A/N: Hey...! Thanks for reviewing guys...! Means a lot! I love it! I can't believe I have 27 reviews:D :D Only a few chapters to go now...not entirely sure how its going to end...oh well...read on and enjoy! I'll really appreciate critical comments...even on grammatical errors, though I've been trying to avoid those. Anyway...don't let me keep you! ;)

Chapter 10 – Seeds of Doubt Pt 2

"Hey, Dr. Macy!" Dr. Harding was jogging to catch up with the large strides of the Chief ME. He turned, a look of intense irritation on his face.

"Dr. Harding," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Dr. Cavanaugh has been relocated to the holding cells down at the Boston precinct."

Garret's eyes closed, and he looked up for a second, before returning his gaze to his newest recruit.

"They don't believe her," he said.

"Mathers doesn't," she confirmed. "And I don't exactly blame him."

"And why is that?" Garret said, voice quiet, in an uncanny imitation of the tone of the ME they were discussing when she was addressing Harding in the cells at the precinct. Momentarily shaken, Harding tried to pull an answer together.

"Because she has means, opportunity and the…"

"Forensics put her there," Garret finished for her. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Ok. I believe her."

Garret narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Because from the little I know of her, she does not come across as one who hides feelings well."

Garret laughed bitterly. "You got that right."

"She wasn't acting. The look on her face when she realised she didn't have an alibi…that was not feigned. No one could feign that."

"What a pity you aren't the jury, then, Dr. Harding. Your belief is not going to help her."

Harding frowned as Macy shot her a dark look before storming into the corridor, stabbing a finger into the button on the elevator, and leaving the building.

Just as forcefully, he pushed open the doors of the Boston precinct, and rapped on Woody's office.

"Hey Doc," he said wearily as he opened his door.

"Woody," Garret said by way of greeting. "What's news?"

"News?" Woody said in mild disbelief. "I've just been interrogated, now am trying to get through the damn report that has to be filled out on Koreldy's death."

"Must be awful for you," Garret said sardonically, ignoring Woody's indignant look. "They've got her in the holding cells."

"I know," Woody replied, uncertainly.

"How is she?"

"I don't know," he said, and shifted uncomfortably as Garret turned a cold stare onto him.

"You haven't seen her." It wasn't a question.

"I haven't exactly had hours of leisure time," he snapped, incensed

Garret sighed, letting it go. "What have you got on Koreldy?"

Woody stared in disbelief. "What do you mean, what have I got? I am being watched like a damn hawk! I'm lucky not to have been demoted. We should not have been in New York."

Garret frowned. "We had to go," he said.

"No!" Woody shouted. "For once, couldn't we have done something by the damn book? Now we're investigating two murders!"

"Murder?" Garret said, voice raised for the second time in half an hour. "She did not murder him!"

"Yeah, that's right, self defence," Woody said sardonically. Garret shot him a filthy look before turning angrily and leaving his office, making for the holding cells.

After jumping through a few hoops, he was escorted to her cell by a hard faced guard, who thrust a key into a lock, and opened the door. Garret was gently pushed into the room before the door closed behind him.

It took his eyes a while to adjust to the dim, but when they did he wished they hadn't. She was not asleep, but she was lying on her side, hand under her face. Her eyes were wide and conveyed a deep feeling of apathy as she stared into the wall. He knew that she was aware of his presence. Heart nearly breaking at the pathetic figure in front of him, he sat on the bed, listening to its creaking mixed with her shallow breaths.

"Hey," he said quietly. She did not answer, instead continued staring. "You home?"

Garret sighed quietly at the lack of reply. "It's going to be fine," he said. "We're not going to let them pin it on you."

This incited a response.

"What if I did it?" she asked.

"What?" Garret said, genuinely shocked.

"I've heard of it happening," she said, shrugging. "People murder people and don't remember doing it. Seems convenient that I was not anywhere at 2:30pm the day of the murder."

"Don't be stupid, Jordan," he said. "There's no way you killed him."

"I know," she conceded. "I've been trying to see it from Mathers' point of view. It's not that hard, which is the scary part."

"You didn't do it," he said.

"How do you know?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes. "You weren't with me at the time. It could have been me, for all you know."

Hell, what was she trying to do? "I don't doubt you, Jordan. Never."

"Why?" she whispered hoarsely, pleading, begging him for something she could not identify. "When have I given you just cause not to doubt me?"

"Ever since I met you some 10 years ago, dammit Jordan!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I should have listened to you," she said quietly.

Garret cast his eyes to the ceiling. "Yeah, probably," he said. "I'm just glad you came home."

Jordan let out a bitter parody of a laugh. "You shouldn't be glad," she said. "I carry around a trail of trouble wherever I go."

"Don't be stupid. Of course I am glad," he said firmly. Jordan broke, her determination and fire leaving her in a rush of breath. She buried her face into the pillow to keep the tears at bay. She could not stand him seeing her so vulnerable, and he in turn could not stand seeing it. He put a hand on her shoulder, and felt it shaking. He pulled her up, her strength having long since flown, she allowed herself to be pulled up and around to face him. There were no physical tears, but she was trembling and her teeth were gritted together. Garret pulled her against him and held her shoulders, his own teeth pushed against each other in attempt not to keep tears, but temper at bay. He was ready to jump up, to scream and shout and demand justice, but figured it would not help the current situation overmuch. So he contented in squeezing the thin frame of his friend tight, and plotting her release.

--------

"Hey Lil," Nigel said, opening the door to her office. She was sitting at her desk, clicking absently on the mouse of her computer.

"Hey Nigel." She returned the greeting. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, just a friendly chat. We haven't had one in ages."

Lily turned from the screen and looked at her friend. "No," she agreed. "What's up?"

Nigel sighed. "What isn't, is a more accurate question," he said. "Its just this whole Jordan thing."

"Somehow 'this whole Jordan thing' is a fitting name," Lily said, making an attempt at humour. "What's eating you?"

Nigel looked at her. "They all think she did it," he said quietly.

"Who?"

"The cops, the DA's office."

"Since when did we care what they think?"

"Since they have her locked in the holding cells down at the precinct," he said. Lily's eyes narrowed.

"They do?" she said. Nigel nodded.

"Yeah. She doesn't have an alibi."

Lily frowned.

"She has means, opportunity, and there's that damned hair," Nigel continued.

"Millions of people had 'means and opportunity', Nigel."

"I know but…" he stopped.

"You don't think she actually…" Lily trailed off.

"I don't know what to think," he admitted. "I'd hate to think it but…there is that damned hair."

Lily frowned, allowing herself to wonder. She had done some stupid things…. no! She cast the thought from her mind at once. There was no way. Was there?

------

Woody was at a loss. He had no cases at the moment – in fact he had been informally restricted to desk duty pending the investigation of the Koreldy death, which he was being held only partly responsible for. It was his own damn fault, he figured, he should not have gone after her in the first place. But he would not have been able to live with himself had he not, and he knew it.

He sat at his desk, staring furtively out of the window, taping his fingers on the top of the desk with agitation. She was here, in the precinct, so close, but both of them had made it clear, they did not want to see each other. He felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered how he had snapped at the chief ME about half and hour ago, and made a mental note to go and make it up to him sometime.

"Damn," he uttered, and reluctantly stood. He could only try; after all, she was still the closest friend he had. He followed the path that Garret had taken, albeit unwittingly, and found himself standing outside the thick door that was designed to keep murderers in. Despite what he had said earlier, he did not, could not believe that Jordan was a murderer. It was not possible. Not in the slightest. He nodded to the guard, who recognised him, and entered the cell as the door was opened for him.

Jordan was sitting on the bed, her back resting against the wall, book open. She looked up calmly as he entered, and not a single sign of surprise did she show. He was mildly disconcerted at the bland apathy that was exuding from her, and jumped slightly as the door clicked closed behind him.

"Hey," he said in a husky voice. The sound of it send a pang of something unidentifiable into Jordan's belly. She sat up straighter and answered.

"Welcome to my lair," she said acerbically. He frowned.

"I'm working on getting you out of here," he said untruthfully. Jordan raised an eyebrow as if suspecting deception. He shuffled uncomfortably.

"The body is being released tomorrow," he said. Panic swept over her again. The feeling had become quite familiar to her, almost friendly.

"The body?" she said dully.

Woody sighed, casting his eyes to the ceiling. "What can I say, Jordan?"

"I don't know," she said. "What do you want to say?"

She had thrown the ball back at him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I said some stupid things back in New York and…"

"Don't apologise," she said. Woody stared at her properly, and noticed that her eyes had steeled and there was a hard edge to her voice. She had decided, as Garret left, that the only victim in this whole mess was her father and she wouldn't keep acting like one herself. She was the only one who could get herself out of the mess she had managed to create, and she'd be damned if grief or bereavement would get in her way. "I should apologise. And I will." She stood, surprisingly steady on her feet considering she hadn't slept in about four days, and thrust her hand in the detective's direction. Suddenly, control shifted and Woody no longer held it. Jordan held her head up and watched, detached, as Woody's warm hand took her cold one. She shook it formally and wrenched it none-too-gently out of his grasp. Recognising dismissal, he followed 'protocol' and turned, leaving the cell. Jordan watched him go stonily, before sitting back down on her bed and retrieving her book.

--------

Garret stared out of his window, hands clasped and supporting his head. On the street below people scurried by, seemingly afraid of the oncoming darkness, or of the clouds that were swirling in the sky. Either way, he thought, they had no business being afraid of such natural occurrences.

Yet it didn't prevent humanity being unduly afraid of death. They were all guilty of it, every one of them. He dealt with death every day of his life, death was his life. And yet it was still unknown, still unchartered territory. Unchartered? He wondered at the word. It was certainly not true. People had been dying since the dawn of time. Or so he surmised. Thought processes stop, cells disintegrate, the body shuts down. Why was it so easy for them to accept animals dying? To accept plants dying, when surely it is exactly the same thing? It follows the same process. Yet they were so trumped up they believed that they should be able to cheat death, should be able to escape it. How wrong they all were, he mused. They can no more escape death than they could live without breathing. It catches up with us all in the end, he figured. Whether we be young, sprightly and with much to give to the world, or old and decrepit, devoid of independence and everything that accompanied it.

Max would not have wanted that, he thought suddenly. It was almost killing him to be idle. He had heard Jordan's accounts of her father just after his time as a police officer came to a close, buying that damn bar was the only thing keeping him from the brink of madness after he left. And if he could not run it anymore? What would happen once he got too old to deal with it? Would he sit at home in his rocking chair with a blanket over his sorry lap, rocking to and fro in an incessant rhythm of weariness? Eating only that which would be able to be digested by his weakened body? Breathing growing shallower, eyes growing duller, intelligence, even essence waning until he didn't even recognise his own daughter? Sans everything. He would not have wanted that. And yet that was life. It was what was beckoning to them all. He himself would have to face it, and he actually wondered for the first time if he would prefer death to old age. He certainly wouldn't appreciate redundancy. He was still needed, needed here to keep everyone in check, to speak for the dead and help his colleagues do the same. His daughter still needed him, even though she was practically grown. His bottle of whisky at home needed him. He snorted, and stood, preparing to indulge in that particular thought, and go home. There was nothing more that he could do.

He walked out of his office, and heard a female voice apparently talking on the phone. Surprised, as he was under the impression that he was the only one still here, he looked around for the source, and was even more intrigued as he saw it was Dr. Harding. He hadn't done a background check on her, he realised with a start. It was unlike him, remembering back to the last few new staff members that had added themselves to his 'elite' crew, and the fact that he knew all there was to know from a record about them within 10 minutes of them being there.

Harding had the phone to her ear and an intense look of weariness on her face.

"Just do it," she snapped. "Please." Something told Garret she was acquainted with whomever she was speaking to. He wandered up to her office, reaching the door just as she replaced the receiver on the cradle of the conventional black office phones that were so damn common in this place. In all workplaces, he assumed. When he was done analysing the blandness of the phone, he met Harding's eyes.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked, deadpanning. Her head snapped up, she had not sensed him there.

"Dr. Macy," she said, not standing. "I'm just following up on something."

Garret's eyes trailed over her office. There was a takeaway food container on the desk; she obviously was not planning on leaving any time soon.

"The only case you have at the moment is the…Cavanaugh case."

"I am aware of that, thanks Dr. Macy."

Garret sighed inwardly and glanced up at the ceiling before looking back to her.

"I would appreciate it if you would keep me informed."

"Despite clear instructions from the DA to the opposite?" she said, eyebrow raised. An unreadable look crossed the Chief ME's face. "I won't tell Renee if you wont," he said dryly.

"Well I'm sure Renee has her ears," she said cryptically, accentuating the use of her first name.

"Are you one of them?"

Harding considered the question. "No," she said.

"Good," he said gruffly, sitting in the chair opposite her. "What do you have?"

Harding looked at him, sizing him up. "Its not looking good," she said finally. "There is no one linking anyone, anyone to the scene bar Dr. Cavanaugh."

"And you know why that is?"

"Why?" This will be good, Harding thought.

"If your father was lying on the ground, would you check to see if he was alive?" he asked. She nodded.

"Of course."

"The hair could have been exchanged there."

"Could have," she said, cocking her head to one side, chewing on the end of her pen.

Garret shook his head. "He was shot, no?"

"You know he was."

"So how does a gunshot victim get the hair of his shooter on him?"

"Unless they fought," Harding said. Garret let out a sigh of frustration.

"Its not possible!" he exploded.

"That they fought?"

"You know what I mean," he said.

"I'm afraid the police don't see it that way. The fact that she was there, before the cops…"

"Lets talk this through, Dr. Harding," he said in his best patronising voice. "Jordan shoots her father. She drives back to the morgue, in her right mind, says hello to me as she walks past. Then four hours later she decides to drive out to the body? It doesn't make sense! It can't!"

"Can't it?"

Garret's eyes turned cold. "No," he said with complete surety. Harding nodded, conceding, accepting his trust of her.

"Nothing unusual in the toxicology results."

"I know," Garret said in a strangled voice. "I ran it!"

"Well what do you want to know?"

"I want to know what Mathers has."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Why do you think?" He left it hanging. "Do you know anything?"

"I know that he does no believe Dr. Cavanaugh. You know what that can do to an officers work ethic."

"They don't try as hard," he confirmed, and she nodded.

"Bingo," she said wearily. "He's trying to get a hold of details on Adam Macklin. Or James Horton as we now know him. He seems very interested in the brother."

"Why?"

"Because he was here. In Boston."

"He…what? When?"

"Dr. Cavanaugh's theory is that he rang her."

"Damn," he muttered. "So the tally of suspects is three."

"Yeah," she said. "Mathers isn't looking too much into Koreldy."

"Why not?"

"He's dead," she said shrugging. "But I do have a small shred of good news. Thanks to Detective Hoyt's testimony, it's been ruled self-defence. She's not being tried for that."

"Great," Garret said, but with little feeling. "So you know nothing else?"

"My side of it is finished. I submitted my report, which was no different to yours. Its up to the cops now," she said, shrugging.

Garret stood. "You really need to hang around Jordan more," he said, and left the office. Harding watched him all the way down the corridor, a small frown just evident on her face.

------

"You want her out, Hoyt? You're gonna have to watch her. Like a hawk." The voice on the other end of the telephone sounded amused, as if he did this every day. And he probably did.

"How hawk-like?" he asked, running a hand through his hair. There was a chuckle.

"As in, stay with her."

"Oh," he said. "Can't I get someone else too…"

"If that someone else is a cop, sure. Sorry, Hoyt, it's the only way the DA's office would agree to it."

Woody closed his eyes. The 'DA's office' was a phrase he was fast becoming tired of.

"Fine," he said. "I'll be there soon. How much did you say?"

The man rattled of an exuberant amount, and again Woody sighed.

"Ok," he said. "I'll be down there in a sec."

Belying his words, he was down at the holding cells within ten minutes. Exchanging a few words with the guard on duty, he smiled sardonically and waited for the prisoner to be let out.

She came out, blinking in the sudden light, looking non-too-pleased to see him standing there.

"She's all yours," the man said, and Woody winced, expecting an onslaught from Jordan. But she surprised him, staring at the ground, not seeming to care about anything. He could deal with anger, he could deal with sarcasm but he could not deal with this terrible blandness that had seemed to overtake her.

"What's going on?" she asked in a neutral voice.

"I thought you'd prefer my apartment to the holding cell," he explained. The guard watched them, scathingly. Woody sent him a dirty look, which he did not heed.

"Your apartment?" she said suspiciously.

"One of the conditions of your release," he said shrugging.

"Convenient," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said, offended.

"Why does it have to be your apartment?" she asked.

"Fine. We can go to yours if you like."

"Ok," she said quickly. He nodded his thanks at the guard, and led Jordan out. She sent a regretful glance behind her – she had to admit that the bland walls and décor of the cell had appealed to her bleak mood – besides, she was starting to really get into that cheesy romance novel. It contained some ideal concepts, actually confronting issues that were causing tension! Jordan scoffed, shook her head, and dismissed them as utter lunacy. Confront them? Not likely!