"Dad!" a woman shouted, sitting bolt upright in her bed, instantly awake. She slowly took in her surroundings, relaxing upon finding them familiar. She let out the rush of breath she had been holding in. She tried to remember the dream she had been having, but as soon as she made that concious decision, the last images slipped from her mind.
She was about to lie back down, when her phone started ringing. Sighing and flipping it open, she rolled over.
"Cavanaugh," she said, with a hint of irritation, and listened to the reply. "Uh huh, I'll be there."
A shower and a change of clothes later, she was there. There being the local tip. Wrinkling her nose at the stench, she made for the familiar figure standing a few feet away, talking to a uniformed officer.
"Woody," she said, by way of greeting, whereupon his head turned. "Nice day for a jaunt at the tip, huh?"
"Mm," he replied despondantly.
"You're talkative this morning," Jordan remarked casually, before asking, "What do we have?"
"One Alex Rotzlier," Woody revealed the cause of his mad mood. "Nine years old."
They walked over to the little boy, lying haphazardly over a tire and other pieces of miscellaneous junk, as if he had been flung there. And he probably had, Jordan thought grimly.
"One man's trash is another man's treasure," Woody said in a strange voice.
"That's not funny," Jordan said kneeling beside the pitiful figure.
"I know," he said defensivley, but didn't elaborate.
"Multiple stab wounds to the abdomen," Jordan reported. "Brusing around the neck and upper arms. "Defensive scratches and wounds."
"Went missing three days ago," Woody said, reading from his notebook. "Abducted from his bed. He never stood a chance."
"We'll get this guy, Woody," Jordan assured him. He nodded.
"I know you will."
"But…?" Jordan probed.
"I hate working on kids."
"Who doesn't?" she said. "TOD about 20-24 hours ago."
"Ok."
Jordan ran a golved hand over the little boys head. Taking it as a display of affection, Woody knelt down and out a hand on her arm.
"Like you said…"
"I know, it wasn't that," she said. "Look at this."
He looked closer, seeing what Jordan had seen. There were short, spiky hairs in his head.
"His head has been shaved recently."
"How recently?"
"Recently," Jordan said. "We'll find out more once we get him to the morgue."
She concluded her initial examination and gestured for the body to be bagged and sent to the morgue.
Garret felt good, for some reason. He'd had a pretty ordinary night, finished his book, gone to bed. Now, walking into a morgue of all places, he felt positive.
"Morning, Garret," Lily joined him, greeting him brightly.
"Hey Lily," he replied. "How many from last night?"
"Five or six, I think," she said. "Here's one I thought you should tackle yourself."
"Old habits die hard, huh?" he asked, smiling. She laughed and told him she'd see him at the staff meeting.
After 15 minutes of asserting his authority and distributing files, he looked over the one Lily had handed him.
"My God," he uttered when he saw the disturbing information on it, and rushed to examine the body.
Upon seeing it, he was shocked. It was a woman, around 30-ish, and every joint in her body, every finger, toe, elbow and knee joint had been dislocated.
Still shocked, he went through the methodical steps of the autopsy, and discovered that someone else had definatley been involved. He wondered why this obvious murder had escaped the attention of the Boston PD. That is, until a woman walked into trace.
"Garret Macy?" she queried. Garret nodded and waited for her to introduce herself.
"Detective Marie Jonas," she said, extending her hand. "Homicide."
"Pleased to meet you, Detective," he said, taking her outstretched hand. "Yours?" He gestured to the body. Jonas looked at it, and nodded grimly.
"Her name is Stephanie Hanne. All her joints dislocated," she said. "Just when you think your job can't get any worse."
She looked shaken. "Got the perp?" he asked.
"Ha," Jonas laughed bitterly. "We wish."
"Well," Garret said matter of factly. "I'll finish up here and we'll get her into autopsy, ok?"
"Sounds great," Jonas said. "I gotta run. Call me."
Garret assured her that he would.
Nigel trotted through the morgue, excitedly, searching. When he spotted the object of his search, he called, "Bug!"
Bug turned, curious.
"Have I got a body for you!" Nigel said, unable to keep the grin off his face.
Bug's mouth twitched as he looked Nigel up and down. "You're not my type."
Nigel was too excited for wise-cracks, and dragged Bug downb to the crypt. On the way, they passed Lily.
"Nigel! Are you showing him the - "
Nigel nodded, grinning. Lily laughed. "I'm coming."
"What's going..."
"Shh," Lily said, and they continued their walk to the crypt. Lily pushed open the door, and Bug was again surprised that after years working here, the coldness of the crypt still hit him.
A large lump belied the wide girth of their dead body. Bug was perplexed, and NIgel dramatically reached for the sheet.
"Prepare to be dumbfounded. Prepare to be dazzled. Prepare to be..."
"Oh shut up!" Bug said, and yanked down the sheet himself.
It was a man dressed in a Santa suit.
"Its the middle of August!" Bug said in disbelief, looking at NIgel and Lily. Nigel reached down and pulled on the man's beard, ignoring Lily's quiet protest. It didn't budge.
"It's real," he said in an awed voice. The three stared.
"Definatley died from the stab wounds," Jordan told Woody, as they were standing over the body, in autopsy 3. "Tox came back clear."
"Why would someone murder a kid?" Woody said dejectedly.
"Why would someone murder at all?" Jordan said, sensibly. "The world is full of sickos."
"Point taken," he replied. The door opened and Lily walked in.
"The Rotzliers are here," she said. "They want to see their son."
Woody and JOrdan exchanged a glance. "I'm not done yet," she said, stalling. She did not relish talking to the parents. "Tell them to come back this afternoon."
"Right," Lily said, and walked out.
"What about the hair?" Woody asked.
"Shaved, with a razor. Pre-mortem, because of the state of the cuts. Thats all we know."
"Alright," Woody said. "I better get down to the precinct. I'll see you later. Call me the minute you get something.
"Will do," she assured him, bending again over the body.
She continued the autopsy, not finding anything out of the ordinary, apart form the gaping holes in his belly. Nothing, nothing to point to anyone who may have killed him.
"Hey Nige!" she hailed him as he walked past.
"Not now, Jordan, I got a dead Santa waiting for me," he said, but came in anyway.
"I'm not even gonna ask," she said, shaking her head.
"Kid hey?" Nigel said.
"Yeah," she replied. "Not nice. I can't find anything. Waiting on the results for the stuff I found under his nails. Its a long shot, though."
"Mm," he said. "How can I help?"
"I don't know. Got any new fang-dangled contraptions that may be of help?"
"Sorry, love, nothing new this week."
Jordan nodded. "I wanna find out why he was killed."
"Maybe there is no why," he said, and left.
"There's always a why," Jordan said to herself, and hardened her face.
Before she could call him, Woody came back.
"Nothing," he said, frustrated.
"Talked to the parents?"
"I thought I'd catch them while you're talking to them," he said. "But mainly we're waiting for you."
"Latex under the nails," she reported.
"Latex?" he said. "He was wearing gloves?"
"I guess," she said.
"That doesn't help us," Woody said coldly.
"Hey," Jordan said defensively. "I've run every test we have, on everything! I'm doing my best!"
"Do better!" he barked, just as Nigel walked in. The look that Jordan was barely able to conceal was too much for Woody, and he stormed out.
"What's his problem?" Nigel said, frowning after the man. He had caught the Detective's comment.
"You tell me," Jordan said. "I have nothing to pin this guys murderer."
Suddenly Woody's 'do better' registered in Nigel's mind, and he grew angry at the detective. "Hey, thats not your fault. I don't see the cops with any leads."
"I know that, up here," she said, tapping her head. They were silent.
"So they guy's a proffessional, huh?" Nigel asked, reffering to the killer.
"Looks that way. Latex under his fingernails."
"Got a mould of the blade?" he asked.
"Here," she handed it to him.
"A kitchen knife?" Nigel said. "It doesn't add up."
"If he wanted this kid dead, why didn't he just shoot him? Theres something else there."
Nigel shrugged. "Maybe the parents can shed some light."
Jordan nodded decisively. "Good idea."
"Definatley done methodically, by a person," Garret was telling Detective Jonas over the phone. "She was drunk, though. BAL 0.12."
"No boyfriend," Jonas said. "Lived alone. Didn't even exactly have friends, we talked to her colleagues at the real estate where she worked. There was nothing extraordinary about this girl! Why did he choose her?"
"Why indeed?" Garret agreed. "She had had sex. Appeared to be consentual."
"That is extremely uncharacteristic. Although, if she was that drunk, she wouldn't exactly be resisting."
"So, what, this guy got her drunk, had sex with her, and dislocated all her joints?"
"Then suffocated her," Garret said grimly. "The world's full of loonies huh?"
A noise from the door caused Garret to look up. Jordan stood there, agreeing with him.
"I gotta go," he said to the detective. "I'll call you when I've got something."
He hung up.
"Loonies is right," Jordan said, walking in.
"Bad day?"
She nodded. "Yeah, kinda. What are you working on?"
"A woman who was asphixiated, but not before haveing every joint in her body dislocated."
"Ugh," Jordan said. "That's sick!"
"Drunk. Had sex. Extremely out of character."
"The drink or the sex?" Jordan asked.
"Both. I mean I'm sure she had sex before...just not with a stranger. Though according to her 'friends', she never had a boyfriend."
"What, so you have to tell your work-mates what you do after hours?" she said.
"Speaking from experience there?" Garret asked, smiling.
"Naturally!" Jordan laughed. "So...have you checked it out? Who would she tell?"
"Thats just it! I don't know!" he paused, and looked at her. "Who do you tell?"
Jordan laughed. "You!" she said.
"Wow, your life is quiet!"
Jordan whacked him, laughing.
"What are you working on?" Garret said after a minute.
"Kid stabbed to death."
"Ah," he said. "Kids are the worst. You holding up OK?"
Jordan looked puzzled. "Better than Woody," she said. "Its getting to him."
"Probably hasn't worked on many kids," he said. Jordan was about to say something when Lily poked her head in the door.
"Garret, your girl's mother here. Jordan, the Rotzliers. Where do you want me?"
"Come with me," Jordan says. "It may take more that me to keep Woody in check."
Lily glanced at Garret who nodded. "Thanks Lily."
Garret walked out, and found the woman.
"Do you want to see her?" he asked.
She nodded, trying to hold herself together. He took her into the crypt, and pulled down the sheet.
A sharp intake of breath belied the woman's grief.
"No matter how big they get," she said, partially to him, mostly to herself, "They're always your little baby."
"I know," Garret murmured, thinking of his own daughter, almost grown but not quite.
"Oh my baby," she said, reaching out a hand to stroke her brow. The tears now rolled down her face freely, though Garret could tell she was fighting to keep them in check.
"Let it out," he said softly. A sound escaped her, followed by a rush of breath. Impulsively, she turned into him, sobbing quietly. Awkwardly, he out his arms around her and tried to console her. The number of times he had consoled greiving mothers...but it never got any easier. Sighing at his lot, her lot, and the dead girls lot, he wondered...wondered why...
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Jordan said, and felt the inadequecy of her words.
"Who could have done this to our boy?" Mrs. Rotzlier said, looking to Jordan for answers. Answers Jordan didn't have.
"We don't know," she said simply.
"We thought you could help," Woody interjected, ignoring the black look Jordan threw his way.
"How?" the mother asked. "We'll do anything."
"You can start by..." Woody started.
Jordan cleared her throat and Woody looked at her.
"Can you tell us when you shaved your son's head?" she asked.
"We didn't," the father said, and looked at his wife, who shook her head.
"I didn't."
Jordan and Woody exchanged a glance.
"Who did?" the father asked suspiciously.
"Whoever killed him," Woody said. "We're trying to find out who that is. Do you have any idea who would want to kill your son?" he probed, none to gently.
"He was nine years old!" the father said, forcefully. "Nine!"
His voice faltered, and he turned his head away sharply.
"Did anything out of the usual happen? Can you think of any little thing you may have noticed?"
"No!" the mother said. "Nothing! Why would someone kill my little boy?"
"Can we see him?"
Jordan sighed inaudibly and nodded. "We have a grief counsellor on hand who can help you." She waved a hand at Lily, who smiled reassuringly at the parents.
"Thankyou," the father said flatly. Jordan stood.
"Follow me."
"You ready?" she said, when they were in front of the small figure covered by a sheet. The mother visibly gritted her teeth. Jordan noticed Woody standing at the door.
"Yes," the father said for them both. Jordan slowly pulled down the sheet.
They were beyond tears. Jordan watched as the mother stood, white, skin pinched against her cheek bones, staring at her boy, mind numb. The father stared at the boy, and screamed, causing Jordan to jump. Mr Rotzlier walked away, and punched a drawer. Woody took a step forward. The father let out another cry and banged his head against the draw, shoulders shaking.
"My god," he was muttering. "My god, my god."
Jordan put her hand on his arm, her own eyes prickling.
"It just so damn pointless!" he said, and finally the tears came free. Sliding down onto the floor, he gritted his teeth, throwing his head back, shaking. Jordan stood awkwardly, and watched as the wife walked over, pulled her husband up and led him out of the room. Jordan stood, staring.
"Pointless," she echoed, staring, lost, at the little boy. Her eyes filled up.
Woody walked forward.
"How do you do it?" he asked softly. Jordan shook her head.
"He's right," she said, in a strangled voice, staring at the boy. She could see, see him open his eyes, talk, laugh, play. There was no reason! No damned cause! It was so...
"Pointless!" she said, and a great wave of anger washed over her.
"Hey," Woody soothed, and tried to touch her, but she stared at him, angry. Angry at him, angry at the father, angry at the boy. Livid at the murderer. She practically snarled, and ran out of the room.
"What I don't get," Bug was saying to Lily and Nigel, "Is why he was wearing a Santa suit!"
"He was a Santa at a mall." She paused. "His name is Chris."
"No!" Bug said, and they looked at each other. "Last name?" he said, almost tentatively.
"Smith," Lily said.
"Weird," Bug said, looking back at the body.
"Him being a mall Santa doesn't explain it," Nigel said.
"The best mall Santa," Lily said, causing to two to look at her. She smiled. "According to his employers, of course. The kids loved him. No family of his own though."
"No one?" Nigel said, and Lily shook her head.
"He was all alone," Bug said, sadly.
"He had the kids," Lily offered.
"Only at Christmas," he countered. "Poor guy."
"So no next of kin?"
"His employer's going to take him," Lily said. "How did he die?"
"Heart attack," said Bug. "Its so..."
"Pointless," a voice said from the door. It was Garret. "Seems to be the theme of the day. How you guys going?"
"Dead Santa," Nigel said.
"Huh," Garret replied. "Sounds fun."
"Bloody jolly," Nigel said, grimly. Garret laughed bitterly, and left.
"My curiosity has been invoked," Lily said. "I want to know why."
"How?"
"He lived in an apartment just outside Boston."
"Surveillance cameras...?" Bug asked, but Lily shook her head.
"No. And he died in a park."
"Wonder if anyone saw him?" Bug said, hopefully.
"They would certainly remember a guy in a Santa suit in the middle of the year," Lily agreed.
"Yeah, but how do we get to them?"
"Do not despair," Nigel piped up. "I have an idea.
"The mother was quite helpful. Told us that she had a boyfriend, a few years ago. It was a longshot, but we brought him in," Jonas was saying.
"Nothing?" Garret said.
"Now, don't be so pessimistic," Jonas chided. "She was quite different to how her colleagues had her painted. Who said she tells them everything?"
"Jordan, right again," Garret said, nearly laughing. "So what did you find out?"
"They met in a bar, Stephanie and this boyfriend. Apparently one she frequented.
"Even after they broke up?"
"Presumably. You know, I'm gonna be telling my colleagues a whole lot more about me," Jonas said. Garret wholeheartedly agreed.
"So have you checked out this bar?"
"Nope, not yet. Thought I'd drop by here first, see if you've got anything else."
"We got a print," he said. "We're running it throught the database now. Should be done soon."
"Lets go check this bar out while we wait."
The bar had a distinct smell of tobacco, that hit Garret and Jonas before they walked in the door. It was full of people, drinking, smoking, lamenting, flirting. Your typical bar. They went to the bar girl.
"Hi," Jonas said. "Boston PD." She flashed her badge, to the girl's alarm.
"I'll go get the manager..." she started to say, but Jonas cut her short.
"Maybe you can help us."
The girl looked nervous, but stayed. Garret placed a picture of Stephanie on the counter.
"You know this girl?" he asked, neutrally. She drew back in horror.
"She's dead?" she said hoarsely. "Dead?"
"Dead," Jonas echoed. "So you know her?"
"Of course I do! She comes here a lot."
"How often?"
"Every weekend, without fail. Some weeknights. Always alone."
"Always?"
"Yeah, always starts off alone. She used to leave with men sometimes."
"You talked to her?"
"Sure, on slow nights we'd chat," she said, eyes flickering from Garret to Jonas.
"What did she seem like?" Jonas asked. "Personality?"
"Well," the girl said, thinking. "She was quiet, in a seductive kinda way. That is until she had had a few."
The girl smiled, as if in memory. "She was a laugh."
Garret and Jonas exchanged a look.
"You say she went with men a whole lot," Garret said. "See any of them here?"
"Oh, god," the girl said, scanning the bar with her eyes. The she chuckled.
"You're in luck," she said. "Over there, and there." She pointed out two men.
Garret marvelled at the normalcy of the men. They were just...men. They weren't covered in tattoos, didn't have cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, were clean shaven and well dressed.
"Thanks," Jonas said to the barmaid, and made a beeline for one of the men.
"Evening," she said, gruffly. The man's head snapped up.
"Hello?" he said, puzzled.
"Detective Jonas, BPD. Dr. Macy, ME's office."
The man looked alarmed.
"Who's dead?" he said.
"This girl," Garret said, showing the man the photo. He at the photo, and back at them, ashen-faced.
"Stephanie?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so," Garret said, unsympathetically.
"How?"
"Murdered. Asphixiated."
"My god," the man uttered, casting the photo from him.
"Tell us what she was to you."
"What she was to me?" he said. "I can tell you what I was to her. A piece of meat. And people think men are the users."
"She used you," Jonas said flatly.
"For sex and money, yeah. I probably spent about $1000 on her. Drinks, whatever."
"Whatever? Would you like to specify?"
"Not in present company," he said uncomfortably.
"We could get you for murder, bucko. Just try me," Jonas said, irritated. The man looked surprised.
"Drugs," he said, reluctantly. "You know."
"The plot thickens," Jonas said. Garret quietly agreed.
"So when did you two...have this encounter?" Garret timed his pause exquisitely. As long as he remained above this man, they could weasle as much information out of him as possible. Jonas seemed to be working on the same strategy.
"About a month ago, and it went for about a week."
"A week," Garret echoed. "And she took drugs regularly?"
"Not regularly. Sometimes."
"Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill her?"
"She didn't exactly tell me much," he said. "But I think there was some bad blood between her and her brother."
The man gave them his name, and they spoke to the other man, who was even more unhelpful.
"For someone who didn't drink or have sex, she sure drank and had sex a lot," Jonas remarked grimly to Garret, who nodded his agreement.
"I'm not buying his story about the brother," he said. "I mean, its worth looking into...but when you have a case like this, more often than not its a lover, boyfriend, husband. This was a crime of passion. And she wouldn't be having sex with her brother."
Jonas chuckled. "How can youy be sure? Anyway, are you sure that the person who she had sex with killed her?"
"Pretty certain," he said. "There wouldn't be so much...trace of it if it was very much before the murder."
"Well I'll bring the brother in, huh?"
"Go for it," Garret said, and headed back to the morgue.
Jordan stood, ignoring the smell. God knew, she had smelt worse. The rubbish, most of the individual pieces blending in to make one colourful mass, lay all around her.
Standing next to the place where Alex's body had lain, not 6 hours before, she looked down and could almost see the pallid, little body. She knew the CSU had combed the place, as much as you could comb a tip, and had found nothing. But she had to do something. She couldn't continue to sit around, lamenting that she had nothing, and doing nothing to rectify it. Pulling her gloves on, she was reminded forcefully of the substance under the little boys nails. Presumably from latex gloves.
"If I was gonna murder someone," she murmured. "Why would I dump the body here? In plain sight? If he wanted it to be found, why not leave it somewhere else? Somewhere it wouldn't have been a pain to cart it to. If he didn't want it to be found, why was it in plain view?"
She looked around. "Unless..."
The sound of a car pulling up near her caused her to turn. Woody jumped out.
"...he was interupted!"
"What?" Woody said.
"Someone saw him," he said. "Someone..."
"Jordan..."
"Shut up," she said, wracking her brains. "They talked to the manager, right?"
"He wasn't here," Woody said, cottoning on.
"Then who saw him?"
"How do you know someone did? Maybe he's just a whacko. Who knows why he brought him to the tip? We've been through this."
"Who knows. Who knows who murdered him? Hey, who cares? We tried our best, lets not bring justice to the parents, give them closure. Lets just let this murderer walk free. Who knows?" Jordan said passionatley.
"Thats not what I meant. We need to be looking at other avenues."
"There are no other avenues, Woody!" she said. "None!"
"Don't be so narrow minded," he chided, jokingly. "We've just gotta think."
"This place is in the middle of nowhere. He's not gonna carry a dead body here the whole way."
"'Course not," Woody said. "He drove."
"Turn around, Woody," she said. He did.
"What?"
"Our cars. Thats the closest we could get. He carries a bleeding body that far? I don't think so."
"So, what, he murdered him here?"
"Must have," she said. "But..."
"What?"
"He struggled. There were defensive wounds. You'd think it would be more disturbed."
"This isn't disturbed?" Woody said, gesturing at the upended rubbish.
"Think of how many people have been here."
"Damn it!" Woody said suddenly. "He's been too clever."
"No one gets away with murder," she said vehemently. "I don't believe we have no suspects whatsoever! Normally we have at least something to go on."
"Career challenge," Woody said, and Jordan smiled.
"Sure," she said. "Lets rise to it."
"Look at us, Jordan. We're standing here moping about. Whast can we do?"
"My dilemma," she said. "I don't know."
"They looked here, right?"
"Yeah, for the murder weapon," she replied. "I can't imagine they stayed here long, though. It was all pretty hazy."
"Lets follow the track," she said. "Driving. Lets be the murderer, after he dumps Alex."
They both jumped into Jordan's car, and they followed the track.
"We can't even identify whether there's been recent track marks, seeing as we all came here this morning," Woody said. Jordan didn't answer.
"He's just dumped the body. And if he's been so clever, why doesn't he just dump the knife? If he ever did become a suspect, it would be incriminating. Why would he take the chance?"
"Unless he was so sure of himself that he knew he wouldn't become a suspect," Woody stated the unthinkable. Jordan said nothing, not wanting to comtemplate a killer so bold.
They drove, around the tip, until they came to the road.
"Its not like there's a gate," Jordan said. "It'd be easy for him to get in here."
"Speaking of which," Woody said, when the sounds of a car reached their ears. They were not dissapointed when one flew past.
"Hey!" Woody yelled. "Follow it!"
Jordan didn't argue, and stepped on it. But the car sped out of sight.
"What the hell?" Woody said.
"Oh shit," Jordan said suddenly, and put her foot on the pedal yet again, speeding back to where they were. Jordan's fear was confirmed as they came into sight of the crime scene, and Woody's car. She threw open the door and jumped out, feeling of foreboding intensifying in her gut.
Woody followed close behind, not knowing what was wrong, until he spotted the cold, shaved little body lying battered and broken over the very same tire that had accommodated Alex Rotzlier not more than 6 hours before. His heart sank, and he screamed his anger and frustration. Jordan sank down on her knees next to the little girl, and looked up at Woody, knowing her pain was as clear as day, written upon her face for the world to see.
"You put an ad in the newspaper?" Bug asked Nigel incredulously.
"What do you take me for?" Nigel said, affronted. "I rang up a radio station. Much quicker response."
Bug shook his head. "Do you expect anyone to answer?"
"Its better than what you have done," he said.
"Which was what?" Bug said.
"My point exactly. Anyway, I reckon we'll have a little response...someone will be ringing any minute..."
They waited apprehensively, half-expecting the phone to ring.
"I heard your ad, Nigel!" Lily said, making them jump.
"You did?" he said, when he had recovered. "What did you think?"
"You sounded like a loony," she said, truthfully. " 'If anyone has information on a Santa wandering around...'Do you really expect anyone to call?"
"Oh, don't be so negative," Nigel said.
"So we're just gonna sit in the break room and wait for someone to call?"
"Unless you've got a better idea," he said, but was saved further argument when his phone rang. The three looked at each other in astonishment. Nigel grinned, and answered.
"Nigel Townsend," he said, not being able to keep the excitement out of his voice. Bug watched skeptically as Nigel listened. "Uh huh. Well, can you give me your name?"
Lily watched as Nigel wrote down the name of a man, and hang up the phone.
"Well?" she said impatiently. Nigel shot them an infuriating grin.
"Oh come on!" Bug said.
"Alright, alright," Nigel said grumpily. "The man said he saw our Santa singing Christmas carols in the park."
"And that helps us...how?"
"Patience!" Nigel chided. "He was busking."
"Busking?" Bug spluttered. "With Christmas carols?"
"Hey, don't ask me to explain. They guy walked away, didn't see him die. Thats all I know. People felt sorry for him, were dropping coins in."
"Then why didn't they find the money?"
"Beats me," Nigel said, shrugging.
The answer came to them about half an hour later, when Nigel's phone rang again. He listened to the woman. Bug and Lily spotted him on the phone and came over, waiting. Nigel looked at them, and hung up, grin gone.
"Someone robbed him," he said, heavily. "The poor guy was devastated."
"Who would rob a...Santa?" Lily said, and Bug shook his head.
"Low," he agreed. "I guess that's why he didn't have a hat."
"Someone stole his hat?" Lily said. "That's..." But she couldn't find the right word.
"You'd think he'd busk at Christmas, with the whole Christmas carols," Bug said.
"He had a job at Christmas. Probably didn't during the year," Lily said. "Thats so sad."
"You'd think he'd have a job," Bug said. "Was it a common occurance, do you think?"
A few more people rang in the course of that day, and all reported the same thing. A man dressed in a Santa suit, singing Christmas carols for a few pennies in a less-than-popular park. Some gave in sympathy, some just scoffed. One stole his measly hat.
That afternoon, a man came to the morgue, seeking Nigel.
"I want to talk to you about the Santa," he said. He was clutching in his hand a piece of red material.
"This way," Nigel said, and hailed Bug, who found Lily. They sat in the conference room.
"Here," he said, thrusting forward the red thing. It was the Santa's hat. Lily took it up, turning it over in her hands, trying to get a feel for the man.
"He went there every year, around this time," the man said. "He was a nice guy, if a little eccentric."
The three were speechless, not knowing quite what to say. "I turned around just as that guy ran away with his hat. I chased him, and he dropped it. The money was gone. I went to bring him back his hat, but he was lying on the ground. Dead."
"My god," Lily uttered sadly.
"Why did he sing carols?" Nigel asked softly.
"No one knows," the man said. "I guess he just loved Christmas. I just wish I could have..."
"There was nothing you could do."
"I used to talk to him, you know? We'd chat when he ws having his break. I never knew him as anything but Santa."
"Would you like to see him?" Bug asked.
The man loked startled, then nodded. "I guess I owe it to him." He retrieved the hat, and followed them to the crypt. Then he did the strangest thing. He put the hat on the ground, making an opening, and threw in a dollar. Lily did the same, followed by Bug and Nigel, who looked at each other, each with an unreadable expression on their face.
"Santa Claus is coming to town," the man uttered, quietly, and walked out. Nigel, Lily and Bug stood there, each in his or her own contemplation about a lonely man whose only love was a love that could only be satiated one month of the year. They could only wonder...why?
"So you had incestuous sex with your sister, then murdered her," Jonas was demanding of the man in the interrogation room.
"What?" he said, seemingly appalled. "No!"
"You've got prior sex offences. Violence, assault, damage to property...must've been hard having such a perfect big sister."
"She was far from perfect," he said, and Garret stood a little straighter behind the glass. "But mother dearest wouldn't hear a word of it."
"Who to believe, huh? The no-good son or the perfect daughter? I know who I'd choose."
"Well, so did she. I hated her, alright? But I didn't kill her."
"You wont mind giving us a semen sample, then," she said, taking him by surprise.
"I most certainly would!" he said.
"Fine," Jonas said, her tone changing to smug superiority, making Garret appreciate her prowess behind the interviewing glass. "I'll get a court order."
"Can you do that?"
She scoffed. "I'll be back in 15 with one," she said. "Until then, you can stew in here."
She swaggered out. Once out of sight of the man, she regained her normal gait.
"We haven't got nearly enough for a court order," she said, worried, to Garret. "But I reckon we can bluff it. I need your help, though. Put on your most knowing, doctor-ly expression."
He did, and Jonas laughed. "Nice, Dr. Macy."
"Garret's good," he said. She had earned his respect.
"Likewise," she said. "Only, not Garret. Marie."
He smiled. "So what do you want me to do?"
"Improvise!" she said. "Get a confession."
He shrugged, and walked in, carrying his briefcase. He placed it on the table, and opened it, carefully placing complex looking instruments on the polished wood. Then he turned. Adopting his 'doctor-ly' expression, he held out his hand.
"Dr. Macy," he said. "I'm just getting set up for when the detective returns with the order."
"So its a sure thing?" he asked, worried.
Garret laughed stiffly. "Of course!" He shook his head, as if to accentuate the naivety of the man. "She'll be here any minute."
Then he sat down, and leant close to the man. "Just between you and me," he said, quietly, making a show of looking left and right, "If I had murdered someone, and they were about to prove it, I would confess before letting them get me on forensics."
"Why?" the man said, taking on the same nervous attitude.
"Judge tends to go easier on you if you sound remorseful. You may escape life."
"I could get life? Ah, I mean, if I had done it?"
"Oh sure. Brutally murdered like that...life for sure. If you're pinned on forensics."
"Huh," the man said, making a poor attempt at nonchalance. He sat back in his seat. Garret stared into the glass, jerking his eyes to the door, and back, willing Jonas to see and comply. She did, as she swaggered into the room, and slapped down a peice of paper. The man broke into a sweat, and Garret looked at him meaningfully.
"Proceed?" Garret asked Jonas.
"Go for it, Doc," she said, grinning. "No mercy."
Garret picked up one of the instruments. The man watched him nervously.
"Drop your dacks," he said matter of factly, and drew near.
"Wait," the man said suddenly. "Don't do that. I did it, ok?"
Suddenly his anger poured forth. "I was just so damn sick of her! She was a bloody drug addict, ok? Probably had tonnes of STI's. And mother was just so damn trusting! And she looked at me smugly. I just...snapped!"
Jonas looked surprised, as if in wonder that they had pulled it off.
But Garret wasn't satisfied. "But why did you..."
"Have sex with her?" he asked bitterly. "To make it look like a sex crime, of course."
Garret shook his head in disgust and stalked out of the room, taking his briefcase with him.
"You are under arrest for the murder of Stephanie Hanne. You have the right to remain silent..."
Jonas's voice trailed off as Garret walked as far as he could away from the man. He sat down on a chair, disgusted. About 15 minutes later, Jonas joined him.
"Tough, huh?" she said, amiably. "We got him!"
"Yeah," Garret said in a strange voice. "Its just so..."
"I know," she said. "I know. I still can't believe it was the brother."
"How could you kill your own sister?" he asked. Jonas shook her head helplessly.
"I don't know," she said. "I don't know."
Jordan stood, numb, in autopsy 1, over the body of seven year old Jennifer Allen.
"What do you have?" Woody said from the door. She looked up.
"Same as we had on Alex," she said.
"So nothing," he replied.
"Yup," she said. Nigel walked in.
"Don't tell me," Jordan said. "Nothing."
Nigel had the tox results in his hand. "Not quite," he said. "Though very near. Paracetamol. Quite a large dosage."
"Overdose?"
"No, not that much."
"So she took pain medication!" Woody said. "Its still nothing!"
They fell into a contemplative silence. Unbidden, Woody's 'do better' came back to all three. Jordan felt a wave of guilt, at not being able to do so, Woody felt guilty for saying it in the first place, and Nigel was again, angry at the detective, immediatley protective of his friend. He left, waving a hand at Jordan who half-heartedy waved back.
"Jordan, about before...I'm real sorry..."
"Don't worry about it," Jordan said. "I should be able to do better."
"Don't be silly," he said, but did not elaborate.
"How long had she been missing before today?"
Woody frowned as he flipped pages. When he had read the answer, he said,
"Three days."
After a silence, he said,
"Nothing on the car," he said. "It was a yellow pickup. You know how many of them there are in Boston?"
"You got a list?" she asked. He fished around in his file.
"Here," he said. She looked over it, showing no recognition.
"We can't let a killer beat us," she said, handing back the list. "We gotta get the parents in here."
They did. Jordan didn't particularly want to see the boys father again, but it was a necessity. They congregated in the conference room, and Jordan instructed them to brainstorm, on a common place their children may have visited recently. Woody and Jordan left them in the room, and waited.
Presently, they hailed the two, and proceeded to tell them
"The library," Mr. Roztlier said, avoiding eye contact. "Its the only place we can think of."
"Thanks," Woody said, beginning to walk away. Jordan followed.
"I'm coming."
"Not a good idea. Stay here and see what you can find."
Jordan didn't look at him, and repeated, "I'm coming."
Woody didn't try to dissuade her again.
They drove to the library, and parked. When they spotted a yellow pickup, they exchanged grim glances, underlaced with excitement. Jordan unconciously patted a place on her hip, where a gun was concealed. They went into the library.
"Detective Hoyt," Woody said to the girl at the desk. "Boston PD."
"Can I help you?" she said, sweetly.
"Sure," Woody said, putting on his charm. Jordan shifted uncomfortably. "We're wondering whose car that is."
The woman's eyes flickered over to the yellow pickup.
"Does he work here?"
The woman automatically said "He?"
"The owner of the vehicle."
"Oh," she said, regaining her composure. Jordan's eyes narrowed. "Yes. I'll just go and get him."
"Thanks," Woody said, and they watched her go. The sound of a door banging shut caused them to look at each other in alarm. Something registered in Jordan's mind, accompanied with her automatic question 'He?'
She vaulted over the desk, calling over her shoulder, "Its her!" She ran through a deserted office, to the door they had heard bang just a moment before, Woody following frantically. They followed the woman into an alley, whereupon she whirled unexpectedly, pulling a gun on them.
In one fluid movement, as if this had been practiced many times, Woody and Jordan pulled their own. Woody's surprise at Jordan's ownership of the gun only dimly registered ih his mind, as he pointed his at the frantic woman in front of them, who assessed the situation.
"There's two of us, and one of you. Give it up."
"Two of you," she echoed. "I could shoot one of you before you get me."
"You could," Jordan said calmly. "But we'll pump you so full of lead you'll be in the morgue in a matter of minutes. Is that what you want?"
"I'm gonna go away anyway," she said, dimly. "You bloody incompetents."
Woody was about to tell her to put the weapon down, when Jordan spoke.
"Why did you kill them?"
"I would have only killed the girl," she said. "But the boy tried to be chivalrous. So I topped him first. Right in front of the girl." She seemed to find their distress amusing.
"Why?" Jordan said again. Woody would have shot her a look if he had been able to take his eyes off the gun pointed at them.
"You wouldn't understand," she said.
"Damn right," Jordan said, suddenly angry. Angry beyound belief. "Just tell me why."
"I was saving them from sin," she said, a look of content on her face. They were innocent. I had to stop them becoming like their parents. Free."
She raised her weapon. "I may as well shoot you," she said, as if commenting on the weather. "I have nothing to lose."
"Put it down," Woody said, without conviction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jordan's weapon lower, as if she was suddenly tired.
"Put it down," he repeated. "Or I swear I will shoot. Now!"
She must have been shocked enough, defeated enough, because she threw it with all her might at the wall.
"You're contaminated!" she shrieked, as Woody ran forward, restraining then cuffing her, at the same time on the phone calling someone down there.
The officers arrived, and carted her away, none too gently. Jordan watched, numbly, eyes prickling.
"You'll all go to hell!"
Woody watched as the sick woman was carted away. He walked over to stand next to Jordan, who looked at him, stricken. Woody wasn't feeling too good himself, but he tried to be strong.
Without warning, Jordan ran to her car, and drove off. Woody sighed, and followed at a distance in his own car. She drove to the tip, and found the tire. She got out of her car, and stood there, where she had stood twice before, and saw two little bodies there. Hanging her head, she let herself feel.
Woody pulled up behind her and got out. The sun was still fighting for domination in the sky. He came up next to her, feeling exactly what she was feeling. They stared at each other, recognising something in each other's eyes. Woody put an arm around his friend, and she leaned into him. They both bowed their heads, full of woe for the children who had been "saved" from sin. In a cruel, twisted kind of way, Jordan thought, if that woman is anything to go by, its lucky they're in heaven, if it saves them from the likes of her. She immediatley erased that thought from her mind, and the scent of the man who was holding her broke through her pain-induced barrier, and she was aware of him. If what she saw in his eyes was anything to go by, he felt exactly as she did. And for the first time, she fully appreciated it.
As the sun finally lost its battle against the oncoming night, and dropped slowly, it reflected on the dismal life of humans. How they fought, killed, and died, and for nothing. And, it suddenly thought, how they loved. It cast all the remaining strength onto the two people below, seeking solace in each others arms. It was worth it, it reflected. Worth rising in the morning, if there were still people such as those in the world, still bucking against fate, against death, and against injustice. It was definatley worth it. As the last rays of light left the northern hemisphere for the night, that procolamation reached the two who had so moved the sun. It was worth it.