Three years later
Jordan straightened up from the autopsy table, stretching her back as she did. She lifted her face shield and turned to Bug. "Definite suicide, don't you agree?" she asked.
"Sure. That's apparent. What's not so apparent is the time of death. Liver temp says one thing, but the bruising and insect activity tell another story," Bug said, glancing over at Jordan.
"Hmmmm," Jordan mumbled. "That I will leave to you to figure out. Sorry, Bug, but even after all these years, I still have no interest in maggots or blow flies, or whatever else may be crawling around in there." Jordan looked over at her autopsy partner and smiled.
Bug grinned back. He wished Jordan would smile more often. It seemed she smiled, or laughed for that matter, less and less these days. When confronted about it, Jordan would push the fact away with the statement, "Well, everybody has to grow up sometime, I guess today is my day." But Bug, as well as Nigel and Garrett knew, that it wasn't just the matter of Jordan suddenly deciding to mature. Jordan was simply trying to survive another day, put one foot in front of the other from the time she awoke in the morning until those footsteps took her home at night and she collapsed into sleep. Then the next day she would get up and do it again. They all worried about how long she could keep doing it before she broke completely down.
"I'm going to Nigel's office to see if he can tell me anything about the ballistics," Jordan said, stripping off her gloves and shedding her scrubs in the locker room. A few minutes later she was sitting in Nigel Townsend's office, munching on his leftover potato chips from lunch.
"What'd you find out Nige?" she asked, wiping her greasy fingers on a napkin and looking for something to drink.
"What's the matter love, no lunch again today?"
"No time. The dead and the DA won't wait on anyone to have lunch anymore," she replied, twisting the lid off a bottle of water.
"That's the third time this week you skipped lunch, Jordan," Nigel replied, trying to be stern with his friend, but failing completely. "You're going to make yourself sick."
"Nah, not me," Jordan replied, "I'm too mean to get sick." She tipped the water back and drank quickly.
"It's a good thing that's not alcohol," Nigel said.
Jordan winked at him. "Come on, what's the ballistics tell you?"
"It came from the gun the vic was holding. No questions about it," Nigel replied.
"Well, at least that's one pretty much open and shut case," Jordan replied, hopping down from Nigel's desk. "If Bug can determine the time of death, it's wrapped."
Nigel looked at his friend closely. He and Jordan had always been close, although not in the way many people assumed. They had shared lunch, dinner, drinks, confidences, but never a bed. They were best friends. He was the first one she turned to after Woody left and for many days he was the only other person that knew the detective was gone from her life. After a few weeks absence, people began to ask questions, but Jordan gave no answers. Instead, she pulled inside herself, not talking to many people other than himself and Garrett. The fun-loving Jordan he once knew slowly disappeared and a new Jordan emerged -- a workaholic, mature, solemn Jordan that looked at the world through sad, brown eyes. And while folks like Rene Walcott, and somewhat even Garrett, welcomed the "new and improved" Jordan, Nigel did not. He knew she was slowly being eaten away at from the inside out. And one day, if something didn't happen, she would implode on herself.
It had been Nigel that had listened to her pour out her anger and bitterness at Woody for running out on her. It had been Nigel that helplessly watched her grieve over that loss. He had held her hand and hugged her tight when it became glaringly apparent that Woody was not coming back. And it had been Nigel that had consoled her when the pregnancy test came back negative, destroying any hope of any link she may have had with the young detective.
And it had been Nigel that tried to track Woody down. Not because Jordan had asked him to, but because he had to have some answers. He found out the detective had submitted his resignation to his superior officer three weeks before leaving. Woody had made his supervisor swear to keep it a secret. Out of professional courtesy, the commanding officer did. In fact, no one that worked with Woody even knew he was leaving. He had slowly cleaned out his office in a manner that no one noticed, gave his landlord a month's notice and an extra month's rent to keep it secret and either gave away or sold most of his belongings, other than his clothes and a few other things. He had hopped a flight from Boston to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to North Carolina. Then the trail ended. As far as Nigel could tell, Woody was no longer in law enforcement. Woody had cancelled his cell phone, too. Save one call from it to Jordan's phone the day after he left, Woody, for all intents and purposes, and disappeared.
"Don't you think so?" Jordan asked, startling Nigel out of his train of thought.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Nigel said. Walking around to her, Nigel took her hand. "Look, love, what's say you and I go get some dinner in a bit. Then I can take you home, tuck you in, and make sure you get a good night's sleep. Or maybe not sleep," Nigel teased, wagging his eyebrows at her.
Jordan smirked at Nigel's attempt to seduce her. "No can do, big boy," she said. "I gotta finish up here and head down to The Pogue."
"You're working again tonight?"
"Yeah, no rest for the weary or the wicked." She made a lame attempt at humor as she left Nigel's office, not noticing the worried looked on his face.
Jordan straightened up from the autopsy table, stretching her back as she did. She lifted her face shield and turned to Bug. "Definite suicide, don't you agree?" she asked.
"Sure. That's apparent. What's not so apparent is the time of death. Liver temp says one thing, but the bruising and insect activity tell another story," Bug said, glancing over at Jordan.
"Hmmmm," Jordan mumbled. "That I will leave to you to figure out. Sorry, Bug, but even after all these years, I still have no interest in maggots or blow flies, or whatever else may be crawling around in there." Jordan looked over at her autopsy partner and smiled.
Bug grinned back. He wished Jordan would smile more often. It seemed she smiled, or laughed for that matter, less and less these days. When confronted about it, Jordan would push the fact away with the statement, "Well, everybody has to grow up sometime, I guess today is my day." But Bug, as well as Nigel and Garrett knew, that it wasn't just the matter of Jordan suddenly deciding to mature. Jordan was simply trying to survive another day, put one foot in front of the other from the time she awoke in the morning until those footsteps took her home at night and she collapsed into sleep. Then the next day she would get up and do it again. They all worried about how long she could keep doing it before she broke completely down.
"I'm going to Nigel's office to see if he can tell me anything about the ballistics," Jordan said, stripping off her gloves and shedding her scrubs in the locker room. A few minutes later she was sitting in Nigel Townsend's office, munching on his leftover potato chips from lunch.
"What'd you find out Nige?" she asked, wiping her greasy fingers on a napkin and looking for something to drink.
"What's the matter love, no lunch again today?"
"No time. The dead and the DA won't wait on anyone to have lunch anymore," she replied, twisting the lid off a bottle of water.
"That's the third time this week you skipped lunch, Jordan," Nigel replied, trying to be stern with his friend, but failing completely. "You're going to make yourself sick."
"Nah, not me," Jordan replied, "I'm too mean to get sick." She tipped the water back and drank quickly.
"It's a good thing that's not alcohol," Nigel said.
Jordan winked at him. "Come on, what's the ballistics tell you?"
"It came from the gun the vic was holding. No questions about it," Nigel replied.
"Well, at least that's one pretty much open and shut case," Jordan replied, hopping down from Nigel's desk. "If Bug can determine the time of death, it's wrapped."
Nigel looked at his friend closely. He and Jordan had always been close, although not in the way many people assumed. They had shared lunch, dinner, drinks, confidences, but never a bed. They were best friends. He was the first one she turned to after Woody left and for many days he was the only other person that knew the detective was gone from her life. After a few weeks absence, people began to ask questions, but Jordan gave no answers. Instead, she pulled inside herself, not talking to many people other than himself and Garrett. The fun-loving Jordan he once knew slowly disappeared and a new Jordan emerged -- a workaholic, mature, solemn Jordan that looked at the world through sad, brown eyes. And while folks like Rene Walcott, and somewhat even Garrett, welcomed the "new and improved" Jordan, Nigel did not. He knew she was slowly being eaten away at from the inside out. And one day, if something didn't happen, she would implode on herself.
It had been Nigel that had listened to her pour out her anger and bitterness at Woody for running out on her. It had been Nigel that helplessly watched her grieve over that loss. He had held her hand and hugged her tight when it became glaringly apparent that Woody was not coming back. And it had been Nigel that had consoled her when the pregnancy test came back negative, destroying any hope of any link she may have had with the young detective.
And it had been Nigel that tried to track Woody down. Not because Jordan had asked him to, but because he had to have some answers. He found out the detective had submitted his resignation to his superior officer three weeks before leaving. Woody had made his supervisor swear to keep it a secret. Out of professional courtesy, the commanding officer did. In fact, no one that worked with Woody even knew he was leaving. He had slowly cleaned out his office in a manner that no one noticed, gave his landlord a month's notice and an extra month's rent to keep it secret and either gave away or sold most of his belongings, other than his clothes and a few other things. He had hopped a flight from Boston to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to North Carolina. Then the trail ended. As far as Nigel could tell, Woody was no longer in law enforcement. Woody had cancelled his cell phone, too. Save one call from it to Jordan's phone the day after he left, Woody, for all intents and purposes, and disappeared.
"Don't you think so?" Jordan asked, startling Nigel out of his train of thought.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Nigel said. Walking around to her, Nigel took her hand. "Look, love, what's say you and I go get some dinner in a bit. Then I can take you home, tuck you in, and make sure you get a good night's sleep. Or maybe not sleep," Nigel teased, wagging his eyebrows at her.
Jordan smirked at Nigel's attempt to seduce her. "No can do, big boy," she said. "I gotta finish up here and head down to The Pogue."
"You're working again tonight?"
"Yeah, no rest for the weary or the wicked." She made a lame attempt at humor as she left Nigel's office, not noticing the worried looked on his face.