Disclaimer: You know the spiel, I know the spiel. Let's leave it at that.
AN: Seems like I keep getting more dissatisfied with my chapters, as I'm not feeling this one too much, but I figured I owed you guys something and forced myself to write this one out. It was written over a long period of time (hence the not posting) so if it seems sort of muttled that's why.
Also, any forensic "stuff" I was too lazy/busy to confirm so I took a huge chunk of artistic license with all of that.
JillHenny- First off, dig the name! Second, glad you liked it : )
NCCJFan- Oodles of thanks!
jtbwriter- LOL, if Jordan's not getting Woody (gosh I love that Jerry) I'd Mary Sue myself in! Hehe, but somehow I don't think I'll go in that direction ; )
E- Thanks! And it's not soon, but it's here and continued!
britt- Aww, thank you. Awesome that you like the way I write the characters, I always worry about that.
Alrighty, enough of all this stuff! Story below, enjoy!
"You look like hell Jordan," Lily observed as they walked down the hall of the morgue.
"Thanks Lily," Jordan replied sarcastically, with a roll of her eyes. She wasn't sure why she took any offense, because she probably did look like hell. Her hair was pulled into a rough, low ponytail, she had dark circles under her eyes, and instead of her usual attire Jordan had on a pair of ripped, old jeans, a rumpled shirt and sneakers. It had been just over a week since her disastrous talk with Woody and sleep was getting lower on the priority scale.
"Oh, no," the young woman quickly blushed a red almost the same color as her hair. "I didn't mean it like that. You just look…tired"
"It's okay," Jordan assured her. "Might have to do with the fact that I've been awake for what seem like all this month."
"Jordan," Lily almost scolded.
"I've just been having trouble sleeping this past while that's all," she shrugged.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Lily asked cautiously. Lily was, after all, the grief counselor at the morgue. She could probably help if Jordan had something on her mind. On the other hand, Jordan was never one to open up about her feelings and she wasn't in need of comfort over a lost loved one.
"Yeah, maybe," Jordan nodded as they walked past Lily's office. Lily stopped slightly at Jordan's words.
"Alright," Lily nodded as well. "How about now? I'm free."
"Uh, you know I was thinking more like later," Jordan said.
"Listen, Jordan, if you don't want to, I understand," Lily placed a sympathetic hand on her friend's shoulder.
Jordan was about to offer her thanks, when Bug and Garret came bounding down the hallway, yelling and both of them almost colliding with Lily. She kind of smiled and moved out of their way, Bug apologizing, Garret still shouting whatever it was that had distracted them in the first place.
"Bug, I don't have time for this right now," a frustrated Garret explained. "Walcott is still—"
"All over your ass, I know," Bug let out sigh and rubbed his hand along his forehead. Apparently Garret had made that fact very clear to everyone. If Jordan hadn't been so tired she would have pointed out the extremely laughable double entendre of Renee Walcott having anything to do with Garret's ass, let alone being all over it.
"Look, just get over to the sight, Detective Hoyt is waiting for you," Garret ordered.
"Detective Hoyt?" Jordan interrupted. "Why didn't he—"
"He asked specifically for Bug," he told her.
"Oh," Jordan answered with a hint of defeat in her voice.
Bug cast an annoyed glance at Garret before heading towards the elevator. Garret ignored the look, one he was getting from most of his employees these past few days, and turned back to Jordan.
"Jordan, whatever you and Detective Hoyt have on the side, I don't want it to interfere with your work," Dr. Macy said firmly.
"Of course not Garret," she replied quickly. "In fact Detective Hoyt and I have a completely professional relationship."
"Yeah, and I'm the Pope," he stated. "Just whatever it is, fix it."
"Consider it fixed," Jordan mumbled.
"Good," Garret smirked and resumed down the hall.
"So, what do we have?" Bug asked, ducking under the police caution tape that had marked off the door. He pulled on the latex gloves with a slap against his skin and awaited Woody's answer.
"Male, twenty-five, fits the pattern," Woody told the ME as he lifted the thin sheet that covered the victim. "I assume you're familiar with the other cases."
"Peter filled me in before he left, I'm taking most of his slack," Bug explained to Woody who only solemnly nodded. "Woody, if you don't mind me asking, was there a particular reason that you specifically wanted me on the sight?"
"Bug," Woody knit his eyebrows together in confusion. "You just said yourself that you're picking up Peter's cases, who else would I ask for?"
Bug shrugged and began to take fingernail scrapings from the victim, who an Officer Walker had just identified as Jason Collins.
"I just thought that maybe you'd ask for Jordan," he said after a moment of silence. "She was telling Nigel the other day that you'd gone over this whole 'Slash and Dash Killer' thing with her."
"Can you pinpoint time of death?" Woody questioned; ignoring what Bug had just told him.
"Nothing for certain, but if I had to wager a guess I'd say sometime between eight and ten this morning," he estimated.
"Good," Woody quickly scribbled down some notes.
"So this would be number eight then, would it?" Bug asked with a slight frown.
Woody's lips immediately drew into a firm, tight line.
"Unfortunately," he remarked. Shaking his head, Woody muttered, "He'll slip up, sooner or later I'll catch this bastard."
"Copycat, he didn't do it," Jordan stated.
"Jordan," Bug sighed.
Jordan had burst into the crypt and announced to Bug that she would be assisting him with the autopsy. Bug had tried to dissuade her, but figured there was no use and gave up. When Jordan set her mind to something it was either let her have her way or end up on the slab yourself.
"No, look," Jordan pointed to the victim's neck. It wasn't completely severed and she ran her gloved finger along the wound. "See that?"
"See what?" Bug leaned in closer. "I'll be damned," he whispered.
"Serrated edge," she ran her finger in the opposite direction. "Now why after seven victims, all the same MO, would he suddenly use a serrated knife?"
"And why would he hesitate?" Bug inquired as he showed Jordan the left side of the victim's neck. "It took him awhile to break the skin on this side, see those nicks?"
"Copycat," Jordan repeated.
"What's this?" Bug again indicated to the gaping neck wound, from which he extracted a small hair.
"That's what we call evidence," Jordan said with a smile.
"I'll get Nigel to run a screen on this," he told her.
No sooner had the words left Bug's mouth than Nigel appeared at the door.
"Are my ears burning?" he inquired with a large grin. "Just what little fun chore did you two drudge up for little ole' me?"
Jordan handed him the bagged piece of evidence. "Need you to find out who's the owner of this."
"That all?" Nigel's voice fell slightly. "And here I was ready for a challenge."
"Maybe next time Nige," Jordan shrugged as her and Bug continued to examine the body.
"The real challenge seems to be in catching this guy," Bug remarked.
Nigel nodded to Bug, in a manner that suggested he knew all too well, and left to run the screen.
"Except now we might be looking for two guys," Jordan shook her head.
"How old do these bruises look to you Bug?" she questioned, her hand skimming along the victim's arm. The flesh was a deep purple, consistent with an open palm and splayed fingers.
"Fairly recent, think they're defensive wounds?" Bug too, inspected the marks.
"Maybe," she answered uncertainly. "A lot of this just isn't adding up."
Jordan sat behind her desk, desperately trying to finish up some last minute paperwork. It should have been done this morning, but Jordan was never one for doing anything when she was supposed to, a habit that most people around her found particularly irksome.
"How goes the paperwork?" Nigel asked from the doorway, Bug in tow.
"It's not. Going that is," she rolled her eyes. She walked over to them and glanced quickly at the file folder that Nigel held in his hand. "So, what did you find out?"
"Your hair belongs to a Jack Deacon Kelly," Nigel informed the two MEs standing in front of him. "Sound familiar?"
"Vaguely," Jordan admitted.
"Well it should love," Nigel said with a half grin. "Jack Kelly is the intrepid reporter whose name appears in the byline of a rather controversial story that was splashed on the front page of the paper last Tuesday."
"The one who got all those inside reports?" Bug asked, his arms folded tightly across in chest.
"The one and only," Nigel answered in a satisfied tone. "I did a little digging and poking around on this guy. He's only twenty-four, still wet behind the ears, was a cub reporter up until last year. Seems like this story on the 'Slash and Dash' was a big break for Kelly. The ink wasn't even dry on the pages and Kelly had more offers than he could count."
"For what?" Jordan's forehead crinkled in thought.
"You name it," Nigel opened the folder and taking out some of the contents. "Talk shows, big name magazines. But, he's also been on a close watch list of our very own Boston PD."
"If the cops had their eye on him, why would he go anywhere near the crime scene?" Bug scratched his head.
"Better question, why did they have their eye on him?" Jordan questioned.
"Well, no one knows yet just how Kelly got his hands on all the inside information in the first place," Nigel frowned. "He had some very confidential police files, stuff I'd have pickle getting."
"The plot thickens," Jordan sighed.
"We'll grab this guy for questioning tomorrow morning," Woody tiredly said, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "Thanks Bug."
Woody disconnected from Bug and slammed the phone back on its cradle. This week just kept going downhill, from bad to worse. Rubbing his eyes again, Woody tried to focus on the report in his hand. He was so sick of this stupid 'Slash and Dash Killer' case. Never in his life had he been more frustrated. It was his first instance in dealing with a true serial killer and from what Bug had just told him, it looked as though it was about to get a hell of lot more complicated than it already was.
And then there was the Jordan problem. Which, in Woody's mind, shouldn't even be a problem. He hadn't spoken to her since that night, and he was planning on keeping on it that way for awhile. Woody decided that for the moment he had enough trouble with this frustrating case never mind a frustrating woman. But, of course it wasn't as easy as that.
"Hey Croft," Woody called out.
The young cop turned to look at Detective Hoyt, who was almost hidden by the mounds of files and paperwork.
"Yes Detective?" Croft responded.
"I'm stepping out," Woody said in a mumbled rush. "Reach me on my cell. I want to be informed of any updates on the Collins case. Everything goes through me first, got that?"
"Yes sir," he replied.
Woody grabbed his suit jacket and flung open the station doors. Hopping into his car, without a destination in mind, Woody wondered if maybe Jordan was right all along with this running thing. He had to admit it was starting to sound appealing. Taking off into the night, not even worrying about he consequences. And although Woody knew that he probably never would run, the thought still lingered and it was somewhat comforting.
As if Jordan wasn't sleep deprived enough already, she now had two things keeping her awake. The first was the case. Although officially she was never really on the case Jordan still felt a certain tie to it and it was nagging her until no end. The second was Woody. Woody and that perfect smile, the one that slide silkily into her thoughts the moment she closed her eyes. It was enough to drive her batty.
But it was just Woody's face that kept her awake tonight. It was what he had said. And those words haunted her more than she ever thought possible.
"To even be part of that—of you—felt like the best thing in the world. I love you, I love you Jordan."
He loved her.