Short, short version: Not mine. No money. Ninjas over pirates.
"I know what kind of vampires you've had in here before," Spike was telling Brass as Grissom slipped into the interrogation room. "Bored teenagers, yeah?"
"Overactive imaginations. What's your excuse?" Brass demanded.
Spike smirked. "Wrong alley."
"Was that Svetlana's mistake?"
"Probably," Spike said. "It seems to be what gets people killed in this town. Or, you know, any town."
"Should we be looking in another town? Like, say, Cleveland?"
Spike shrugged, looked at the floor.
"Brass, can I talk to you for a moment?" Grissom asked. Brass heaved himself ponderously out of the chair and followed him out into the hallway.
"What's going on?" Brass said, and Grissom handed him a piece of paper. Brass skimmed to the conclusions at the bottom of the report, and looked at Grissom incredulously. "You have to be kidding me."
"The evidence doesn't lie."
"This is-- impossible!" Brass sputtered. "How can-- is this even-- how does this happen?"
Grissom stared off into the middle distance. "I don't know. Let's go ask."
Grissom threw a folder across the table. Spike's hand shot out and caught it before it landed on the floor. "You seem to be something of a mystery, Mr. Jones."
"It keeps the ladies coming back," Spike said, absent-mindedly, opening the folder and looking at the contents. "I don't understand this."
"It says that the blood running through your veins contains three different types of DNA," Grissom told him. "Bovine, ovine, and equine."
"Really? Told the man that wasn't pure otter." Spike threw the folder on the table. "So. What's your explanation?"
"You're a vampire."
"Told you so."
"If I took an impression of your teeth, it wouldn't match the wound on Svetlana's neck, would it?"
Spike pulled a face.
"And if I went looking for the... creature that matches those teeth, I won't find it, will I?"
"Probably not," Spike replied. "Our games have been fun and all, but they've wasted a lot of time."
"Will there be more bodies in my city?" Grissom asked.
Spike gave him a long, hard look. "No. It's been taken care of by now."
"You're free to go," Brass said, barely opening the interrogation room door. "We apologize for the inconvenience."
Spike chuckled to himself. "I like that one. He's got spunk."
"If I may," Grissom said, "I have one more question for you."
Spike stood up. "Shoot. But make it snappy, I'll be turning into a pumpkin soon." He gestured with his chin towards the outside wall.
A smile, a real smile, not the smirk that had danced across his face all night. "The only reason a man ever changes," Spike answered.
"What's her name?"
Spike laughed. "That would be telling, now, wouldn't it?"
Grissom smiled back, making a gesture. A deputy opened the door. "We'll get you processed and out before sunrise."
"Thanks, mate." Spike walked through the door, and paused just before it. "Tell Dawn to call her sister. She worries."