Chapter 12 Everything Vanishes

December 22

The next morning I was at my office bright and early. I figured a ramble through the musty cardboard boxes of case files Oz had from our basement office in Los Angeles might give me some information about Angelus. Nothing showed, just a few mentions of vigilante justice in the demon barrios, mostly during the late summer. I'd never get the real story from the Slayer. I needed to give a shout to somebody who knew where the bodies were buried--literally.

Hall of Records.

Hidey-ho, Granny.

Harris! You lazy good-for-nothing. What's the weather like in Sunnydale?

Cold as a witch's tit, but I didn't give you a buzz for the weather report.

I laid out what I needed and he laid down the rules.

One o'clock, at Eats and Sweets. You remember how to find it, dontcha?

Hell yeah, best dogs this side of the Mississippi. I'll be there with bells on.

I rolled into the city just in time for the lunch rush. That starts right after the morning rush and lets up five minutes before the evening rush. Dang, now I know why I love living in the sticks.
I found a parking lot close by the Hall of Records and tipped the gray-haired Rabisu a five spot to keep the Desoto close to the front.

Eats was nearly deserted. It's just a greasy spoon, but Mama Susan is from Chi-town and knows her way around a wiener. I ordered me up a wide plateful, heavy on the fries. Sid Granatello bounced in five minutes later with a shit-eating grin and a fat brown envelope. Granny has worked in the Hall for thirty-five years, and if he can't find it, it ain't there.

Hidey-ho, Xandaroonie! He also always obnoxiously cheerful. He pulled his chubby legs under the table and kept on grinning behind the fluffy white beard. He is a right jolly old elf, really.

Can it, Granny. What've you got for me?

Who's da man, Xan? He waggled his snowy eyebrows at me and slapped the envelope down with a flourish. Hidey-ho, Suzy. Hit me up with whatever the Xan Man is having--on him.

I grumbled a bit for effect, but Granatello always comes through in a pinch. I should have waited to pull out the incident reports until after we ate, but I was feeling anxious. I skimmed through a thin sheaf of papers. I recognized the names of the reporting officers--Goodman and Brown. They hated getting the calls in the barrio. They were piss-poor excuses for writers, too. Full of bullshit and typical smart aleck remarks about the vics at the station house.

Victims name: Angelus, male, age unknown Marks: Tattoo, right shoulder

Deformities: teeth and forehead Clothing: none Occupation: none

Gang-related/Drug Activity: probable hallucinogenic/ cocaine (uh-huh, it's always the drugs, y'see, causes all those nasty )

Injuries: Serious/Fatal Location of injury: All over (brilliant, Brown)
No suspects at this time (no, there never are with those kinds)
Type injury: blunt force trauma to head and face; open bleeding wound in upper left chest; second and third degree burns arms and legs; ligature marks on throat, arms and legs.....

Blah, blah, blah-de-blah in excruciating detail for another half page. My stomach churned.

Anything else?

Oh yeah. Got some black and whites that'll give ya nightmares. Better wait until we eat.
I shook my head. I wanted to see them now.

I tell ya what Xander, he was suddenly serious, They're damned nasty. I've never seen anything like them and I've seen some real eerie shit come through my files.

He pulled out the pile of glossy crime scene pictures and I got a shiver that went down my spine and started back up the other way. When the Slayer told me her husband had Angelus tortured, I guess I was thinking something a helluva lot less medieval.

Vampires are hard to kill. You can keep them alive for a long time if you don't shove something pointy and wooden in their hearts. Giles hadn't been in any kind of a hurry. You could barely tell this was a body, much less something that had started out human. Some parts of his body were so horribly mutilated, I wasn't even sure what I was looking at. Parts of his face had been flayed to the bone.

I read through the scene of crime report again. Apparently Angelus had been kept alive for several days. That fit with what Buffy had told me before. Some of the blood was days old, caked and fly-blown. The med's tech report read like something out of the Spanish Inquisition. The victim had still been concious when the team arrived on site and in a great deal of pain.
Blood spatters reached as far as ten feet off the ground. There were chains and heavy manacles hanging from the ceiling joists that had seen use at some point in the horror show.
I really didn't want to know any more. I flipped through the rest of the pictures quickly and then I caught sight of a familiar hawk-nosed profile. I tapped the picture with a fingernail and dug out the matching paperwork.

Medical treatment: refused at scene
Next of kin arrived --1830 -- to receive body.
Victim was released into the custody of cousin, William T. Sanguine for dispersal, at victim's request.

Oh ho. Spike. His hair was different, but there he was looking like he was ready to kill something--anything. The statement said he'd been in Las Vegas with an associate (see attachment) during the assault. I wondered who the associate was? I flipped over to the attachment. A big wrinkly galoot I knew from Sunnydale--Clement Sharp. I could pry some details out of his rumpled hide.

Granatello was right. I should have waited until after lunch, because I sure didn't have an appetite now. I bought Granny's lunch and packed myself off for dear old SunnyHell.



tbc

Music: Mark Snow. Caroline at Midnight main title