"This is Revello Drive?" Sarah asked as they pulled up in the black SUV.
"Yes," Grissom said. "Why, does it look wrong?"
Sarah shrugged and looked back at the sunny, green suburban street. "Looks like a nice neighborhood."
"Looks can be deceiving," Grissom replied, taking his kit with him and giving her a look before putting on his sunglasses.
Sarah rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seatbelt, getting out of the car and following her partner up the walkway to the two-story house.
Grissom knocked at the door and a moment later a young red-haired woman came to the door, looking no older than twenty.
Her smile faded, looking perplexed. "Hello," she said, attempting a smile again. "May I help you?"
"My name is Gil Grissom and this is my partner, Sarah Sidle. We're with the Los Vegas crime lab," Grissom said. "May we come in?"
The woman looked surprised, then raked her fingers through her red hair and pulled it back behind her ears. "Uh, yes, of course," she stepped back to let in the two investigators and shut the door while Grissom scanned the room behind his sunglasses.
"You have a very lovely home," Sarah said, attempting to be polite.
"Uh, thank you," she replied nervously. "Let me go get Buffy. Uh, make yourselves comfy."
She walked away as calmly as possible and Sarah and Grissom exchanged looks, then wandered into the living room. Grissom picked up a statue. "A fertility god."
"Hm," Sarah replied. "New age?"
Grissom set the statue back down and turned back as the red head and a new blonde came in.
"Can I help you?" the blonde asked, and the two could tell she didn't want them there.
"Are you Buffy Summers?" Grissom asked.
"Yes," she said expectantly.
"We have to ask the whereabouts of a young man who goes by the name of 'Spike'."
"Spike?" the redhead repeated. "What did Spike do?"
"We have to ask him some questions," Sarah replied. "It's really classified."
Buffy nodded. "Willow, call Giles and ask if Spike is at the shop."
Willow nodded and left the room to place the phone call.
"I noticed you have a fertility god," Grissom said, gesturing to the statue.
"That's Willow's," Buffy replied. "She's a witch. She lives here. She's my best friend and she's helping me raise my sister. We're not gay."
"I never said you were," Grissom said, backing down.
"Sorry. Uh, the last time anyone government was here they thought that me and Will were... not that there's anything wrong with it. She has a girlfriend. I'm single."
"I understand," Grissom assured. "You don't have to explain."
Buffy looked embarrassed, then Willow returned.
"Giles says that Spike's finally shown up, and he's been bugging him for the last hour," Willow said and looked at Grissom and Sarah. "He, uh, got into a bar fight again."
Buffy sighed. "He never learns."
"He gets into fights?" Sarah asked.
"Oh. Yeah. But it's not like that," Buffy assured. "He got some people angry and now whenever they see him they kick his ass. It's his own fault for going to those places. He's gets all offended and then looses. He's like a... bird that keeps attacking a window."
"Where is this store?" Grissom asked.
"Uh, yeah," Buffy said, looking at Willow, who shrugged. "I'll take you to him, but he's not very friendly, even when he wins a fight."
"He's familiar with us."
* * * * *
Buffy walked into the Magick Box with Sarah, Grissom and Willow following behind her.
"Spike," Grissom said to the bleach blonde.
"Oh, not you again," Spike grimaced, black eye standing out on his pale skin. "Didn't I tell you to sod off last time?"
Sarah smiled. "Yeah, but this time we have a warrant."
Buffy frowned. "A warrant for what?"
"Spike?" Dawn asked. "What did you do?"
"Why do you think I did anything?" Spike asked angrily.
"Because you're evil, you constantly tell us you hate us, and you're evil," Xander replied.
"Is this a warrant for his arrest?" Giles asked.
"No," Sarah said. "It's a warrant for his DNA."
"Sod that," Spike said. "I didn't do anything."
"You were at the murder scene," Grissom said. "If you're innocent, your DNA samples will rule you out. If you refuse, we'll take you into custody."
Spike sighed, drumming his fingers on the table as he considered his options. "Fine. Saliva, right? Get the swabby thing they do on TV and shove off."
"No, Spike," Sarah said with small amusement. "We have a warrant to strip search you and have your clothing processed for blood, GSR and anything that might link you to the murders. That's gun shot residue."
"Murders?" Dawn asked. "Plural?"
"Gun shot residue... well listen here," Spike said. "I don't have any guns. Well, I had a shot gun a few years ago, but I lost it. My grandmother was the one who had a thing for guns. Pistols and she'd shoot away down the street for fun. She was a crazy bitch and when she shot out my kneecaps I kind of lost any desire to see another gun."
"Guns are useless," Buffy agreed.
"Well people are killed by guns everyday," Sarah replied. "Now we'll have to take different samples of your DNA and see if we can't rule you out."
Spike bit his thumbnail. "Where?"
"Wherever you feel most comfortable," Grissom replied. "But we'd prefer to do it back in the labs in Los Vegas."
"Los Vegas," Willow repeated. "When did you go to Los Vegas?"
"When someone murdered someone, 'parently," Spike muttered, getting up numbly. "Tell Clem to watch my flat 'til I get back."
Dawn watched Spike go out the door with Sarah and Grissom with wide eyes. "When do you think Spike'll come back?"
"Dawn," Buffy said seriously. "Spike's had those same exact clothes for years. He's not coming back."
* * * * *
Spike remained in quiet awe at the busy offices filled with high-tech gadgets he didn't begin to know the purposes of.
"Keep up," Sarah said roughly, amused at his cute amazement.
"Yo Gris," Greg stopped Grissom, holding out a file. "Ran those blood tests you wanted. The girl had sleeping pills in her system."
"Sleeping pills," Grissom repeated, flipping through the file.
"The guys in the lab tested Porter's gun while you were out," Greg added.
"And?" Grissom asked.
"No match. The bullets in the bodies and bullets fired from the gun are completely different. Porter's not your guy."
Grissom sighed and Greg looked at Spike, who was peering through the large window at a lab. "That your new suspect?"
"Yes," Grissom said curtly. "Is the doctor in? The one who does the DNA?"
"No," Greg shook his head. "She's out sick. But I'll keep the lab open for when you get those samples for me to run. Good luck in finding someone."
Sarah smiled. "I have gentle hands."
"All right, you can do it, Sarah," Grissom allowed. "Greg, I want results back to me ASAP."
"You're my number one," Greg promised, turning to go back to the lab, his white lab coat swishing.
"Where do you buy those white lab coat thingys?" Spike asked, receiving a look from Sarah. "What?"
Sarah shook her head. This was the mind of ADD, not a serial killer.
"Good luck," Grissom said, then left to go see the coroner.
Sarah took a breath. "Come on, Spike."
Spike followed her to a private room that looked like a room in a doctor's office, complete with the uncomfortable plastic table.
"Remove your coat and anything from your pockets," Sarah told him, putting on a pair of latex gloves.
Spike shed his duster and rummaged through the pockets, pulling out his lighter, spare change, a crumpled box of cigarettes, a few small bills and receipt from the butcher's shop.
Sarah turned back to him, collecting the items into an evidence bag.
"Hey," Spike protested. "Those are my things."
"They have to be processed," Sarah replied.
"But that's all the cash I've got, and I've had that lighter for years. It's my only one," Spike protested, already feeling the nicotine crave.
Sarah gave him back the money. "It's been handled too much to dust for fingerprints. Set it on the table. Is that everything?"
"Yes," Spike said, still staring at the lighter. He'd have to bum one off of someone else if he needed a fag.
"I'll try to get it processed as quickly as possible," Sarah promised, setting the bag aside. She moved on to his duster. "This is yours?"
"Yes," Spike said tensely. "You're not gonna cut it up, are you? I've had that for years and it's my most prized possession. It's my most valuable possession. I've been through hell and high waters in that thing."
Sarah felt the leather. It was old, but still in good shape. "I'll try to keep it in one piece if it can be helped."
She set down the coat and took a picture, then turned it over and took another. Finally she folded it up carefully and set it aside with the lighter and receipt.
"Have you got a real name, Spike?"
Spike looked away, then back at her. "William."
"William what?" Sarah asked.
Spike hesitated, then said reluctantly, "William Henninger."
"Nice," Sarah said. "Take your shirt off, Will."
"Don't call me that," Spike growled, unmoving.
"Spike, then," Sarah said. "Don't make me get Nick in here."
Spike growled again and removed his shirt and Sarah took the black material from him, taking picture of it again and bagging it.
She turned back to him, whistling at the mar of bruises, a stab wound and a gun shot wound. "You've got a nice little collection. How did this happen?"
"Got in a fight the other night," Spike said. "Bloke was twice my size. But you should see him."
"You get into fights often?" Sarah asked.
"Sometimes," Spike said. More like every night.
"With who?"
"Blokes at bars," Spike shrugged. "They usually start them, I just defend myself."
Sarah snapped a picture of Spike's chest, a close-up of the bullet wound and another of the stab wound. "One of them had a knife?"
"Yeah." Sword.
"This bullet wound is fresh," Sarah said. "Did you get it, oh, say, two nights ago when you were in Los Vegas?"
"Yes."
"Well if you were shot why aren't you in the hospital?" Sarah asked. "Or at least in bed."
"I was, but then I got hungry and went to the Magick Box to ask Giles for some cash."
"You have money."
"Not enough."
"Why don't you have a job?"
"Can't get one," Spike replied.
Sarah nodded, guessing it must be hard for a drinker and possible ex-con to get hired. "Does your girlfriend support you?"
"Who?"
"Buffy."
"She's not my girlfriend, she just likes hitting on me," Spike snickered bitterly at his own joke.
"She hits on you or she abuses you?" Sarah asked, surprised.
"Little of both, I think, though she'd rightly deny the first," Spike replied.
"Are you a habitual drinker and smoker, Mr. Henninger?" Sarah asked.
"How can you tell?"
"Lighter, cigarettes, your bar fight wounds, the smell of spilt alcohol and cigarette smoke layered into your clothes and skin," Sarah replied. "Your yellowish finger tips. Black polish, nice touch. The smell of them on your breath. You reek of habit."
"Yeah, well, don't get to shower as much as I'd like."
"Have you showered since you were shot?"
"No. Not properly, at least. Did wash the wound."
Sarah put her gloved hands on his jaw. "Open wide," she instructed and he obeyed, pushing his inner demon far, far away. Now was not the time. She let him shut his mouth, then check his eyes. "Are you intoxicated right now, Mr. Henninger?"
"Don't call me that," Spike scowled. "Possibly. But all I had was one shot this morning. Takes a lot more to even notice."
"You drink that often?"
Spike shrugged. "Dulls the pain."
"The pain of being shot?" Sarah asked. "How the hell did you manage not to bleed to death?"
Spike bit his tongue, not willing to spill his secrets.
"Did someone help you?" Sarah asked.
"I know my rights. I have a right to a speak to a lawyer."
"You've spoken to your lawyer," Sarah replied.
"But -" Spike knit his brow. "I don't have a sodding lawyer."
"We know. We provided you with one. He asked you to counsel with him and you told him to go away. So everything you say is testimony."
"Bugger," Spike muttered. "Never mind, lawyers don't help anything anyway. But I don't have to answer that."
"No, but I'm just curious how you managed to survive a shot to the chest."
"Dragged myself into an alley, lost consciousness, went home and cleaned up bets I could, ate, passed out again."
"You're lucky you're not dead," Sarah said, amazed. "I'll get a doctor to look you over later."
"I'm fine."
"The bullet could be lodged," Sarah said, checking his back for an exit wound. "There could be debris inside of you. You could have internal bleeding. You could get severely infected and die. I have to insist you see a doctor, for your own well-being."
"I don't care about my-"
"I care about everyone," Sarah cut him off. "Now I'm going to collect some DNA samples."
She swabbed the inside of his cheek, cut his fingernails, took a sample of hair, skin, blood from his wounds and finger prints.
"Remove your shoes and socks," Sarah said.
Spike sat down on a chair and untied his docs, taking off the boots and his socks.
Sarah collected the shoes to check the prints and swab for blood.
"Stand up and take off your jeans."
Spike stood up. "Uh, luv, you might be rearing to see me in my skivvies, but I should warn you, I don't own a pair of boxers."
Sarah felt a small flush. "That's okay. Thanks for warning me, but I'm not afraid of nudity. Just one less article of clothing we have to test. Any particular reason why you don't own any... boxers?"
Spike shrugged indifferently, undoing the button on his pants. "Used to have a girl who made me get in and out of my clothes so much that she got bored with it. Since then just haven't bothered."
Sarah shook her head. "Men."
* * * * *
"These are the samples," Sarah said, giving Greg a set of collected DNA. "These are the clothes and these are his personal belongings that need to be processed and given back as soon as possible, if they check out. Try to keep the clothing in tact, especially the coat."
Greg picked up the duster that Sarah had given him. "Wow. Talk about quality."
"Greg, gloves?" Sarah complained.
"S'all right, this coat wouldn't give me any good lifts," Greg said, pulling on a new set of gloves to comply to her. "You know, I forget what real skin feels like, but my hands stay baby soft."
"You're insane," Sarah smiled. "Grissom wants these checked thoroughly, but don't go cutting up the coat. The coat and the lighter are the valuables Spike's worried about most."
"Spike?" Greg repeated.
"It's his nickname," Sarah said. "He prefers it."
Greg nodded and looked over the evidence. "This... William Henninger seems like a cool guy."
"Yeah, I got the check him out more than I wanted," Sarah smiled to herself.
"Well we might have to open up the coat, but I'll be sure it's at the seams and we'll stitch it back up," Greg said. "No big. I'll have the lighter taken apart and put back together in working order. So what's the deal on this guy?"
"He was shot in the chest," Sarah said. "Possible accomplice or accessory to the murderer, or just a victim who has a rough background. I'm going to have his name checked and his prints run for a history, see if he's been in trouble with the law before. If Grissom asks, I sent Spike to a hospital to have his wounds checked and the bullet removed."
"Ouch," Greg grimaced. "The guy was walking around with a bullet in his heart?"
"Maybe not his heart, but I want to know why he didn't bleed to death already," Sarah said. "Get to work on this stuff."
"Yes, ma'am," Greg saluted, bringing up the bag of fingernail clippings and setting to work.
