Disclaimer: I know it and you know it, but let me repeat once more the sad fact that I do not own Crossing Jordan.

Note: It seems I've been on a writing spree these days, guys. :) I hope this will be a decent crime/mystery. I'm not planning much romance for this one, but I guess there'll be some (with me, there always has to be :)).

Anyway, the story is set a month or so after Crash (but it's not really a sequel to my previous story - There's No Place Like Home III).

This is only a short (hey, who'd say I can actually do short ones :)) introductory chapter. Hope you'll like it. Even if you don't, feel free to leave a review!

"Damn," Jordan muttered as she groped for the phone. It took her some time to get it, but whoever called wasn't a quitter.

"Cavanaugh," she finally said, opening her eyes. The room was still pitch dark, so it had to do something with work, she mused. And she was right.

"Good morning, Doc." Matt Seely snickered on the other side of the line. "We found Madison Moore's body five minutes ago. Dr. Macy was just calling you."

Jordan sat in bed, wide awake.

"Where's the body?" she asked, ignoring Seely's sniggering.

He gave her the address.

"Oh, and Doc," he continued smugly "give Hoyt my best regards, will you? He just won me the office pool."

Jordan hung up without even bothering to retort. That obviously wasn't her phone; nor was this her bed, for that matter. She sighed resignedly, but that sigh was closely followed by a contented one when she felt the bed owner's arms wrapping around her.

"What was that?" Still sleepy Woody nuzzled her neck.

"They found Moore's body," she said grimly. Then she added in a slightly more cheerful tone, "Oh, and I think we just went public."

An hour later, Jordan ducked under the yellow tape. The sight was gruesome. She'd seen a lot of repulsive things, but this topped them all.

The naked body of a severely beaten young woman was lying on the wet grass. It was a sad, disturbing image, but it would be nothing special for an employee of the ME's office hadn't there been anything else. The body was cut in half and completely drained of blood.

Jordan kneeled beside the remains to estimate at least rigor mortis – she couldn't estimate lividity as there was no blood left in the poor thing's body. The extremely pale Woody was gone to see if he could get anything out of the passerby who had discovered the body since the boy finally seemed to be able to talk. Seely was unusually quiet.

"Ring any bells?" he asked her in a low voice.

She slowly nodded even before she spotted a purplish-black dahlia in the girl's dark hair.

"Nothing." Nigel sighed.

He had just finished collecting trace evidence. He hadn't actually collected a thing.

"Whoever did this, he was thorough. He washed the body so well that all we have are traces of soap."

"Well," Jordan nodded, "that was to be expected. Everybody who has ever heard of Elizabeth Short knows that the LAPD couldn't find a single piece of solid forensic evidence on her body."

"Yes," Nigel agreed, "the Black Dahlia case ranks up there with Jack the Ripper. Anyway, I'll see what I can do with the soap. I highly doubt it, but it might lead us somewhere."

"You do that," said Jordan, "and I'll wheel her to Autopsy Two and see what she can tell us."

She tried hard not to think of the fact that it probably wouldn't be much more than an extensive list of all kinds of injuries – bruises, lacerations, rope marks, burn marks…

Woody groaned. Of all the people, it had to be him.

"Cheer up, man!" Seely's tone was sympathetic, but a grin was plastered all over his face. "This is going to be a high profile case, you'll probably get promoted when you solve it."

"Just spare me, Seely, will you?" He wasn't in the mood for Matt's jokes.

Firstly, he had to go to Beacon Hill and talk to Mr. and Mrs. Moore, possibly the richest people in Boston, and tell them that their daughter, whose disappearance had been in all the news for the last three days, was dead. Secondly, he had to find a way to keep reporters at a distance. If they found out about the dahlia in Moore's hair, the madness would ensue – innumerous Confessing Sam's and, in all probability, new copycat murders. Thirdly, he had to figure out how to check only about a few hundreds of flower shops real fast. Keeping all that in mind, he really wasn't in the mood for Matt's jokes.

"Hey," Seely wasn't giving up that easily, "on the bright side, you won't have to come home to a cold bed after all that legwork."

He flashed Woody a thick roll of cash, which he had earned by winning a certain office pool concerning Det. Hoyt and Dr. Cavanaugh.

"You know what, Seely," Hoyt glared at him, "I hope you'll have a great time in the Caribbean. I hear a lot of American tourists have gone missing there lately."