Disclaimer: I don't own CJ or anything.
Sorry for not updating sooner. I had to play with a few things to get the timeline right in my mind, then try to find time to get it onto paper and then the computer...I will try to update again soon, then leaving for a week's vacation during which time I will probably right but cannot unfortunately update. Please send your reviews...They are both constructive and encouraging (I enjoy knowing someone besides my dh is reading this stuff!)
PART V - Another Rainy Day in Boston
"Bug, almost finished in there?" Jordan called in through the doorway. They had played 'Divide and Conquer' at the Cask N' Flagon so that they could get the bodies to the morgue as soon as possible. The John Doe in the bar had been shot at, and Bug had found a bullet locked in the wall by the restroom tipped with blood. John Doe #2 had been shot in front of the bar, his body sprawled on the sidewalk. After a game of 'Rock-Paper-Scissors', Jordan got stuck with the John Doe outside. The rain had been steadily washing threads of blood onto the street before the police had finally constructed some type of tarp to protect the body, the evidence and the medical examiner. Neither body had been dead for long. Someone had called 9-1-1 from inside the bar, and the Boston PD had responded within moments of the call, but no one had seen the shooter. Or shooters, Jordan thought to herself. She busied herself with John Doe #2, looking for any patent prints the killer might have left behind that the rain hadn't already washed away.
"Well, Jordan, it's nice to see you," came a voice from the past. A not-so-pleasant past in many respects, she thought with a shudder. She didn't know if the chill was from the rain…or from her memories. Jordan looked up to see FBI Profiler, Agent Drew Haley, towering over her with his arm stretched awkwardly outside the tarp covering, an umbrella in his hand. "You should learn to be more prepared," he commented lightly, trying to help shield her from the rain that was now blowing sideways onto the crime scene.
She smiled up at him for a moment, then frowned. "So, Agent Haley…What brings you down here to mingle with the mediocre?"
"You told me I should visit again." His steely eyes locked on hers, an almost imperceptible smile twitching on his face. "And I would hardly call you mediocre," he whispered low just behind her ear.
"This wasn't the social call I'd had in mind," she replied, ignoring his comment. She nodded to two officers and stepped out from the tarp. "We're through here. Take him back to the morgue." They bent to retrieve the body as she rose and turned to go. Bug had already finished gathering evidence from the body found inside the bar, had gathered their equipment and loaded it up. He stood next to her, rain cascading off the hood of his raincoat. Haley held up a hand for the officersto wait.
"Lovely weather you're having here in Boston…" Haley started. She turned to leave, but Haley grabbed her arm. "Jordan, you don't have jurisdiction over the bodies. These two men were undercover. For months. We lost contact two days ago. So….the FBI is involved now and that means…."
"Yeah, I know. But I'm coming with you." Her voice was firm and unyielding. She needed to work right now, to drown herself in her job, to keep from thinking of other things…
"Yeah, I know." Haley was offering his arm - and his umbrella.
Jordan shook off the chill that ran down her back, stepped lightly over a puddle and under the protection of the umbrella. She nodded to Bug. "I'll catch up with you at the office. Tell Slocum I'm with Agent Haley here. If he needs me - or anyone else needs me…" Her voice trailed off, deep sorrow in her eyes. But it was gone and Bug wondered if he'd seen it at all. "I'm sure I'll be assisting these gentlemen," she indicated the agents behind her, walking out of the popular tavern. "I won't be back today. Tell him to call me if anything else comes in. I have my pager." Not that she really cared because it was, after all, Slocum. With Garret she might've been a little more considerate. "Oh," she added as an afterthought, "Tell him that he'll get his reports….Tomorrow."
"Slocum?" Haley's brow rose in question.
"Long story," she said. "I'll tell you all about it on the way." Bug watched Jordan smile and shook his head as the two left the scene. What was with that girl? She was one big enigmatic, psychopathic mess. He had been dismissed, like some little puppy, he thought wryly. But before he could speculate any further on Jordan, on Haley or on the situation, two of the black-clothed agents came over to recover the body and he busied himself in helping them so he could get out of the rain and back to the comfort of…Well, not the morgue anymore. But his shift was almost over and maybe he could go….He paused in mid-thought, realizing that the morgue had been a home to him of sorts, a place to go for comfort, understanding…many things he couldn't always quite comprehend. It was like he had this family there. But, he shook his head sadly, he wouldn't find that there tonight…
"Dr. Slocum?" Nigel peeked around the doorway that had once been so welcoming, seeking out the man who was his current employer. A hard-ass taskmaster, actually. But nevertheless, this situation warranted a visit, unwelcome though it was.
Slocum was pouring over a file, a highlighter poised in one hand. He looked up. "Yes, Dr. Townsend? I hope this is important."
"You know that body that came in an hour ago?"
"I don't recall the specifics…There have been more than a few cases running through the office today, especially with the rain. You would think people would learn to drive in inclement weather. And with Dr. Vijay and Dr. Cavanaugh's, uh, absences, we seem to be a little short-staffed." Slocum took his time, deliberately and carefully replacing the cap on the highlighter and closing the file before Nigel had a chance to see which one he was reviewing.
"Weren't they called to Fenway Park?"
Slocum looked up at Nigel, frustrated at the busy-body friendliness in his question. "Dr. Townsend, I'm sure you have enough cases of your own to worry about?"
Nigel looked down at some papers in his hand to keep Slocum from seeing theintense dislike he was sure was visiblein his eyes. He steadied his voice before continuing. "Yeah, right. It seems our friend - identified as one Victor Morales - had traces of the Alexandrium algae…" He paused, so Slocum would get the full effect of what he was saying. "Red tide algae. I'm waiting for the results of his stomach contents. Sidney's handling that. Anyway, I think…"
"Red tide algae!" Slocum rubbed at his temples worriedly. There had been a few deaths in Alaska and California, but the last major outbreak in Massachusetts had been in 1972, and Slocum remembered that the water had even turned a reddish color. He couldn't recall that there had been any human victims, although some seabirds had died. "Who did you notify? We need those stomach contents so we can identify the source!" he urged, waving him out of the office. He turned to dial an old friend of his, a semi-retired fisherman on the Cape.
"Right, I'm on it!" Nigel turned and headed back toward the unfortunate Victor Morales, who had come into the morgue still clad in vacationer's garb only a few hours earlier. The bodies always held the answers, and if they didn't want any more deaths, they would need to find the answers more than quickly this time.
The moon was sifting through the cloudswherever it could, but the sky was still dark and sinister. Garret was almost emotionally bankrupt. Woody had taken a turn for the worse. An infection. It had crept up on Woody - on them all, really - causing some heart damage. There would be no second operation until the infection was gone and his heart was healed. And without that operation, Woody might not ever walk again. He knew what that must mean to the young detective.
And what he'd thought all along, he now knew for sure. Woody was deeply in love with Jordan. He had called out to her several times before he'd started to code, had reached out as if reaching for her. But she had not been there. Garret wondered if the heart damage was merely physical, but he had a feeling that, had Woody heard Jordan's voice instead of the voice of her father, and of him, he might have pulled through more than a little better. So now, regardless of how she'd been trying to hide her feelings about him for years, she'd have to confront them once and for all, because Woody would need her to get through all this, whichever way it went.
Jordan. It all came back to Jordan. She needed someone to put a boot to her cute little ass and get her to see what a stubborn fool she was - about Woody, about Max -- Hell, Max didn't even want Jordan to know he was back in town…What was with all the secrecy?
He used to think that Max probably had some good reason for not telling Jordan the whole truth, whatever it was. He had a feeling that Max may have been involved somehow in Emily's death - not that he believed he'd killed her. No, Max Cavanaugh had loved his wife…Garret would bet on that. But there was something odd - almost mysterious at times - in the way that he'd tap-danced through their relationship once Jordan had been old enough to do more than just ask questions.
He'd wanted to ask Max at the hospital, but they'd never been able to finish their conversation, which had left Garret more perplexed than before. I mean, where had he been all these months? Anyway, since Max was still not ready to see Jordan, it was up to Garret to tell her about Woody. Something he just did not want to do. There had been enough bad news going around…He glanced up wryly at the lonely sky -- would the clouds ever break?
He unlocked the door to his apartment, threw his overcoat onto the nearby coat rack and walked over to the side table where a decanter was waiting. He peeked into the ice bucket...No ice, just water. He poured himself some scotch…He liked it neat anyway. The day couldn't get any worse. But hadn't he been telling himself that all day?
The key turned in the lock and Jordan pushed the door open. She didn't bother to switch the light on, even though the weather cast an even deeper shadow in her apartment. What a long afternoon, she thought. Working with the FBI could be grueling. But at least she hadn't had too much time to think. Haley was going to call Slocum in the morning so she could assist with the case through its completion. It would be good to be out from under Slocum's watchful eye. He just rubbed her the wrong way.
Jordan brushed a wet lock of hair from her face and sighed. One of the undercover agents was just twenty, not even old enough to drink in many states. And now his body was lying on a surgical table awaiting further investigation. Life was short, she thought grimly. Too short. She wished she'd thought of that before….Like on her birthday, when the candles only served to remind her that so many years of her life were already shadows of the past.
Funny, she dealt with dead bodies every day, but she had never really stopped to face her own mortality. If she'd only realized it before, maybe she would have clung to the hope that love could be hers instead of throwing it away like yesterday's garbage...Well, maybe she hadn't gone quite that far. But in Woody's eyes, perhaps she had. If she just had been honest with her feelings, she would now be wearing the ring Woody had purchased for her birthday, she thought, running her index finger gently along the spot where she hoped the ring might someday sit.
She tossed the keys on the counter and looked in the refrigerator. Nothing but a carton of milk and some beer. She pulled the milk out and sniffed. Sour. She drained it down the sink and chucked the carton into the nearly overflowing garbage can. She opened the top drawer and sifted through two dozen take-out menus - free delivery of course.
Truthfully, she wasn't in the mood for anything. Nothing. She was worried. About Garret. About Cal. About work. Her mind circled around those things over and over, so that maybe she could rest awhile, so that her mind would not drift back to her main concern - Woody. She thought of the slain FBI agents, how their bodies were now lifeless and empty. It could have been Woody, she thought….God, it could have been Woody…
Jordan's thoughts were tumbling in her mind, swirling in black and white, with no room for gray. She didn't even want to think about him, about his harsh words to her in the hospital. He wanted her out of his life…Well, fine. If he really wanted that, maybe this time he'd really get it. But her stomach lurched at the thought. She'd never been able to completely cut the invisible string that tied her heart to his. Every time she'd thought she wanted something more, there had been some blessed interruption to save her from committing… An e-mail, a cell phone, a pager. Something. He had always begged her not to answer, not to run. But she had. She was afraid of…what? Something. Maybe the unknown. Maybe she didn't deserve to feel so happy, so normal. She'd always answered, ran…anything to get out from under his crystal blue eyes. If he had looked into them, he would've seen surrender. But she hadn't let him. And now look what that had gotten her. Well, maybe she didn't need him anyway…But was that even the truth anymore? She knew it wasn't.
It wasn't that she was unattractive, just unattracted. She had noticed that afternoon how Haley's eyes raked over her from head to toe, the way he'd smiled in appreciation. No, it wasn't that she was unattractive. It was almost too funny, she thought dryly -- that she preferred Woody's boyish rugged and sculpted form to the handsome and sophisticated maturity of Agent Drew Haley.
The phone rang, it's tone sending a jolt through the silent apartment. "Jordan…If you're there, pick up." It was Lily's voice. "I really need to talk to you. It's important….Well, if you aren't home, maybe you could call later. Or stop in my office tomorrow? Please?…Well, okay….I, um…I will try to catch up with you at the hospital," then a definitive click. Poor Lily. She didn't know that Jordan was unwelcome at the hospital. But what did Lily need? Was she going to ask her about Garret? Well, she couldn't help with that right now when she could barely help herself. She didn't need to involve Lily in her hell right now.
It was better if she just handled things face-on for once, like Howard had recommended. She had that list, playing it over and over in her mind. She fully intended to take his advice. She wanted to get to the point where she could feel again. Absently, she picked up the phone and ordered Chinese, knowing she probably wouldn't even bother to eat it.
"Abby," Garret nodded as his daughter shoved her way past him in the hall. The Boston Globe was tucked under her arm - the paper Max had been reading when he'd found him at the hospital. She lost no time whipping it out and slamming it hard on the table.
"What the hell is this!" she demanded. He grimaced. He really hadn't looked at it earlier, when Max had brought it up….Woody had started to code and there hadn't been time to ask. But now the front page screamed up at him. Massachusetts CME Under Investigation for 20 Year Cover Up! He should've known the press wouldn't waste any time. There had been one or two messages from the reporters before he'd gotten Jordan's call earlier. He shook his head. God, he should've known. They would try to dredge up everything they could find on him - which was, he thought, fortunately not much. Mainly this. That other thing, the one he'd dealt with when he was dating Renee and their relationship was ousted in court…Well, that was all that he could recall. That hadn't been unprofessional either, but when the attorney for the defense disclosed their relationship to the court, well….disaster. Conflict of interest. He hadn't acted wisely that time. Oh, wait. The time he'd failed to cut the body of a woman who had resembled Maggie…He racked his mind for anything else, but could think of nothing. He remembered every detail of every case, and he honestly could not think of anything else, which was maybe the first good thing he could think of - or had thought of - in days.
He calmly grabbed the paper and read the article - Abby waiting, tapping her toe nervously against the hardwood floor - while his mind weighed the facts against the artistic license that Gray Duval had taken with his name. He'd worked with Duval before and the man was a viper. They hadn't exactly been civil toward one another, and this article was proof that Duval still harbored some grudge against him from early in his career as the CME. Unfortunately, Duval had quite a following. Garret was sure the hero-worship of thousands of readers would cloud a lot of judgment and common sense, and if that was the case, the phones would've been ringing at the Governor's office all day. And every day until his suspension became permanent.
"Tell me it isn't true," Abby again demanded, as was her fashion. She looked at him, awaiting clarification. "Tell me that this is just some sick, twisted joke…That someone is just mad at you. That it's just political." She looked at him squarely. "Anything…."
But nothing was forthcoming. No nod, no flicker of any emotion. Garret had used that all up within the last 48 hours. And the realization dawned on her. "Oh my God! It's -- true!" she finally stammered. She glared at him. "All that crap you've been feeding me for years….About what a moral, truthful…." but Abby's litany was lost on Garret. His thoughts had gone - for the millionth time in the last few days - back to the conversation he'd had with his former boss. He'd been young then, finally finished medical school and new to the world encased in the morgue. Abby had just been born. He'd been so full of happiness, so full of hope for the future. And he was asked to disregard one piece of evidence. She'd never understand, he thought, looking at Abby. Hell, sometimes even he didn't understand. But he knew he'd done it, in part, for her. To give her a good future. And now, here she was - his own flesh-and-blood daughter - yelling at him about, of all things, how embarrassed she was, how he had ruined her life.
The weather in Boston was damn unpredictable, Slocum thought as he walked with his umbrella through the parking garage to the elevator. Apparently there was some code or another that was required and, not being able to figure out, he was forced to take the stairs. At least to the lobby. His forehead was beading with sweat by the time he arrived in his office, probably a combination of exertion coupled with the thick sweater he'd donned in expectation of another damp day. But glancing out of his window, he could see a thin layer of haze covering the early morning bustle of the city. It was going to be humid. Great, just great. He would need to remember to bring a change of clothes. It was impractical for him to race home at this hour. He'd not only end up stuck in volumes of traffic, but he'd lose the early morning edge he had by beating in most of the staff. And, he thought ruefully, he wouldn't be in time for his own meeting. Well, let's see who bothered to show today.