A/N: Evening everyone! Next chapter! Oh and just to clarify, Woody didn't order their arrest…I just thought that'd be her first thought. Ok ok I lied, I was going to make it as though he HAD ordered the arrest but I couldn't see how that'd work…but obviously it wasn't a coincidence… (A/N continues at bottom…hehe)

GoddessofSnark – Rough? I can believe that seeing as I hardly even read over it before I post it…hehe…but how can I make it better? Just practice or is there some secret writers technique:p Ah, thanks for the geog info!

Thanks, oranges13 :D

Lioness-Rampant – I know wasn't that heartbreaking? Thankfullt this time Woody didn't have much to do with her arrest…thank god!

MartinaCruz- Many thanks! I love reviews! 'Specially seeing as if its bad no one reviews it so one never gets any bad comments…

BadSlayer: So you WONT tell me your old account? Party pooper! Yeah I know, Word said I had spelt it wrong but it looked stupid 'prerogative' also thanks for the advice I'll try not to let that happen to myself (Brit's plight…) Yeah EXACLTY, actually the whole H&A thing is what made me remember poor ole James…also, a question, did they show Oh Brother Where Art Thou in Aust? Coz I must've missed it! But its ok coz I read the transcript…ok shutting up now…read on!

Garret went home, in the end. He knew there was no use staying where he was; there was nothing more he could do. He had determined that Max had been shot, with a 32-calibre handgun, not able to be identified. There was nothing else that could possibly link anyone to the scene, except a hair that was obviously Jordan's.

Would she become a suspect? The thought hit Garret like a tonne of bricks. Of course he knew that she was so far from being anywhere near a suspect, but to someone else it was the perfect arrest. She was there, he was dead, what more did they need? He was suddenly worried; who would Rene bring in? For he was sure she wouldn't give up, like a dog with an especially juicy bone.

She just likes winning, he thought. And I allowed her to. Staying calm was the key, staying in control. He would have to show her she had been mistaken, would have to show her he was the best guy, no, the only guy for the job. As for Woody, well, he would just have to fend for himself. Garret was sure he'd do fine.

As if on cue, his cell started ringing. Looking at the number he saw it was indeed the detective in question.

"Woody," he said.

"Hey, Doc," the detective said wearily. "You still at the morgue?"

"Nope. I was kicked out."

"Kicked out of your own morgue," Woody said dryly. "Wonderful. Does Walcott have anything to do with this?"

"She has everything to do with it," he said. "She's kicking us off the case."

"My ass she is," Woody said mildly, taking it in his stride. Garret was surprised; he had expected more of a reaction from the young detective. "I heard from her."

Garret sat forward. "What?" he snapped. "Where? Is she ok? Is…"

"She's fine," Woody cut him off. "Or so she says. She wanted to know the case her father was working on when her mother died."

"And you told her?" Garret asked, incredulous.

Woody suddenly felt very stupid.

"Bad idea?" he asked.

"Worse than bad. You better get over here and we'll work something out."

"She would have got the information anyway," Woody defended himself.

"Maybe," Garret said cryptically.

"Her car was in New York."

"Was?" Garret asked. "Where is it now?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I rang all the police departments in the country."

"Damn," Garret almost whistled. "That must've taken you, what, 4 hours?"

"Five and a half," Woody said. "But who's counting?"

"So she was in New York."

"Yep. Parked outside some suburban house."

"Who does the house belong to?"

"One Adam Macklin. I ran his name through the database. He was squeaky clean. And I mean squeaky. One or two speeding tickets, but that's it."

"So why was she visiting him?"

"Maybe she wasn't," Woody said, a distinct shrug in his voice. "She could have been seeing anyone who lived on that street. She doesn't want to be found; you'd think she'd be more careful. In theory, she could have been seeing someone anywhere in the city. It worries me that she's in New York, though. I mean, she was there even before I told her about Jack Koreldy."

"Who?"

"The guy Max put away, or at least, helped to put away, in September 1979."

"Damn," Garret sighed heavily. "What do we do?" There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, and it took on a tone Woody hadn't heard before.

"We wait," he told Garret, trying to sound like he knew what he was doing.

"Waiting," Garret said. "One thing I'm good at."

"Really? You can teach me," Woody said dryly.

"Come around," Garret offered to Woody's surprise. "We'll try and figure this out over a drink."

"Sounds like a plan to me," he replied.

Half an hour later they were sitting on the two couches in Garret's lounge room, sharing a bottle of Garret's preferred whisky, and talking about their common factor.

"So why did she go to New York?" Garret said, wanting to get the ball rolling.

"Somewhere to go?"

Garret shook his head, staring into his glass. "No. She wouldn't just…go there. She has no links to the place, has never been there for any length of time."

"So there was some reason." Woody cast around. "She needed to see someone?"

"Who? She doesn't know anyone in New York."

"Not that you know of," Woody countered, and Garret nodded.

"I guess you're right. Who did she need to see? Someone who had something to do with Max?"

"I'd say so. I don't think she'd be paying too many social visits right now."

"Alright, think back," Garret said, frowning slightly. "She got a call."

"Lily said she did, yeah."

"Who called her?"

"The killer, maybe? But it's a long shot, it could just as easily be the guy who tipped off the police, or any other person wandering along that stretch."

"You're right," Garret conceded, yet again. "So she went to her apartment after she left us."

"We surmise that she did," Woody corrected.

"Lets continue to surmise that," Garret said stiffly. "Why would she go there, if not to get clothes? Which it doesn't look like she did."

"I don't think she'd be taking her gun to the morgue with her every morning, Doc," Woody said.

"Then that's it! She grabbed her gun! Nice work, detective."

Woody frowned. Garret continued. "So…she took her gun, left her money and key on the table…making it look like she's not coming home."

"Why did she take her own car, though? If I were her I would have taken the taxi. Harder to track."

"There's your first mistake," Garret said, smiling slightly. "Don't ever try and get into Jordan's head. Go for your life with a serial killer, though, I'm sure they'd be far more predictable."

Woody saw the truth in what Garret had said. They were silent for a few minutes. "I can't believe he's dead," he said, suddenly. Garret's face hardened.

"I wont be able to recall his face without seeing another one, dead, next to it," Garret confessed. Woody looked at him, surprised. Rarely would Garret open up, if even slightly.

"You did the autopsy," Woody said. "I thought you said Rene was bringing someone in?"

"She said that after I had done it."

Woody cursed inwardly, not wishing that on anyone.

"I could never…" he began, then sucked in the words that were trying to follow, realising he was being tactless. "I'm sorry…" he began.

"Its ok, Woody," he began. "I didn't think I ever could, either. Damn! Had you given me this situation yesterday, I would have said call someone else in, before even Rene. But seeing him there, so pale and helpless…" He shook his head. "I couldn't not do it. I felt like I owed it to him."

"Both of us should, theoretically, just distance ourself from this entire investigation, you know that, right?"

"'Course," Garret replied. "But I'm not going to go down lightly. Rene will have to drag my sorry ass away from the morgue herself before I move."

"Nice image," Woody said, again surprised, but was careful not to show it.

They were silent for a while, each lost in his own thoughts.

"Jordan isn't going to be dealing with this well," Woody said, quite unnecessarily.

"You think?" Garret replied dryly, lack of sleep finally catching up on him.

"What if she completely loses it?" Woody pressed, wanting reassurance from someone older and wiser, who had known Jordan longer than he, that she was going to be alright. It was not forthcoming.

"Too late," Garret said. "I don't think she could 'lose it' much more."

"Mm," Woody said, resting his head on the back of the lounge. "Maybe."

"Maybe if she doesn't find this Koreldy guy she will just give up," Garret said, and Woody looked at him.

"Fat chance of that," he said, surprised. Garret nodded.

"See the pointlessness of maybes and what ifs?"

Woody sighed, and sat forward, draining his glass. "I better run," he said.

"Not advisable," Garret said mildly.

"I haven't had that much," Woody said.

"Well I draw the line at doing your autopsy when you come in the morgue dead tomorrow," he countered, sending a chill down Woody's spine, for some inexplicable reason.

"Wow, you're cold," Woody observed, before complaining. "I'm not walking! Its too far!"

"You can have the couch, then," Garret said, standing. "I'm off to bed."

Woody was too tired to argue, so he stretched out on the lounge, feet dangling over the side, and fell asleep straight away.

Garret, however, could not sleep. He lay in his four-poster bed, staring up at the ceiling, illuminated by the moonlight that filtered through his window, thinking about what the detective had said.

What if she completely loses it? That was probably the last of their worries. He reasoned that he really would draw the line at her autopsy, should she need one before he. Then why, why did he do Max? It wasn't the first body he had done that he had seen alive. So why did the face of Max laughing, and smiling, continue to join with its more sinister counterparts – the bloodied face and the blue one, to plague him? He never should have done it, he should have listened to Rene, he should have listened… He finally fell into a fitful sleep, but it did not rescue him from the faces that continued to taunt and laugh at him, baiting him, screaming to him to stop, stop slicing with that damn cold scalpel, it hurt him, it hurt….

------

Jordan looked at her watch. She and James had been sitting around for about three hours, and it was now nearly midnight. The NYPD had told them nothing, had bunged them in a room and left them to stew. James was trying hard not to nod off, but his eyelids drooped and his head felt heavy. It dropped onto his chest and he fell into a fitful sleep, the first one he had had since just before Jordan had arrived.

Jordan noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye, and watched her brother sleep. It was a strange feeling. He looked so helpless, yet Jordan knew, knew he was anything but. He was a criminal, she told herself. He murdered his father.

And maybe mine…

The thought came unbidden into her head, and she tried to dismiss it. She had seen the look in his eyes, at the Old Wharves, and just before he had thrown himself off the buildings. They were not the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

They were her eyes.

She let out a shaky breath and sank back against the seat. This was too much, too much! Last time they had met, he had been feverish, at best. Barely lucid, he had thrown himself off a building into the Charles. She had believed him dead, hadn't even carried a glimmer of hope that he could possibly be alive. Now he was here, and her father wasn't. For the first time, she knew exactly how James had felt most of his life. Alone.

The door opened and James' head snapped up. The policewoman who walked in was looking decidedly confused.

"Before we start," she said, sitting down, noting the glance that passed between the two people sitting opposite her. "Would you kindly tell us who you are?"

Jordan narrowed her eyes, waiting for James to answer.

"Adam Macklin," he said, leaning forward and plastering an expression of honesty on his face. Jordan was mildly amused – he seemed to share many qualities with her.

"This is my associate, Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh."

A good lie is always 3 quarters truth, she thought, but was still uneasy.

"With the Massachusetts state medical examiners office," Jordan said, showing them her badge, surprised she still had it on her after all the mess she had dragged it through lately. The officer raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Someone was looking for you," she said, looking back to Jordan's face. "A detective from Boston."

"So you arrested us?"

The woman frowned slightly. "We got a tip that there was a drug operation running out of your home, Mr. Macklin," she said, nodding her head slightly at James. "Of course that has been cleared up."

Jordan's mind was working fast. Either Woody was getting more subtle, which she doubted, this was a genuine mistake, which she also doubted, or that something far more sinister was at work.

"Just a question, though. You, Dr. Cavanaugh, were carrying a gun."

Jordan opened her mouth to protest, but the officer cut her off.

"I know it was registered," she said. "I was just curious as to why you had it, seemingly stuffed so hastily in your pocket."

Jordan surveyed the woman. "I'm in a strange city, officer," she said, shrugging. "I see a hell of a lot of preventable deaths come through the morgue back in Boston…" she trailed off, and the officer nodded.

"Just one last question, for you, Doctor."

"Fire away," Jordan said, not too amiably, not too petulantly.

"Why is the Detective from Boston looking for you?"

"Beats me," she said, frowning slightly as if trying to think. "Was it…Detective Hoyt?"

"I'll go check," she said, walking out of the room.

"Thank god," James muttered. "I thought we were busted. Who is Detective Hoyt?"

"I believe you've had the pleasure," she said. "On the roof that night?"

"Ah," James said, averting his eyes. "That guy."

Jordan was spared answering by the officer who had come back in.

"The very same," she said. "You know him?"

"Yes, we're acquainted. I have no idea why he is looking for me. I'll call him when I get out of here," she hinted, whereby the officer stood.

"I'm sorry for the delays," she said, shaking first Jordan's, then James' hand. "You are free to go."

They walked out, both letting out barely concealed sighs of relief.

"Adam Macklin?" Jordan asked, glancing at her brother.

"He's dead," he said. They climbed into his car. Jordan sent him a reproving glance.

"Spare me the lecture, Jordan," he said irritably, starting up the car. "We're not going to Koreldy's tonight."

She ignored the last comment. "Spare you the lecture? How long did you think the poor boy act was going to last?" She paused, letting her words sink in. "Did you kill him?"

Even Jordan didn't know to whom she referred.

"I didn't kill anybody," he told her grimly.

Jordan sighed. "How can you expect me to just…" she stopped. "I have no idea what I am doing here. I should be back in Boston."

"Yeah," he said. "Maybe you should. But you're here, with me. I guess that's how it's going to stay, huh?" It was almost a threat. She was silent, watching the scenery fly by. "What do you want me to say, Jordan?" he asked, seemingly genuinely.

"I don't know," she said. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

They were silent.

"You said you didn't kill anybody," Jordan started after a while. "What about Tom Malden? Your father?"

"He wasn't my father," James said mildly. "He was just the guy who…impregnated my mother."

"Who is your father then, James?" Jordan asked. James frowned.

"I guess I don't have one," he said, as if only just realising it.

"Weren't they even the slightest bit loving towards you? Doris and Samuel?"

James didn't answer. They pulled up outside his house.

His, or Macklin's? Jordan wondered idly.

"The bedroom's that way," he said, pointing down the corridor.

"I'm fine for the couch," she said a little stiffly.

"Oh no, I insist," he said sarcastically. She sighed and followed his hand. He watched her go, and, suddenly angry, kicked the lounge in front of him with force, eyes blurry.

Damn you, Koreldy. You're not going to escape us this time.

A/N Cont. Soo! If their arrest wasn't a coincidence…who reported them? Who would have most to gain by their incarceration that night? Perhaps the man they are both after with guns? Just a thought…ok so review people! It makes life worth living:D :D :D