Bug sat behind the glass in the interview room, shaking his head. He was sure Woody was clutching at the wrong straw.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, bucko," Woody was saying. "Much better."

"Why would I kill my own sister?" he asked. What do you think I am?"

"Your fingerprint is on her blouse!"

"Yeah!" the man yelled. "Because I touched her! I saw her earlier that day!"

"Had a fight, did you?" Woody snarled at him. Bug frowned slightly. "Daddy's little girl, huh?"

"I'm not a little kid, man! I don't care about that stuff anymore!"

"Yeah," Woody scoffed. "Sure. Even though Daddy was forking out $2000 bucks a week to her?"

"What would killing her change?" he asked. "She'd still be the favourite."

"So it does bug you!" Woody shouted triumphantly.

"No!" the man yelled, frustrated. "Dude! I didn't kill her!"

"You'd wanna hope so. We'll be getting a warrant to search your place."

"No, you wont. You've not got nearly enough to get a judge to sign a warrant. But I'll let you search. You wont find anything."

Woody stared, and slammed his fist down on the table, coming out and walking right by Bug.

"He didn't do it," Bug said, hurrying to catch up.

"Probably not," Woody conceded. "But we'll check him out anyway."

"Hey Woody," Bug said. "I called dispatch up. The girl said you specifically requested me."

Woody stopped and stared at him.

"Or rather," Bug said, reading the confirmation in the Detective's eyes. "You specifically requested anyone but Jordan. She was on call."

"I couldn't do it," he said, staring at Bug. "Not today."

"Why? What happened?" Bug asked.

"It doesn't matter any more," Woody said, dismissing him. Bug shook his head in frustration, and drove back to the morgue.

"I've got a print!" Nigel rushed into Jordans office, startling her.

"What?" she asked, standing. "How?"

"I ran a scan over the entire body, clothes, personal effects. This print was in the most unlikely of places."

"Where?" she asked, still shocked that he found a print where she couldn't.

Nigel grinned. "His buttocks."

Jordan smiled. "Nice one, Nige," she said, slapping him on the back. "Did you run it?"

Nigel looks offended. "No, I thought I'd sit there and look at it. What do you think I did?"

"Well?" Jordan says. "Whose is it?"

"One Damon Mandella," he tells her. "I took the liberty of calling it in, I hope you don't mind."

He shrugged. "They're bringing him in now."

"Thanks Nige." She headed for the door, then stopped. "Wanna come?"

Nigel frowned. "Why?"

"Do you want to, or not?"

"Sure, I'll join you." He shook his head, puzzled, and followed her out. The reason she had requested his company was simple - she watched Woody leave the morgue and figured he was at the precinct, and there was no way she was going to be caught out again. She was prepared to run into him, this time. Or so she thought.

They met Ryan at the precinct. He seemed excited. "Good work, guys, I think this is our guy!"

"I credit it to Nige entirely," Jordan said. Ryan nodded at him.

"Well lets go!" he said. Jordan and Nigel exchanged a look, here was an unexperienced cop to say the least. Oh well. They'd break him in, like they broke - Jordan stopped her train of thought immediatley.

"What was your print doing on our victims buttocks?" Ryan asked. Behind the glass, Nigel chuckled, and was quietened by a punch from Jordan, who was listening intently.

"I…" Mandella hesitated. "I don't know who…"

"Here," Ryan slapped a photo down on the table. Mandella looks at it.

"He knows him," Nigel whispered.

"How do you know?"

"You can tell by his eyes. He blinked twice."

"You know him?" came Ryan's voice.

"Never seen him," the man said, pushing the photo of the dead man away.

"But you've seen his bum cheeks, is that it?"

This time Jordan didn't reprimand Nigel for chuckling.

"I don't like his technique as much as…" she stopped abruptly, rethinking her sentence. "…my fathers."

"Your fathers?" Nigel asked quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Jordan said evasively, turning back to the window.

"You could go down for this," Ryan said. "Your print is on…him!"

"Look, I didn't kill nobody."

"All we want is his name."

"Now that, I can't tell you," he said.

"Can't, or wont?"

"Can't," Mandella confirmed. "He was selling me coke, alright?"

"Not heroin?" Ryan asked, puzzled.

"I know what I was buying."

"Right, so its customary to touch someones butt when buying drugs nowadays, is that right?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "No," he mumbles. "I want my lawyer."

A thought struck Jordan.

"Why didn't I think of that before?" she asked herself. To Nigel, she said: "Come on, we're going."

"Now?" Nigel whined, intent on watching the interview culminate.

She pulled insistently on his shirt and he aqquiesced.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Fallon," Bug was saying. "Do you want to come straight through, or wait for your husband?"

"He's a little squeamish," she said calmly.

"I see," Bug said, trying to contain his surprise. "Well come through." He led her into the crypt, where he pulled back the sheet. Mrs. Fallon allowed a sound to escape her before covering her mouth with her hand.

"Thanks," she said, quietly, staring in apparent horror at the body of her daughter.

"We have a grief counsellor on hand if you need it," Bug said, thinking Lily may be able to crack this womans exterior and get to the heart of the matter regarding her husband.

"Thankyou," she said in acceptance, nodding her head slowly, expressing her fragility.

"Semen," Jordan said, confirming her suspicion. Nigel nodded, having caught on to her sudden relevation. "Run it, will you Nige?"

"Sure," he said, and took the slide from her. They waited impatiently while it scanned.

"Damon Mandella," Nigel said, and Jordan grinned.

"Dontcha love science?" she said, picking up the phone.

"Hey, Ryan? Its Jordan Cavanaugh...yeah sorry about that. But we've got something. Yes, you'll be very interested..."