Human Rights “Now, I’m gonna ask you this one more time, and then I’m gonna get violent: Where did you stash the body?”
While interrogation was new to Jill, using the threat of violence to get what she needed or wanted wasn’t. In her first week on the job with the FBI, Jill found that many of her skills from Wolfram & Hart transferred over, even if she was no longer in the business of backstabbing colleagues and bringing about the Apocalypse.
Traditionally, the FBI had rules. A strict code its agents were to follow in the pursuit, apprehension and interrogation of a suspect or witness. But those rules seemed outdated all of a sudden, what with the world taking on a new look seemingly overnight. The old way of doing things was no longer sufficient; in order to get things done, law enforcement had to change the game a little.
Which was where fresh blood like Jill came in.
The vampire snarled in his seat, staring at the guard in the doorway with a stake-gun. He’d never seen such a contraption before, and the creature could feel the dim overhead light burning his eyes. His gaze shifted to the woman standing across the table from him, her pale skin contrasting with her black hair.
“Hey now,” the monster countered, his shaky voice betraying the fierce visage of his demon face. “I – I got rights, you know. You can’t go around threatening me like this.”
Jill folded her arms over her chest, nodding to the guard to leave. The restraints keeping one Dylan Stephenson in his chair were more than enough to keep Jill safe. And even if he did escape, Jill had plenty of wood at her disposal in the interrogation room.
“You have shit,” she retaliated, sitting on the corner of the table. “These rights you speak of? Those are meant to protect humans. So unless one of your buddies can convince the Supreme Court to hear your case at one in the morning, I’m afraid you can’t hide behind due process.
“Now … where’s the body?”
One of the first things Jill learned when she landed in D.C.: human laws meant nothing to vampires and demons. While some politicians and lobbyists admitted the human rights issue probably needed an update now that vampires and demons were common knowledge, the fact remained: right now, Uncle Sam didn’t offer the undead a damn thing.
Jill picked up Dylan after two days of searching. The teenage daughter of Tennessee Sen. Franklin Hernandez went missing the day after Jill’s arrival in Washington, and a cursory investigation led Jill to the vampire. No body had been found, but Dylan admitted early in the interrogation session he’s killed her.
“You people really fucked things up,” Dylan spat at Jill. “Blabbing to the world about us. It’s bad enough I have to dodge Slayers and other demons at night – now I gotta worry about the feds, too?
“And all because I was hungry?”
“You’re the one who committed murder,” Jill countered with a shrug of her shoulders. “Generally speaking? When the feds find your ass, it’s cause you fucked up, not us.”
Dylan scoffed and shook his head. Even though he’d fed from Francesca the night before, he still felt her blood in his veins. She was still warm, even a little tart; nearly 24 hours later, Dylan still had her taste in his mouth.
“I committed no crime,” the vampire said calmly. “If human rights don’t apply to me, than neither do human laws. Yeah, I killed the little slut, but since I ain’t human, I did nothing illegal.”
Jill grabbed Dylan by his greasy black hair and shoved him face-first into the table, hearing his nose break. Blood splattered onto the table and Dylan felt splinters in his cheeks; Jill was glad the FBI built an all-wood interrogation room specifically for the vampires.
Did Dylan have a point? Probably, but if he did, that was something the suits on Capitol Hill would have to suss out. For now, Jill knew a teenage girl had been mercilessly killed – if not outright turned – and she was out to bring the vampire to justice.
Six months ago, Jill would’ve likely been Dylan’s defense. Funny how things changed so quickly.
“If I’m bein’ charged,” Dylan growled, spitting blood onto the floor, “I want my lawyer.”
Jill fished through the pocket of Dylan’s plaid shirt before finding a business card. She read the name on the card – one Robert Wright – and saw that he was with the D.C. branch of Wolfram & Hart.
Of course. Who else would it have been?
Jill ripped the business card in half, tossing the pieces in Dylan’s face. She leaned forward to get in his face – at Wolfram & Hart, this tactic would’ve given Dylan a nice view of her chest, as Jill would’ve worn something low-cut and provocative. But now, all Dylan could see were Jill’s eyes, and the contempt they held.
But the contempt wasn’t necessarily for him. Dylan expected it to be, considering what he was and what he did, but when he looked into the agent’s eyes, he saw something much deeper. And as odd as it seemed, Dylan was scared.
“Your lawyer,” Jill said in a near-growl. She smirked to herself a little, again grabbing Dylan by the hair and shoving his nose into the desk. Before, Jill had only planned on roughing him up a little to get what she needed and then staking him. Now, if her superiors would allow it, she had a little more in mind.
“Your lawyer won’t give two shits about you,” Jill spoke, the badge on her hip shining under the overhead lamp. “See, you’re not part of the big picture, bloodsucker. You’re just some lowly little vampire running about like the rodent you are. Wolfram & Hart, they’ll throw you to the wolves when all’s said and done. Cause you’re not big enough and you’re not near bad enough.
“They might’ve backed you before, got you out of a murder wrap or a drug bust or what not, but that was before the cat jumped out of the bag. Now, if the world were to see a vampire in court and know it was a vampire, there’s no way Wolfram & Hart’s gonna step up for you. Not with a good public image to keep. Who would wanna associate themselves with a law firm that backs bloodsucking pussheads?”
With a sigh, Jill stepped away from Dylan. She could no longer handle his stench; she remembered how vampires usually reeked of death, but for some reason, Dylan’s odor was worse than she recalled. The agent paced about the room, her heels clacking against the wooden floor.
Having a Slayer in the room would’ve been nice, but Jill felt safe in the room with the vampire regardless. She glared at Dylan once more, feeling the hatred for her former employer subside some. She took a deep breath to collect herself, unfolding her arms and leaning against her chair.
“So, for the last time … where’s the body?”
Dylan chuckled, to himself at first, eventually letting it grow into full-on laughter. Jill frowned to herself, grabbing the stake she had in her pocket. Wherever this was going, the agent didn’t care for it.
In spite of laying eyes on the stake, Dylan didn’t stop laughing. His face reverted back to its human guise, before again morphing into the face of the demon. It was all a game to Dylan – play with the government agents who were obviously ill-prepared for supernatural cases. Sure, they had the wooden interrogation rooms and the wooden cells with hidden windows that could open to allow sunlight in whenever possible, but there was so much the badges had to learn.
“I don’t know,” the vampire said, resting his hands on the back of his head with a smug look on his face. “I dumped it in an unfilled grave at Arlington National, but there’s no telling where she is now.”
Jill sighed. She knew exactly what that meant, and that it just made her first case as an FBI agent even more complicated. She shook her head before reaching across the table and jabbing the stake into Dylan’s chest. He didn’t even scream before disappearing in an explosion of dust and ash.
Jill stood, brushing the dust off the sleeves of her black business suit before pocketing her stake again. The dust could stay on the table and flood, since it nearly blended in perfectly with the wood. Besides, if it carried Dylan’s scent, the next vampire brought in might catch a whiff and see just how serious the FBI did things.
Exiting the room, Jill approached the partner, a portly man named Paul Espinoza, with a somber expression. “He left her at Arlington but doesn’t know where she is.”
Paul blinked. “That means she’s …?”
Jill gave a nod before stealing a bite of the cheeseburger Paul had in his hand. “Yep,” she offered. “Do we have a Slayer in the bureau?
“Cause if we don’t, we might wanna think about getting one.”