Day 2: Trace Evidence
"Detective Hoyt . . . Dr. Cavanaugh . . . let me tell you a story about fine carpet fibers . . . the type of carpet fibers that you don't see in just any building," Nigel narrated as he focused the microscope for me to look into.
"Nigel, let's skip the story . . . tell me what I need to know," I said coarsely . . . I hadn't slept last night . . . I kept thinking about leopard and lace . . . wondering if she was going to be next.
"Your fibers are in three buildings in Boston . . . nice high-rise buildings," Nigel said.
"High-rise? Thirty floors of fine fibers?" Woody asked as he began to pace the room again . . . his hands were shaking . . . the senator had been on television last night . . . on every channel.
"No, three buildings . . . only certain offices in each building. We have fibers in the office of a J. Abrams Richards in the downtown district . . . an office of a dentist . . . and in the office of a psychiatrist . . . three buildings . . . one office in each building," Nigel explained.
"Nigel, you are . . . ," Woody began ," Absolutely amazing."
Woody's face began to light up . . . like a child's on Christmas Day. Woody began to gather his things . . . jot down the addresses. I looked at the fibers . . . the invoices that Nigel had printed out.
"Jordan, are you coming?" Woody asked as he waited in the doorway.
Day 2: Dr. Alan Bradke, DDS –office visit
"No, I'm sorry. I've never had Candice Ellington as a patient . . . never had anyone in the family as a patient," the dentist explained as he flipped through his rolodex.
"What time do you open and close the office?" Woody said as jotted down notes on a small notepad.
"We open at 8 in the morning and close at 5 in the evening . . . we are closed weekends," Alan calmly replied . . . I knew from the look in his eyes that it wasn't him . . . he volunteered a DNA sample . . . let us take some carpet fibers. He was embarrassed . . . it was a high end cosmetic dentistry practice.
Woody looked over at me . . . relentless . . . he wanted someone to blame . . . he wanted that now. His nerves were shot . . . there was so much pressure on him to find out who murdered the senator's daughter.
"Who has access to your office during the night and evening hours?" Woody asked.
"No one . . . the cleaning crew comes through early in the morning. Would you like the video tapes? I have several cameras around the office," the dentist volunteered.
"Sure, sure that sounds great," Woody replied.
Day 2: Westbrooke Delicatessen
"Woody, you need to eat something," I lectured . . . I was probably the last person to offer unsolicited advice . . . my actions often times causes more problems than it does good.
"Jordan . . . not now. I'm not hungry," Woody crabbed . . . he worked on shredding a napkin into tiny pieces.
"Woody, I bought you a sandwich . . . the least you could do is pretend to eat it," I replied as I concentrated on my own lunch.
"When did you become the leading authority on good etiquette," Woody snapped.
"Fine, I'm going back to the morgue. Don't come around until you can be the Woody that I know," I replied exasperated . . . grabbing my lunch quickly and storming off . . . I hadn't been mad a minute ago . . . it was this case . . . this stupid case . . . the stupid senator.
Day 5: Blood and Body Fluid Analysis
"Woody isn't in tow?" Garrett asked as I silently matched DNA profiles . . . I still used transparencies . . . it was ancient technology . . . but it was a small comfort.
"No, I'm flying solo for awhile," I replied as Garrett rested his hands on my shoulders.
"So who's going to keep you out of trouble," Garrett teased . . . he said it so seriously, but I knew what he meant . . . he was one of the only people that I had let get to know me . . . in turn he allowed me to get to know him.
"These DNA profiles are going to keep me busy," I replied as a placed another transparency to the transparency containing the DNA profile gleaned from Candice . . . a tiny piece of skin located under her perfectly manicured nails . . . an XY profile.
"Jordan, it's late . . . you've spent days on this DNA. Go home and get some sleep," Garrett lectured.
"Only if you do," I replied knowing very well that he was staying late again . . . I could hear his record player playing Frank Sinatra . . . I had been singing to it a few minutes ago.
"Can't do that . . . budget reports," Garrett replied hopelessly as he headed for the door, "Jordan, give yourself a break."
"Thanks, Garrett . . . I'll take that under advisement," I replied laughing . . . I let the DNA consume my thoughts . . . nothing matched.
Three of the four offices had been extremely easy to work with . . . all the male employees had voluntarily given up blood samples . . . the politician's office had been another story. J. Abrams Richards . . . running for governor's office . . . he proved tougher to deal with. He didn't want any media attention . . . no bad press was all that he could say to me. I was ushered into back doors . . . transported in black limousines with tinted windows . . . hush, hush . . . he had whispered that in my ear.
I had gotten a bad vibe from him from the beginning . . . his hands were so soft . . . well manicured . . . his smile so smug. It didn't seem right for someone facing such serious allegations . . . I called Woody . . . he didn't answer. He hadn't been answering my telephone calls anymore . . . the desk sergeant told me not to take it personal . . . Woody was under immense pressure . . . I did take it personal.
The hours passed so slowly as I analyzed different coding regions . . . nothing . . . there was nothing. At three in the morning, I decided to go home . . . in anticipation of another long, disappointing day.
Day 7: Dalton Park (4 am)
"Dr. Cavanaugh," Woody said as he pointed to the crime scene . . . a jogger had found a body in the brush . . . it was a popular jogging trail.
"So we meet again," I said trying to smile . . . I pulled on a pair of latex gloves as I followed Woody to the crime scene.
"Don't try to be cute with me, Jordan. I'm not in the mood," Woody grumbled, "Child prostitute . . . I don't have an ID on her yet, but she was strangled . . . body is still warm."
He talked fast . . . without missing a beat.
"Jordan . . . Woody . . . the gang is all hear," Bug grumbled as he yawned and rubbed his eyes . . . he wasn't a morning person . . . he never would be.
I had talked to Nigel about Woody . . . Nigel in turn probably had told Bug . . . he was extremely protective of the people that he cared about. Bug had never been a fan of Woody . . . the few times that they had closely worked together, Bug was left with a bitter taste in his mouth . . . especially when it came down to the subject of Lily.
"Let's go to it," I said as Bug and I began to photograph the scene as we emerged upon it . . . looking at it with virgin eyes . . . it was the best way to capture the scene . . . capture it as you first saw it.
"Jordan," Bug said . . . it fell upon deaf ears . . . I was frozen in my tracks . . . it was her . . . Leopard and Lace . . . the baby woman that I had bought chocolate chip pancakes . . . I suddenly felt ill.
"Jordan," Bug said as he rushed to my side . . . helping me sit down on the paved jogging path . . . dizzy among the blue and red flashing lights, "Jordan, are you okay?"
I nodded . . . but I felt dizzy . . . my mind raced . . . had I killed her . . . had he been watching me buy her breakfast . . . had someone decided to rat on the young girl . . . the girl that had been so terrified of meeting an early demise . . . the girl that so bravely pointed me in the right direction. I could feel the tears burn my eyes . . . I heard Bug say something about calling Dr. Macy . . . that if I was sick . . . I should go home. All the words were so fragmented in my mind . . . all I could here was her voice . . . scared. I wondered what I had done . . . it dawned upon me that I was the reason that she was here. I had never felt this kind of shear terror . . . grief . . . shame . . . all at the same time. My stomach churned . . . I vomited in the bushes twenty feet north of the crime scene.
"Detective Hoyt . . . Dr. Cavanaugh . . . let me tell you a story about fine carpet fibers . . . the type of carpet fibers that you don't see in just any building," Nigel narrated as he focused the microscope for me to look into.
"Nigel, let's skip the story . . . tell me what I need to know," I said coarsely . . . I hadn't slept last night . . . I kept thinking about leopard and lace . . . wondering if she was going to be next.
"Your fibers are in three buildings in Boston . . . nice high-rise buildings," Nigel said.
"High-rise? Thirty floors of fine fibers?" Woody asked as he began to pace the room again . . . his hands were shaking . . . the senator had been on television last night . . . on every channel.
"No, three buildings . . . only certain offices in each building. We have fibers in the office of a J. Abrams Richards in the downtown district . . . an office of a dentist . . . and in the office of a psychiatrist . . . three buildings . . . one office in each building," Nigel explained.
"Nigel, you are . . . ," Woody began ," Absolutely amazing."
Woody's face began to light up . . . like a child's on Christmas Day. Woody began to gather his things . . . jot down the addresses. I looked at the fibers . . . the invoices that Nigel had printed out.
"Jordan, are you coming?" Woody asked as he waited in the doorway.
Day 2: Dr. Alan Bradke, DDS –office visit
"No, I'm sorry. I've never had Candice Ellington as a patient . . . never had anyone in the family as a patient," the dentist explained as he flipped through his rolodex.
"What time do you open and close the office?" Woody said as jotted down notes on a small notepad.
"We open at 8 in the morning and close at 5 in the evening . . . we are closed weekends," Alan calmly replied . . . I knew from the look in his eyes that it wasn't him . . . he volunteered a DNA sample . . . let us take some carpet fibers. He was embarrassed . . . it was a high end cosmetic dentistry practice.
Woody looked over at me . . . relentless . . . he wanted someone to blame . . . he wanted that now. His nerves were shot . . . there was so much pressure on him to find out who murdered the senator's daughter.
"Who has access to your office during the night and evening hours?" Woody asked.
"No one . . . the cleaning crew comes through early in the morning. Would you like the video tapes? I have several cameras around the office," the dentist volunteered.
"Sure, sure that sounds great," Woody replied.
Day 2: Westbrooke Delicatessen
"Woody, you need to eat something," I lectured . . . I was probably the last person to offer unsolicited advice . . . my actions often times causes more problems than it does good.
"Jordan . . . not now. I'm not hungry," Woody crabbed . . . he worked on shredding a napkin into tiny pieces.
"Woody, I bought you a sandwich . . . the least you could do is pretend to eat it," I replied as I concentrated on my own lunch.
"When did you become the leading authority on good etiquette," Woody snapped.
"Fine, I'm going back to the morgue. Don't come around until you can be the Woody that I know," I replied exasperated . . . grabbing my lunch quickly and storming off . . . I hadn't been mad a minute ago . . . it was this case . . . this stupid case . . . the stupid senator.
Day 5: Blood and Body Fluid Analysis
"Woody isn't in tow?" Garrett asked as I silently matched DNA profiles . . . I still used transparencies . . . it was ancient technology . . . but it was a small comfort.
"No, I'm flying solo for awhile," I replied as Garrett rested his hands on my shoulders.
"So who's going to keep you out of trouble," Garrett teased . . . he said it so seriously, but I knew what he meant . . . he was one of the only people that I had let get to know me . . . in turn he allowed me to get to know him.
"These DNA profiles are going to keep me busy," I replied as a placed another transparency to the transparency containing the DNA profile gleaned from Candice . . . a tiny piece of skin located under her perfectly manicured nails . . . an XY profile.
"Jordan, it's late . . . you've spent days on this DNA. Go home and get some sleep," Garrett lectured.
"Only if you do," I replied knowing very well that he was staying late again . . . I could hear his record player playing Frank Sinatra . . . I had been singing to it a few minutes ago.
"Can't do that . . . budget reports," Garrett replied hopelessly as he headed for the door, "Jordan, give yourself a break."
"Thanks, Garrett . . . I'll take that under advisement," I replied laughing . . . I let the DNA consume my thoughts . . . nothing matched.
Three of the four offices had been extremely easy to work with . . . all the male employees had voluntarily given up blood samples . . . the politician's office had been another story. J. Abrams Richards . . . running for governor's office . . . he proved tougher to deal with. He didn't want any media attention . . . no bad press was all that he could say to me. I was ushered into back doors . . . transported in black limousines with tinted windows . . . hush, hush . . . he had whispered that in my ear.
I had gotten a bad vibe from him from the beginning . . . his hands were so soft . . . well manicured . . . his smile so smug. It didn't seem right for someone facing such serious allegations . . . I called Woody . . . he didn't answer. He hadn't been answering my telephone calls anymore . . . the desk sergeant told me not to take it personal . . . Woody was under immense pressure . . . I did take it personal.
The hours passed so slowly as I analyzed different coding regions . . . nothing . . . there was nothing. At three in the morning, I decided to go home . . . in anticipation of another long, disappointing day.
Day 7: Dalton Park (4 am)
"Dr. Cavanaugh," Woody said as he pointed to the crime scene . . . a jogger had found a body in the brush . . . it was a popular jogging trail.
"So we meet again," I said trying to smile . . . I pulled on a pair of latex gloves as I followed Woody to the crime scene.
"Don't try to be cute with me, Jordan. I'm not in the mood," Woody grumbled, "Child prostitute . . . I don't have an ID on her yet, but she was strangled . . . body is still warm."
He talked fast . . . without missing a beat.
"Jordan . . . Woody . . . the gang is all hear," Bug grumbled as he yawned and rubbed his eyes . . . he wasn't a morning person . . . he never would be.
I had talked to Nigel about Woody . . . Nigel in turn probably had told Bug . . . he was extremely protective of the people that he cared about. Bug had never been a fan of Woody . . . the few times that they had closely worked together, Bug was left with a bitter taste in his mouth . . . especially when it came down to the subject of Lily.
"Let's go to it," I said as Bug and I began to photograph the scene as we emerged upon it . . . looking at it with virgin eyes . . . it was the best way to capture the scene . . . capture it as you first saw it.
"Jordan," Bug said . . . it fell upon deaf ears . . . I was frozen in my tracks . . . it was her . . . Leopard and Lace . . . the baby woman that I had bought chocolate chip pancakes . . . I suddenly felt ill.
"Jordan," Bug said as he rushed to my side . . . helping me sit down on the paved jogging path . . . dizzy among the blue and red flashing lights, "Jordan, are you okay?"
I nodded . . . but I felt dizzy . . . my mind raced . . . had I killed her . . . had he been watching me buy her breakfast . . . had someone decided to rat on the young girl . . . the girl that had been so terrified of meeting an early demise . . . the girl that so bravely pointed me in the right direction. I could feel the tears burn my eyes . . . I heard Bug say something about calling Dr. Macy . . . that if I was sick . . . I should go home. All the words were so fragmented in my mind . . . all I could here was her voice . . . scared. I wondered what I had done . . . it dawned upon me that I was the reason that she was here. I had never felt this kind of shear terror . . . grief . . . shame . . . all at the same time. My stomach churned . . . I vomited in the bushes twenty feet north of the crime scene.