The Unfortunate Don
Chapter 11
"The Council is sending some poncey barrister over here. He has been before courts in this country before, but he still needs you, Mr. McCormack, to stay on as the lawyer of record. The new guy will officially assist," said Giles.
"Hey wait," said Cliff, "I can't do it! I don't have time and you're not paying me enough!"
"I think we can rectify the payment situation—we'll bill the council and I don't care how much they have to pay. But aren't you getting paid through the public defender's office? We can just pay you more on the side I, suppose."
"Yeah, but you can simply hire me directly. So, I hope this barrister of yours knows not to wear powdered wigs in a American court," said Cliff.
"Er yes, I think he knows at least that much, he is, after all, a QC."
"What's that mean?" asked Dawn.
"Queens Council, a superior sort of lawyer."
"You know, a really bad joke could go here."
"Hush Dawn."
"What about the American legal firm you mentioned, Giles?" asked Willow.
"Yes, well, it seems they used to have a California law firm on retainer, until they figured out who they were dealing with."
"Don't tell me," said Willow, "Wolfram and Hart?"
"Got it in one. The Council's utter incompetence shows its ugly face yet again. Although on the one hand, they did figure it out eventually, on the other they never got around to retaining a new legal representative. Actually, there might not be that many lawyers around who are aware of the demonic underworld—something I believe the council is keen on. And they might still be distracted by the on-going lawsuit: CoW vs W&H, the Council wants their money back but Wolfram & Hart tends to hang onto money with an agonizingly firm grip. The suit's been going on for some fifteen years now."
Willow asked, "So what do we need to do to find the real killers? You know, our highest priority?"
"Yeah," said Dawn, "because we really want to be in the same room with a guy who decapitates people and drives wooden stakes through their chests."
Willow said, "So says the girl who had a crush on Spike."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean!"
"Don't you remember sitting raptly on Spike's sarcophagus listening to his tales of death, mayhem, suckage and murder?"
"Geez Will, those were just stories. Weren't they?"
"No."
"But that was different. He was different then, wasn't he?"
Cliff coughed and said, "I've got an idea, why don't I prepare the Summers case? See if I can get her out of jail? You can help me with the research and background information. And do me a favor? Save the fairytales until we're done."
"Well Cliffy, some of those fairytales are going to be part and parcel of your background information."
"Bull, I don't want to know anything I can't talk about in open court."
"Unfortunately Mr. McCormack," said Giles, "you won't be able to mount an effective defense unless you know something of what makes Buffy tick. I can give you an analecta of occult writings for your casual perusal, but more importantly, I think it's time to introduce you to a genuine vampire." Cliff looked surprised and more than a little worried. Giles continued, "Don't worry, he's not a feral vampire, we have a tame one on staff."
"Hey, I'm not tame!" Spike angrily declared as he clomped up the stairs from the basement, "I'll have you know I can still kill and maim with the best—I just have to choose my victims more carefully."
"Yes Spike, we're all quaking in our boots. Would you show Mr. McCormack your vampiric visage, if you please."
"And what's in it for me?"
Dawn interrupted and asked, "Spike! All those stories you used to tell me when I visited your crypt, they were mostly made up, right? Right?"
"Sorry little bit, I'm a badass and I used to be worse. Those stories were true. Except for the one about taking the little tyke from coal bin to orphanage. Course, now I'm a wuss and even you can kick me around. Does all that change your opinion?"
"Sigh," she sighed while idly trying to twirl a baseball bat as if it were a baton, "I knew all along, I suppose. I just fooled myself. Well, I have a little surprise for you." Dawn stopped twirling her bat and swung it in a full circle and bashed Spike's head with it—some blood actually spattered onto the wall behind.
Cliff, certain he had just witnessed a murder, jumped about two feet. When he saw Spike turn vampire, he jumped two feet further and no longer knew what to think. Spike held his hands up and curled his fingers like claws and stalked, with blood dripping from the side of his skull, towards Cliff, growling louder as he got closer. But he stopped short, regretfully shook his head and became apparently human again. Cliff was frozen with fear. Spike calmly got out a handkerchief and started cleaning blood from his head.
"Luckily for me," said Spike, "vampires are pretty tough. But don't do that again, Dawn. It does hurt, you know." Spike casually licked blood from his handkerchief. Cliff's eye's bulged and he gagged at the sight, for that matter, so did everyone else.
"WHAT! It's just blood, innit? It's what I do! What I am! I wish to hell you wankers would remember what I am! Chip or no chip!"
"Yes, thank you Spike for your demonstration and capricious sidebar," said Giles, "and now for our guest's peace of mind, would you mind retiring to your subterranean retreat?"
Spike mumbled something rude as he went to the kitchen. Cliff was trying to relax and process new information when Spike unceremoniously came back with a tall frothy glass of blood (with a sprinkling of Wheatabix) and flopped down on the couch in an ungainly sprawl. "For now, I live here you poofter," Spike said while looking pointedly at Giles, "if you want me elsewhere you'll have to shift me arse yourself." And he settled in comfortably, with a slow stretch, and took a long slurp from his glass. He finished by licking the froth from his upper lip.
Giles and Xander both looked disgusted, both shook their heads and decided to ignore Spike. Dawn grinned. Cliff was unsettled. Willow stayed above it all—she appeared to be napping comfortably at the other end of the couch. Her eyes suddenly snapped open and she glared at everyone in the room. "OK look," she said in a tone of voice that brooked no dissent, "we have to investigate and find out what happened to Agent Sisneros. It's obvious that the police aren't looking, and I don't know about the FBI, but we'd better assume no one else is checking. So, we need to find out what the the police know. Cliff? You need to bear down on getting the evidence."
"They'll release it when they're good and ready and not a moment before. All within the letter of the law of course. But I suggest hiring a real investigator. I know a good one in Neptune, he'll really shake things up. As long as this council of yours will pay his rates."
"Hmm," Willow replied, "that sounds good. One potential problem though: the police really don't like having private investigators stomping around open investigations. In fact, I understand they can get downright testy about it."
"Not to worry, my man's middle name is discretion, in fact, you won't even know he's here until you read his reports."
--- ---
FBI Special Agents Robertson and Osbourne marched angrily into the detective bureau. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING STEIN!" shouted Robertson in a voice intended to carry to the farthest reaches of the new Wilkins Building. A dozen detectives looked up, most of them looked pissed off.
Osbourne leaned over and said quietly, "Way to butter 'em up, Charlie. You'll have 'em eatin' outta your hand in no time."
"Oh, blow me. These fucking Sunnydale cops are retarded turds."
"Real touch of class there, Robertson," said Bianchi as she walked up from behind, "We'll all line up to kiss your ass any moment now. Didja learn how to be that charming at the fibbie academy?"
"Bianchi," he said turning to greet her, "can you tell me what the hell is going on with the arrest of the Summers girl? Have you all just gone nuts or something?"
"No, we have good reason."
"Well, what is it?"
"Uh, you'll have to talk to Stein."
"So, where is he?"
"Out."
Just then Detective Stein popped out of the stairwell and asked, "Did I hear someone bellowing for me?"
"Yes," said Bianchi, "Special Agent Robertson here is the Federal bellower in charge."
"In charge of what?"
"Jackassery."
"Federal Bureau of Incompetence," someone whispered loudly from the back of the room.
"Federal Bullshit Investigation," from another corner.
"Fucking Bullshit Investigators," from the back.
"Fucking Buttfuckers Inc.," floated out from a back room.
"Real comedy team you got here, Stein. Tell me again why you wanted Summers arrested?"
"We have evidence."
"Crap!"
"OK, OK, come with me," Stein said. He turned to an interview room, waved in the FBI agents and closed the door.
"Look, you know we have a new Mayor these days, the first new Mayor in – well, I can't quite remember who was Mayor before Mayor Wilkins, there must have been a different Mayor when I was in High School, I just can't think who it was. Anyway, the new guy had to sweep out a lot of the old mayor's cronies and yes-men, and one of those guys was the Chief of Police, as well as the Chief of Detectives and the Chief of Patrol. That's all the chiefs we had, this being a fairly small department."
"Is this going anywhere? Like I give a rat's ass about the Mayor of Sunnydale?"
"You should've, Mayor Wilkins turned out to be the source of a lot of crime. I believe crooked politicians fall into FBI jurisdiction.
Anyway, the new Police Chief is beholden to the Mayor, as was the old Chief of course, and the Mayor discovered an astonishingly thick file on Ms. Summers—it was hidden in the Mayor's office, in a trick compartment behind all that weird cult crap old Wilkins had. Well, the mayor read that file and came storming in here with it and conferred with the new Chief for some time. The arrest was a directive from our chief."
"Have you read it the report, Stein?"
"No, that high-level stuff takes awhile to trickle down to those of us in the trenches. But I can guess what might be in there, and some of what I might guess worries me. It all depends on how knowledgeable the new Mayor is about stuff we don't talk about. It also depends on just how vindictive Wilkins was feeling when he wrote that report, and why he wrote it. Er, did you know that the Honorable Mayor Wilkins tried to kill Ms. Summers in the hospital? With his bare hands?"
"Uh, really?"
"Yeah, it was right before the last graduation at the old High School. He tried it in front the doctors and nurses on duty. They were pretty upset."
"So what happened after that?"
"Not much. I guess the presence of an audience must have stopped Wilkins from suffocating Ms. Summers, and he left the hospital. As far as I know, nobody ever stood up to Mayor Wilkins, except Buffy Summers—and apparently her whole graduating class—but that's another story. In the meantime, I do know how to follow orders, and if I want to collect my pension, I can't oppose department policy or lawful orders from the duly appointed Chief of Police." said Detective Stein.
Agent Robertson replied, "You know we have a murdered FBI agent—and this is something that we will solve, even if we have to tear your town down around your ears. And I don't believe for one moment that Summers was involved. There's even the possibility that you are complicit in an attempt to hide the real perpetrators."
"Well, I can't tell you what to think. But the Chief said jump, so I jumped. The evidentiary hearing is this afternoon, I suppose we'll see you in court, and we will see what happens, won't we." said Detective Stein.
--- ---
"Cliff McCormack for the defense your honor, with Barrister Lord North as my second chair."
"In my courtroom 'Lord' North, you will be called 'Mr.' North. We do not recognize titles here," said the Judge.
"Certainly, your Honor, that is perfectly acceptable," said Lord North politely as he stood up, "when in Rome and all. And, if I may ask now, why is Ms. Summers in irons? Surely these burly court bailiffs of yours can find a way to manhandle a young woman who barely weighs seven stone soaking wet, assuming she's so rash as to attack them in the first place."
The judge looked at the defendant for the first time and her eyebrows shot upwards. "Bailiff," she exclaimed loudly, "unlock Ms. Summers immediately! There can be no justification for that many manacles and handcuffs!"
"Uh, your honor," said the prosecutor hesitantly, "we have reason to believe that Ms. Summers is a clear and present danger..." he wilted and trailed off under the withering glare from the judge.
The Judge said, "Shut it Mr. Prosecutor, that amount of steel on a young woman is a travesty of justice. Bailiff, get that pile of crap off of her!"
"Yes your honor," the bailiff replied as he rushed up with a large bunch of keys and began to remove the various locks, chains, manacles, cuffs and other hunks of forged steel that he didn't know if they even had names. It took him several minutes to remove it all. He then picked up the whole mass at once and staggered off, losing his balance at the gate and crashed to the floor with an unholy clanging; various bits of steel rolling and skittering off in all directions. Another bailiff rushed over to help—eventually they got it all sorted out under the watchful eye of a variety of spectators, many of whom were attempting not to chuckle too loudly in front of the wrathful eye of the judge.
Buffy stretched catlike, and worked the feeling back into her limbs. "Thank you your honor," she said, "I never understood why they felt that was all necessary. I've always been a good citizen."
"You'll have your chance Ms. Summers. This is the preliminary hearing, this is where we hear the charges and evidence to determine whether or not this case should go to trial. Mr. Inglehoff, you have the floor."
"Thank you your honor," said the prosecutor, "Ms. Summers is charged with Capitol Murder of a Federal Agent." Then he sat down.
The Judge said, "Mr. North?"
The barrister went to the lectern and stated, "Your honor, the prosecution has no evidence, at all. Not only is there nothing connecting the victim with my client, she has an unassailable alibi for the time frame set by the coroner's office. I actually don't even have any hypothesis as to why the prosecution is so adamant – their position literally makes no sense. Therefore, I request that the charges be dropped immediately and an investigation be instigated against the prosecutor's office and the detectives involved in the case."
Inglehoff shot to his feet, "I OBJECT YOUR HONOR, Mr. North is way out of line!"
The judge said, "Would your request really be proper form in England?"
"Certainly, your honor," he replied blandly, his expression daring her to suggest otherwise.
"Well, I'll allow you some leeway Mr. North, but not much. But you do accuse wildly, so watch yourself. Your motion is denied. How does your client plead?"
Everyone turned to Buffy, who stood up and said clearly, "Not Guilty!"
"That's clear enough, Mr. Inglehoff, your turn."
"Your honor, the crime took place in Sunnydale at the Motel 6 on Highway 5, so it is clearly within this court's jurisdiction. We have probable cause that the defendant, Ms. Buffy Summers, did cause the death of Special Agent Sisneros."
"Mr. Inglehoff, you need facts in a court of law. What is your evidence?"
"Um, well, Agent Sisneros had a stake thrust through her heart. Ms. Summers has been found with wooden stakes on her person."
The judge looked at Inglehoff in disbelief. "Mr. Inglehoff, your logic is faulty. You need more if you want a trial."
"She also had a chestful of swords and axes in her house."
North stood up and asked, "Was the murder weapon found?"
"Er, no."
"What about the stake, it was at the scene."
"The stake injury was post-mortem."
"Any evidence on the stake to tie it to Ms. Summers?"
"Well, no, but the investigation is continuing."
"Was there evidence on the stake tying it is to anyone else?"
"Yes, there was some DNA from an individual know only as 'The Kid'. We have yet to identify him."
"But you have him under arrest, yes?"
"Yes."
"And he is wanted for an unspecified number of murders?"
"Yes, well, he's wanted for questioning, he's a 'person of interest'. He couldn't have perpetuated this murder because he was in the hospital at the time, handcuffed to his bed."
"But it's likely that he handled the weapon, possibly under the eyes of the perpetrator."
"Yes."
"I reiterate that at this time, the prosecution does not have a case, and therefore the charges should be dropped.
--- ---
"...to be released on one hundred thousand dollars bail," said the judge with a bang of her gavel.
"I don't have that much money!" Buffy said urgently to Cliff.
"Don't worry dear, you only need ten percent."
"Repeat and see above!" Buffy reiterated.
"You own your house free and clear, correct? You can use it as collateral."
Lord North leaned over and said, "You have nothing to worry about, the Council will make good on the bail. We need you on the streets, not in jail like the other one."
"Wow," said Buffy, "the Council is supporting me? How very – umm, I'm at a loss for words."
"Since you put the wind up Quentin's ass last year, he's been looking for ways to justify his employment. So yes, you can count on support. Just as it should have been, but wasn't, for decades, no, centuries."
Cliff listened to the exchange between his client and his second chair with a puzzled expression. He almost said something, then he noticed the contingent of scoobies rushing and squealing happily towards Buffy and he decided the best plan of action was to retreat smartly.
--- ---
To Be Continued.
