After the initial rush of the fight for justice wore off, Woody began to feel embarrassed about the way he had acted towards Mike. Fortunately, he had perfected his ability to cover up embarrassment with a snippy attitude thanks to a certain ME. He knew he was pulling an act as the hotshot detective from Boston when they returned to the crime scene. It was not really intentional. He was simply doing what he always did; but he knew it came off as cocky. He distinctly heard one of the cops say something about Woody growing too big for his Kewaunee britches. At the end of a very unsuccessful investigation, Woody tried to apologize to Mike as the department headed out.
"Don't think on it," Mike said, though he did not really sound like he meant it.
Woody spent the next two hours unpacking, getting reacquainted with the house he had not been in since he was eighteen, and making arrangements for someone to look in on the horses. It had been a long time since Woody had looked after horses, and the little he remembered would not do to take care of six, two of them Thoroughbred breeding stallions. Just the thought made him nervous. After he was settled, he had nothing to do but wait for the call from Mike. Around eight thirty, the phone rang. The news was not encouraging.
"I'm sorry, Woody, but whoever did this was clean about it," Mike told him apologetically. "We couldn't find a thing."
"What about the body, did they trace anything?" Woody asked.
"The morgue closed for the night about two hours ago, but last I heard they were drawing blanks."
"Great," Woody grumbled. "Do me a favor, would you Mike? Tell them to trace everything they find, anything that's out of place, and call me tomorrow."
"I'll let 'em know. But I gotta tell you, Woody, anything there was to find they woulda found it by now."
Woody felt like throwing the phone into the wall after he hung up. The coroner had spent maybe two lousy hours at the most on his uncle and then clocked out to get home to a warm meal. This would never have happened in Boston. If Jordan were here, she would have stayed all night until she found something. He laughed at the irony of his thought. For once, having Jordan in his life would actually make it easier. His smile faded as he realized what he might have to do to get this case solved. Jordan might make it easier, but he had a feeling he would not be thanking himself later.
The next day dawned clear and chilly. Autumn was slowly creeping its way into the lakeside community. Woody got up and felt the need to release his pent up energy. He took off for a run along the expansive ranch property. It was a lot more beautiful than he remembered. He returned an hour later, winded. He still was not used to very much physical activity. Pouring himself a bowl of cereal, he made a mental note to go to the store if he intended on eating something other than Easy Mac while he was there. He wasted an hour getting dressed, and then decided he couldn't wait around any longer. Jumping into his car, he drove back over to the station.
"I don't know what to tell ya," Mike said regretfully as they sat in his office. "The whole thing is clean. They couldn't find a damn thing."
"What about the weapon? There has to be some kind of serial number you can trace."
"Woody, the coroner did the best he could. But we're not the Boston Morgue with fancy equipment. Maybe you've forgotten, but we're a town with a population of two thousand; haven't had a murder in close to ten years, and that was unintentional manslaughter. The biggest crime we've had to deal with this year was some high school kids trying to lift cows onto the roof of the school as a senior prank," Mike looked at him meaningfully. Woody glanced away, humbled. "Now I know that you're used to high tech methods. But if that's what you want, then you're going to have to bring someone in. Other than that, the only thing I can tell you is to just let it go."
Woody sighed and stared at the oak desk. This was turning into a huge mess, far more complicated than he ever anticipated.
"Thanks for trying, Mike," he said. "I appreciate it."
Leaving the station feeling more frustrated than ever, Woody walked the short distance to the end of Ellis Street. He crossed through the aging picket fence and onto the beach of Lake Michigan. He picked up a rock and heaved it towards the water, then sat down on the pebbly ground.
He could leave things at this. Go back to Boston and just accept that this was horrible and unfortunate, but his uncle had been getting on in years anyway. It wouldn't have been very long before his time came. Woody dismissed the thought with disgust. However removed David had been from the family, he was still just that – family. Woody hadn't spent years as a cop just to turn his back on a family member who fell victim to a crime.
But he was not able to do this alone. Pulling out his phone, he stared at the screen for a long time, arguing with himself. Just call her. You know she's the only one who will drop everything to help you. Lose the attitude and call her. He wasn't so sure she would drop everything for him anymore, but he had to try. Swallowing his pride, Woody hit 1 on his speed dial.
Her phone rang just long enough to worry him. This was only the second time he had called her cell phone in the last few weeks, and the first time it had been about a case. He was trying to keep their relationship as professional as possible by sticking to her office phone. Having left her a note saying he was going home for a few days, she had to suspect that this was not a business call. It stung to think that she would screen his calls. Finally, she picked up.
"Well, if it isn't Holden Caulfield."
"Very funny, Jordan."
"How are things in cowboy country?"
"Not too good," Woody hesitated. "I…I need your help."
"I'm sorry, what?" she asked incredulously after a moment.
"I need your help," he repeated. He then filled her in on all that had happened since arriving in Kewaunee. Jordan listened in silence, giving him the respect of a friend.
"Woody, I'm sorry," she said quietly when he finished. "What can I do?"
"I need someone here to do what the local coroner couldn't," Woody said. He rubbed at his eyes, not quite able to ask her outright. "I need your expertise."
Jordan did not say anything for a moment. Woody felt his heart sink a little. He had been right to doubt her loyalty to him. Not that he expected any different.
"Wouldn't it be better if you just sent me what I needed?" she asked finally.
"That's just it. There's nothing to send, really," he explained. "You've always said the answers are there, you just have to know where to look…would you come?"
"Do you think that's such a good idea, Woody?" she said tentatively.
"We've been working together all right-"
"Barely."
Woody placed his hand over his mouth, working against the urge to fight with her. The last thing he needed to do was make her angry. "I've got no one else to turn to, Jordan."
Again, he was met with a deafening silence. What he said was true. If Jordan did not agree to this, he could not think of anyone else to call on. He had not right to guilt trip her into helping him, playing on what she owed him for all the times he went on a limb for her. He just hoped that she could find some reason to do this for him. Woody heard her sigh on the other end.
"I'm going to have to run it by Garret," she mumbled.
Woody smiled. "I think they owe you, like, a year of vacation time." He could practically see her rolling her eyes in a withering look.
"Whatever, Woody. I'll call you when I've got the details."
The phone clicked off to a dial tone before he had a chance to say anything. Woody tucked his phone away and stood up. He had a lot to arrange before Jordan got there.
"Don't break any laws while you're there."
That's all Garret had to say on the matter when Jordan asked to have time off to help Woody. Just told her not to give him a reason to work harder at keeping his job than he already was. Part of Jordan was disappointed. She sort of hoped that he would deny her request and she could avoid the whole situation. Alas, here she was in her office, packing away the last of her paperwork before heading home to grab a suitcase and leave. There was a knock at her door, and Nigel poked his head in.
"I heard that Dr. Cavanaugh is finally taking some vacation time," he smiled at her. "Going to Barbados?"
"I wish," she said. Nigel walked in and took a seat across from her. He stared at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. She continued what she was doing, but gave him the cliff notes version of what happened. "Woody's uncle was murdered back in Wisconsin. I guess the authorities there aren't being very helpful. He asked me to give him a hand."
"Excuse me?" Nigel said in disbelief. "Is this the same Woody who told you to walk out of his life forever?"
"He never said that exactly."
"Close enough," Nigel said, surprised at the way she was defending Woody. "Jordan, are you okay with this?"
She hesitated for a second. "We've been working together a lot recently…it's been getting better."
Nigel watched her closely, and she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was hoping that she wasn't turning red under his questioning stare. He blinked and sat back in the chair, a thoughtful smile appearing on his lips.
"You want him, don't you?" he said casually.
Jordan's head snapped up, her eyes wide and her mouth working furiously for something to say. Nigel just looked at her smugly. After several seconds had gone by and she still had not formulated a decent argument, Jordan dropped into her chair and buried her face in her hands.
"Oh my God yes," she groaned hopelessly.
"I knew it," Nigel said. "He finally played the friend card for a change, and now you're the one doing the chasing."
Jordan looked at him from between her fingers. "You're not helping. And it's a little more complicated than that."
"Of course it is, love. We all saw what you went through. But now you two have a chance to sort things out."
"No, you don't understand, Nigel," she said worriedly as she leaned over the desk. "Things happen between us when we leave Boston. Things that usually make our relationship more screwed up than it already was. Well, I…you know what's going to happen!"
"And so do you, otherwise you wouldn't be going," he called her bluff. "So let it happen. By the end of this trip, you'll either lay him or leave him."
"Nigel! His uncle was just murdered," she said, shocked. Nigel stood up and looked at her knowingly.
"Grief can be a very strong aphrodisiac."