Author's Notes: Look at what I found on my old computer while cleaning out some files! Turns out I'd already written the next three chapters before leaving last time. And, though I have moved a handful of times in the last few years - thus losing all of my handwritten notes - there's still enough here for me to use to actually finish this thing. Eventually.
If any of my old readers are still around, I sincerely apologize for the abrupt hiatus! I'd love to know if you're still here. You were all so awesome.
Wonderland
Chapter 4
Paul Whitaker was lying face down on the couch in the living room, several stab wounds visible on his back. Blood stained the white upholstery, dripping sluggishly to pool on the carpeted floor. Holly Whitaker clung to Jordan's arm, hyperventilating, as the three of them entered the once pristine town home.
"We need to call the police, Holly," Woody told her, his eyes already roaming around the room.
"You are the police!" Holly wheezed, her fingers digging painfully into Jordan's skin.
"I'm the police in Boston, not here," he explained gently. "I don't really have jurisdiction in Rhode Island." He glanced meaningfully at Jordan, who nodded and pried the hysterical woman off of her so she could find a phone.
"But you'll help, right?" Holly stared at him, her eyes huge. "I-I trust you. Please." Her voice shook with emotion.
"C'mon, Mrs. Whitaker. Let's go sit in the kitchen." He put his hand on her back and helped her shuffle from the living room. Jordan was already standing beside the sink, a phone held to her ear, as he ushered the distraught woman to a chair.
"Police are on the way," Jordan said quietly as they entered, covering the receiver with her hand. "They want us to stay here and wait. Obviously."
"Can you tell us what happened, Holly?" Woody asked, kneeling before her and grasping her trembling hands.
"I-I just…just walked in. And there he was!" She leaned heavily against the back of the chair. Tears streamed down her cheeks, glinting in the harsh overhead light. "Oh, God! Why would anyone kill him?"
A pregnant silence fell, Holly's hitching breaths echoing around the large kitchen. Woody and Jordan just looked at each other, not quite sure what to do. They were out of their element here. It was a murder like the ones they worked with every day, but this place wasn't home - wasn't familiar territory. They could be getting themselves into something way over their heads, and that wouldn't be good for either of them. After a very long few minutes, cars could be heard pulling up at the curb.
"I'll go let them in," Jordan offered when an officer knocked at the front door. Shuffling and soft talking preceded the appearance of two uniformed police, Jordan trailing a few steps behind them. She stood beside Woody as the officers began to take over.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitaker," one of the men said, nodding politely.
"Evan Stone," she returned coldly, staring at her feet. "I should have known they'd send you."
The man – Stone – pursed his lips. "There was a murder. Who else did you think would come?"
"Someone who wouldn't have a biased opinion from the beginning!" Holly stood violently from her chair, startling everyone. "My husband needs justice, and you're going to ruin everything! Get out of my house! Go back to your station and have them send someone else!" She glared furiously at him, standing her ground. "Better yet, tell your captain I already have a detective here to investigate."
Stone stared at her, flabbergasted. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Woody held up his hands to protest, but Holly was already pointing at him. "Detective Hoyt will be taking over the investigation." Her statement left no room for argument from any party. "You're working for him now."
xXx
"I gotta hand it to her," Jordan muttered as she and Woody began to examine the crime scene a few minutes later. "She has more clout in the community than I gave her credit for."
"Yeah, well -" Woody stopped himself from saying something he might regret. There were too many people that might overhear, and that would just be bad. He sighed in frustration. "I didn't want to take a vacation just to get a new case. Seems stuff like this follows us, huh?"
"Eh, I don't really believe in vacations. Work is work, no matter where you are." She smiled up at Officer Stone's partner, Danny Jones, as he ambled into the room with a forensics kit. "I just wish you could have kept quiet about the whole 'Jordan's a medical examiner!' thing."
Woody tried to hide the blush that crept up his neck. "Hey, there was no way I was gonna be dragged down alone! Besides," he said, trying to redeem himself, "you're the only M.E. I work well with."
"You mean the only one you have a crush on and want to keep around at all times. In case, you know, we come across some place where we can -"
He nearly choked on his tongue as he cut her off. "Would you shut up?"
"Just sayin'…" Her eyes were alight with silent laughter.
"I, um, don't mean to interrupt," Jones stuttered, taken aback at their flirting, "but I have that kit for you, Doctor Cavanaugh. And a pair of gloves for you, Detective Hoyt." He handed them the respective items and stood back, obviously nervous. "Captain says you can have the case, since that's what Holly wants. You also have access to all of our equipment and offices and stuff. But, um -" he shifted the weight to his other foot "- Officer Stone and I have to, erm, keep an eye on things. Make sure everything is done right."
"Of course," Woody said easily, grinning. "I know how territorial some precincts can be."
"Just the precincts?" Jordan butted in as she sorted through the contents of the bag. "I know a certain detective who seems pretty territorial to me."
"Shut it, Cavanaugh."
She just looked up at him innocently. "I never said it was you."
Woody decided not to say anything to that, instead setting about getting the scene in order. The stench of congealing blood was thick in the air, making his stomach knot. He'd handled far worse, but that smell had a way of sticking to him. "Doesn't look like there was a struggle," he noted, moving around to the body. "Not much blood spatter. Nothing turned or broken. He probably knew his attacker."
Jordan came to his side, crouching to get a look at the man's face. "Coloring suggests he's been dead for a few hours now. I'll get a temperature to be sure, but I'd say time of death to be around noon or so." Her eyes roamed over his back in a cursory examination. "Cause of death…most likely the fifteen visible stab wounds. Judging from the amount of blood, there are probably more on his front. And look at this," she said softly, holding up his left hand and pointing to a thick band of discoloration around one finger. "Wedding ring is missing."
"Great." Woody clapped his hands, ready to get things moving. "Officer Jones, why don't you take some pictures? And where's that ambulance? We need to get the body outta here."
xXx
"Cause of death is definitely blood loss from the twenty seven stab wounds to Whitaker's chest and upper back," Jordan explained into a little tape recorder in her hand. "There are no defensive wounds, but there looks to be a needle mark on his left forearm. Killer probably injected him with something incapacitating before actually applying the knife." She set down the recorder and peered into the open body.
A muffled cough from behind caught her attention. "Need something, Officer Jones?" she asked without turning around.
"Um, no ma'am." Jones stood where he was, his eyes avoiding both Jordan and the corpse. "I was just wondering if everything was going all right for you."
"Just dandy." She pulled the liver up out of the body and turned it over, studying the coloring and texture. It was mean, she knew, but she took brief satisfaction at Jones's noise of disgust. The liver plopped as she dropped it on the metal tray to her right to be weighed. "So, who do I give this to?"
"Ma'am?" The officer froze, his hands clenched behind his back as he nervously eyed the organ.
"This." She held up a vial of blood and waved it in front of his face. "For a tox screen. I can get one of those done, can't I?"
"Oh, yeah. Of course." He smiled woozily, not making any moves to take a step forward. "I'll…I'll take it. But, if you don't mind me asking, why do you need one of those worked up? I mean, it's pretty obvious what he actually died from. Isn't it?"
Jordan barely spared him a glance as she turned her attention to the lungs. "Small puncture wound on his arm, probably from a needle. The stabbing was the ultimate cause of death, but I'd bet there are some other factors here." When he still made no attempt to get the vial from her hand, she set it down forcefully on the metal stand that held all of her tools. "Listen," she said through her teeth. "I'm not here to infringe on your territory or anything. I came down here for a break from work, so I'm not too happy about this either. But a little help would be nice. I'd really like to get back to my vacation."
Jones looked away, flustered. "I'm just doing my job," he muttered.
"So am I." Her glare was angry, daring him to defy her. He didn't say another word, instead finally stepping forward and grabbing the vile before fleeing the autopsy bay.
xXx
Woody was sitting at the large kitchen table when Jordan returned that night. Various papers were spread before him as he tried to piece everything from their new case together. So far, nothing was forthcoming. The extensive interviews with Holly revealed very little, aside from the fact that her husband had virtually no enemies. Holly was now staying with a friend a few streets over. For a while after he had left her, she'd called him at least once every hour, asking for an update. It had gotten so bad he actually had to unplug the phones in the town home.
"I thought you'd never get back," he said, a genuine smile pulling his lips back when he finally saw Jordan leaning against the doorway.
She sighed and dropped into a chair beside him, adding her own papers to the mess his made. "It's almost impossible to get anything done in that morgue. Seriously, I thought I was going to have to murder someone to get the tox screen finished. No pun intended, of course."
Woody just smiled again, this one a bit more pained than the last at the mention of her little shadow. "Officer Stone wasn't all that eager to offer me any help, so I know what you mean."
"They don't want us here," she stated, pointing out the obvious. "But at least Jones is a pushover. It was pretty easy to bend him to my will once he saw I wasn't kidding around." Her eyes fell on the report she had been talking about before and she reached over to pick it back up.
"What's that?" Woody asked, inclining his head toward the paper.
"That tox screen." She handed it to him and waited for his glance before she continued. "Xylazine. It's -"
"A sedative for horses and large animals." His eyes roamed over the report. "And lots of it, too, huh?"
"How did you know that?" Jordan stared at him, surprised at his apparent knowledge on the drug as he handed the screen report back to her.
Woody just laughed. "Farm Boy, remember? Grow up around horses and one tends to learn a thing or two."
"Ah." She nodded, her eyes sparkling at his good mood.
"So, case." He pointed at the paper still in his hand. "What do you think? Perp slipped him the xylazine and stabbed him once he started to get woozy?"
"That would explain the lack of defensive wounds," she added, remembering the absence of any such marks on his body. A smirk played across her face as he contemplated the information he was just given. "You've got your first lead, detective."
"Yes I do, and all thanks to you." Woody beamed at her, resisting the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms.
Jordan watched him for a second before gathering her papers together and standing from the table. "I desperately need a shower," she muttered, "and a good night's sleep. I think I'm going to head on upstairs."
She paused for a moment, a flicker of concern flashing over her face when she felt anxiety start pouring off of him at her dismissive words. They hadn't actually slept together yet - not since that poorly-timed night in the murder-mystery hotel. And while they had come close since they'd arrived here, it hadn't happened. Feeling awkward all of a sudden, she tried to smile at him. "I'm just tired. Really."
The detective nodded in understanding and stood as well, holding out his hand. Not hesitating this time, she stepped forward to let him grasp her fingers. "Do you want some dinner first?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "Not hungry. Unlike most people, working so quickly in so short a time span does not increase my appetite."
He looked at her, worry about her lack of appetite beginning to gnaw at his stomach. "How 'bout I bring something up for you? Soup, maybe. Easy on the stomach. You can eat it before you go to sleep."
"How 'bout -" she backed away slowly, a smile tugging at her lips, "I shower and come back down here for the soup. We can eat together, and it will save me from you pestering me all night." She leaned forward again and gave him a quick kiss on the lips in an attempt to soothe his worries. "I'll be right back. Promise."
xXx
True to her word, Jordan had crawled into bed as soon as she had finished eating. Woody had wished her sweet dreams and stayed downstairs to do the dishes - or rather, to give her some space. They had spoken only a few words over dinner; she really had been exhausted. He was just glad she had actually eaten. Maybe she really has had a loss in appetite, he thought restlessly, Skinner's questions once again surfacing in his mind. Am I just so oblivious that I didn't notice it until now?
Putting the last dish in the drainer, Woody quietly made his way upstairs and stopped in the doorway of the large bedroom, gazing at her through the dim light left on in the connected bathroom. He'd been nervous about coming upstairs, about coming in here. What if she hadn't wanted him in there with her? Maybe he was pushing her too hard, maybe - But the sight that met him made those worries fall to the back of his mind.
She'd left space for him, having curled up on the right side of the bed - leaving the left completely open. His side.
The relief he felt, seeing that she had been expecting him to join her eventually, was incredible. He slipped out of his clothes and found his pajamas, then flipped off the bathroom light and climbed into bed beside her. She didn't rouse. Emboldened, he scooted closer to spoon behind her, hiding his face in her damp hair. The scent of her shampoo was strangely comforting.
But, hard as he tried, he wasn't able to push his anxieties about her health away as they began to resurface in his mind. She had promised to tell him if something was wrong, but would she really do it? For as long as he'd known her, Jordan had proven over and over again that she was ridiculously independent.
The moonlight filtered in through the large windows, bathing them both in dark silver. All the rain that had been overhead upon their arrival the day before had already blown out, leaving gorgeous weather in its wake. What a shame they had to spend it all inside. Investigating. That was not what Woody had had in mind when he'd suggested they get away.
He sighed, frustrated, and shifted his grip on her to stave off the tingling in his right arm. But she moved then, an odd tension making the muscles in her shoulders stiffen.
"Jordan?" Woody whispered, propping himself up on an elbow to see her face. She didn't respond, still lost in slumber, but her lips were turned down, eyebrows furrowed. Like she was in pain. Utterly confused, he moved his hand to her upper arm, gently shaking her. "Hey, Jo."
She turned away from him, pressing her face into the pillow with a soft whimper. Worry turning to fear, he touched his fingers to her forehead and was shocked when he could feel a pulsing near her hairline. "Jordan, come on. Wake up."
Finally, after an excruciating few seconds, her eyes fluttered open and she tried to look at him. "Pills," she rasped. "In my -" She grimaced, an arm wrapping subconsciously around her abdomen as she pulled her knees up to her chest. "In my purse. Green bottle."
He jumped out of the bed, careful not to jostle her, and ran in search of her purse. Last he had seen it, it was down on the kitchen table amidst the mess of papers. He nearly tripped down the stairs, intense relief pooling in his stomach when he saw it still sitting there. Not caring what kind of fit she had in the morning, he took the bag and upended it on the table. Two bottles of medication clattered out with the contents and he threw the purse down, grabbing up the nondescript green tube and a small glass of water.
Jordan was nearly hyperventilating when he returned, obviously trying her hardest to keep control over her body. It was working – probably because she knew what she was doing – but Woody was still scared out of his mind. She heard him coming and immediately held out a hand for the bottle. He gave it to her, holding onto the glass. She dumped one of the pills into her palm and threw it into her mouth, ignoring the water even when he went to give it to her as well.
He sat on the bed beside her then, taking her head into his lap and running a hand over her hair. His mind was still reeling, not quite grasping what had happened just yet. Jordan closed her eyes and took more deep breaths, reaching blindly across the mattress in search of his other hand. "You okay?" he asked, feeling like an idiot.
She nodded nearly imperceptibly against him, not opening her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.
He slowly lied back down beside her, letting her rest most of her weight against him as she got comfortable. His hand never stopped its motion over her hair, and after a very long half hour, she began to relax against him. He could almost feel the pressure leaving her body, letting her go blissfully limp. "You still with me?"
"Mhmm," was all the answer he got.
"What…" Woody was at a loss, still so confused and frightened. "What was that?"
"Migraine," Jordan explained, almost too softly for him to hear. "I've been getting them for a few months now. Some are more…intense than others." She fell silent, leading him to believe that she had fallen asleep again, before she continued. "Really nothing to worry about, but they hurt like hell."
He gave a weak laugh. "So long as you're not dying or anything."
"Nope," she mumbled accordingly. "Not yet, anyway."
"Don't talk like that," he was quick to admonish, refusing to let himself be worried at what was obviously her trying to joke. But deep down, he wasn't able to shake the feeling that there was still something she wasn't telling him.