bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Rosebud Murders

Title: The Rosebud Murders 7/45

Author: BmblBee
Rating: M for Mature language and m/m sex
Also warning for violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters
or products named in this story
Paring: S/X
Summary: HAU
Spike is a Homicide detective trying
to stop a serial killer before he strikes
again. Xander is a psychic who offers
to help him.

Spike had dangled the strange young man's business
card over the trash can but just couldn't make his
fingers release. Finally, and with no reasonable
explanation, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his
suit coat. His reasons for keeping it were something he
didn't want to examine too closely right now.

The boy's, Xander's, comment had shocked and scared him.
How could he have known. Was he showing some gay sign.
Giving off a gay vibe? He was sure he wasn't. No, after giving
it some thought, Spike came to the conclusion that the boy was just
guessing, besides, he hadn't said specifically what Spike's secret was.

Hell, everybody had a secret, didn't they? Something they kept
hidden even from the people closest to them.

Spike decided the boy was fishing. Trying to plant a seed of
question in Spike's mind and convince him of his psychic
abilities. No, it wasn't something Spike wanted to deal with
right now.

He had other pressing problems on his mind. Other fish
that were deftly avoiding being fried.

Crossing the duty room, Spike casually noted that none of the line
officers that had joked with his partner had so much as a smile for him.
He wondered briefly what they thought of him.

He had often regretted the loneliness of isolating himself from the comradery
of the brotherhood, but knew it was the only way. The only way to maintain
everything he had in life.

Slouching against the back wall of the elevator, Spike punched the button
marked "B" and rode down to the basement. The lowest level of the
building. The level containing the evidence rooms, the storage cabinets,
and if you went far enough back, the morgue.

When the elevator stopped, Spike headed out, straight down
the dim hallway, past the floor to ceiling shelves stacked with
cardboard boxes marked with names, dates and felony categorizations.

Most cases solved and the evidence kept for a designated period of
time then shipped to holding to be destroyed. Some of the boxes
contained items to cases long forgotten.

Victim and offender both nameless, faceless, unresolved.
A sad reality that 32% of the homicides in this country go unsolved.

He zipped around three more corners, followed the green arrows
painted on the walls and arrived at the hallways dead end, pun
intended,.to the solid double doors at the end of the corridor.

The signs on the doors read "Biohazard area" "Authorized Personnel Only"
"NO SMOKING" and "Do Not Enter Without Protective Attire"

They were all signs meant to discourage entrance. They were all signs that
were basically unnecessary as very few of the employees on duty directly
overhead had ever been in this part of the building and had no desire to be.

Spike on the other hand had spent way too much time down here.
Especially since his transfer to Homicide. He felt it was important to
understanding and solving the case to be close to the victim. Since he didn't
have that opportunity in life, he took the time to do it in death.

It also had proven invaluable in the preservation of the chain of evidence.
He had never had one item compromised by the transfer through too many
hands. It had made the difference in the conviction of more than one

Snatching a white coat off a nearby hanger and grabbing a paper face mask
off the shelf, Spike slapped his hand against the solid door and stepped
in to the brightly lit room.
The smell, as always, was overpowering. A sickly combination of antiseptic
decomposition, chemical prep and..........pop corn?

Spike held the paper mask to his face in an attempt to continue breathing
without gagging.
"Doc? Doctor Ahn?"

"Yes, detective Spike. I am here at my desk."

Spike skirted around the two sheet covered figures lying on tables
in the middle of the room and headed toward the short, dark skinned,
Pakistani doctor who spoke in the halting, choppy, accented voice.

Sitting at his desk munching on a bag of microwave popcorn, the Coroner
waved the bag in Spike's direction, offering to share.

Spike politely declined.

"I have been expecting you detective. I know I did not send you good
news this morning. Of course none of the tissue and samples have been
analyzed yet but I can tell you that the heart, lungs, and brain all appeared
normal. She was a healthy young woman. I am certain that the final
analysis will prove my preliminary finding of death by strangulation to be
accurate. That's not really why you are here though is it?"

Spike shook his head and waited.
"No sir."

The doctor then reached down and unlocked the top drawer of his desk
and pulled out a clear plastic evidence baggy with a card attached.
On the card he signed his name, title, time and date, and who he was
releasing the evidence to.

In return, Spike signed the opposite side. The column marked "received."
He timed, dated, and noted that he received the item from the ME.
The chain of evidence was solid.

Spike held the baggy up to the light.
It contained one pink rose bud, still alive but slightly wilted. He knew
because he had a collection of three others locked in the safe in the
evidence room.

They were all identical. At least they had been when collected.
Since then, after detecting nothing that would lead them to their
origins, they had, in turn, been chemically preserved, dried, and

He had been assured there was nothing to differentiate them from any
other roses sold at the hundreds of street vendors and florists shops
around the city.

They contained no identifiable DNA other than the victims. That, to
Spike, was what made it most disturbing. The fact that the perpetrator
had undressed the victim, inserted the flower, obviously wearing rubber
gloves, then dressed her again without committing any type of sexual assault.
Unless you consider "fucked by flora and fauna" a sexual assault.

Spike shook his head, his thoughts scrambling for reason.
'This was not a thug. This was someone whose motivation was in how the
victim was found. A common rapist wanted power. Getting off was secondary.
Ejaculation was not the ultimate goal, the conquest was. But this guy...'

Spike scratched his head.
"Thanks Doc. You'll be sure and send me the final report when it's done
won't you? Oh, and call me if you find anything out of the ordinary."

Doctor Ahn nodded and returned to his snack.
"Your body is the one nearest the door if you want to take a look."

Spike nodded and started for the door, pausing by the silver metal slab.
Tossing back the sheet, he looked into the peaceful face of the dead woman.
If it hadn't been for the ugly bruises around her throat and the huge incision
that ran from her neck to her pubic bone, he might have thought she was
sleeping. Tired from a night out with friends. Happy, exhausted.

"I'll do my best for you. I promise." He whispered.

Spike threw the sheet back over her face and with the paper
mask still in his hand, walked out the door.
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