Have you thought of looking into the medical side of things?"

"What like a doctor?"

Gunn sat on the end of his chair, sipping on his third coffee of the morning.

"Doctor, nurse staff, veterinarian, could be anyone. Anyone that would have access to scalpels or blades and know how to use them."

"I'll look into it." Spike nodded, staring down at the papers and pictures of various blades in his hands.

"Your killer has taken the time to make their wounds clean, but inflicting their end result, death, quite quickly." Andrew glanced over the photos that hung clipped up to the white board of the three couples that had been murdered over the last few weeks. "It is strange though."

"What is?" Spike looked up, folding his arms across his chest.

"There's hardly any defensive wounds on the victims. How did she subdue them?"

"There was defensive wounds on the latest male victim. Fred found traces of ketamine in all the victims systems."

"Ketamine?" Andrew was taken back. "That's used in veterinary clinics to knock out animals before surgery. My own Mr. Mittens just went in last week to have-"

"Gunn-"

"Already on it boss." Gunn sat further back into his chair, spinning it towards the desk as he typed away on his computer.

Spike had his phone out of his pocket in record time, dialing Fred who answered on the second ring.

"All six victims had traces of ketaminein in their system correct?"

"Different forms and doses of it, yes." She replied slowly, questioning in her voice.

"Is there any chance you can find where they were sourced from?"

"You mean like what brands and where they are used?"

"Exactly, pet." Spike grinned, meeting his partner's eyes who nodded and typed away on the computer.

"Y-yeah I can try."

Spike hung up the phone and turned to Andrew who was already gathering up his papers.

"I'll try to work on a more detailed profile for your killer, there's a few things I want to look into further. I'll get back to you this afternoon."

"Thanks mate."

"Mr Giles?"

Spike spun towards the voice that had walked into his office. Harmony, the stations receptionist stood half in the door and half out, an amused look on her face. Spike forced himself to not roll his eyes at her and her smirking face. He had regretted ever taking her out on a date five years ago and ever since then the bint hadn't let up about trying to get him in the sack again.

"Yes?"

He all but growled out at having been interrupted in the middle of a case.

"There's a young woman here to see you. A miss Buffy Summers. She said it's urgent."

"Bring her in." He flipped the white board around so that it's plain side faced the room. Gunn got up from the desk and left the office, hands laden with the papers he had just printed.

Spike sat down behind his desk, minimizing the tabs on the screen that Gunn had opened so that the station's logo flashed as the screen saver. It wouldn't do to have the public seeing what was on their computers

"H-hello my name is," Buffy coughed as she stepped further into the office. "Hmm my name is Buffy Summers."

"Pleasure to meet you, luv. I'm Detective Spike Giles. What can I do for you?" Spike reached out and shook her hand before he indicated she take a seat opposite him at his desk.

"Oh just look at how handsome he has gotten. Though I could never see why he dyes his hair that absolutely atrocious white colour!"

Buffy took a few moments to take in the man that was Detective Spike Giles. He wore dark jeans with a grey shirt tucked into his pants, his muscular chest causing the shirt to go taunt. He wore a black suit jacket over his shirt, not a formal jacket, but one slightly more casual. His angular cheekbones were sharp and chiseled against his jaw line, striking, but not as captivating as his bright blue eyes. Eyes that were the brightest blue she had ever seen, being brought out more by his platinum blonde hair. Eyes that were staring at her quizzically.

"Right, yes. The reason I'm here." She let out a nervous laugh.

"Go on dear. Just as I explained." Anne smiled at Buffy as she stood behind the desk next to Spike, raising one eyebrow in waiting.

"Yes," Spike nodded slowly. "Your urgent matter?"

"R-right." Buffy glanced over his shoulder to his mother and then back to Spikes face. He slowly started to raise one of his own eyebrows in question. "Well that's just downright freaky."

"Excuse me?" He stared at her strangely before trying to follow her line of sight to the empty wall behind him.

"Look this is going to sound completely insane! Quite frankly I've had almost as much as I can take of this whole mess, but hey! Mrs. Mackenzie already probably thinks I'm crazy so why not the whole town. I can see ghosts. The ghost of your mother is standing right behind you and she brought me here to deliver a very important message to you."

"Yes that's right. You're in danger."

"You're going to die."


Chapter End Notes:
Thoughts??



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