DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

Part Three: I'll Be Seeing You

The killings started on July 4. Woody's nightmares started about three weeks later, after the sixth body. By that time the press had dubbed the case the William Tell Murders, because each victim had been shot through the lefteye with an arrow, pinned to a tree in a variety of areas like grotesque and out-of-season Christmas ornaments. An apple rested on the top of the head of each victim. The one detail they'd managed to keep out of print or broadcast news was that, while the murderous archer might have tremendous accuracy to hit so routinely his target, the arrow-through-the-eye was not the cause of death. All the victims had been dead before that.

What killed them?

That - along with the killer's identity - was the million dollar question. No one could figure it out.

The city seemed to shrink in on itself a bit for the killer also seemed to choose at random. His victims came from different walks of life, led different lifestyles and, so far, had been a mixture of races. The first victim had been a Harvard student taking some summer courses. He'd gone to a bar with some friends, at some point in the night, went to the restroom and never came back. His blond, blue-eyed good looks accused the police from the front page of the papers until he was supplanted by the second victim.

She had been a middle-aged black woman who ran her own florist's shop. She'd left on a Thursday as normal, gone home, gone to choir practice and vanished - until her body was found.

The third victim had been a Latino male in his late fifties. He worked in the harbor and was strong as an ox. There had been not a single defensive would on his body nor any sign that he'd been injected with anything or made to ingest what had killed him.

The fourth and fifth victims had both been girls in their twenties, one white and one studying in Boston from Venezuela.

One had disappeared from a baseball game at Fenway and the other from her apartment (though there'd been sign of forced entry). Nothing indicated any of the victims knew each other, had the same hobbies or went to the same places. Woody was convinced if the M.E.'s office could find out how they died, his team would find their link as to why they died. He knew Garret and his staff were doing their best, especially given the chaotic nature of their present location, but his patience was thin. The headlines screamed daily about citizens' fears and police incompetence and calls for this, that or the other thing that wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.

XXXXX

Nigel looked up from the microscope slide and rubbed his eyes. Though they'd manage to secure the forensic equipment needed to run a modern day lab, all their machinery was yielding precious little. Garret had suggested using an old-fashioned method. "Try a microscope slide, Nige. It what Jor-" Macy's face had gone slack and he'd shaken himself inside. "Just try it," he finished, more tersely than intended. Now Nigel sat back and pondered that slide. Garret had been right. It was what Jordan would have done. Jordan also would have had some flash of insight or inspiration or maybe just sheer lunacy, but she'd been Jordan and it would have cracked the case. Nigel knew there was something in the stain he'd done. Something he wasn't seeing. Sighing in frustration and disgust he stood up and kicked the roller chair away. "Damn!" he yelled to the empty room. "Damn this case." He ran his hands through his hair. "And damn her for dying," he muttered.

"Nigel?"

He jumped at Lily's soft voice.

"Oh, sorry, luv. Just venting my frustration a little. I didn't mean - if you heard..."

She smiled weakly. "It's okay. I know what you mean. I keep thinking if she were here..."

He nodded and studied Lily for a moment. The circles under her eyes were lightning a little, though she was still too thin.Grief had taken its toll on her. "What did you need?" He asked after a moment's pause.

"Max is here. He wanted to ask you something."

Nigel squirmed a little. Why he felt guilty facing Jordan's father he couldn't have said, beyond that somehow he felt theyall should have taken better care of her for Max. "Yeah, fine."

When Max walked in he carried his late wife's locket.

Nigel looked away.

"Sorry to bother you," Max started, "but I needed to know something."

"Sure, Max. What is it?" The Brit asked.

"Tell me again where you found this?"

Nigel did as asked, pausing several times, the pain still amazingly fresh.

After Nigel was done, Max nodded several times. "And you didn't find anything else?"

Nigel gave a sad shake of his head.

"I was wondering if you could do one more thing for me."

"Anything, Max."

"Fingerprint the locket."

Nigel's eyes widened. "Why?"

Max shrugged. "I just got to wondering who might have been handling it."

"Max, you don't think...? You think maybe someone followed her in here and killed her?" Nigel was already busy moving around, getting out the fingerprint powder. "I don't see how, but let's-"

"Nigel!" Garret's summons was preemptory. "I need you. Now." Macy raised a hand in mute greeting to Jordan's father. "We have another victim."

"The William Tell Murders?" Max asked, his eyes holding some curiosity.

Macy nodded.

Nigel began to apologize to Max, who waved him off. "No problem. Most likely just an old man, grieving, wanting- ah, you know - to find some sort of reason, any reason."

The two morgue staff rushed off, leaving Max alone in Trace. He sat where they'd left him for nearly a full ten minutes, staring into space, grieving anyone might have said. When he was as sure as he'd ever be that everyone was occupied elsewhere, he helped himself to the fingerprint powder Nigel had, in his haste, forgotten to put back. Max spoke softly to himself as he worked. "I'm sure Jordan wouldn't like my technique, but... let's see." He examined the surface of the locket. "Interesting."

XXXXX

The scene was cordoned off and Woody was directing uniformed officers in what he needed them to do. He greeted Macy and Nigel by pointing to the body. Both men winced. Amid the chattering of summer insects, shimmering in early morning heat, the Tell killer's latest victim was a face known to any city and most state employees. Fifty-four year old Andrea Wallace was an outspoken city councilwoman. She criticized the machinery of government at any and every opportunity, introduced contentious measures to meetings and let her fellow council members know exactly what she thought of them. Some of what she said couldn't be printed in the papers, and no news station would broadcast live -or even on a ten second delay - with her any longer. The jaunty red apple on the top of her head jarred obscenely with her gently sagging body, its weight suspended only by the arrow in its now almost trademark location through her left eye. Blood trickled from the destroyed socket, giving her the appearance of someone crying blood. All this - as well as her race and other things they could generally determine about her - Nigel stated.

Nigel and Garret gave each other the same look of comprehension at the same time. "Blood!" Nigel tried not to sound too excited. "She bled."

Macy nodded.

Woody approached them. "Anything?" He didn't sound hopeful.

"Possibly," Garret told him. "She bled from her left eye."

Woody shrugged. "I'd think having an arrow shot through it would..." His face changed. "She bled?"

Nigel nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. "The good councilwoman wasn't quite as dead as our killer likes them. It might be she fought back."

"Anything, guys. Anything," Woody all but begged. His eyes narrowed. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"I thought..." His brow furrowed. "Over there. I thought I saw someone lurking. Near that pond, kind of behind the fountain."

Nope, sorries and Didn't see a thing, mates were all he got. "I'll have someone check it out. You never know." Walking off, Hoyt called back, "Let me know when you get something. Anything." He was close enough for them to hear his directions to the uniform he'd called over. "I don't know. I didn't get a good look at height, but dark hair, short. Sunglasses. Shorts and a t-shirt, I think. Take Elmeiro with you. Could be our killer wanted to see his handiwork."

Nigel and Garret got to work.

XXXXX

Woody let himself in to his apartment a little after eight that night. He found Tammy curled up on his couch, going over student papers. She also taught a class at Radcliff. She looked up, her reading glasses slipping to the end of her nose.

"I got take out."

"Thanks. Sorry, I'm late-"

She waved away his apology. "I saw the news. I figured."

Woody ate silently and then, after giving Tammy a quick kiss, went to grab a shower. Standing under the water he thought he could shower twenty-four hours a day and it wasn't going to wash away the filth of this case. Macy had called late in the day with a little bit of information. Fingernail scrapings had been taken and when a suspect was in custody, they could do a DNA match. They'd figured the killer was tying his victims to the trees before shooting them, but so far no fibers had been left behind. Until today. Nigel was working on it. And yes, she'd been alive when shot with the arrow. Woody sighed. He reminded himself this was progress.

After he toweled off, he checked the time and called out to Tammy that he was going to bed. She knew he was exhausted. She called back that she'd be in later. Woody laid down and closed his eyes, sleeping coming almost instantly. Tammy just smiled when she came in an hour later and found his bedside light still on. She lay down next to him and he never moved.

Sometime well after midnight, but before dawn had thought to begin its appearance, Woody's dreams took him to the park. He kept seeing that figure out of the corner of his eye. A flash of light - reflected off of something, he thought - and he'd turn, only to find the space empty. Not empty of people, but empty. No fountain, no other trees, not even any grass. No one could hide in that. And then it would happen again, behind him. Finally, he convinced himself it was a dream. He opened his eyes and sat up.

She stood there. Black slacks, a red silk tank top. Her hair fell, long and curly, over her shoulders. She took a few steps toward him, her high-heeled leather boots not making the slightest sound. She put one finger over her lips to indicate he should be quiet. Her nails caught his attention - they were perfect and the red was the exact shade of her top. She whispered his name, asked him if he'd been able to put Moreno away after all.

Before he could answer, his cell phone rang. His instinctive cry of "Jordan!" brought Tammy out of her sleep. She watched him recollect himself as he answered his phone. The news coming from the other end had him alert in moments. "Okay, on my way."

Woody turned to Tammy. "Sorry."

She kept her voice even. "Case?"

"Another body pinned to a tree."

Twenty minutes later, Woody was on his way.

END Part Three

TBC...