Act3

November, 2000 – Los Angeles, California

Elizabeth McKinley hurried along the silent courthouse hallways. She glanced at her watch for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. She hadn’t expected the traffic on the way to LA to be so bad. She didn’t go to Los Angeles often and forgot each time how big and crowded the town was and how much time was needed to reach the courthouse.

Luckily she had planned on leaving Sunnydale early, so she still had a chance to make it in time if she found the damn hearing room.

She sighed with relief when she finally found it and saw the doors still open.

“Thank God,” she whispered and a light smile appeared on her face.

She advanced to the main hallway of the court and sat as close as possible to the witness stand. There weren’t many people present for the trial. She looked around and the only person she recognized clearly was Alan Finch’s widow. Other faces were rather familiar and she supposed they were LA detectives she met briefly after Faith Lehane’s surrender. One of them – a blonde woman whose name Elizabeth didn’t remember – acknowledged her entrance with a quick nod. Elizabeth politely answered.

Less than two minutes later, Lehane and her lawyer – a very young man- entered the room. McKinley watched her coming in, closely escorted by two police officers and she found the brunette changed. Maybe it was because of her clothes. For the first time, Elizabeth was seeing her wearing something other than a tank top and leather pants. Maybe it was because she had no make-up. Maybe it was because of the dark rings under her eyes. Obviously she wasn’t getting much sleep lately.

She was seventeen but she looked much older. These last months in jail had stolen the last hint of childhood away from her.

Faith sat at her place without looking at anyone. She didn’t appear to look for a familiar face in the crowd. As if she knew she would find none.

Elizabeth looked around and examined each face in the courtroom. The only expressions she found were either indifference or anger. Nobody was sorry or worried about Faith Lehane.

The trial discreetly recalled that fact. No family, no friends, no relatives of any kind. She couldn’t be more alone than she was, thought Elizabeth. Despite the fact that Faith once broke the jaw of one of her colleague, she couldn’t help but feeling sympathy toward the girl.

The trial went quickly. Faith Lehane had confessed to every single charge against her and the only testimony in her favor was the one from the police inspector explaining how the girl had turned herself in. Her lawyer spoke a little about her age and her past but he obviously didn’t feel very concerned about what would happen to her. Elizabeth thought he was either inexperienced or really inept.
Faith appeared detached, as if she wasn’t even there. She hardly said a word during the whole trial. She answered a few questions with half phrases and refused to elaborate on her past. She just said she was sorry for the two men she killed. 

The sentence came down on the second day of the trial. Twenty-five years in prison. When the judge pronounced the verdict, Elizabeth believed she could see a light smile or a light grimace on the usually so expressionless brunette’s face. She wasn’t sure of what she saw. The change of feeling was too discreet and too fast to clearly see what it expressed. 
Elizabeth felt almost sad for the girl. Seventeen, a voice was screaming in her head. She had to recall the horrible wounds on Alan Finch and Professor Worth corpses to put away that feeling of compassion toward the young murderer.

When the guards stood her up to take her away, McKinley saw Lehane turning round and nodding slightly to someone in the back of the room. She turned and only caught a glimpse of the back of a tall dark-haired man leaving.

Her attention returned to Faith and she watched the retreating figure of the young girl until she left the room.
Elizabeth got up. She glanced at Alan Finch’s widow speaking with the District Attorney and noticed they both looked satisfied. Mrs. Finch nodded at her when she recognized the detective and McKinley waved briefly back.

She left the courtroom and took the road back to Sunnydale.

***

Elizabeth McKinley paced the room nervously with a cup of coffee in her hand. Mark Khan and Marina Elfey were there too, each of them sitting at a table and looking at Elizabeth with an amused smile.

“You should sit down Liz,” Marina said. “They’re going to come back.”

“You said everything went well, keep cool.” Mark added. “Why are you so worried?”

“I’m not worried,” replied Elizabeth.

“She’s not worried,” confirmed Marina.

“So what?” Mark asked. “What’s the matter with you?”

“She’s impatient,” Marina explained. “Impatient to interrogate her.” She specified.

“Then, you’ll have to grin and bear it,” Mark said.

“Why are you saying this?” Asked Marina.

“They shot her three times.” Mark asserted as way of an explanation.

As Marina arched a questioning eyebrow, he clarified:

“Three times! She’s not going to wake up soon!”

“They shot her three times before she finally passed out,” interjected Elizabeth. “She’ll wake up way sooner than you think.”

Mark shrugged.

“That’s not human.”

“What about the other girl?” Marina asked.

“I didn’t see her yet,” McKinley replied. “John’s with her.”

“Detective McKinley?” Asked a new voice.

Elizabeth turned to the door where a young policeman was now standing.

“Faith Lehane is awakening,” he announced.

Elizabeth looked at Mark and grinned.

“See?” She said. “Way sooner.”

Elizabeth followed the young man along a corridor to the next room. He opened the door for her and she immediately went to the one-way mirror in the back of the room.

Behind it was a small interrogation cell. There was no window, just one door, a bench, a table and three chairs. Elizabeth froze by the mirror and stared at the room behind it.

Faith Lehane was lying on the bench. She blinked several times and tried to sit. But her gestures were slow and uneasy. Her fingers scratched the edge of the bench and she wanted to lean on her arms but they failed her. Faith fell back heavily onto the bench.

“She’s still under the effects of the sedatives, isn’t she?” McKinley asked.

“Yes,” replied the policeman. “You told me to warn you as soon as she’s awake, so I came when I saw her opening her eyes.”

For a few minutes Elizabeth observed the brunette struggling to sit without succeeding.

“You were right to come,” she said. “But I don’t think I can interrogate her now. She’s not ready yet.”

She stood motionless, examining the figure of the brunette. Four years had passed since Elizabeth saw Faith for the last time on the occasion of her trial. She had changed quite a bit  in the last few years. She looked calmer, less angry than she was at that time. She had obviously given up the provocative attitude. No more make-up. No more tight tank top. No more leather pants.

“Why the hell did she escape?” She whispered.

Mark’s voice interrupted her train of thoughts.

“McKinley, Roberts wants to see you.”

She turned round and saw Khan standing in the doorway.

“The blonde girl with Lehane,” he explained. “Apparently she lived in Sunnydale too. Roberts wants you to come and see if you know her.”

She nodded and went to the door to meet her colleague. Before leaving, she turned to the young policeman.

“I’ll come back later,” she told him.

“I’ll come to get you in a while if you want. Maybe when she’s able to sit?”

Elizabeth watched Faith again and paused.

“We can’t let her recover too much,” she asserted. “Call me as soon as she’s showing signs she’s better. Understood?”

“Perfectly, madam.” The young man answered.

With that, Elizabeth followed Mark outside.

***

Mark led McKinley to another interrogation room. Marina was there and greeted them with a smile.

“So?” Asked Elizabeth.

“She doesn’t look like a murderer or anything,” explained Elfey. “We found nothing much about her. She said she met Lehane in Cleveland a few months ago and they’ve been traveling together since then. But she lived in Sunnydale too. Maybe you know her?”

Mark and Elizabeth went closer to the one-way mirror. Behind it, the blonde girl arrested with Lehane was facing John Roberts. She was pale and looked tired and frightened. She obviously wasn’t used to this kind of situation. Elizabeth looked closely at her and shivered.

“I know that girl,” she said immediately.

Mark and Marina turned to her eagerly.

“Another murderer from Sunnydale?” Mark asked.

Elizabeth shook slowly her head.

“No, “ she replied. “A murdered.”

Mark and Marina exchanged a curious glance and Mark narrowed her eyes at Elizabeth.

“What?” He asked.

“A murder victim.” Repeated McKinley as she moved even closer to the mirror. “I remember her very well.”

“A murderer and a murder victim together?” Mark said. “How weird is that?”

“Did she know Lehane?” Marina asked.

Elizabeth frowned and shook her head.

“I don’t think so. But maybe.”

“You remember her name?”

“Yeah,” answered Elizabeth. “I do.”

***

May 2002 – Sunnydale, California

Elizabeth McKinley was sitting at her desk, writing something quickly on her computer. Night was falling but her window was open as the weather was beautiful during the day. She looked up from her task upon hearing quick footsteps in the hallway. A young blonde man appeared in the doorway.

“McKinley,” he called. “Gunfire on Revello Drive this afternoon. A girl was killed.”

Elizabeth rose immediately from her chair and followed her colleague.

“What happened?” She asked.

“I don’t really know.” The man answered. “The morgue called.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

“Wonderful.”

They exited the police station and got in a car. The drive to the morgue lasted just a few minutes.

“Elizabeth McKinley, police,” announced the blonde, waving her police badge at the reception desk. “You called us.”

The woman at the reception desk gestured to her right.

“Third room on your left,” she pointed.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “C’mon Charlie.”

They headed where the receptionist told her to go and knocked at the third door before coming in. A man greeted them and gestured for them to follow.

“We received the body of a girl who was shot,” he explained.

“Do you know what happened?” Elizabeth questioned.

The man nodded as he led them down the morgue. He stopped in front of a drawer and put his hand on the handle.

“We collected the corpse on Revello Drive,” he told them. “A guy came and shot another girl in the backyard. Apparently, he fired randomly as he run away. She was not even targeted.”

He pulled the drawer out to reveal the corpse. The body of a young blonde woman appeared. Elizabeth came closer and examined the pale face of the girl. A slight grimace of pain was still imprinted on her face. The inspector’s eyes traveled along the body and rested on the mark on her chest. She winced with disgust.

“A stray bullet, uh?” She asked.

The coroner nodded.

“God,” breathed Elizabeth, shaking her head a little. “Shot through the heart by a stray bullet.”

“Friends of hers saw the shooter,” the coroner said gently, noticing Elizabeth’s frown. “You will catch him.”

“We will,” confirmed Charlie.

“What’s the complete address?” He asked immediately, pulling a notebook and a pen out of his pocket.

“1630 Revello Drive,” the man answered.

“We’re going there now,” the policeman said. “Have you seen everything you wanted McKinley?”

“What’s her name?” The blonde demanded.

Elizabeth didn’t wait for an answer and moved from the side of the body to the top of the drawer. Her fingers traced the letters on the identification tag stuck on the drawer.

“Tara Maclay,” she whispered quietly, reading the name.

She glanced one last time at the blonde’s face, then at the tag and finally nodded.

“We’re done here,” she said. “Let’s go to Revello Drive.”

***
John Roberts exited the interrogation room, leaving Tara Maclay alone. His three colleagues were waiting for him. He closed the door and Elizabeth McKinley victoriously waved a dossier at him.

“Looks like you found something,” he said with a smile.

“I did,” she answered.

“So, what did you find?” He asked.

Elizabeth opened the file she held and consulted a few sheets.

“I found this at home,” she explained. “I recalled I kept copies. I worked hard on that case.”

Her attention drifted away from John for a second as her eyes traveled over the documents in front of her.

“Well, I don’t know exactly why, but it left its mark on me.” She resumed, her eyes lost in the distance.

John took the files Elizabeth handed to him and quickly looked over them. When he reached the end, he grimaced slightly.

“There’s something wrong here.” He said.

“What?”

“Tell me about that case you worked on,” he asked, waving the files at McKinley.

Elizabeth shrugged casually.

“Quite simple in fact,” she said. “A Buffy Summers lived in Sunnydale, on Revello Drive. Tara Maclay was a friend of hers. That day, she was at the Summers’ home in a room upstairs while Summers was in the backyard. A guy called Warren Meers suddenly barged into the backyard and shot Summers. He was angry at her for some obscure reason. From little we learned, she prevented him from committing a hold up the day before. He was furious and came to kill her with a gun he bought the same morning. After shooting Summers, he ran away and shot randomly behind him to cover up his runaway. A stray bullet killed Tara Maclay.”

Elizabeth fell silent, trying to remember the details from that time and case. She didn’t add anything but Roberts hadn’t heard enough.

“And?” He pressed.

“And what?”

“What happened next?” he specified.

“Buffy Summers miraculously survived. Maclay died,” Elizabeth said in a monotone voice.

“What about the murderer?” Marina questioned.

Elizabeth sniggered bitterly at the question.

“We never found him.” She replied dryly.

The room fell silent and Elizabeth stared at Tara behind the mirror again.

“You sound pretty upset,” John finally said.

“I was, “ Elizabeth answered immediately. “Meers was suspected in other crimes but he never went that far. The girl was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was unfair.”

She fell silent for a second again and turned away from Tara.

“And you know… her friends looked really messed up when we first talked with them after she died. I worked like crazy to find Meers. But no one – no family, no friends –ever came for an update on the case.”

“Well, maybe now you know why.” Mark suggested.

“What’d you mean?”

“Well, obviously she’s not dead,” the young man answered.

“Or she’s not Tara Maclay.” Suggested Elfey.

“What did she tell you?” Elizabeth asked, turning to John.

“Not a lot,” he replied. “She said her name is Tara Maclay, that she met Lehane in Cleveland a few months ago. She didn’t clearly answer when I asked if she knew she was a murderer. She confirmed she lived in Sunnydale for a few years.”

“You should talk to her,” he added after a silence. “You lived there, you know the story. Maybe you’ll see when she’s lying.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth answered at once.

She took back her files from Roberts and entered the interrogation room without another word.

Tara jumped slightly as the door opened and she looked up to see who was coming in. Elizabeth thought she looked like a deer caught in headlights. The inspector sat in front of Tara and put her files in front of her. She settled them carefully and tidily before looking Tara in the eye.

“So, I’m Detective Elizabeth McKinley.” She introduced herself in a calm voice. “And apparently you’re pretending to be Tara Maclay.”

Saying this, Elizabeth looked closely at Tara and she noticed the blonde shivered.

“Are you Tara Maclay?” She asked.

The blonde shyly nodded her head.

“I-I am,” she stammered.

“Where were you born?”

“Mi-minne-nesota,“ she stuttered again.

“Name of your father?”

“Donald Robert Maclay,” Tara answered in a low voice.

“Where did you go to college?” Elizabeth asked again.

“UC Sunnydale, Cali-california.”  Her voice was tired and low.

“Date of birth?”

“October, sixteen, 1980.”

“Date of death?”

Tara opened her mouth to answer something but she closed it when she realized what the question actually meant.

“Wh-what?” She asked.

Elizabeth leaned in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Her face hardened and she stared silently at Tara for several minutes. The blonde looked uneasy and tried to avoid McKinley’s cold gaze.

“I lived in Sunnydale too,” Elizabeth suddenly told her. “I was a detective there. And guess what? I remember clearly investigating the murder of a blonde girl called Tara Maclay.”

Tara shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her chest.

“I…I…I’m n-not d-dead, “ she tried miserably.

“Which is a surprise,” resumed Elizabeth. “If you really are Tara Maclay.”

She got up and paced the room until she reached the mirror before coming back toward Tara.

“So, tell me,” she said. “How did you do it?”

She abruptly put her palms on the table and Tara jumped at the sudden proximity. Elizabeth then grabbed one sheet from her files and handed it to Tara.

“’Cause I remember seeing your corpse at the morgue,” she enunciated coldly. “I remember the blood on the carpet. I remember talking to your friends. I remember that case very well, Miss Maclay.”

“Y-you m-must b-be mis-mistaken…” whispered Tara so low that Elizabeth hardly heard her.

“Look at this,” McKinley resumed in a harsh voice, sliding a sheet under her eyes. “Read this.”

As Tara didn’t move at all, Elizabeth took other sheets from the pile and pushed closer the one she put in front of Tara.

“The morgue report, “she explained, gesturing to the piece of paper under Tara’s eyes. “And here,“ she waved the sheets in her hands. “Your friends’ interviews.”

She read a few lines on the first sheet of paper.

“Here is Dawn Summers, fifteen at the time,” she emphasized. “Discovered the body first in the upstairs bedroom,” she read. “Said the body was lying in a pool of blood.”

She stopped and looked at Tara again. The blonde was paler than she was before. She was curled up on her chair, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, her fingers fidgeting nervously against her arm. Elizabeth was sure she wanted to disappear. She put down that sheet on the table and resumed with another one.

“Buffy Summers,” she announced. “Didn’t say much.  The guy Meers appeared, showed his gun, shot many times. Didn’t remember anything else until she woke up at the hospital later.”

She turned the page and went on without a glance for Tara.

“Alexander Harris. Was with Summers when Meers came and shot her. Couldn’t do anything to stop him. Called an ambulance. Didn’t know Tara Maclay was in the house until he came back later with Buffy Summers and found Dawn Summers with the body.”

She put down these sheets on the table and read the last one.

“And the best for the end, of course,” she stressed, looking at Tara closely. “Willow Rosenberg. Didn’t say anything at all. Post traumatic shock. Our psychologist considered she was too shocked to answer the interview.”

Elizabeth stopped and put the last piece of paper on the table in turn. She again put her hands on the table and bent toward the blonde. She looked Tara in the eye. The blonde was shaking violently despite her best efforts to control her body.

“W-why a-are y-you t-telling m-me th-this?” She managed to stutter after a long silence.

“We found no record of Tara Maclay being dead, “ explained Elizabeth in a calmer but icy voice. “But I remember seeing you in that drawer at the morgue. I remember talking to your friends. I remember looking for Warren Meers for months.”

She stopped. Possibly to breathe. Possibly for dramatic effect.

“And now,” she resumed. “You’re here. All safe and sound. Traveling with a very dangerous, convicted murderer.”

“She’s n-not dan-dange…” began Tara in a trembling voice.

“Don’t make matters worse,” Elizabeth interrupted. “You’re in no position to lie even more.”

“I-I did-didn’t do any-anything wr-wrong…” Tara defended herself.

Elizabeth stood straight and took half a step back.

“We’ll see,” she said. “We’ll see what you’re doing with Faith Lehane. We’ll see why you’re alive when you’re supposed to be dead.”

Tara looked up to her and appeared to gather all her courage to ask straight:

“Is it a crime to be alive?”

Elizabeth looked destabilized for a split second but she regained her composure quickly and eventually shrugged and snorted:

“Sometimes it can be.”