A/N: Hey NadezhdaSt! Thanks so much for a great reviews - I do love the long ones:D And Orlando-crazy - thanks for the constant reviews its really nice! I love you guys! Haha.

Ok- well this isn't exactly as progressive as I would have liked but its a filler-in and I promise the next chapter will go somewhere! Haha. Okay well...la di da!

Chapter 12: A Helping Hand

"The tow man came," Jordan said blandly. "They traced it back to me and…well because of the whole Koreldy investigation they looked at it, decided it wasn't a forensic treasure trove and handed it back over. Just in time, too."

Woody eyed her suspiciously. "Don't throw my trust back in my face, Jordan."

'You can't help him, Jordan.' Woody's voice came to her, unbidden, but she could not for the life of her recall when he had said that. She had the urge to pull back the curtain and reveal her brother, tell him everything. He would help, he would help them both.

She snapped out of it quickly, thankfully. Jumping to attention, she fixed a bored expression on her face, trying to hide her racing heart.

"Why are your cheeks flushed?" he asked, still not knowing if he could trust her.

She looked at him, then laughed airily. "Cute guy on the comedy show," she said, shrugging.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. "You hungry?"

"Yes!" she shouted quickly, and then cursed herself. "Starving!"

"What do you have?" he said, going over to her fridge.

"Nothing," she said, too quickly again. He looked at her and she shrugged.

"There's a nice place a few blocks away," she said. "Lets go there."
He closed the fridge. "Okay."

"I'll just go lock up," she said, walking over to the window. "Go down to the car and I'll catch up. I have to grab something, too."

He nodded, and walked out. Jordan ran to the window.

"Scram," she said, poking her head around the frame. The fire escape was bare, and Jordan spotted a figure wearing dark brown clothes sprinting down the street and out of sight. She watched him go, and hoped he would somehow be able to come back.

They returned from the café, and Jordan had half-forgotten the scare of that morning. The two were laughing and chatting, their good spirits only diminishing when the phone rang.

"Jordan?" a female voice asked.

"Hi, Renee," she said, frowning and gesturing for Woody.

"You're home. Following my instructions. Should I call a doctor?"

"I figured you didn't need another excuse to nail my ass to the wall," she said mildly. Renee made a sound.

"Detective Hoyt there?" she asked.

"Yep, here," she said, handing the phone to Woody.

"Miss Walcott," he said, and Jordan rolled her eyes, turning away to rinse her hands under the tap. "No, no I understand. I'll be right down. Yes, I have the file, I'll…okay. See you there."

"Sounds ominous," Jordan said when he had put the phone back on the cradle.

"Why didn't she ring my cell?" he asked, puzzled.

"Checking up on me."

Woody nodded. "Probably. But she's the DA for God's sakes. You'd think she'd get one of her minions to do it. Its not even that much of a high profile case."

"Respected Medical Examiner is charged with the murder of her ex-cop father? I'd say that's high-ish."

Woody looked at her, losing the battle to keep the smile off his face.

"Okay, okay," she said, raising her arms in defeat. "Un-respected. She's probably just doing it because of her…ties to the medical examiners office."

"Her affair with Dr. Macy," Woody said. Jordan nodded.

"And its no secret she's always disliked me," she added. Woody sighed.

"Only because your personalities are alike, and you rub her up the wrong way every chance you get!"

Jordan paused. "I resent both of those comments," she said with slightly amused irritation. "First of all, I am so far from Renee…" she stopped, shaking her head. It didn't matter. "Second, the idea of rubbing her any way isn't exactly something one should dwell on right after breakfast."

Woody couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well I better go down and…" he trailed off.

"Yes, you wouldn't want to keep her highness waiting. I'm going to bed," she said. He stared at her.

"Its only 11:15!"

Jordan shook her head. "I don't know how I coped with that clock before you came," she said. "Thanks for the update. Goodnight."

Woody frowned and watched her walk away. He hoped she woke before he returned, he did not particularly want to deal with her should she wake up dreaming again, once hearing the pitiful voice with the sad-but-dignified undertone was enough.

"I could have come to you," Woody said uncomfortably, eyeing the district attorney uncomfortably, closing the door of his office behind him.

Walcott shrugged. "This isn't exactly the most conventional of cases," she said in a smooth voice. Woody had to blink – he was sure she had convinced many judges and juries of her point with that voice. He could not let his guard down – this woman was dangerous. In a way he had not previously encountered. He had to tread lightly.

"I'd noticed," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you have the Koreldy file?"

Woody turned away, rifling through his desk.

"Here," he said, handing her a fat manilla folder. She looked at it, and he watched her read.

"It fits," he nudged. Her head snapped up.

"You believe her," she said. Her voice was not accusatory but he knew what she was saying.

"Yes," he said fiercly. "I doubted her once before and it was unfounded. I wont make the same mistake again."

"Sit down, detective," she said. He looked at her for longer than was necessary, just long enough to be impudent, and sat behind his desk. She sat opposite him.

"I need to ask this."

Woody waited, having an idea of what was coming next.

"Do you think your judgement is clouded?"

Whatever he expected, it was not this. He was taken aback for a second, before composing himself. He thought about it.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. She waited. "I know her, know her well. Probably better than she knows herself, at times. I just don't think she is capable of it."

"Is that what you are basing your belief on?"

"Koreldy as the killer fits. She wouldn't go after him for nothing."

"Unless she was covering her tracks. There are two theories. Both of them fit."

Woody paused, a frown of concentration appearing on his brow.

"There's a third theory," he said quietly, not looking at Renee.

"Oh?"

"Her brother."

"Right. He was supposed to have been there, too. How convenient."

"He was there," Woody said loudly. "I watched as he held a gun to his sisters head before shoving her at me and bolting. He was there," he repeated quietly.

"Okay," she conceded, humouring him. "So what's your theory?"

"I don't have a theory," he said angrily. "I just don't understand – you know her, how can you possibly think she is capable of murder?"

"Dr. Cavanaugh is capable of a lot," she said. "She killed Koreldy, didn't she?"

"That is different," he said forcibly. "He had a gun, it was self defense."

"Yet the gun didn't match the bullet in Koreldy's gun."

"It didn't match Jordan's, either! How do you explain that?"

"She used someone else's."

"Whose? And why can't Koreldy have done the same thing? Why do you want to believe it was her?"

"It fits," she said, still in that cool voice.

"So does Koreldy," he said, willing her to be swayed.

"Mathers wants another crack at her." She watched the detective's face contort. She liked him, couldn't help but like him, but felt he was just protecting her because of their relationship. Whatever that was.

"Crack?" he echoed. "Fine."

"Does she need a lawyer?"

"No," he said immediately, knowing her. Renee frowned.

"Its probably a good idea. I know a few," she said dryly.

Woody almost smiled. "Well there's a stretch," he commented, standing. "I'll bring her in."

"Good." Renee paused, sizing up her next move. "Maybe you should let him interview you, as well."

Woody turned and looked at her.

"I have already been questioned in regards to Koreldy's death," he said.

"This is for Cavanaugh."

Woody looked at the floor. "If you think it will help," he said stiffly, walking out.

"Depends on who you want to help," she said softly, watching him go.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Jordan said dubiously as they walked, together, through the main doors of the Boston PD precinct.

Woody stared ahead, only breaking his gaze to return greetings by his colleagues.

"I'm asking you to do this," he said.

"I know. I'm here, aren't I?"

He inclined his head. "Just tell the…"

"Truth. I know, I've read the posters," she said scathingly. He almost laughed, would have, had the circumstances been vastly different.

"Here we are," he said, quite unnecessarily. She hardly heard him. She had withdrawn into herself, having been told by none other than her father that her thoughts blazed from her eyes like beacons when she was fired up, and she wouldn't mind preventing that. She didn't have anything to hide, but would prefer to retain a little control over the charade.

"Dr. Cavanaugh," Mathers said when she was seated. She couldn't help but glance at the mirror where she knew Woody was watching. Dragging her eyes back with some difficulty to the detective in front, she cleared her throat. "I'm glad you agreed to this interview."

Did I have a choice? she thought, wryly. "My pleasure."

"Just a follow up interview," he said lightly, and Jordan frowned, recognising the technique immediately. They would be light, friendly, cause you to let your guard down. She knew a few detectives who used it and was pleased to note that Woody was not one of them. He let the people he was interviewing know what he thought. He was honest. And she'd had to lie to him. "I'm sure that you're familiar with how that goes."

Referring to how close the medical examiners office and the cops are, she thought. Clever. She decided to play along.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah I am." She let a shred of warning slip into her voice. Mathers' head jerked involuntarily to the side – the game had begun.

"If you can just recap what you had done that day, just for the tape."

She eyed it, then let her eyes drift almost lazily back to him. "Around the time of the murder?"

"From two onwards," he said. She nodded.

"I went downtown to a café…"

He stopped her, asking for the name of it. She gave it and he nodded, having already written it down in their first interview.

"Grabbed some takeaway, brought it back to the morgue…"

"Where you gave half of it to a Lily Lebowski?"

"Yeah, its kind of a Friday afternoon tradition," she said dryly. "She normally comes."

"How unfortunate," he said. She cursed herself; she was giving too much away.

"So you came back to the morgue, then what?"

"Completed an autopsy, then did a couple of hours of paperwork," she said.

"It took you a couple of hours?"

"An hour and a half of stalling," she said. He did not smile.

"Then you got the call."

"Indeed," she said. "He told me that I should come down the old wharves."

"You didn't tell anyone where you were going?"

"I told Lily," she said.

"Miss Lebowski," he said. "But I mean, you didn't call the police? Which is what you should have done."

"I know. I thought I'd go down there and check it out, we wouldn't want to waste any of the police's time with pranks."

"Yet its okay to waste a medical examiners time. Your own."

"I was on my way home, anyway," she said.

"Convenient," he commented. "And don't you find it a little coincidental that you got the call? Not any other ME?"

"I do not think there was a shred of coincidence surrounding it. It was either Koreldy or…"

"Or who?"

"My brother."

"Of course," he said mildly. "So you went out there. What time was it?"

"About half past five, maybe?"

"You met your brother there. Before or after you saw the body?"

Something he said smashed into her wall and the memory of that evening spilled forth until she was gripped in it. She could smell the salt, the grime and smog that accompanied that part of the city. Could feel the wet seeping into her boots. Could see her father's body lying sprawled out on the ground.

"After," she whispered.

"Rewind," he said. "When you saw the body, what did you do?"

"I…" the memory clouded, it was a haze of shock and disbelief. "I don't know, I can't remember…its all just a grey mush…" She was having trouble getting the words out. Woody watched her eyes change, something akin to her behaviour of the night before. It signalled that she was not quite there, not exactly herself. It did not bode well in the current circumstances. He was so focussed on the events transpiring in front of him he did not notice the DA walk in and stand behind him, neck craning to see what was going on.

"What then?"

"I was on my way to New York," she said. "To the address my brother gave me."

"And then what?"

Jordan's head snapped up and she slammed back into herself. Woody gave me Koreldy's address, she would have to say, to tell the truth.

"Does it matter?" she asked, stalling.

"Yes."

"I don't think it does. By this time the murder had been committed. What happened after that doesn't really relate to this."

"Something to hide?" he asked. She gave him a disdainful look.

"I just want to get home, detective."

He sighed. "Fine," he conceded, knowing she was right and also sure she was lying, or concealing something. "Just tell me, how did you find Koreldy?"

She hesitated. "My brother had it," she said. "He knew where he was."

"How?"

"You'll have to ask him," she said.

"We would," he said. "If we could find him. He's evasive; I'll give him that. The fact that he doesn't legally exist makes it harder. Is there anything you can tell us about his whereabouts?"

"No," she said carefully. "I don't know where he is."

"You sound like you wish you did."

She looked at him, completely forgetting her 'control' conviction.

"Wouldn't you?" she said. "He's all I have."

"Do you know how stupid that sounds?" he said. "You barely know him!"

Her eyes blazed – it was as though a fire had been ignited. Woody could have groaned, he could only begin to imagine what she would say now she was aggravated.

However, it was a relieving change from that hopeless apathy she had been exuding lately.

"Maybe that is the point, detective. Now would you mind getting back to the subject?"

Renee too had noticed her sit up straighter, and felt a surge of triumph, which she quickly banished. What had gotten into her? She had gotten too involved with this case, far too involved. Was it her connection with the ME's office, as Hoyt had insinuated? Or was it just…humanity? She didn't know what to believe, but she knew Garret, and couldn't believe he would blindly trust her, without the shadow of a doubt, if she were guilty.

"I don't think we really left," Mathers commented, but conceded, jolting all three of them, Jordan, Woody and Renee, out of their respective thoughts and back into the present.

"What had your relations been with your father leading up to the murder?"

"Well there's a loaded question," she said, the anger that had begun to rise up clear in her tone. "We were just fine. Didn't have any roaringly violent fights, I didn't threaten to kill him, he didn't lose me my job or reject a boyfriend."

"Good to know," Mathers said coolly. "I hope you're taking this seriously."

"Well what the hell do you expect me to say?" she said, leaning forward. "That I hated him? Maybe that we were the best of friends, inseparable? We had our moments, but he is my father. I love him."

"Is there anyone who can…"

"Verify that?" she said savagely. "Sure. Everyone who knew us."

She stood. "I'm done here," she said. "Want to detain me?"

"As far as I know you are detained," he said. "If it was up to me you'd still be in the cell."

"Well don't I feel lucky that it isn't?" She stalked out, and was met by Woody who had a stony look on his face.

"What was that?"

"I think in some languages it's called an interview. Other languages refer to it as a farce."

"You should have kept your cool. He won that round, you know."

She rounded on him. "Round?" she asked. "Like a boxing match?" Her cheeks grew flushed. "I assure you, there are no rounds. This is not a game."

"I know!" he said incredulously. "I was making sure you knew!"

"Ehm."

Woody and Jordan whipped around in unison, both still intensely irritated. Renee could have laughed at the looks on their faces as they recognised her.

"You want to have a go?" she said, looking at the detective. The confusion on his face was priceless. "In there." She pointed with a thumb at the room Jordan had just vacated. Woody glanced at Jordan before nodding.

"Sure," he said, and stormed into the room, pulling the door closed with considerable force behind him.