Disclaimer: I forgot on the first chapter so, guess what I don't own Crossing Jordan.... But I do own a potato masher.
Jordan often thought about her mother, about the way her hair smelled, or the way she laughed, small things that didn't really matter before, we're precious now, funny, she wondered why she was thinking her now? The squad cars and police tape barricaded the crime scene. A little girl, barely five, a gap in her mouth where her front tooth used to be. She was thin, cruelly thin, and dirty, she looked so alone, so fragile. She could hear Woody laughing and turned to see him standing with a tall strawberry blonde, thin but muscular, with a thin face and big, green eyes.
"Hey Jordan." He mumbled their relationship was strained; they could hardly say three words to each other without feeling awkward.
"Who's your friend wood?" she asked, looking the stranger up and down, like a ham she was preparing to buy for thanksgiving. He laughed and looked at the girl affectionately.
"This is Angela Hayden, my new partner...well, my old partner, but ah.... It's a long story." Angela smiled and provided the story.
"We were best friends in school, went to the academy together, were partners in Kewaunee, then beaver here moved to Boston and I went to Milwaukee... then I needed a change, so I asked Beaver to put a good word in for me here." Snow fell thickly so Jordan could barely see the woman's face, but there was something about her that she didn't quite trust.
"What do we have?" Woody asked, looking at the little girl, and grimacing. "God, she's so little... what the hell would posses anyone to cut the throat of a little girl?" he asked, Jordan shook her head and pulled out her tape recorder.
"Victim is approximately six years old, died of laceration to the throat; murder weapon appears to be army knife found at the scene, the laceration cut left to right indicates that the perpetrator is left handed. Filmy, white, substance on the bottom of her feet... wait a minute, Beaver?" she asked slowly, turning to face Woody, who coward a little with a smile on his face, ashamed at his old nickname.
"Nickname in elementary school..."
"What kind of a name is Beaver anyways Angie? Huh?" Woody bit out dejectedly as he copied something down in his trusty notebook.
"Hey at least you weren't known as Angie Underpants until you were eighteen." She countered, nudging him.
"Sorry about that, kind of feel guilty about that incident." He apologized
"I think the only one of us with any semblance of a normal name was Annie." She stated.
"Anna Banana." They said in unison.
"Hey." Jordan interrupted cooly "Memory lane is closed people."
"Sorry." Woody muttered before stooping to get a better look at the body. Woody stared at Jordan; snowflakes strung threw her chestnut hair, her dark eyes fixed as her hands worked surely. He was amazed at the way she did her job, so perfect and precise, in a way only Jordan could work, completely concentrated.
Angela saw the way he stared at Jordan, his blue eyes watching her, the way she talked. Never once had she ever seen him look at Annie that way, never. During high school it had always been Annie and Woody, then college, all threw the academy in was the three of them. Then everything went downhill in a split second, and there was no more Annie and Woody, then the three of them split up, and it seemed that their days as kids in a small town were gone, a vague, foggy memory.
"When we get her down to the morgue we should know more." Jordan explained, knocking Angela from her memories.
"Great thank you Doctor Cavanaugh." She said and looked around for Woody who was no where in sight. "Beaver?!"
"Not Funny." He said from behind a dumpster, his voice sounded distracted. It was funny, she thought to herself, how he went from an innocent deputy to hardcore detective in three short years. She remembered him when he was twelve, chubby, stuttered, but also the sweetest guy she had ever known. It brought back bittersweet memories that had been locked deep inside of her mind for so long that she didn't even know exsisted anymore.
"Give me a call if you know anymore." She said to Jordan before continuing her search for Woody. "Woody?" she saw him crouched in front of something that lay discarded on the grimy, oily pavement.
"This is our girl." He stated matter of flatly, pointing to the small coloring book and stuffed animal.
"Boston is a big town Hoyt, those could belong to anyone." Angela huffed, Woody shook his head.
"Yeah but how many have a picture of decedent in it?" he asked with a smart aleck smile, pointing to the eight by ten photo lodged into the crease of the book, the little girl was smiling, her tooth was still intact, but it was her, long blonde hair, a school uniform, standing next to a woman with the same wide, curious brown eyes.
"I'm going to interview some of the people around here, why don't you go to the morgue, ask about a Nigel Townsend, he should be able to help you find this woman." He supplied helpfully.
"Nigel Townsend... got it." She repeated, committing the name to memory.
Just as she was about to walk off she heard a whimper, soft and despondent. "Hello?" she whispered as a small figure crawled out of the shadows. Her clothes were tattered and worn, her shoes holey and scuffed, her jet black hair matted with blood, her blue eyes dull and cloudy, she was covered in blood. "Woody?!" she stepped forward, alarm thick in her voice. "Sweetheart, can you tell us your name?" she asked catching the small girl as she toppled to the ground.
"Mackenzie." She whispered before her blue eyes rolled up into the back of her head, she went lifeless in Angela's arms.
Note: I know short again, and sorry it took a long time to get this one to you guys, my muse took a paid vacation.