A/N: Ha! Who'd have thought it? Reviews really does feed the muse! And let me tell you, she was really hungry. As a result, I am not only posting chapter 8, but chapter 9 as well! How is that for a thank you! Hurrah! I actually wrote chapter 9 in less than 2 hours, and I am really proud, if not about the contents of the chapter, then at least about how quickly I updated. Hope you will enjoy these sparkling new chapters! And please leave more reviews!

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Ben Jones walked in at the station with a slightly dazed expression on his face. The first thing he did when entering his workplace was taking a quick look around for his superior, and upon noticing that DCI Barnaby weren't in the immediate vicinity he slipped behind his desk and sat down on his chair quietly, staring straight into the wall the entire time.

'Well... That was interesting...'

He understood perfectly well why he had been told to interview the young, pretty blonde woman who lived at the cottage, instead of the old biddy who'd actually found the body. It was his punishment for arriving at the crime scene late. Damn those car keys! The girl had been livid, ranting and raving and demanding to be let in the house and to make a phone call. She had actually refused to answer any of his questions until that request had been granted. After a lot of discussion they had reached a compromise where he made one of the uniforms make the call to "her uncle in London". After that she had calmed down a bit, making it a hundred times easier for him to do his job, even if it in actuality had been simpler to get information from one of the rosebushes around the house. At least until the baby strapped to her back started fussing.

It had really been a real ordeal, getting the answers he needed from her. No, she had no idea why a decapitated body had been thrown at er doorstep. No, she had no idea who it could be, but she had rather cryptically asked if he had been dressed in tweed. And when he confronted her about being strangely unaffected about it all, she had just looked at him strangely and said;

"I grew up in a violent neighbourhood. I have seen a lot of scary things."

And that's when the baby had started fidgeting. It had seemed simpler just to let her be for the time being, and so he left her alone after a warning not to leave the village and with a promise to return with more questions. She had muttered a little under her breath, but had nodded her agreement to his demands and then rushed into the house to see to her child. And probably to make a second phone call to her uncle in London, he guessed.

When she had disappeared into the cottage and he had walked back to his car, he was left with a rather odd mix of emotions. There was relief, disappointment and... something much like excitement. Relief to have the ordeal of an interview over, since talking to her had been like swimming up the Niagara falls, disappointment much over the same thing, because he had the nagging feeling he had failed at his job by not getting all the answers from her and because he had cut their conversation short. And least of all... yes, he was excited. Excited at the prospect of seeing her again.

He had to admit, she had left him fascinated. Had he dug deeper within himself, he might even have admitted he was quite smitten by her. He had no problem admitting she was extremely attractive, with a gorgeous body, long blonde hair and those green eyes that had sparkled with indignation when she had spoken to him,or rather, shouted at him. And not only was she very pretty, but her personality shone through her in bright colours, and it spoke to him.

Had she not been in the middle of his murder investigation he would have welcomed any opportunity to maybe get to know her better. Of course he knew that was stupid on so many levels. First of all, she looked much to young for him. He didn't know how old she was, but she could easily had passed for nineteen for god's sake! And she had a kid. And probably the child father to go with it. Much to complicated to go there. And then it was his job. What on earth would the DCI say? He probably wouldn't approve, in his own, subtle way, and would have been telling him to 'act professional'.

Those were the complications besides the most important one. That they had found a headless corpse in her front yard. Practically on her doorstep. That was no small obstacle.

But maybe it was just as well he couldn't get to know her outside of work. Because just as he could admit to himself how attractive he found her, how she had him fascinated, and that he wouldn't mind terribly to see her again, he could admit to wanting backup the next time he had to talk to the fiery blonde American. Having Barnaby with him would be like having a safety line while climbing up a steep mountain. Because he could admit to one last thing;

She had actually scared him a little.

***

DCI Tom Barnaby sat on the couch in his living room with a glass of red wine in front of him. His wife, Joyce, was not in tonight. As usual, she had some cultural group or other to attend, if it wasn't about theatre it was about flowers or making wire baskets. Some arts-and-crafts deal anyway. He thought he had heard her say something about a book club meeting, but he couldn't be sure. He just knew he would probably be late. That suited him just fine. He felt like he needed a quiet house tonight. This knew case of his was quite the puzzle.

On the other hand, weren't they all?

But this one really took the cake, and not just that. It grabbed at the entire dessert buffet! A headless body found in front of a cottage in a village he'd solved a series of grizzly murders not even a year before! Sure, it was only the first day of the investigation, but already he could tell this one was going to demand all of him.

The thing on the forefront of his mind at the moment was the mysterious inhabitants of the cottage. The young American girl who hadn't been living in the village more than a day, and her less than a year old daughter. He had Jones' notes in front of him on the coffee-table, and the information he had managed to wrangle out of her was sparse, to say the least.

Nothing about her personally, except her and her daughters name, and that she was unmarried had been divulged. Nothing about her family, the father of the child, or the reason for er moving to the village had been mentioned. She had been strangely calm and almost unaffected by the fact that they had found a decapitated man in her new front yard, she had mostly been angry about it. She had claimed not to know who the dead man had been, or why he had been dumped in her garden, but Barnaby was already convinced that there was a connection between them. She was either lying, or she really didn't know anything yet, but the experienced DCI was willing to bet his badge that the investigation would show that somehow the young American was involved in the murder, either by knowing the victim, the murderer, the motive or by being directly involved in the crime. And then there was the odd comment about the tweed...

He was curious about her. He needed to know more about her background, where exactly she came from, her family, and what she had been doing in the states. She had said she 'grew up in a rough neighbourhood', but it was hard to imagine what kind of place would make a young woman so blasé about finding a headless man outside her house. He also wanted to know why she suddenly decided to move to rural England. The local gossip had told him that she was a freelance photographer, and that she moved to the countryside to get inspiration for her art pictures. That should have been enough to satisfy any other man, but Tom Barnaby's suspicious mind had thought him not to rely on village gossip a long time ago. Not that it didn't have it's uses, of course.

He would take Jones and go talk to her tomorrow. He had yet to decide whether she was a victim or not. He wanted to get to know the woman behind the chilly, and rather impressive exterior of one Anne Sinclair.

***

Spike had travelled from London to Causton by the train, and arrived eleven twenty at night. He had then managed to find a taxi, thinking that was the fastest, if not smartest way to travel to the village Dawn had mentioned. He figured it wouldn't be hard to locate her in the small community, a beautiful American girl would surely be the talk of the town?

The taxi drive had taken over an hour, and when he finally arrived, the whole place was asleep. He had no idea where to begin looking. He settled to find a place that would keep him safe from the morning sun, and decided that the first person he spotted would be thoroughly interrogated.

It was just before sunrise when the earliest riser ventured out of his house. Harold Fredericks was a building contractor in his late fifties, and just this day he had to oversee the construction of an apartment complex just outside Causton, so he had been up and ready to go at four thirty in the morning. He liked to be punctual.

He nearly let out a decidedly unmanly scream when he felt a cold hand clamp down around his wrist. The entire deal abut the murder had shaken him just as much as the other inhabitants in the village, and he was already a nervous man to begin with. He turned around so quickly he almost stumbled over his own feet, prepared to defend his life against a maniac with a hatchet if need be, but was surprised when he came face to face with a young man, no older than 30, slightly shorter than him, with light brown, really short hair, shockingly blue eyes and a scar over one eyebrow. Harold had always prided himself on his ability to notice details.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you, mate! I hope you'll be able to help me", the stranger said with a thick, north London accent. He smiled in a way that was probably meant to be friendly, but to Harold it looked almost predatory. "I'm looking for someone. A young American girl, blonde, quite short with green eyes. She shouldn't have been around here for very long. Know who I'm talking about?"

Harold nodded, hesitantly.

The strangers smile widened. "Well then, excellent! Then maybe you could tell men where to find her?"

"At a quarter to five in the morning?", Harold couldn't help but ask incredulously.

"I might have to wait a few hours to see her, but you see, I was in London when I heard that something might have happened to her, so I jumped on a train to Causton and took a taxi from there. I need to see if I can be any help."

Harold relaxed slightly. The man didn't seem intent on hurting him in any way, and he thought he could see sincere concern in those deep, blue eyes, and maybe a slight glimpse of real dread deep down there as well. It seemed like he really cared about the girl.

"Yeah, something happened all right, but as far as I know, she's fine. My wife told me she had moved in to the B 'n B for awhile, just until after the investigation is completed"

"What investigation exactly? You know what happened?"

And so Harold proceeded by telling the stranger the entire gruesome story, and when he was finished he could see real relief in the young man's eyes.

"So she's fine, right? Not hurt or anything?"

"No, as far as I know, they're both all right, her and the baby girl. She should be able to see you, but I suggest you wait a couple of hours before visiting her. You know how women can be early in the morning. Worse than bears, if you wake them", Harold said with a wink, now almost entirely comfortable around the stranger.

"Heh. Don't I know it;" the young man said with a smirk. Then he thanked Harold, asked for directions to the Bed and Breakfast, and started heading that way. Then after a few yards he suddenly stopped, turned around and sprinted back to the surprised Harold. He took a firm grip of the older man's shoulders and asked, with a wild and confused look in his eyes;

"What baby girl?!"

***

Buffy's night had been sleepless, but for once it was not because of the baby, who had slept soundly through the entire night. No, she had suffered from insomnia because of the happenings of the day. In spite of her calm and unmoved act in front of the police, the reality of finding a dead body outside her brand new home had hit her when she was left alone again.

She and Heather had been asked to move out of the cottage for the time being, and had relocated to a small Bed and Breakfast in the village. The first thing she had done after settling in their small, but immaculately tidy room was to burst into silent tears, while holding her daughter tightly in her arms. Her crying fit had not gone on for more than a few minutes, but she admonished herself for her display of weakness anyway.

And when she had gone to bed, she had simply not been able to fall asleep. She had gone through the days events over and over in her head, from leaving the house in the morning, to coming back to finding a wailing, hysterical woman and a headless corpse in her front yard, to talking to the police and moving out. She had played through the phone conversation she had had with Giles as soon as she had been able to, and though he had sounded extremely flustered and actually a bit distracted, he had promised to come to her within the next few days, and to take Dawn with him. Apparently something serious had happened in London while she was gone, and he couldn't leave right away. He hadn't wanted to say anything about it over the phone, apparently because she 'had plenty on her mind to worry about as it was', and he assured her the situation would be taken care of. A comment that had left her even more worried.

So I was a bleary eyed, cranky and worried Buffy, who had yet to drink her morning coffee, who went to answer the door to her room at half past eight in the morning. She vowed that whoever was on the other side of that door, would be in for one hell of a welcome!