Chapter Seven

Digging up the Past

A string of swear words accompanied Woody's realization…words which would have made Jordan even wince, although in her past she had been known to give a Boston sailor a run for his money with her own vocabulary selection. He flipped open his cell phone to call upstairs to his office, to find someone who knew how to override the damn timed-lock. Glancing at the screen, he read the message…no service. Damn these vault-rooms, he swore to himself. There was nothing to do but wait until the next morning when the timer released them…and he had a stack of paperwork a mile high on his desk that he needed to wade through before tomorrow. He swore again.

He didn't notice Jordan' reaction until a few minutes later, when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her inching towards the back of the room, her eyes wide and face pale…almost like she was in shock. Woody nearly swore again. That was all he needed now…for her to have a panic attack. Squelching his temper and his tongue, he walked over and stood in front of her.

She didn't see him….didn't notice him in any way. Woody grew alarmed. "Jordan," he said softly…"Jordan, look at me."

No response. He had to get her attention…he knew how the police sometimes had to treat victims that were in shock…lightly slapping or shaking them. Somehow even the mere thought of doing that to Jordan was nauseatingly unappealing. So he spoke louder, "Jordan!"

Still nothing. Finally, he took her by the shoulders and shook her lightly. "Jordan…" She turned her eyes to him then, focusing somewhat on his face. "Come on…you can't be that claustrophobic," Woody continued, "Or is it the thought of being locked up in here with me for the next twelve hours that bad?"

"I have to get out, Woody."

"I know…I need to get out, too. I have a stack of paperwork a mile high on my desk…"

"I have to get out…he's going to kill me this time…"

She was making no sense. Woody watched in horror as Jordan slowly sank to the floor and curled up into nearly a ball, her back resting against the wall, knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her head was resting on her knees and she had her arms wrapped tightly around her legs.

He sat down in front of her then, not knowing whether to try to take her in his arms and comfort her or to let her confront the demon that was bothering her. "Jordan…what do you mean…who wants to kill you?"

"Digger." She looked up at him.

Deeply puzzled, Wood sat back for a minute. Digger…Digger….that was the case she worked on with Haley six years ago…He couldn't remember much about the case…it was before his time in Boston. He did know it never went to trial, that Digger had been killed before that could happen. But why would that case bring such a reaction out of her in this room?

"Jordan, I don't understand," he put out a hand to brush her hair out of her eyes, but she flinched and moved away from him. So much for comforting her, he thought. "Tell me about it, please," he asked and was relieved her eyes became a bit more focused.

"Do you know anything about the case?"

Woody shook his head. "Not much. Before my time here, remember? And it never went to trial."

Jordan swallowed hard, and lowered her knees from her chest. "It all started when Lois and I found a body in the Boston harbor. It was an embalmed body…someone had removed it from its coffin and thrown it in the bay…" Her voice was low, barely a whisper. Woody had to strain to hear her words.

"So we started tracing where it came from…Nigel found the location and we went there…reopened the grave and found that a girl had been put in the man's coffin…she…she was buried alive." Jordan took a deep breath and pressed her hands together, willing herself to go on. She had never really talked to anyone about the Digger case after it was closed, keeping her thoughts and nightmares about the case to herself for years. It wasn't until Woody had shown up in Boston and she began to feel that someone really cared for her and was concerned about her safety that the bad dreams had faded…although her claustrophobia had remained. She glanced at Woody, to gauge his reaction. She couldn't read his face…it remained policeman-neutral.

"Anyway…we took the girl's body back to the morgue and the next thing I knew Drew was breathing down my neck to turn over all the information I had gathered on the woman and the embalmed body. But you know me, I only have up partial evidence…" Woody grunted. That did sound like the old Jordan.

"I bargained the rest of the information to Drew for the opportunity to work with him on the case…Digger was a serial killer and I was somewhat fascinated by him…I had never known a perp to bury their victims alive the way he did…taking care to dye their hair brunette, put a beauty mark on their cheek….all the victims looked alike…And Drew let me help him."

She looked down at her hands…now tightly folded together…and once again pushed herself to continue. She had no clue why she was opening up to Woody like this…she really shouldn't. The man she should be talking about this with was Drew. He had been there….he would understand better than anyone. Woody had kicked her out of his life….she tried to listen for warning bells in her mind…telling her this was a mistake and to stop taking to Woody about her feelings. She heard nothing but her own shallow breathing.

"Well, one thing led to another and soon we discovered he was working out of a travel trailer…and I found the trailer. I went to search it and Drew came in right behind me…mad as hell because I entered without a warrant. We scuffled and in the midst of that I must have dropped my ME identification. And….and…Digger found it.

"I realized it was missing the next day…and that it had my home address on it. And I realized that Drew knew a lot about this Digger…too much…in my mind, I began to panic, thinking that Drew was Digger."

Woody nearly chuckled. He could easily understand how Jordan could make that mistake given just what he had observed about the profiler the last few days. But the look in her wide eyes made him choke it back. The fright was still there. "What happened next?" he asked. "Did you find Digger?"

Jordan shook her head and lowered her eyes to her hands again. Now she was wringing them together… "No," she answered in a terrified whisper. "He found me."

Woody's face went from neutral to shock in half a second. "Oh, God…Jordan…" He went to cover her hands with his, but she pulled away again.

"Yeah," she continued in that same petrified tone. "He found me. I was in the morgue…trying to get away from Drew actually, thinking he was Digger … I locked myself in the crypt…Digger – the real Digger -- was in there….he grabbed me and injected me with something to paralyze me….He took me to a cemetery, drew the beauty mark on my cheek, dropped me in the coffin, and closed the lid." Her breath began to come in short, shallow pants…remembering the stuffiness and lack of oxygen in the casket. "He…he…taped a walkie-talkie to my hand…I said I wasn't going to beg him to get me out…but in the end I did…Not one of my better moments," she said…feeling the tears coming to her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

"But all of his victims died…" Woody said. "How…"

"Drew and Garret were right behind me. They found me…if I had been in that coffin just a few minutes longer…." She couldn't finish, but brushed the tears off her cheeks with her fingers…however, the tears were falling so fast they ran between her fingers onto her shirt and dress pants.

Woody reached out to gently help her, but she moved away again. Her confession to explain her panic-ridden state was as far as she was going to go with him. She didn't want him to touch her.

She didn't know how she would react if he did. So it was better that she not find out.

"Well, that certainly explains your claustrophobia…and your relationship with Drew," Woody said.

Jordan nodded. "I guess working with him again…and then being locked in this room…just brought it all out one more time…"

Woody looked at her critically for a moment. "Have you talked to anyone about that case, Jordan? Macy or Stiles for example?"

She shook her head. "No…by the time my yearly psych exam rolled around after the Digger case was officially closed, I had dealt with it myself. I didn't talk about it and most of the folks at the morgue and the Boston PD knew it was off limits to mention it around me."

So that explains why no one would talk to me about it, Woody thought. "I'm no expert, God knows…but maybe you should….for your own good."

"Maybe…but like I said….being in this tiny locked room, seeing Drew again…I guess it all kind of bubbled to the surface once more. But it's over now, and it can't get any worse, right?'

Woody opened his mouth to answer and the room went dark. He had forgotten the lights were on a timer, too.