A/N: Ok heres chapter 6! Thanks everyone for reviewing! It so fun to read them! Ok well not much to say here...so read on!

Garret woke with a start, to the distant sound of a cell-phone ringing. Knowing he had turned his off last night, he reasoned it must be Woody's. The cell stopped ringing and he heard a voice.

Groggily, he put a hand to his head, and sat up in the bed, eyes growing accustomed to the near-blinding light coming through his window. The numb thought that he should buy a blind for the damn thing wandered into his mind.

It can't be said that the events of the past few days returned to him, for they had never left. He knew exactly what was going on and what had happened, as soon as his eyes had opened, maybe even before. And, like always, he turned it over and over in his mind, stewing on it, wishing he could bounce some of his erratic thoughts off someone.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, the icy coldness that accompanied early morning hitting him. He staggered out the door of his bedroom; a splitting headache reminding him of the alcohol he and the detective had consumed last night, and was glad he had not let the young man drive home. It occurred to Garret that he could have gotten a taxi, and wondered idly why one of them had not thought of that last night.

"Morning, Doc," Woody said, and Garret was glad to see that his friend looked as bad as he himself felt. "Fancy a trip to New York?"

Garret was suddenly wide awake. "Jordan?"

"She and another man were arrested last night."

Garret groaned, what had she done this time? "What for?" he asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"In relation to some drug offence they were accused of. But that doesn't concern me. Does the name 'Adam Macklin' mean anything to you?"

Garret shook his head. "No. Should it?"

"I'm not sure," Woody said, standing. "He's the man she was arrested with."

Garret walked into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. "Lets try and work through this," he said, turning to the cupboard and retrieving two mugs, one black and one blue.

"Her father is killed. What does she do? Go to New York? It doesn't fit," Woody started, warming to the task.

"Who did she need to see there?"

"Something to do with her father's death."

Garret thought for a minute, and spooned two heaps of instant coffee each into the mugs. "She could have met someone there."

"Where?" Woody asked, not catching on immediately.

"At the old wharves," Garret said, frowning in concentration. "The killer?"

"Koreldy?"

"Maybe."

"It would make sense," Woody said. "Except…he just killed her father. Why wouldn't he kill her?"

"He didn't have a gripe with her?" Garret suggested.

"If she saw him…that would be sufficient gripe, I think," Woody argued.

"How would she have seen him? Aren't we assuming he called her after he murdered him?"

Woody stared. "How did he know that she worked in the morgue?"

"He has been watching her. Them."

Woody shook his head. "This is just hearsay. We really don't have any idea what happened." He paused. "Nothing on the body?"

Garret inwardly winced. "No," he said stiffly. "Only a hair. It was hers." Garret studied the younger man's face as he processed this information, and watched him come to the same conclusion he had himself the night before.

"No," he said. "No way."

"Its what whoever they put on the case is going to think."

Woody knew he was right. "So what's the plan?"

"We should probably take a trip to the morgue," he said, uncertainly. "At the risk of running into Walcott."

"Great," Woody said. "Sounds like fun."

Ironically, when Woody walked into the morgue, it actually felt like one for once. He had never considered what it was before, not really. But he felt it in its entirety today, which made him feel somewhat uneasy. They strode down the corridor, as they had done so many countless times before, but it was different today. Lily saw them, gave them a sad smile, and continued on her way. Woody spotted Nigel sitting morosely at his desk, scribbling something incoherent on a thin piece of paper. Bug was nowhere to be seen.

"What exactly are you doing?" Woody asked of the Chief ME quietly. Garret looked towards his office.

"I'm going to call Walcott," he said. "And give up."

"Let her think you're giving up, you mean."

Garret didn't answer, and veered off into his office, leaving Woody standing around awkwardly. Luckily, Lily came to his rescue and pulled him into her office.

"How are you holding up?" Woody asked Lily as she closed the door.

Lily didn't answer, feeling it was a pretty pointless question. "Any word from Jordan?" she asked, concern in her eyes. Woody swallowed, not knowing how much to say.

"She's in New York," he said. Lily frowned.

"What is she doing there?" she asked, confused. Woody spread his hands wide.

"Your guess is probably better than mine," he confessed, sinking into her couch as she sat opposite, shaking her head in what he assumed was disbelief.

"Are you going to look for her?" she asked after a while. Woody surveyed her.

"Yes," he said. "I'm just waiting for Garret to finish up with Renee."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Sounds ominous," she said in a low voice. They were silent

"Is he still here?" Woody asked. Lily closed her eyes and nodded.

"I can't believe Garret did it," she said. "I could never…"

"And yet if you think about it, you can understand why he had to."

"Doesn't make it any better for him," she countered, and he wholeheartedly agreed.

"Just like that," Renee's voice came, taking a distinct tone of disbelief.

"Yep," Garret said indifferently. "Just like that."

"I'm not buying it."

"I can't win," Garret said mildly.

"No, you can't," she said uncertainly.

Garret didn't reply.

"We're sending in an ME," she said. "She's probably on her way now. Her name is Dr. Harding."

Garret was silent for a while. "Right," he said brusquely. "You know I have already done the autopsy?"

"She can do it again," Renee said neutrally. A tendril of anger snaked up Garret's throat and he said a rough goodbye before slamming the phone down on the receiver. There was a timid knock at the door and a small woman of about 35 stood there, eyes flickering between the man who was obviously fuming, to the phone that he had thrown back onto the receiver.

"Dr. Macy?" she asked, stepping into the office. Garret looked at her. She held out her hand. "Dr. Myra Harding."

"Dr. Harding," he said, taking her hand and shaking it, before letting it drop. "Welcome to our humble morgue." He breathed in, trying not to dislike the woman, who was obviously waiting for him to say something else. "Do you need to be shown around?" he asked, lamely. She smiled.

"If you've seen one morgue, Dr. Macy, you've pretty much seen them all. I'm sure I'll be fine. As to an office though…" she trailed off. Garret nodded.

"Through there," he said, pointing down the hall. She nodded.

"I look forward to working with you," she said. "I understand the circumstances surrounding this case, you may want to point out the daughter to me so I don't say anything tactless."

"No fear of that," he said. "She's not here, probably won't be for a while."

"Smart girl," Harding observed.

"She is," Garret agreed forcibly.

"Are you going to be assisting?"

Garret stared. "Don't you think once is enough?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"You've done an autopsy already?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"I have," he said stiffly. "Miss Walcott seems to think my professional judgement was clouded."

"I see," the doctor said, and she did, having had many far-from-pleasant meetings with the district attorney.

"How long are you here for?"

Harding frowned. "Miss Walcott wasn't very clear on that," she replied. "I understand you are understaffed?"

"We have just lost on of our ME's, so yes."

"Then maybe it isn't just for this case," she mused. "Who knows?" They were silent.

"Look," Garret started, after a few minutes of awkwardness.. "I have to be somewhere today."

Dr. Harding raised an eyebrow. "I see," she said again.

"Do you think you could hold the fort? The staff will be civil."

"I'm sure I'll manage," she said. "I'll see you later."

Garret nodded and turned away, leaving his office in search of Woody, who he found sitting in Lily's office. With a subtle jerk of his head, he beckoned the detective, who stood immediately.

"Got your affairs all sorted out?" Woody asked in a tone halfway between irritation and sarcasm. Garret snorted softly and they piled into the elevator.

"Take two," Jordan said dryly. They had waited out the day, sitting in James' house, talking about everything and nothing, and were now preparing to jump into his car and check out the address Woody had given her, for the second time. James shot her a look, which conveyed neither irritation nor amusement, and planted himself into the car.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, hands on the wheel. He had not started the car. Jordan drew the seatbelt across her chest.

"No," she said. He nodded; apparently this was the answer he had been after. He started the car and they drove slowly down the road.

"Are you?" she asked when they had driven for a few minutes.

"No," he said, staring stonily ahead.

They continued on in silence, both becoming so lost in their thoughts they almost missed the turnoff.

"Is this the street?" James asked, looking at the sign. Jordan glanced down into her hand, where the piece of paper she had scribbled the address on sat. She nodded grimly, and he flicked the blinkers on and turned into the street.

All too quickly, they had pulled up in front of the house. It was not shabby, as Jordan had expected. On the contrary, it looked like a rather respectable place; the lawn was mowed, the balcony had a neat little table and chairs placed deliberately under a window, a little pot plant perched on the face of the table. James stared at it stonily, before parking on the other side of the road, and getting out of the car.

The sun had fallen, but the street-lamps were not yet lit, relying on the remaining rays of sunlight to illuminate the residents of this suburban neighbourhood. Jordan followed her brother, who had crossed the road. He did not stop, when he reached the fence, however, and kept going to the door.

"James!" Jordan hissed, running to catch him up. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, you just wanted a look at the house?" he said, nerves making him angry.

"Do we have a plan?" she asked.

"We both have guns," he replied. "I'd say that's the first glimmerings of one."

Jordan frowned. "James…" she warned.

"Look, we're just finding out if this is the guy!"

"And how do you propose we do that?" she asked, finally questioning their method.

"I don't know, ask him?" He stopped the banter, and walked boldly up to the door, knocking. Jordan stood with him, waiting apprehensively. The door opened, and a man stood there, eyeing them.

"Jack Koreldy?" James asked in a strange voice.

"Yeah, who wants to know?"

"The New York PD," he said, flashing a badge. Jordan nearly fell over, before collecting herself and showing her own badge, which she knew could be easily mistaken for a police badge. Koreldy's eyes narrowed.

"She's a Medical Examiner," he observed, and she nodded.

"Sure am," she said. "With the Massachusetts Medical Examiner's office."

Koreldy nodded, and his eyes flickered back to James.

"How can I help you, officer?" he asked, with a slight emphasis on the word officer. Panic rose in Jordan's throat as she realised she could potentially be looking in the face of her father's killer. As if sensing her gaze, he returned it coolly, eyes communicating something she did not recognise.

"Perhaps," James said and Jordan was amazed at the different personas he could just shift to, not recognising it was on of her own defining traits. "We're here in relation to a murder that happened in Boston two nights ago."

"I haven't been to Boston in years," he said mildly. "Why do you think it was me?"

"Witness described someone who could potentially be you."

"Hmm," Koreldy said, as if he was deep in thought. "Don't know how that could happen."

"I'm sure its just a misunderstanding," James said. "However you know this person."

"I do?" he asked idly.

"Max Cavanaugh," James said.

Koreldy frowned as if in concentration. "Cavanaugh's a pretty common name," he said. "I really don't recall…"

"He is the detective who was solely responsible for the case against you in September 1979."

Koreldy's eyes narrowed. "Ah. That one. The one who tried to frame me for murder."

"Whose murder?" James asked.

"I don't even know. Some guy I had never even met. So he's dead, huh?"

"Yeah, he's dead," Jordan broke in harshly.

"Well I'm not really sorry to hear it," he said blankly. "But I had nothing to do with it."

James swallowed hard. What were they doing? "We'll be watching you, Koreldy," he almost growled, before turning on his heel and striding back down the path. Koreldy watched, a glint in his eye, as a surprised look crossed Jordan's face, and she followed him away.

"Likewise," he said brightly, and closed the door.