Chapter 14: Evidence
Buffy absently waved goodbye to her mother as she slid into the driver's seat of her Sunfire. Her mind was whirling with information that it couldn't quite comprehend. It was probably a good thing that she'd done some rather intense note taking throughout that conversation, otherwise it was doubtless that she'd forget everything Joyce had told her before it had sunken in. After all, it was a lot to deal with.
And it explained a hell of a lot...
She had to meet with that cop... What had Joyce said his name was? Melvin something?
Her green eyes flickered to the note pad on the passenger seat as Buffy pulled the car out of the parking lot of the restaurant.
Quentin Travers. The investigator. That was where she'd get some answers.
*~*~*
She rapped sharply on the wooden door to the office. The atmosphere was busy and pleasant. This branch of the LAPD had always been one of her favorites. The police officers in this branch were nicer than in the other offices. They had always been more cooperative when Buffy worked with them on cases, as well.
"Can I help you, Miss...?"
Buffy turned toward the voice and was greeted by a man in his early sixties, with graying hair and a solemn face. He was wearing an LAPD uniform, complete with badge. He looked like the sort of man who should have retired long before.
"Summers," she introduced, extending her free hand; The other was clasping her briefcase. "I'd like to speak to Quentin Travers."
"I'm Travers." She stepped back as he moved toward the office door and unlocked it. "Come in, Miss Summers, and I'll see what I can do for you."
Buffy stepped into his office and he motioned her into a chair as he moved behind his desk and seated himself.
She had just opened her mouth to get to the point when her cell phone rang, the sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata filling the room. She smiled apologetically at Travers and he nodded acceptingly as she answered.
"Buffy Summers," she greeted the caller.
"A wrongful termination suit?! What the hell do you think—"
She clicked the phone shut and hit the power button.
"Sorry about that, Mr. Travers. I get a lot of wrong numbers," she explained graciously, crossing her legs.
"Quite alright, Miss Summers. Now what brings you to my office?"
"I'm actually here to talk to you about an investigation you headed up quite a while ago." He nodded for her to continue. "The Stanley Case? A girl named Olivia Stanley was found on the pavement outside her thirteenth floor apartment and it was ruled a suicide."
Travers' expression hardened immediately.
"I'm sorry, Miss Summers, but I'm not at liberty to discuss that case."
"Mr. Travers," she prompted, "I am a lawyer. Either you tell me what I want to know or I officially reopen the case and make it a *very* public event."
His gray eyes flickered slightly with something akin to fear and he looked a bit edgy as he responded.
"Alright, Miss Summers, there's no need to do anything rash." His voice portrayed his contempt toward her inquiries. Of course, Buffy had known he wouldn't like her poking around in this case. It was a sore spot in the Los Angeles Police Department. "What do you need me to answer?"
"First of all, tell me exactly what you remember about when you got called in for the case." He sighed resignedly and rolled his eyes, clearly agitated.
"It was about... twenty-five years ago. Maybe mid-April. I was just about to call it a night when I get a call on my CB. Possible homicide at 1374 Centre Street. I hurried down there as fast as the patrol car could go and by the time I got to the apartment complex, there was a crowd gathered around the yellow tape and an EMU van was parked half on the sidewalk. The Medical Examiner was already going over the scene and there was a few other cops there. I got out of my car and walked up. Young black girl, maybe 19, laying on the sidewalk. Blood all over the place. It was a nasty scene. No question about it, it was a suicide. We poked around, talked to some witnesses. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the girl had offed herself."
Buffy frowned at Travers. He'd forgotten to explain something her mother had been very careful to point out. One of the biggest factors of the case.
"What was her motive? Why would she kill herself?" Travers glowered at her.
"Love triangle, best we figured. She was dating some big shot football player at ULA who was rooming with her best friend. They made quite the trio. Good friends and all, but the best friend got jealous and wanted her for himself. They got into a big fight over her and rather than deal with it, she jumped off the balcony. Simple as that."
She watched him carefully for a moment and he arched a bushy eyebrow at her.
"Can I have a copy of the case file, please?"
"You most certainly cannot," Travers responded immediately, looking slightly indifferent. She rolled her eyes.
"Do you want me to get a warrant? So that *everyone* will know that I'm looking in to the case?"
He pushed his chair back and leaned over his desk to glare threateningly at her.
"Listen up, you little hussy. I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I want you to know that I'm on to you. I've got my eye on you, Miss..."
"Summers. Buffy Summers. As in Hank Summers' daughter. Hank Summers. Ring any bells?" she murmured, watching him intently.
"Hank Summers... That little punk football player?" Travers went a little bit white. "The one from the Stanley suicide case?" Buffy sighed.
"Obviously... Just give me the damn case file, Travers, before I lean over your desk and take it myself."
He nodded jerkily and opened the filing cabinet behind his desk. He ruffled through its contents for a moment before removing the correct file.
"We don't normally keep cases for this long, especially ones that have been solved."
"So why did you keep this one?" she asked, taking it from his hands.
"Don't know," he said quickly. "Just never got around to it, I suppose."
"Alright." She smiled politely, deciding not to press further at the moment. There would be plenty of time for that later. "Thank you for your cooperation, Investigator. I deeply appreciate it."
"Of course, Miss Summers. Anything I can do to help..."
She nodded and slipped out the door quietly. Time to get back home to Spike. They had some show and tell to do.
*~*~*
"Spike? You here?" she called, stepping into the apartment and setting her briefcase on the floor. The only response she received was a series of guitar chords coming through the walls from the bedroom. He was practicing.
Buffy shrugged off her jacket and hung it up on the coat rack next to the door, slipping her high heels off her feet. She immediately felt the relief of the air on her heels through the hose covering her legs and sighed a little bit. God, she hated wearing high heels. She unbuttoned her blouse a little more and slipped her hands up her skirt, hooking her thumbs into the edge of the panty hose and pulling them down her legs. She hopped out of them and balled them up, over-handing them onto the couch in the living room. Ahh, sweet relief.
She picked up the briefcase again and hurried upstairs, swinging open the door to the bedroom. She grinned.
Spike was standing facing her, and he looked up at her, smiling rakishly as he continued to play. Topless. He looked so cute with his hair rumpled and wearing only a pair of ratty old jeans, barefoot on the carpet.
She opened her briefcase and removed the case file, waving it toward him. His eyes widened and he fumbled a chord. Then he set the guitar down and moved toward her, sliding his arms around her waist.
"What have we got here, luv?" he murmured, nodding to the file.
"I got the goods."
"So what's the verdict? Why do our families hate one another? One borrow money from the other and forget to pay it back? Did one knock up someone from the other side?" She smiled at him playfully.
"None of the above. Love triangle resulting in death. It was ruled suicide."
"Love triangle?" He winced a little bit. "Gross..."
She laughed and pushed him toward the bed.
"Come on, let's look at the file. I didn't get a chance, I left Travers' office before I looked. He creeped me out."
"Travers? The guy your mom told you about?"
"Yeah. He was a cop working the case. Come on."
She slid onto the bed and laid on her stomach, flipping the file open. There was a picture of Olivia Stanley on the first page. She was a pretty black girl of around twenty, like Travers had said.
"Our dads were best friends in college. Roommates. Your dad introduced my dad to this girl. Olivia Stanley," Buffy told him. "My mom told me that all she and Jenny found out was that Dad dated Olivia and Rupert became jealous and then he and Daddy had loads of fights about it. Mom said that Olivia was found dead and they said it was a suicide because she couldn't bear to see her two best friends fight over her."
"Sounds like a load of bollocks to me," Spike muttered.
"Me too. But that's why the Giles' and Summers' hate each other. They blame each other for Olivia's death. That's why I got the case file." She looked down at the file again, flipping to the evidence page. It also contained some rather gruesome photographs of the crime scene. "Look at all this evidence. When Olivia was found, she was face up. When you jump off a balcony, wouldn't you land the way you jumped?" She scanned the page again. "And look, they found hairs under her fingernails that didn't belong to Dad or Rupert."
"So who's were they?"
"Exactly. There's too much evidence that has been ignored here. This was a cover up."
"And if we can prove that Olivia didn't kill herself-"
"Then our families have no reason to fight any more."
A/N: Oh, I'm a bad, bad person. I can't believe I haven't updated in so long... Everything has been so hectic... I'm so so sooooo sorry, guys. Please don't hate me...
Buffy absently waved goodbye to her mother as she slid into the driver's seat of her Sunfire. Her mind was whirling with information that it couldn't quite comprehend. It was probably a good thing that she'd done some rather intense note taking throughout that conversation, otherwise it was doubtless that she'd forget everything Joyce had told her before it had sunken in. After all, it was a lot to deal with.
And it explained a hell of a lot...
She had to meet with that cop... What had Joyce said his name was? Melvin something?
Her green eyes flickered to the note pad on the passenger seat as Buffy pulled the car out of the parking lot of the restaurant.
Quentin Travers. The investigator. That was where she'd get some answers.
*~*~*
She rapped sharply on the wooden door to the office. The atmosphere was busy and pleasant. This branch of the LAPD had always been one of her favorites. The police officers in this branch were nicer than in the other offices. They had always been more cooperative when Buffy worked with them on cases, as well.
"Can I help you, Miss...?"
Buffy turned toward the voice and was greeted by a man in his early sixties, with graying hair and a solemn face. He was wearing an LAPD uniform, complete with badge. He looked like the sort of man who should have retired long before.
"Summers," she introduced, extending her free hand; The other was clasping her briefcase. "I'd like to speak to Quentin Travers."
"I'm Travers." She stepped back as he moved toward the office door and unlocked it. "Come in, Miss Summers, and I'll see what I can do for you."
Buffy stepped into his office and he motioned her into a chair as he moved behind his desk and seated himself.
She had just opened her mouth to get to the point when her cell phone rang, the sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata filling the room. She smiled apologetically at Travers and he nodded acceptingly as she answered.
"Buffy Summers," she greeted the caller.
"A wrongful termination suit?! What the hell do you think—"
She clicked the phone shut and hit the power button.
"Sorry about that, Mr. Travers. I get a lot of wrong numbers," she explained graciously, crossing her legs.
"Quite alright, Miss Summers. Now what brings you to my office?"
"I'm actually here to talk to you about an investigation you headed up quite a while ago." He nodded for her to continue. "The Stanley Case? A girl named Olivia Stanley was found on the pavement outside her thirteenth floor apartment and it was ruled a suicide."
Travers' expression hardened immediately.
"I'm sorry, Miss Summers, but I'm not at liberty to discuss that case."
"Mr. Travers," she prompted, "I am a lawyer. Either you tell me what I want to know or I officially reopen the case and make it a *very* public event."
His gray eyes flickered slightly with something akin to fear and he looked a bit edgy as he responded.
"Alright, Miss Summers, there's no need to do anything rash." His voice portrayed his contempt toward her inquiries. Of course, Buffy had known he wouldn't like her poking around in this case. It was a sore spot in the Los Angeles Police Department. "What do you need me to answer?"
"First of all, tell me exactly what you remember about when you got called in for the case." He sighed resignedly and rolled his eyes, clearly agitated.
"It was about... twenty-five years ago. Maybe mid-April. I was just about to call it a night when I get a call on my CB. Possible homicide at 1374 Centre Street. I hurried down there as fast as the patrol car could go and by the time I got to the apartment complex, there was a crowd gathered around the yellow tape and an EMU van was parked half on the sidewalk. The Medical Examiner was already going over the scene and there was a few other cops there. I got out of my car and walked up. Young black girl, maybe 19, laying on the sidewalk. Blood all over the place. It was a nasty scene. No question about it, it was a suicide. We poked around, talked to some witnesses. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the girl had offed herself."
Buffy frowned at Travers. He'd forgotten to explain something her mother had been very careful to point out. One of the biggest factors of the case.
"What was her motive? Why would she kill herself?" Travers glowered at her.
"Love triangle, best we figured. She was dating some big shot football player at ULA who was rooming with her best friend. They made quite the trio. Good friends and all, but the best friend got jealous and wanted her for himself. They got into a big fight over her and rather than deal with it, she jumped off the balcony. Simple as that."
She watched him carefully for a moment and he arched a bushy eyebrow at her.
"Can I have a copy of the case file, please?"
"You most certainly cannot," Travers responded immediately, looking slightly indifferent. She rolled her eyes.
"Do you want me to get a warrant? So that *everyone* will know that I'm looking in to the case?"
He pushed his chair back and leaned over his desk to glare threateningly at her.
"Listen up, you little hussy. I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I want you to know that I'm on to you. I've got my eye on you, Miss..."
"Summers. Buffy Summers. As in Hank Summers' daughter. Hank Summers. Ring any bells?" she murmured, watching him intently.
"Hank Summers... That little punk football player?" Travers went a little bit white. "The one from the Stanley suicide case?" Buffy sighed.
"Obviously... Just give me the damn case file, Travers, before I lean over your desk and take it myself."
He nodded jerkily and opened the filing cabinet behind his desk. He ruffled through its contents for a moment before removing the correct file.
"We don't normally keep cases for this long, especially ones that have been solved."
"So why did you keep this one?" she asked, taking it from his hands.
"Don't know," he said quickly. "Just never got around to it, I suppose."
"Alright." She smiled politely, deciding not to press further at the moment. There would be plenty of time for that later. "Thank you for your cooperation, Investigator. I deeply appreciate it."
"Of course, Miss Summers. Anything I can do to help..."
She nodded and slipped out the door quietly. Time to get back home to Spike. They had some show and tell to do.
*~*~*
"Spike? You here?" she called, stepping into the apartment and setting her briefcase on the floor. The only response she received was a series of guitar chords coming through the walls from the bedroom. He was practicing.
Buffy shrugged off her jacket and hung it up on the coat rack next to the door, slipping her high heels off her feet. She immediately felt the relief of the air on her heels through the hose covering her legs and sighed a little bit. God, she hated wearing high heels. She unbuttoned her blouse a little more and slipped her hands up her skirt, hooking her thumbs into the edge of the panty hose and pulling them down her legs. She hopped out of them and balled them up, over-handing them onto the couch in the living room. Ahh, sweet relief.
She picked up the briefcase again and hurried upstairs, swinging open the door to the bedroom. She grinned.
Spike was standing facing her, and he looked up at her, smiling rakishly as he continued to play. Topless. He looked so cute with his hair rumpled and wearing only a pair of ratty old jeans, barefoot on the carpet.
She opened her briefcase and removed the case file, waving it toward him. His eyes widened and he fumbled a chord. Then he set the guitar down and moved toward her, sliding his arms around her waist.
"What have we got here, luv?" he murmured, nodding to the file.
"I got the goods."
"So what's the verdict? Why do our families hate one another? One borrow money from the other and forget to pay it back? Did one knock up someone from the other side?" She smiled at him playfully.
"None of the above. Love triangle resulting in death. It was ruled suicide."
"Love triangle?" He winced a little bit. "Gross..."
She laughed and pushed him toward the bed.
"Come on, let's look at the file. I didn't get a chance, I left Travers' office before I looked. He creeped me out."
"Travers? The guy your mom told you about?"
"Yeah. He was a cop working the case. Come on."
She slid onto the bed and laid on her stomach, flipping the file open. There was a picture of Olivia Stanley on the first page. She was a pretty black girl of around twenty, like Travers had said.
"Our dads were best friends in college. Roommates. Your dad introduced my dad to this girl. Olivia Stanley," Buffy told him. "My mom told me that all she and Jenny found out was that Dad dated Olivia and Rupert became jealous and then he and Daddy had loads of fights about it. Mom said that Olivia was found dead and they said it was a suicide because she couldn't bear to see her two best friends fight over her."
"Sounds like a load of bollocks to me," Spike muttered.
"Me too. But that's why the Giles' and Summers' hate each other. They blame each other for Olivia's death. That's why I got the case file." She looked down at the file again, flipping to the evidence page. It also contained some rather gruesome photographs of the crime scene. "Look at all this evidence. When Olivia was found, she was face up. When you jump off a balcony, wouldn't you land the way you jumped?" She scanned the page again. "And look, they found hairs under her fingernails that didn't belong to Dad or Rupert."
"So who's were they?"
"Exactly. There's too much evidence that has been ignored here. This was a cover up."
"And if we can prove that Olivia didn't kill herself-"
"Then our families have no reason to fight any more."
A/N: Oh, I'm a bad, bad person. I can't believe I haven't updated in so long... Everything has been so hectic... I'm so so sooooo sorry, guys. Please don't hate me...