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

Part Four: Father Knows Best

The murders continued through August and into September - seven more between the councilwoman's death and Labor Day and three after that. Woody began to scan crime scenes for the person he'd sworn he'd seen lurking. No amount of canvassing or hunting ever turned up anyone matching his amittedly vague description. A few more times he thought he caught sight of the person, but it would seem his questions had sent the other to ground.

By September his nerves were ragged beyond measure. No one else had seen the figure and he didn't dare tell anyone about his dreams - or were they nightmares? After the first one, he hadn't dreamt of her for a week. And then she'd appeared again - whispering his name softly, asking about Moreno and before he could answer, she had vanished in a wreath of smoke. The dreams began to become more frequent and their endings less sanguine. Tammy had said nothing, but Woody knew he'd called out Jordan's name after the first few dreams. He'd forced himself to keep his lips clamped tightly shut when waking up. Any other evidence (and there was that aplenty if Tammy had chosen to notice) he couldn't control. These dreams weren't unpleasant, but disquieting. It was until the second or third week that they began to rattle him.

They all started the same - her whisper, her question about Moreno. Then she had kissed him, gently, lovingly and whispered in his ear that she'd meant it and she'd never moved on. Then she'd looked down at her fingertips which blazed like taper candles. Unable to move, Woody had watched the fire consume her. He'd woken up sweating and shaking from that one. By mid-September, he'd have considered that one a blessing. By mid-September, she was bursting into flames and blazing away until nothing was left just after whispering his name.

By the twentieth he was usually in his office an hour before his shift and staying late. It seemed to keep him sane. So he'd already had two cups of coffee and caffeine was surging through his blood when Nigel called that morning.

"What've you got, Nigel?"

"A break in the Tell case, I think."

Woody sat bolt upright. "You think?"

"Well, yeah."

"What? How? When?"

Nigel hesitated. "Can you come down here?"

Woody looked at his desk - completely clear. He thought of the possibility - even a remote one - of getting anything on

Tell before he struck again - and agreed readily. "Be there as soon as I can."

XXXXX

Woody was struck again by how incredibly sterile the temporary morgue seemed. Deep down he knew why, but given his subconscious' nightly Jordan-a-grams, he decided to ignore that. He found Nigel hunched over, eyes fixated on the computer screen. He glanced up as Woody came in. "Fascinating, just fascinating."

Woody looked over the Brit's shoulder. "What is it?"

"I think I know what our man uses."

"Hit me," was all Woody said.

"Yew."

"Huh?" Woody shook his head in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?" His eyes widened. "What? I'm committing the murders?"

Nigel gave him a wicked little grin. "Not you, Woody. Yew. As in the tree. Common to the entire Northern Hemisphere, sacred to an ancient culture or two and a nifty way to kill someone without anyone knowing how you did it."

Woody nodded and gestured for Nigel to continue.

"The yew tree, you see..." Nigel was enjoying his word play far too much, in Woody's opinion. The detective glared. "Right, getting on with it. The whole bloody tree, except the nice shiny red berries, is poisonous. Loaded with something we call taxine."

"Would someone - eat something from a tree? I mean, I know we eat lots of things from plants, but... you know what I'm asking, right?"

"I do indeed. And, no, I don't think anyone would intentionally eat the bark, leaves or seeds. But-" Nigel held up a hand to signal absolute quiet for his grand revelation. "But someone might very well drink a tea that had been brewed with any of those parts of the yew tree."

"How'd you find it?"

"I re-ran samples of the stomach contents. Taxine can only be detected in gastric contents. Sure enough, all of our victims had taxine in them."

Woody nodded and bit his lower lip, thinking. "So our man probably knows something about gardening?"

"I'd guess gardening, yeah. Not to tell you how to do your job, but perhaps a canvas of local nurseries?"

For a moment Woody's heart beat double time. Jordan never would have been so deferential - she'd have started phoning area plant stores herself. By the time he'd gotten there, she'd probably have spoken to half of the ones in the city. Woody forced the thought from his mind. "It's a place to start. Thanks, Nigel."

"No problem, mate. Maybe this is the break."

Woody paused at the door. He glanced back at the Brit. "What made you think to look for this taxine?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask that. Believe it or not, I found a note on my desk this morning. It said, "Check stomach contents for taxine."

Woody's eyebrows arched.

XXXXX

Max sat back on his heels and studied the headstone. Macy had done a good job. Simple, but appropriate for Jordan. The day was gorgeous - the trees beginning to turn and a few leaves patch worked the grass. Max took the locket out of his pocket. It swung gently, the light flashing off its gold surface. Max opened it and studied the little girl. He wondered exactly when he'd lost her. Emily's death? The fight with Jordan's grandmother? The lies he had told? He tried to imagine what he would do differently if he had the chance. He smiled slightly. Of course, then she wouldn't be Jordan and, as exasperating as she could be, Max thought she'd turned out pretty good overall. She had her relationship issues, but anyone who thought Jordan didn't care had never watched her pursue justice for those who couldn't any longer. Max stood up and thrust his hands into his pockets.

"All right, Jordan. I think I deserve an explanation." He raised his eyes and looked at a large tree about twenty feet away. "Don't bother hiding. I know you're there."

A figure detached itself, melting from the shadow of the trunk and walking hesitantly into the mellow afternoon sun. Her hair was cropped short, barely skimming her ears. She wore jeans and a t-shirt with some logo Max didn't recognize. She wore sneakers and Max thought he'd never seen more appropriate footwear on her with all the sneaking she'd been doing. She was thin, far too thin to Max's eyes. Shadows nestled under her eyes and her face was unusually pale. Her dark eyes never left his face. Her mouth quivered. Max took a few steps toward her and opened his arms. She rushed into them and all but collapsed against him as he held her - perhaps more tightly than he ever had. She cried, great, shaking, silent sobs. Max stroked her back as he would have when she'd been a child. "It's all right, Jordan. It's going to be all right."

END Part Four

TBC...