'K, this is where I start taking liberties with Woody's back story, and for this I ask your forgiveness (especially if the show contradicts any little details that I may come up with, but que sera sera).
There's No Place Like It"Uh, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, buddy, but your uncle David died."
Woody closed his eyes and let out the breath he had been holding. It wasn't Cal. Not that he was glad that his uncle died. He was just relieved that Cal hadn't gotten himself killed.
"When did they find him?" he asked Michael.
"Around six this evening," he said. "They're waiting to remove the body until you get here. Something about family rights."
"Oh," Woody said, surprised. "Uh, Mike, I hadn't really planned on coming home when this happened. My dad and David hadn't been on very good terms…"
"Yeah, I know," Michael said in understanding. "I think the whole town knew they hadn't talked in years. But…well, Woods, he left everything in your name."
Woody's mouth dropped open. Aside from Christmas cards, he had not talked to his uncle in nearly ten years. His father had cut ties with him when Woody was still a kid, and they never saw much of David after that. Woody never found out exactly what had happened between them. He and Cal were the last living relatives David had. In a way, it made sense that he would leaves things to one of them. Woody's eyes suddenly grew wide. But that means…
"Did he leave me the ranch?"
"Yes he did," Michael said.
Woody dropped his head into his hand and rubbed at the headache that was threatening his temples. Working out his uncle's will was something he was loathe to do at the moment. It was going to be impossible to handle something like that from Boston. He sighed in frustration.
"I'll be on the first plane in the morning," he said.
Woody met no resistance at the precinct when he asked for a few days off to sort out a family issue. He got some rather strange looks from the other detectives. They seemed surprised to hear him speak of family in general, let alone one that was worth taking time off for. He knew they suspected it had something to do with Cal, and Woody was grateful that Cal's involvement in the Albanian mob was still a secret. The shame he felt about him could not have been worse, even if it was made public. He hated what Cal had done, acting against everything Woody stood for, putting people's lives in danger…putting Jordan in danger.
Woody gave his head a shake at the thought, looking out of the window of the airplane to distract himself. It always came back to Jordan somehow. No matter what he was thinking about, his subconscious would connect it to her. He told himself that it was only because they had been working together so much lately. Nothing more. So why do you keep losing sleep over her?
Shutting his mind off to all thoughts of the woman who seemed to only want to give him grief, he closed his eyes and tried to rest for the remainder of the flight. All too soon, they were touching down in Green Bay. Woody rented a car and began the drive east to his hometown. He quickly left the city behind him and started to take in the Wisconsin country landscape that had occupied his youth. He saw familiar landmarks: a barn along the interstate that was still painted an atrocious shade of orange, a tree that was long ago split in half by a lightening storm, and a large boulder that people thought looked like an elephant.
Turning onto interstate 29, Woody began to lose himself in the countryside. By the time the houses of Kewaunee made their first appearance, it was nearing late afternoon. He opened the windows of the car to allow the air to refresh him. The air was certainly cooler here than in Boston. Sweeter than he remembered. Pulling onto Ellis Street, he noted that not much had changed since his last visit. It pleased him, in a way. At least some things stayed constant. He quickly found his way to the police station and pulled in front of the familiar building. He paused before getting out of his car and, after a moment of contemplation, opted to don a pair of sunglasses. He felt like a stupid movie star, avoiding people, but he was in no hurry to be stopped and caught up in a gossipy conversation with people who still thought of him as twelve years old.
Making a beeline for the station, he marched straight over to the front desk. The station was behind the times, and short on space. It did not really seem to matter, though. Woody only saw one person in there, anyway: a large, blonde man sitting back in his chair, snacking on Doritos. The man sat up when Woody approached him, wiping the orange residue off his fingers.
"What can I do ya for, son?" he asked Woody jovially.
"I'm looking for Michael Foster," Woody said, taking off the sunglasses.
"Well I'll be," the man's grin grew wider. "If it isn't Woodrow Hoyt! How you doin,' boy?"
The man stuck his hand out, and Woody took it more out of manners than anything else. He eyed the man for a minute before a name came to him.
"Chuck Bentley, how are you?" he asked casually. He had received more than one black eye from Chuck as a boy. Chuck's father used to coach their little league team.
"Not bad, not bad," Chuck said. "Looking for Mike, huh? Must be about your uncle. My sympathies."
"Thanks. Is he around?" Woody hurried him.
"Oh yeah," Chuck seemed to snap to. "One second," he said as he disappeared behind a door. A few minutes later, Chuck returned with Mike in tow. Mike was a little shorter than Woody with a similar build, and if it hadn't been for a darker coloring on Mike's part, they could have passed for brothers. Mike enthusiastically shook Woody's hand.
"It's great to see you again, Wood," he said. "Just wish it could be under better circumstances."
"Well, what're you gonna do," Woody said. He flicked the shiny sheriff's badge on Mike's uniform. "Nice little trinket you got there. Done well for yourself."
"Not as good as Detective for the Boston PD, but it'll do," Mike smiled warmly. The smile wavered for a second as he continued. "You ready to go then?"
"Yeah," Woody said quickly. "Let's go."
David had taken over the family ranch outside of town, but it had long since lost its original purpose. A few cows still dotted the land, but David focused mainly on horse breeding from what Woody had heard over the years. In fact, David chose to live in the small guesthouse at the back of the property, nearer to the stables. The main house he rented occasionally as a vacation home, but it was vacant at the moment. Mike directed Woody to the driveway the led to the guesthouse and they parked and got out. The coroner's van was already waiting for them.
Woody felt oddly normal as he entered the house with the others following. It wasn't so much that his job had made him immune to the situation as he was starting to fell this was his lot in life. He was about to identify and bury one of his last remaining relatives. The scenario was becoming all too familiar.
The group was quiet as they walked into the bedroom where David lay upon the bed. He looked at peace to Woody. He stood at the bedside for a minute, not really thinking of anything. Maybe a little about mortality. He then looked up at the coroner and his assistant and gave them a nod.
"Go ahead," he said calmly.
The two men took over then, taking brief notes on the situation. From the looks of things, David had died naturally in his sleep. They set the gurney up next to the bed and gently lifted the body. That was when Woody first noticed the large, dark red stain on the sheets.
"Whoa, whoa," he exclaimed, and the others saw what he was looking at. The coroner quickly looked under the body to find the source.
"Oh shit," he said worriedly.
Woody followed his gaze and saw a black knife handle protruding from David's back. He echoed the coroner's words and covered his mouth with his hands. He felt Mike's hand on his back, supporting him.
"Jesus," Mike whispered, making Woody turn away. Woody allowed Mike to steer him towards the doorway and out into the hall.
"Oh my God," Woody let out a shaky breath, trying not to look as they wheeled David out of the room. "You reach a point when you think it doesn't bother you anymore."
"This is different, Woody," Mike told him.
"I've seen so much worse," he went on, knowing full well why it was different.
"Doesn't matter," Mike said. "Nothing ever prepares you for something like that. I mean, he's your uncle for Christ's sake, however estranged he was."
"Yeah," Woody finally agreed. "I know." He headed towards the front door, closely followed by Mike. "This place needs to be totally examined. Make sure they look at him thoroughly."
Woody could feel his 'detective with a vengeance' side coming through. He realized he was going on a power trip and was probably stepping on Mike's toes. But he was not about to let this happen to him again. His father may not have gotten the justice he deserved, but he sure as hell was not going to sit by and let the same thing happen to David. Not while he could do something about it.
"Woody, don't worry, we've got it covered," Mike told him as they walked back outside. The van was just driving off, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. "First priority, really. Look, you got a place to stay tonight? 'Cause Linda and I wouldn't mind if you stayed with us."
"Actually I had planned on staying here," Woody explained. Mike looked at him, trying to figure out if Woody was in shock. "In the main house," Woody said at the look on his face. He would be an idiot to stay in the guesthouse after what he had just seen.
"Woody this is an insecure crime scene."
"Yeah, I know what it is."
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather…" Mike trailed off at the set look on his friend's face.
"I wouldn't want to impose on your family," Woody said firmly. Mike stared at him, his hands on his hips.
"Well the Inn at least-"
"Does Sarah Bennet still own it?"
"Yeah."
"She charges too much."
Mike looked hard at him. This was not the same Woodrow who had left Kewaunee years ago. It was not even the same Woodrow who had visited from time to time, joining the gang for drinks and a game of pool in the bar, taking boat trips out on Lake Michigan. The carefree Woody was gone. Boston had hardened him. Mike shook his head and sighed.
"Whatever you say, Woody," he said gruffly. He tromped past him across the gravel driveway towards the car. "Drive me back to the station. We'll get a team out here before it gets dark."