Jordan was suturing the Y incision on Jaime Black when Woody's pager went off, startling in the silence of the autopsy lab.

He plucked it off of his belt, glanced at it, "Hold on. It's the precinct."

Jordan nodded.

He went out in search of a phone, and was only gone for a few minutes.

"They found a buddy of Chris Hammond's. I'm going to have a crack at him."

Jordan finished up the last stitch, then looked up at him, "I'm going with you."

Woody opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but he knew it was exercise in futility to try.

"Hey wait up! Don't think you're leaving me here." Peter said.

Woody shook his head, and groaned.

Jordan just smiled.

******************************************************************************

Cody Banks lived in a small apartment that would've been called cozy if would've been well-kept. But due to neglect, it was nothing but a squat, ugly little house with peeling paint, and overgrown weeds in the yard.

Woody knocked on the door, and was greeted with silence.

Jordan looked at him, "Were your guys sure he was home?"

"Yeah. Positive."

Peter laughed, "Only fools are positive."

Suddenly, they were rewarded with a loud thump.

Woody threw Peter a smug look, "See?"

Finally, the door opened with a tortured creak, and a man stood there, blinking at us, "Yeah?"

"Mr. Banks?" Woody asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Detective Woodrow Hoyt . . . oh shit." Woody trailed off as Cody Banks turned tail at the mention 'detective'.

Woody shouted to Jordan and Peter, "You two, stay here." And took off after Cody Banks.

Jordan of course, didn't listen.

She stepped inside Cody's house, wrinkled her nose . . . and smiled.

"Hey Pete, you smell that?"

"Huh?" Peter was confused.

"I think I detect a hint of the herb . . . and not the kind used for cooking. That's probably why Cody ran from our good buddy Detective Hoyt."

Peter took a deep sniff of the air, "Oh . . . yeah."

Jordan shook her head, her eyes wryly amused.

They took a seat in Cody's living room, Jordan on an overstuffed rocking chair; Peter in a ripped couch, and took the liberty of turning on Cody's TV. They were still sitting there fifteen minutes later when Woody showed up, slightly out of breath, with a sweaty, dirty, cuffed Cody Banks in tow.

Jordan smiled, "Hey Woody. Been doing a little running?"

He glared at her, "Shut up Jordan."

Peter turned to Cody Banks, "We got bored . . . decided to borrow your TV. Don't you love Jerry Springer?"

Cody was too out of breath to reply.

Jordan rolled her eyes, "It's such a wonderful show. Such high quality. The whole thing is 'You stupid freakin' 'ho, and you bitch, and I ain't your kid's daddy," she smiled, "Oh yeah, and 'beep, beep, beep."

Peter shook his head sadly, "Sarcasm is an ugly trait Cavanaugh."

Jordan's smile grew wider as she eyed Cody, "By the way, Cody, when Dr. Winslow and I came inside, and took a seat, we smelled something that's permeated your house and furniture. Call it the herb, if you will," she ran a hand through her silky hair, "Otherwise known as weed. Is that why you ran for it?"

Cody Banks was an emaciated kid, scraggly with unremarkable brown hair, and green eyes that was his best feature, Jordan decided. If they weren't glazed and bloodshot.

He stared at Jordan and Peter for a moment, then looked up at Woody.

"You guys narcs?" he asked, his eyes bouncing back and forth nervously.

Peter rolled his eyes, "No, idiot. We're not narcs."

"This is about Chris Hammond and Jaime Black." Jordan said.

"What? Chris and me are buddies, but I don't sell him anything. He and Jaime use, but they don't get it off me." Cody said defensively.

Jordan stared at him for a moment. He wasn't acting, and he really didn't know that Chris and Jaime were dead.

"Chris Hammond and Jaime Black were murdered sometime early this morning. That's what we're here about." Woody told him.

Shock filled Cody's face, and he stared at them, as if waiting for them to say it was a joke.

"No, no, Chris can't be dead. I just talked to him. No."

Jordan squatted by Cody's chair, "Cody, I know this is a big shock. But we need to ask you some questions, okay? To find out who killed them."

He still looked numb, but finally he nodded.

"You said Chris and Jaime did drugs? You're certain about that?"

Cody stared at his feet for a moment, then nodded, "Yeah. They've done it with me before."

"What kind of drugs?" Peter probed.

Cody swallowed hard.

"Cody!" Woody said sharply.

Jordan held up a hand, "I know this is hard, and you feel like you're selling out your friends. But every piece of information you give me . . . can help find their killer," She gazed at him, "Please, Cody."

He nodded, looked down at his lap, "At first, it was just weed, pills. But then we got into the harder stuff, like cocaine, heroin, ecstasy."

"And Chris and Jaime were into it, too?"

"Chris and I did it together, then when he started dated Jaime, he got her involved."

Jordan closed her eyes. Stephanie Black was right about Chris Hammond. He hadn't been good for her sister.

"Did either of them owe to drug dealers? As a matter a fact, who was their dealer?"

Cody swallowed hard, and he looked deeply, truly afraid. In fact, he had begun to tremble.

"Mr. Banks?"

"If he finds out, I told you, I'm dead." He said softly.

"I promise, whoever it is, they won't find out it came from you . . . and I won't arrest your ass for running and having an illegal pharmacy in here." Woody promised.

"You serious?"

"As a heart attack. Now who was their dealer?"

Cody sank back in the chair, seeming to deflate, "His name's Tyrell McCabe."

Woody grinned, a shark's grin, "Excellent."

"What?"

"McCabe has some priors. It won't be very difficult getting him in for an interview."

"Cody, did Chris or Jaime have any arguments with anyone? A beef with somebody?"

He shook his head, greasy brown hair flying, "No."

"You've noticed nothing suspicious in the last few days?" Jordan was starting to think that Cody Banks was not going to be any help.

He confirmed that suspicion when he shook his head, "No. We'd hang out, got high . . . shit like that. But I never noticed anything weird . . . but maybe there was . . . "

Jordan touched his arm gently, "Can I give you a friendly piece of advice?"

He looked at her warily, not trusting them.

"Get your head out of your ass, and clean up your life. You keep this up, and there's a good chance you'll end up like Chris and Jaime. But you have a chance for better things if you quit doping around. So think about that..."

They left, leaving him hunched over in his chair, crying. Obviously whatever dope he had taken before they had come had worn off, no anesthesia-like numbness now. The pain was obviously deeper than anything he'd ever had to face before, and he was sobbing hard, face in his hands, like a child.

He looked abandoned.

As they walked out the door, his mouth opened, and the tears came faster, but the strange thing about it was he didn't make a sound.