Chapter Three:
If one more person came in here with a fake cheery smile on their face and asked how are we feeling, she might shove an IV stand down their throat.
How was she suppose to feel? She'd gotten knocked around by a serial killer, thrown around by a huge black sedan and smashed into by a SUV. She felt like shit. She had bruises on top of bruises. She felt aches in places that she didn't know could ache. And, knowing how bruises and aches went, she didn't doubt that she would feel worse tomorrow.
She heard footsteps and then someone pushing through the curtained doorway. "I don't want any more pain killers. Ask me again and I'll probably shove that syringe up your ass," she said tiredly and without looking.
"Okay, save all the good drugs for Riley. So noted." He grinned as she turned her head to scowl at him
"Did you come to give a lame try at being funny or to spring me from this place?"
"Lame? I'm hurt." He place one hand on his chest and schooled his features in a wounded expression.
"You couldn't be hurt with a jackhammer."
He grinned cockily. "Thanks. Now, I have good news and bad news ... which would you like first?"
She shifted uncomfortably on the narrow hospital bed and then cursed the paper gown that got caught and pulled every time she moved. "Good news," she grumped.
"We got him, Buffy. Nailed him."
"Yeah?" she grinned herself.
"Oh yeah. You should have seen the evidence in the car. He had souvenirs in a box in the car. They spilled all over the inside. Plain sight. We got just cause for a search warrant for his residence." He rubbed his hands together in glee. "And as soon as he wakes up, I'm taking him into interrogation. I'll break him and then he'll be put away for the rest of his life."
Buffy's smile slipped somewhat. She tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment. What should she be disappointed about? They had him. She just hated the idea that she wouldn't be in that room with Riley when he went at their suspect.
RIley saw the look. "Oh, honey." He rubbed his hand over hers. "I'd wait until you got out of here and could go back to work, but looking at you, it could be awhile."
"What did you mean, when he woke up?"
"Ahh, you didn't hear about the excitement around here. Must have slept right through it." He waited, knowing she'd bark at him.
"Slept through what? Damn it, Riley. You know I hate it when you do this."
"Your doctor punched out our suspect."
Buffy had an impression of compassionate brown eyes, a slow deep voice and gentle hands. He didn't seem like the type to punch someone. "Why did he go that?"
"Well, I guess he didn't like having fingers wrapped around his throat. The suspect tried to get away using the good doctor as a hostage."
"And he punched him out?"
"Yeah, I did."
Buffy tried to look past her partner toward the doorway. Riley moved just enough to block her vision until the doctor came in and stood next to the bed across from him. Dr. McKenna was sporting a couple of nice bruises on his neck that kind of looked like hickeys and kept flexing his hand like it hurt.
"First time that I have hit someone since college.
"It's just like riding a bike," RIley said and grinned at the doctor. "You just never forget how to do it."
"True. I just messed his nose up a little more and he'll probably need to sit on an ice pack for a couple of days. I don't know who hit him the first time, but they did a pretty impressive job. That man is built like a granite mountain."
"That would be your patient. She got in the first swipe."
"Hey, the patient is awake and right here, guys," she grumped, annoyed with being talked about. "And the ass deserved it. He had my gun pointed at my head."
Angel turned his surprised eyes down at the petite form all but swallowed by the hospital gown. "And how did you manage to not get shot?"
Riley laughed. "She had a little help from an SUV, Doc."
Buffy glared at him. "Don't mind him, Doctor. Too much time in the sun broiled what little brain he had."
Angel shook his head at the play between the two of them. "If you two are through poking at each other..."
"Yeah, Buf, you're sick. Lay there and be sick."
"That's it, you don't exist." She tried to cross her arms in front of her and hissed at the aches that it caused.
"You're beautiful when you mad, partner."
"When I get out of this bed, you're toast. Burnt toast." She glared at him and then turned her face to the other side to face Angel. "When will that be, Doc?"
"No broken bones, but those ribs are pretty bruised," he flipped open the chart at the bottom of the bed. "As you are finding out since you have refused all pain killers. Your going to be pretty sore today and worse tomorrow. Mild concussion but if you have someone at home to keep an eye on you, I can let you go today."
Riley opened his mouth but she beat him to it. "Yeah, I got someone that I can have come over and keep an eye on me. Just let me out of this place."
Riley opened his mouth again and then shut it when she shot him a fulminating glare. "Uh, yeah."
Angel eyed them both. "Sure?"
"Yes," they both said at once.
"Okay, I'll have the nurse bring in the discharge slips and a prescription for some pain killers. You also need to follow up with your regular doctor in a couple of days." He slid the end of the chart over the foot of the bed. "Do yourself a favor, Buffy. Take the pills if you need them. Those ribs are going to hurt like a bit-well pretty bad for a couple of days."
Buffy just nodded, knowing she probably wouldn't even get the prescription filled. She knew how easy it was to get addicted to pain pills, had seen first hand what that addiction could do to a person. Instead, she would just get busy with work. She was sure she could get on her feet and be there for the interrogation of their suspect. And she couldn't wait to walk into that tiny, hot room and see him shackled to the table. She wanted the satisfaction of seeing his face when he realized a woman had brought him down.
Angel saw the smile on her face and almost shivered at the look in her eyes. "I bet you're a damn good cop," he said before he turned around to leave the room.
"You are not going into interrogation. No way." He shook his head as she gazed at him innocently. "No fucking way. You should stay in the hospital at least a day and take a week off to get better. You can't possibly be thinking of going in to work."
"Why not? Just think of how demoralizing it will be to our suspect when I walk in there. Remember the profile, Riley. He hates women, he thinks we're inferior. Just imagine how it's going to grind him to have been brought in by a woman."
"Why not?" Riley was incredulous. "How about the fact that you were just in an accident that could have killed you. You have burns on your face from gun shot residue, which means that damn gun had to be right in your face when it went off. You had half of the cops in the city in here half the night praying for you. And, you're in pain even if you won't admit to it. You're going home, going to get into bed and not move." He waggled his finger in her face. "Otherwise, I'm going to go have a word with that Dr. McKenna and let him know just how full of shit you are."
Buffy gaped at him, then- and if anyone had told her that she was doing it, she would have decked them-pouted. "Fine."
"Good girl. I'll go see what I can do about some clothes for you. The undercover outfit is a complete loss."
"Thank God."
He laughed and started heading towards the exit.
"Wait."
He turned and raised one blonde brow.
"What was the bad news?"
"Oh," he took a couple steps back toward her. "There's just this little thing from last night." He carefully grabbed the front of her paper gown and got into her face. "If you ever disregard a direct order from a superior officer again, this officer will be more than happy to bust your ass all the way back down to beat cop. Got it?"
"But..."
"No buts, Buffy. Yes or no. Got it?"
"Yes, sir. I just have one thing to add."
He let go of her. "Fine, go ahead."
"I just wanted to remind you that you're about five minutes superior to me, so don't threaten me buddy or you'll be in this bed instead of me."
They glared at each other in understanding.
"I'll go get you something to wear."
Buffy closed the front door of her apartment in Riley's face, ignoring his suggestion that maybe he should come in and stick around for just a little while.
She wanted a hot bath, food, and a few hours in bed in whatever order they happened to come in.
It wasn't the first time that she had been hurt in the line of duty, or the first time she'd been taken to the hospital. But this was the first concussion she'd gotten and she didn't like the way the room tilted or the way her head hurt.
She dragged the borrowed surgical scrubs off of her sore body as she headed through the tiny crowded living room and down the hall past her spare room which she had made into a workout/study room to where her bedroom was. The bed wasn't made, clothes were scattered on the floor. She had more dirty clothes than clean ones at the moment. Her one plant was dying from neglect. There was a thin coating of dust over everything. Damn, she had been living, breathing, eating this case since the first body was discovered all those months ago. And in the mean time, everything else suffered. She hadn't even called her parents in a month, which had been brought to her guilty attention by a voice mail from her mother.
She made her way into the bathroom, standing shakily on one foot than the other while she pulled the hospital slippers off her feet. Then she bent over and turned on the water in the big claw foot tub. She threw in some of the bath salts her mother had sent her for Christmas and turned on the radio next to the sink for some background noise.
She almost groaned when she heard the radio announcer. She had dated him for a few months until she realized that his ego was much bigger than his IQ. And bigger than everything else, too. His show always irritated her but she didn't feel like changing it so she turned it down so it was a steady almost buzz in the background.
She climbed into the water with a slight hiss as the almost too hot water swirled around bruises and bumps and cuts making them sting, then laid back with a sigh and closed her eyes. She could feel herself drifting, enjoying the heavenly gardenia scented steam rising from the water. Her pain sliding into numbness as she floated.
The big bore of the gun was pointed at her, black and ominous. She couldn't escape it, no matter which way she turned, it was there. She could see the finger tightening on the trigger and knew she had no hope. She saw fire spurting from the end of the gun, heard the thunderous roar of the projectile.
And she woke up sputtering, the water growing cold around her. Her head was throbbing in counterpoint to her racing heart. She was shivering.
Buffy wiped wet hands across her face and then levered herself up from the tub. Her muscles rebelled, her side screamed and she almost fell back into the tub but finally she was able to reach for the towel and wrap it around her. She just stood there, staring at her reflection in the big mirror over the sink behind a thin layer of mist.
She looked half dead. The weight she had lost during the case had hollowed out her cheeks which were now pale and drawn. Her eyes were huge and haunted and full of pain. Dark shadows had taken up semi permanent residence under her eyes. The left side of her face was one huge bruise, her lip was split and slightly swollen. She had scratches and bruises running down her right arm from being tossed around in the car. She opened the towel and looked at the huge bruise that wrapped around her side. She was lucky she hadn't broken anything.
No wonder everyone thought she should have stayed in the hospital. She looked like the poster child for spousal abuse.
She let the water out of the tub, turned off the radio and went looking in her bedroom closet for clean clothes. An old pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt that should have been thrown out years ago were the best she could find that would be loose enough to not hurt. She scrounged up a pair of heavy socks for her cold feet.
She'd just ran a brush through her hair, swearing when it hit the bump on the side of her head, when someone knocked at her door.
"God, Riley. Take a fucking hint. I don't need a babysitter," she said as she headed towards the door. She turned the knob. "Would you please just go the fuck away. I don't need you he-" her words trailed off as the door opened and she saw who was standing outside it.
"Uh, Doctor... , " she searched her mental files, "McKenna. What are you doing here?"
He held up the bag bearing the name of the pharmacy at the hospital. "You didn't take your prescription with you so I went ahead and had the hospital pharmacy fill it for you."
Buffy looked at the bag but didn't take it. "You didn't need to do that."
"I know, but you're going to need them." He looked her up and down. She was smaller than he had thought. Her hair was wet, clinging in damp strands to her face. She was wearing sweat pants that she had rolled the waist band down and the legs up and an ancient tee shirt that was way too big. She had tied it at the small of her back to make up for the extra material. She looked ... cute, he thought. Like someone's kid sister. She certainly didn't look like a seasoned homicide detective.
Buffy reluctantly took the bag from his hand. Manners dictated that she invite him in for coffee or something. Manners were something her mother had enforced with an iron hand and a wooden ruler. She looked at the disreputable state of her apartment and cringed. "Would you like to come in?" she asked unenthusiastically.
Angel almost chuckled. He'd had more congenial offers from his worst enemies. He could have just left the prescription and gone, had been arguing with himself about it the entire cab ride here. But something had him pausing. "Sure, thanks." He ducked by her and studied the room he stepped into. It was small, crowded with books and, he noted with amusement, teddy bears. There were dirty cups stained with old coffee littered about on the end tables, a pile of unopened mail graced the coffee table and spilled onto the floor, dirty clothes were thrown over the back of the couch and in one of the chairs.
"Uh, excuse the mess," Buffy said slipping by him, embarrassed, and picked up some of the dirty clothes so he could sit down. "I've been kind of caught up on this case and," she stood in the middle of the living room floor, arms loaded. "Well, I guess I kind of let everything else go." She nodded toward the big cushy chair that sat in one corner. "Would you like some coffee?" Even as she asked, her scattered mind tried to remember if she had any left. She hadn't been to the store for weeks either. She hurried into her bedroom and dropped the load on the floor then back into the living room while she wondered what she was going to do with him.
He was still standing where she left him, looking at the few framed photos she had on her wall. He handed her a Styrofoam cup. "Chamomile tea. You don't need the stimulants."
She accepted the cup, flustered. "Do you do this for all your patients?"
"Uh, actually, no." He ducked his head and then sat on the edge of one of the couch cushions. "It was an impulse. I saw the prescription form when I got off work and couldn't seem to stop myself." He grinned up at her and took another cup of tea out of his jacket pocket. "I kind of figured you wouldn't have anyone here."
Buffy sat down in the overstuffed chair and took the lid off the cup of tea. She sipped it, grimacing at the flavored hot water taste of it. "I hate hospitals," she shrugged and then hissed as muscles protested.
"I got that part. A lot of people do."
She looked him up and down. "Did you really punch him out?" she asked.
"With a little help from one of the nurses who picked just that time to scream hysterically and distract the guy." He fisted his hand again, bringing it to her attention.
"You should actually ice those knuckles." She sat her cup down and took his hand in hers, missing the startled look in his eyes. "Skins not broken."
He turned his hand over in hers and examined her knuckles. "Yours aren't even bruised."
She took her hand back, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. "I used the heel of my hand, Doc. Saves on the knuckles." She showed him, stopping the blow mere inches from his face. "Works just as good."
"Remind me never to piss you off." He picked up a fuzzy gray teddy bear that sat next to her in the chair. Then he looked at her, eyebrow cocked.
She grabbed it away from him, the skin that wasn't bruised on her face turning red. "Tell one person that you like teddy bears and look what happens." She hugged the bear to her stomach.
She looked all of ten years old in the too big clothes, cuddling the teddy bear. Unless you looked a little closer and noticed the taut curves of her breasts, her tiny waist line. Either way, she didn't look like a cop.
Buffy felt his eyes on her and wanted to squirm. She never felt like this. She was always in control. She was the one that made others squirm. That he could do this to her was unnerving enough to make her stutter. "I ... I uh ... Need to ask a favor." Her voice shook a little, irritating her even more. She stuffed the bear back onto the overstuffed chair and crossed her arms in front of her.
He took a sip of his quickly cooling tea. "Okay?"
"Clear me so I can go to work." She said it quickly, all in one big breath and then sat back and waited.
"You must have hated that," he said, staring at her face. Her lips were drawn tight, a scowl of disgust in her eyes. There was a tiny line between her eyes and he had a sudden urge to reach out and trace it with his thumb, smooth it away.
She tipped her head to the side in confusion. "Hated? Hated what?"
"Having to ask to do your job."
She heaved a huge sigh and seemed to almost deflate into the chair. "Yeah, it was that noticeable?"
"Only if someone was looking." He handed her back the cup she had put on the coffee table. "Drink your tea."
She took a sip of tea, hardly realizing that she was doing as he asked. "So?"
"Will you take a pain pill?"
"I don't need on..." The look in his eye shut her up. "Are they mild? I can't do my job if I'm running into walls."
"No, just huge hands." He tipped the cup she held with his finger, peering into it. Just enough left. He picked up the bag, fished out the bottle and opened it, handing her one horse sized tablet. "Very mild, just a little stronger than over the counter. You take this and then I'll only have one other condition."
Buffy glared at the pill but then stuffed in her mouth and swallowed it with some of the now cold tea. "What's the other condition?"
He couldn't believe he was going to say this. He was actually going to do it. "I go with you."
She was shaking her head no before he'd reached the word you. "This isn't a ride along, doc. This is an interrogation. I can't let you in the interview room while we question the suspect."
"No problem. I'll wait for you outside the interview room." He shook his head when she opened her mouth. "That's it, either I go or you might as well climb into bed."
"Fine." She stormed out of the room, mumbling inventive curses in positions that were physically impossible.
He smiled and sat back to wait for her.
She wasn't gone long and was tucking a sage green tee shirt into a pair of faded jeans. Her holster was strapped over that, minus her nine millimeter. It had been taken into evidence since it had been fired. She slid her back up weapon, a smaller nine that she usually kept in a tuck holster at the small of her back, into the holster after giving it a quick check. Her hair was still damp and curled close to her face. She wore no makeup, the bruises standing out against her pale skin.
"Are you sure you want to do this? You look awfully pale."
She refused to tell him about the struggle she'd had putting on her shirt, how hard it had been to raise her arms over her head. "Yeah, I nailed him, I want in on the interview." She picked up a jacket that had been thrown over the back of a kitchen chair and slipped it on, trying not to grimace at the pain because he was watching her.
She held open the door and locked it behind her, before heading to the elevator. Breathing was a little tricky and her holster rubbed up against the massive bruise on her side but she managed.
Her car was still downtown. She went to the curb, stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a loud whistle.
Angel pushed one finger next to his ear and winced. "Uh, thanks."
She grinned. "Sorry, my car's still downtown. Unless you got a car here, we got to take a cab."
He held open the door for her and slid in behind her. The trip downtown took no time and soon he found himself in the squalid splendor that was the Tenth Precinct. There was a smell of burnt coffee, unwashed bodies and whatever strong cleaner the cleaning crew used at night. The waiting room was crowded with both cops and civilians, the noise just above a dull roar. Confusion seemed to reign.
Buffy walked past the desk sergeant, stopping only to pick up a visitor's pass for the doctor. She handed it to him, slapping it against his chest without a word.
He clipped it on his shirt, noticing how she squared her shoulders, her stride becoming more purposeful, if that was possible. She walked by uniformed cops in the halls, saying hi but not stopping. He followed her as she pushed through a set of steel gray doors and then flipped through a half door set into another counter. The cop behind the counter took one look at her and glanced at a sheet of paper stuck to a clipboard.
"He's got interview C. They been in there for about ten minutes. Chief is sitting in watching, he ain't gonna be happy to see you."
"Yeah, thanks for the bulletin." She headed down another hallway, almost forgetting anyone was behind her. Her adrenaline was revving.
Angel tried to take it all in, the building hadn't looked this big from the outside. They were in a hallway with closed doors on either side. Every other door was marked as an Interview room with a corresponding letter.
Buffy stopped at an unmarked door, popped her head in. Then she stepped inside and held the door so he could come in too.
They were in a tiny room, either side was glassed and looked into the interview rooms. There was a tiny table, a shelf under each sheet of glass that held a television screen and a small speaker set into the wall. There were two men in the room, neither looking up when Buffy walked in. She motioned for Angel to stand back and closed the door then stood next to one of the men. "He talking yet?"
"What are you doing here?"
Buffy glanced around the room. "I thought I worked here. This is my suspect, I apprehended him. I do the interview."
The chief drew himself up to his full height. When he went into intimidation mode, he'd been known to back bigger and tougher men down. He'd chew them up and spit them out until they were quivering messes. The man sitting next to him, another detective, took a step back to get out of the battle zone.
"Summers, you are supposed to be in the hospital. I heard that your idiot partner got you out. I'm giving you a week sick leave. Don't let me see you until that day." He made shooing motions toward the door then went back to watching the interview, Buffy dismissed.
"I'm sorry, sir. Respectfully, I have to decline sick leave. I have my doctor here. He is clearing me to come back to work."
The chief turned back toward her, a scowl on his face.
Buffy took a deep breath and waited for the worse.
"Your doctor? You brought your personal physician into an interview room?"
"Yes, sir." She wouldn't back down. "This is my bust, my collar. I worked this case, sir. I spent the past three months living this case." She could feel anger starting and tried to swallow it but it came out anyway. "I wore those damn shoes. I deserve- no, I demand that I be allowed to finish this."
"You demand?" His voice had gone to ice, his tone soft, just above a whisper.
If Buffy weren't so mad herself, she would have realized she was pushing towards the red zone of his temper. "Yes." And almost as an afterthought. "Sir."
There was a little nerve ticking under his right eye. "Get in there. After the interview, I want you and your partner in my office."
"Thank you, sir." She spun quickly and left. It was two steps from the observation room to the interrogation room door. She knocked on the door sharply before coming in. She added a little swagger to her walk, self confidence in her demeanor. "Detective," she said by way of greeting Riley.
His eyes narrowed until they were mere slits in his tanned face. What the hell was she doing here? She could barely walk a few hours ago. Before he could say anything, she pulled out a chair, swung it around and sat down in it, resting her arms on the back of it. Only Riley noticed the slight line of white around her lips from the pain that move had caused. And only because he was looking at her so intently.
"You boys started without me."
"Well, I wasn't sure what time you were going to be in, Detective."
Buffy heard the less than carefully concealed annoyance in her partners voice. She gave him a sunny smile that made her want to flinch from the pain it caused to her bruised face. "So where were we?"
"You've met our Adam Walsh."
"Oh," she fingered the swelling around her eye. "I'd say I've run into him. How are you today, Mr. Walsh? Your nose looks a little painful."
The huge mountain of a man stared straight through her. His eyes were blank orbs.
Riley slid a file across the scarred wooden table to her. She skimmed through it quickly, shaking her head sadly and making little tsk tsking noises under her breath. When she looked up, she barely managed to hide the triumphant grin. They had him cold.
"Adam, you seem like such a bright boy. Why'd you keep all the souvenirs? And leaving them in your car of all places."
RIley tapped one finger on the report before she closed it and slid it back to him. It showed a detailed report of the contents of his house, along with the Prosecuting Attorny's wish for a deal to be made, signed with all the higher ups signatures. "And did you see what the CSI's found at his apartment?"
"Oh yes, Adam, your never going to see the light of day outside of cold gray walls ever again. And, correct me if I'm wrong, partner," she looked up at Riley, her eyes betraying her thoughts of a deal with this monster. She hid it well, doing the job, knowing it would come back to haunt her later. "This is a capital murder offense, multiple counts."
Riley nodded his head. "Yeah, death row, a small square room, one hour a week outside. And those mattresses they have on those bunks. They are just terrible on your back. Not to mention that icy freeze as they pump that drug into your arm." He sat forward and laced his fingers. "You know, they keep that iced just so it hurts when it hits the blood stream. Sadistic, isn't it?"
Adam looked up from where he had been studying his hands cuffed and chained around his waist. "If you have me cold, like you said. Why am I here now?"
Buffy had never heard him speak. His voice surprised. He looked rough, dock worker material. His voice was soft and cultured, almost elegant despite the slight nasal quality from his broken nose. "We found other things in your home, things that lead us to believe you have other victims."
"Yes, so?"
"We want to be able to give their family closure."
Buffy kept her mouth closed. She hadn't been part of this, hadn't known there were others even though she had figured there would have been more. His killing was too precise, too easily done not to have come from practice. So they had decided to deal with him. She felt a tiny little ball of disgust. Lawyers. Cut a deal, get him life in prison. It would have to be enough.
"So, I get offered life instead of the death penalty. But only if I tell you where I hid the bodies. It's all so thrillerish, Detective." He looked at Buffy. "You were prettier as a redhead."
"Ouch, now that just hurts my feelings, Adam." She pulled a strand of silky hair away from her face, pretended to study the color.
"This is a one time offer only, Adam."
Adam Walsh's eyes swiveled back to Riley, stared for a second and then returned to watching Buffy. He seemed fascinated by the way her fingers played with the hair.
Buffy leaned forward a little and combed her fingers through the now dry locks. It was creepy, the way his eyes watched her. If he liked to watch though, she'd handle the creeps and do what she had to do to get what she needed.
"Okay," Adam said. "But I'll only talk to her."
"That's not the way this works."
"It's okay, Ri." Buffy said, interrupting him. "If he wants to tell me, I'll listen. Let's get it set up." She glanced over at her partner, noted the frown in his eyes. "Let's get the equipment set up," she repeated, making sure he got the message in her eyes. She would be fine.
Riley got up and went to the door, pulling it open without a backward glance. He only felt comfortable leaving her in there despite the chains and cuffs on Adam Walsh because he knew they were being watched through the one way mirror. And he knew that Adam knew that too. But he still didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.