bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
bmblbee
bmblbee
bloodclaim

Rosebud Murders

Title: The Rosebud Murders 10/45

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.





Thanks to the talented Petxnd for the banner and preread.


Spike had thought briefly about calling the Harris boy, but quickly
dismissed it. No, he needed to look him in the eye. Search for
the tell that everyone has when they lie. A twitch of the cheek, a quick
darting to the eyes, a pause, a stammer, some movements so subtle
to be almost imperceptible to someone not trained to seek them out.

It was what made Spike such a successful interrogator. He watched
and waited. Started with the simple questions, ones that would encourage
the white, unimportant lies.
Sometimes it came quickly, sometimes it took forever.

Once or twice he began to doubt, but not for long because just
as he was about to think he had found the perfect poker
face, it would happen.

That tiny, quirk. The one individual weakness that signaled a
red flag on lies. When that happened, Spike swooped in for the
kill.
The questions reigned down over the perp like fire and brimstone
as Spike weeded through the answers, sorting the truth from lie.

In the end, Spike always got what he wanted. If not a full confession,
at least all the facts and information he needed to lock the case up
tighter than beefy top's asshole.

Which was why, at the last minute, he dialed a different number.

"St. John."
"Hey, Faith, it's me. I need to take a pass on lunch today. There's
someone I hafta to go see. I'll give you a call later when I get back."

Faith's voice dropped low as she cupped her hand over the receiver
hoping to avoid any eavesdroppers outside her small office.
"Oh my God! Do you have a lead? Please tell me you have a lead.
Is it a lead? Is it?"

Spike sighed.
"Thanks, Pet. Knew I could count on you not to put on the pressure, yeah?
No, it's not a lead. Not really, just an idea. A suggestion someone made.
Probably won't nothing come of it. I'll call you later and we'll talk, 'k?"

Faith was just as glad. She knew Kennedy had a meeting with her
husband to discuss the divorce and she wanted to stay free, just in case.
The jerk had an ugly way about him and even though Kennedy had
told her several times that she could take care of herself, Faith just
wanted to be there, sitting in the back of the coffee shop they had
planned to meet in. Just to be sure. Just to watch. Just because.

Spike pulled his suit jacket off the back of the chair and dropped his
cell phone in the inside pocket. Even though he had the address
of Divine Creations memorized he slipped the card in his pants and
headed out.

The ride across town took about 20 minutes due to the traffic tieups and the
morning mothers blocking the streets to drop off their school children.
It was time that Spike took to consider what he was doing. It was
enough time that he almost turned around at least three different
intersections.

'This is fuckin' ridiculous. What the fuck am I doing? Hell, next thing
you know I'll be standing on a cliff somewhere with a tin foil hat,
wavin' a flashlight and waitin' on ET to take me home.'

Reaching the edge of town, Spike watched the residential area slip
away into rundown rentals and finally industrial. He knew another two
miles and the road would dead end at the shore.
The wharf.

Bustling with the activity of fishing boats, pleasure craft and upscale
restaurants catering to the towns better citizens.
Spike had eaten there a time or two, but it didn't suit him. It was
simply too painful to part with $50.00 for a small serving of something
he didn't recognize, only to go home hungry and fix himself a peanut
butter sandwich.

Pulling onto an alley off the main stretch, Spike followed a row of
matching brick buildings. Each had a sign out front announcing their
occupancy. As mostly wholesale businesses they were not designed
to lure in customers, simply announce a location.

Third one in. Divine Creations Furniture. Spike whipped the Corvette
into a small parking lot, taking the last empty space, and shut her off.

He sat there behind the wheel and shook his head.
'What the hell am I doing. I should be out there looking for real clues.
Basic police work, that's what is going to solve this case.'
He sighed and snorted. 'That's the thorn innit? No real clues to
be had. Well, fuck, long as nobody finds out, what the hell.'

Before he could swing his pendulum of doubt to the other side again,
Spike jumped out of the car and headed for the front door.

Stepping inside, he noticed the small dingy reception area was dark,
dusty and seemly abandoned. The counter, straight back chairs and
the four or five out dated magazines were all covered in a fine layer of
saw dust.

Spike breathed in deeply. The wonderful smell of fresh cut wood
and heavy polishing oils filled his nose and he wondered if that was
the divine part.

Locating a small bell on the dusty counter, Spike had his hand perched
to slam down when he was startled by a short, round, older man wiping
his hands on a stained rag.

"No need. I'm here. Got a silent bell in the back that rings when the door
opens. I'm Patrick. Welcome to Divine Creations, how can I help you?
New bedroom set for the missus? Hand carved desk for the den?"

Spike cut him off with a flash of his badge and a smirk on his lips.
Patrick's shoulders lifted then slumped as a resigned puff of air left his
lungs.
"Figures. What do you need?"

"I need to speak to one of your employees. Alexander Harris?
Official business."

Patrick lifted the flap on the corner of the counter and gestured for Spike
to pass through and follow him on into the work area of the shop.

Spike was surprised to see the building was much larger than it appeared.
Several men worked quietly at their respective stations sanding, carving,
oiling, and nailing their individual projects. A radio played softly somewhere.
The atmosphere was quiet, calm, serene.

The last sectioned off area was the largest. As they approached, Spike
recognized the top of the dark brown hair that bent over, his arm
working rhymically as he sanded what appeared to be a bed headboard.

"Xander, my boy. There is a police man here wants to speak to you."

At the sound of the old man's voice, Xander stopped his work and looked up.
The smile from earlier returned and Spike was struck by the clear, open
honesty that sparkled in his eyes. 'Maybe it wasn't the fresh wood smell'
he thought. 'Maybe this is the divine creation.'

Spike mentally shook himself and cloaked his attitude in the practiced
professionalism of his position.

"Can we talk, Alexander?"

Xander's face lit up even more and he dusted off the plastic seat of a small
chair in the corner of his cubical.

"I would like that very much. Please, call me Xander."
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