Of Innocence and Alibis

Chapter 4 - Diplomacy Difficulties

Angel called Harmony on his way to the car, asking her to set up a meeting with Charles Newhaven Junior, which she agreed to readily. He knew she would. Even if she couldn't finish a task, Harmony would take it eagerly, to please him. Angel hated that about her sometimes. He wasn't her fucking father, that she needed his acceptance all the time.

Oh, well. Keeping her was easier than finding someone else.

At least this time, when he got back to the office, Harmony was waiting for him with good news. "Hey, Boss!" she grinned, jumping up from behind her desk to follow Angel into his office. "I made that appointment you wanted."

"Great," he sighed, annoyed by her perkiness. "When is it?"

"In an hour," she proclaimed triumphantly, handing him a slip of paper with a time and an address. Angel glared at Harmony as he snatched the paper, making her ask, "What?"

"I'm supposed to make it out to," he looked down at the address in his hand, scoffing, "Santa Monica in an hour? In traffic?"

"I guess so," Harmony shrugged happily. "It was the only time Charlie could meet."

"Okay," Angel nodded with another sigh. "I'll have to leave right away." He started to hand his notes from that morning over to his assistant so she could retype them, but thought better of it. Harmony would just hand them over to Hamilton as soon as they were finished, and Angel thought maybe he'd edit out the parts about Charlie Newhaven, depending on how this meeting went. Instead, he said, "Harmony? I'm going to need one of the paralegals to work with me tomorrow. Could you request someone well-versed in criminal defense and circumstantial evidence?"

"Sure thing, Boss," Harmony replied, flashing him a flirty smile as she wrote down everything he said verbatim, so she wouldn't forget.

Fifty minutes later, Angel pulled up to the gate of a mansion on the oceanfront, realizing that Spike must have been here that night. He rang at the gate, gave his name and was allowed to drive up to the house, pulling into the circular driveway in front of the front door, which stood almost two stories high and was almost entirely composed of cut glass. Angel would have been impressed, had he not seen extravagances even more ludicrous during his time with Darla.

After parking his car off to one side of the circle, Angel strode up the stairs toward the door, watching as it opened to reveal an older man in a servant's uniform. "Mr. Angelus," the butler nodded, "Mr. Newhaven is expecting you."

"Great," Angel replied, unsure what response was expected of him. "Which way?"

"Follow me, sir," the butler ordered as he closed the door behind Angel, stalking off toward the back of the house without even looking to make sure Angel followed.

Eventually, they reached a sitting room that boasted three enormous picture windows facing out over the ocean. A young man, probably about the same age as Spike, sat on one of the overstuffed cream-colored leather couches, reading the paper and sipping what looked like a glass of liquor. "Mr. Newhaven?" the butler interrupted politely, his voice carefully pitched to be deferential, yet audible. When the man looked up, the butler continued, "Mr. Liam Angelus to see you, sir."

"Ah, good," the man replied, folding his newspaper as he stood. "Thank you, Brian," he dismissed the servant, stepping toward Angel and holding out his hand. He had dark hair, a quarterback's build, and an easy smile, very charismatic and handsome on first impression. No wonder Spike had gotten involved with him. "Mr. Angelus, please come in."

"Thank you, Mr. Newhaven," Angel replied, shaking the man's hand and taking the seat that was offered.

Newhaven offered Angel a drink, but sat down again when he refused. "What can I do for our friends at Wolfram and Hart?"

Friends? Angel thought, with very little surprise. His new firm had their thumbs in all sorts of pies, state government being one of them. But, it meant he had to tread carefully with this man. Pissing off the wrong people could cost him his job very easily.

"Well," Angel began carefully. "We have a bit of a situation. I'm representing an acquaintance of yours in a criminal case, and we need you to provide an alibi."

"Happy to help," Newhaven replied with a smile. "What acquaintance are we talking about? It isn't Ephraim Gilby, is it? I told that guy to watch his back, that SEC agents were into all his business lately, but I guess he didn't listen to me, did he?" The man chuckled haughtily and took another sip of his drink.

"I'm afraid it's not Gilby, Mr. Newhaven" Angel shook his head.

"Please!" Newhaven broke in with a wide grin. "Call me Charlie, Mr. Angelus. I insist."

Smiling because he couldn't help it, Angel nodded, replying, "Then I insist you call me Angel. All my friends do."

"Angel!" Charlie replied with a sharp, kind laugh. "Of course!"

"The acquaintance I'm representing in this case," Angel continued, meeting Charlie's eyes to make sure he had the man's full attention, "Is William Stewart."

"Who?"

"You might know him better as Spike," Angel clarified, watching as a shadow crossed over the younger Newhaven's face. Before he could get upset, Angel continued, "My client filled me in on your desire to keep Saturday night's events private, but he's been implicated in a homicide that occurred during the hours he spent with you. Anything you could give us to corroborate his story would be greatly appreciated."

"I'm sorry, Angel," Charlie replied, his face a cold mask, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Okay," Angel said carefully, trying not to growl at the man. "If it's an issue of the money paid, we can get that back to you, no problem."

"The issue is," he shot back, "that I have no knowledge of the events you're asking me about."

"Of course not," Angel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing all of his energy into holding on to the last shreds of diplomacy. "I can see why you wouldn't want your association with someone like Mr. Stewart brought into the public eye. But, he is a member of the New York Stewart family, son of the late Mr. Gilchrist Stewart, of Stewart and Birchman Investments. Spike might have been here on a simple social call, since you would be expected to run in the same circles."

"I'm sorry Angel," Charlie replied, his face still unreadable, "but I can't help your client. You'll have to find another solution to your problem."

"Alright," Angel replied, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. "But if you change your mind, or think of another solution to this dilemma, be sure to call me." He stood and took one business card from his wallet, handing it to the man.

"I'll do that," Charlie replied, standing in kind and motioning for Angel to precede him from the room and toward the front door.

When they got there, Angel turned and said, "As one last thought, I'd like to remind you that while Spike's status may not be what it once was, he still has certain friends in high places. If he has nothing left to lose and goes public, there might be more than a few big-wigs that will believe his word over yours. Our firm would really love to prevent such an outcome, given our close association with your father especially. However, we cannot always control our clients…"

"Christ," Charlie swore, giving Angel a hard look and keeping eye contact for a long, long moment. "You find me someone on the police force that I can trust, I don't care how, and I'll see what I can come up with. That's the best I can do right now."

"That's all I ask," Angel insisted, relieved beyond belief as Charlie opened the door to show him out. "I'll be in touch, Mr. Newhaven."

"Mr. Angelus," Charlie nodded once before closing the door behind Angel, obviously upset by Angel's threats. Well, Angel guessed he didn't get recruited by Wolfram and Hart by having a reputation for shying away from what needed to be done.

Later that afternoon, Detective Kate Lockley called Angel at his office, requesting his presence for Spike's interrogation. Finally. Maybe, even without Newhaven's cooperation, they could get her to drop the case against him and move onto whoever had actually done the crime.

Heading to the county penitentiary twice in one day, Angel met the Detective just outside the same interview room he'd used that morning, when talking to Spike. The police woman was about Angel's age, early thirties, he would guess, and blonde. Aggressively blonde, like she knew the color didn't do her any favors in her career, but she was proud of it anyway. They introduced themselves and shook hands before Lockley asked, "How long have you been Mr. Stewart's attorney?"

Angel chuckled at the question, answering, "Since he got arrested the day after I passed the bar and decided to call his old pal Angel for some help."

"I see," she nodded, her mouth frowning, but her eyes wrinkling at the corners as if she were smiling. Opening the door, Detective Lockley said, "After you."

Angel entered the room, nodding to Spike and taking the chair beside him. When Lockley turned to close the door behind her, Spike raised one eyebrow at Angel, his eyes flicking toward the woman, implying that Angel was interested in her.

"What?" Angel asked in a harsh whisper. "No!"

"'f you say so, mate," Spike shrugged, turning his most charming smile at the policewoman. "'ello there, love. How can I 'elp you today?"

"You can lay off the pet names first of all," Lockley replied, sitting down and studying the case file in her hands instead of looking at either man. When she finally did look up, Angel felt like he was here under interrogation too, instead of just representing Spike. "And second, you can answer my questions truthfully."

"I'll give it a go," Spike agreed, leaning forward in his chair to watch the woman, tilting his head a few degrees in curiosity.

"Great," Lockley nodded, shuffling her papers again before pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. "Is your name William Pritchard Steward?"

"Sure is, lov–Detective, though you can call me Spike."

"Just what I always wanted," the woman muttered under her breath. Sitting up straighter and looking Spike straight in the eye, she asked him, "Did you patronize an establishment known as The Bronze on Saturday the fourth, Spike?"

Looking for Angel's nod before he spoke, the blonde replied, "Yeah, I was there."

"During what hours?"

"Not sure what times exactly," Spike answered, "but I remember paying the bartender an exorbitant fee 'round closing time. Must have been there quite awhile to rack up such a charge, but this is LA, so you never know."

"Were there any other people in your party?"

"Well, I don't know how much I can say," Spike told her, looking to Angel for some help. "I certainly got there alone."

"But you didn't leave alone?"

Angel broke in, putting his hand on Spike's arm, near the elbow, and saying, "Spike's acquaintances wish to remain as anonymous as possible during this investigation. I've been given the authority to negotiate a deal between the individuals in question to reveal that they were with Mr. Stewart after leaving the establishment. However, I must have assurances that the identities of these parties will be kept confidential, even if this goes to trial."

"Sucks for you," the detective shrugged dispassionately, "because I'm making no such assurances. When I run a case, everything gets put out in the open. No special treatment for anyone."

Pressing down a flare of disappointed frustration, Angel vowed to go as far over her head as he could before saying, "Why don't you to write down, for now, that Spike has an alibi, but we can't verify the identities of his companions at the moment? Surely you'll want to keep this case open, keep looking for suspects? You'll want to make sure you find the person who actually did this crime," Angel pointed out, finding himself oddly impressed by the woman's black-and-white, warrior-for-justice attitude, despite the headaches it could cause in the long run.

Lockley nodded, "That's what we're here for, Mr. Angelus. Now, Mr. Stewart?" She turned her appraising gaze on Spike, who regarded her coolly, his head still tilted as if to watch her better. God damn attitude. Angel would have to tell Spike a thing or two about how best to speak to the police if one wanted to go free. Acting like a supercilious prick wasn't really the preferred strategy.

Pulling a picture from her file and sliding it over to Spike, Lockley asked, "Do you know this man, Mr. Riley Finn?"

Spike again let his eyes roll over toward Angel, asking for permission to speak, which Angel gave. "Didn't know his name until this morning, kitten," Spike drawled, earning a kick under the table from Angel. "Sorry, Detective," Spike apologized and sat up straighter, giving Angel an angry glare. "But yeah, we've interacted before."

"What was the nature of your interaction?"

"Well," Spike nodded to the policewoman, picking up the picture from the table to get a better look at it, "Few months back, I was in town, and I met this firecracker of a girl at a bar. Talked to her all night, yeah? Thought we really made a connection. Turns out this bloke," he shook the picture in his hand, "was her boyfriend. Had it out after me 'round closing time for making a move on his lady. Each of us got a few blows in, we called a truce and there you have it. I let him have the girl, he let me have my pretty face. All's well with the world."

"Except now he's dead," the detective pointed out, snatching the picture from Spike's fingers and shuffling it back into her stack. "What was the woman's name?"

"Somethin' weird," Spike replied, looking to Angel for help, though he had no who Riley's girlfriend was. At Angel 's blank look, Spike shrugged, "Dunno. Got the impression they'd been serious for a while, and she was gettin' bored of him."

"Buffy Summers?" the woman read from her file, looking up to Spike with those intense blue eyes that demanded answers. Angel realized a little too late that he'd been studying her eyes far too long when she caught him at it, giving him a quick, disapproving look.

For safety's sake, Angel turned his eyes to his client, who was answering, "Yeah, that might have been her name. If you gave me a picture or her bra size, I might be able to give a better confirmation."

Angel kicked Spike under the table again for that comment. Angel knew his friend could be much more charming, and guessed it was his rebellious streak working against them here. Even if Kate was a pretty woman, she was The Law first, and Spike couldn't help but try to push her buttons.

"Alright," Lockley nodded, writing down Spike's response. "Now when did this altercation happen?"

"Uh…" Spike muttered, looking up at the ceiling and then over at Angel. "D'you know when Manchester United lost that bloody game to Arsenal?"

"Sorry," Angel shook his head. "Don't follow soccer when you're not around."

"Git," Spike muttered. "Fair weather fan."

"Six weeks ago," Detective Lockley spoke up. "Sudden death loss in overtime."

"Oh, soddin' hell!" Spike exclaimed with an excited glimmer in his eye. "You follow football, Detective?"

"I," she said, clearing her head and focusing her eyes on the paper in front of her. "I played in college."

"Alright, Detective!" Spike grinned, his smile wide and his eyes impressed. "So, the tussle with Mr. Home-grown must've happened later that week, 'cause I remember arguing with this one fella who was with the chit about how Manchester was robbed."

"Do you have a name for this 'fella'? Or will I have to give you his measurements?" Kate asked blithely, jabbing back at Spike in a way that almost had Angel chuckling at his client's expense. Damn it, he always felt that mask of professionalism slipping away from him whenever Spike was in the room.

"Nope," the blonde man shook his head. "Was kinda a gangly, geeky bloke. Not my type, so I didn't ask for any names. Though he was definitely friends with Finn's girl. Was givin' me the evil eye all night."

"Okay," Lockley nodded, writing this down. "And when was the last time you saw Mr. Finn?"

"That night six weeks ago," Spike insisted, catching Angel's eye with a look that said he was quickly running out of patience watching his tongue like this. To bolster up his friend, Angel patted him on the back of the shoulder with a heavy, understanding hand. If Angel was having trouble hanging onto the demeanor he'd carefully cultivated as a lawyer, Spike was almost dying of the effort to stay polite. Spike had lived under the rules of decorum dictated by his parents for so long, that when they split and he'd moved to the States with Darla and their father, he couldn't help but throw them all out the window, part and parcel. And Angel could tell that the blonde wasn't enjoying bringing them back now.

"Did you know that Mr. Finn worked with this Police Department?" the detective asked next, her look so harsh, that Angel could almost feel the air crackle as Spike lost it.

"Oi!" he yelled, trying to stand up despite the way he was chained to the table and the floor. "It's not my fucking problem that you've lost your little All-American soldier boy. Bloody hell!" he yelled, despite Angel's heavy hand, pushing him back into his seat and the detective's hand hovering over the gun at her hip. "All I did was have a motherfuckin' drink and you're comin' down on me like the bloody Spanish Inquisition. I didn't know and I really don't care if that git was one of yours. I didn't do it!"

Angel managed to get Spike under control, shoving him roughly down into his seat and keeping a heavy hand on one of Spike's shoulders to keep him there. "Are you done?" Angel asked, and he wasn't sure which blonde he was addressing.

"We're done," Detective Lockley agreed, her voice hard-edged as she gathered her things and left the room. Angel gave his friend one more harsh look, which earned him a crude two-fingered salute, and followed the policewoman from the room.

"I'm sorry about that," Angel insisted, hurrying to get in front of Lockley so she would have to look at him. "But you have to know he didn't do it."

"I know your client has a history of violent behavior," the Detective replied, brushing past Angel, without giving him the impression that he'd been dismissed.

So, Angel followed her, saying, "He's gotten into quite a few bar fights, but that's not the same as killing someone. He just likes a fist-fight now and again. Besides, he wasn't even there when it happened."

Stopping and turning so quickly that Angel almost ran into the detective, Lockley asked, "Why the hell can't Mr. Stewart tell me who he was with that night?"

"It's politically sensitive," Angel replied as carefully as he could, noticing how close to the woman he'd stopped and backing up to meet her eyes more easily.

"Politically Sensitive?" she scoffed. "God, you Wolfram and Hart Lawyers are all the same."

"Hey," Angel said, as she turned again to leave, "if I could tell you without losing my job, I would. Hell, if I could tell you without losing your job, I would do that too."

"Oh, now it's my job on the line too, huh, buddy?" Lockley asked, and Angel almost smiled at the indignant way she said it.

"Hey, I don't make the rules," Angel insisted, giving her a little smile as she turned again to give him what for.

Taking a breath, Lockley pointed her finger at him and asked, "It's an actual politician, isn't it? One of the big wigs who sees I get paid?"

"Hey, privilege," Angel called, holding up his hands defensively. "But I will tell you it could be career suicide if you pursue this. Why don't you just start looking for the true killer?"

"Because," the detective replied, giving Angel a calculating look, "my boss won't let me move on until I prove that Stewart didn't do this. He's an ass that way."

Angel chuckled, and after a second, Lockley joined him.

"Alright," the woman nodded, those contemplative and really very pretty eyes never leaving Angel's. "I'll make you a deal, Mr. Angelus. You get Spike to tell me his alibi's name, and I'll start looking around for other suspects."

"Deal," Angel nodded, though he realized after the word left his mouth that he was probably making a big mistake. He had no assurances that Detective Kate Lockley was a woman of her word, or a woman of discretion, but he had a good feeling about her.

A/N: As you can probably tell, everything I know about police proceedings and soccer, I learned from TV.

Please, leave a review and let me know if I've gotten anything wrong. Or, just to let me know you're still reading.

Also, thanks for the suggestions from last chapter, guys. They definitely helped me get a better sense of where this story might be heading. Feel free to do so again, if you feel so inclined.