Chapter 4: Jordan

A bright light was the first thing Jordan Cavanaugh saw when she woke up in the morning. Shifting her head, she managed to stop the piercing brightness. Opening her eyes, she saw the source of the light. Her bedroom curtains – put in place because her bedroom faced directly east – were closed except for a small, two inch section in the middle where the two sides came together. Now, the bright mid-May morning sun was shining into her room in all its glory. Groaning, she rolled over, hoping she'd be able to reclaim the oblivion that was sleep. Now facing the other way, her eyes encountered the fluorescent green display of her alarm clock. 6:02 am. She groaned into her pillow again. She had to be at work in less than an hour. As it was, she had just enough time for a shower and, maybe, a decent cup of coffee. She made what felt like the ultimate sacrifice. She threw back the covers, got out of bed, and stumbled into the bathroom, peeling her clothes of as she went.

Jordan enjoyed the nice hot shower. The steam and pressure of the jets of water seemed to melt away the tension in her shoulders as well as ease the pounding headache that had appeared as soon as she stood up. Finally, knowing she had to get out or risk being really late to work, she turned off the water stepped out. She dried herself with the towel and twirled a second one around her wet hair and onto the top of her head. She looked in the mirror and saw dark circles under her eyes. Work must be getting to her, she decided. There had been some tough cases lately, and she hadn't been sleeping well.

She finished her toiletries and went into her bedroom to get some clothes. She paused though, as she stepped over the clothes she had taken off on her way into the bathroom. Rather than her pajamas, she had taken off a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Jordan shook her head. No, she had most likely just forgotten to put last night's clothes in the hamper. She'd done it before and would no doubt do it again.

Ten minutes later, she had finished dressing, as well as her make up and hair. A record, she thought. Now having fifteen minutes before she had to leave, Jordan decided she'd reward herself with reading the newspaper – or at least the headlines – before heading to the kitchen in search of caffeine. Even if it was that instant junk that she kept on hand for her morning fix until she could get some real coffee. Unlocking the front door, she frowned. She'd forgotten to slip the chain in place again. Maybe if she put a post-it somewhere she'd start remembering. She quickly pulled the paper off her front door step and retreated back into her apartment. Shutting the door, she flipped through the headlines of the different sections.

"Bush Announces Reform Plan," she read aloud. "Gee, what else is new? Hmm, Potential Hike in Mass Transit Fees. Again, what else is new?" Sighing, she tossed the paper on the entryway table. It didn't look like there was anything interesting in the paper, again. It was time for coffee. And maybe she'd add a little hair of the dog. Maybe that would get rid of her headache. On her way to the kitchen, Jordan noticed that the red light on her answering machine was blinking. She hit play and turned up the volume so she could hear it while she got her coffee.

"Hi, this is Greg down at Mike's Tow and Repair. I'm calling to let you know that we've repaired and reinflated both tires, as well as your spare, and your car is ready for pick-up. Come in anytime, or call us at 354-5934, and thanks for choosing Mike's."

Jordan frowned. They must have called the wrong number. Shaking her head, she stepped into the kitchen. And froze.

"Hey, Jordan, it's Bug." "And Lily," a female voice said. "And Lily," Bug acknowledged. "We just wanted to check on you. We heard you went home sick today. And hope you get better soon. Please. Garret's being a bear and Sidney's still a little sick and he's making the rest of us miserable. Give us a call when you feel better."

Jordan felt her jaw fall open as she stared at the mess in her kitchen. Glass shards littered the floor, and she was glad she had, for once, put on shoes before coming into the kitchen. Stepping into the room slowly and gingerly, she saw the blood on the floor and the refrigerator. It was dry, and had changed to a dark red, indicating that it had been there for at least a day. Looking up, she saw the duct tape on the cupboard just as she heard a different voice on her answering machine.

"Jordan, it's Garret. It's Thursday at about two o'clock. Hopefully you're up by now. If you are, don't bother coming in today. Sidney's here, and he's covering your shift. If you're not up, we'll, then, it's worse than I thought. Either way, when you do get up and get this message, take a look at your kitchen. Then call me. We need to talk. If I don't hear from you by tomorrow, I'll come by and check on you."

Garret's message ended abruptly, leaving Jordan staring at the note taped to her cupboard doors.

'This has become a problem. Call me'

She recognized Garret's handwriting. When had he put that up there? Had he been the one to tape her cupboard's closed? Whose blood was in her kitchen? She searched her body for any pains or cuts. It wasn't hers, so whose? Why hadn't she cleaned it up? Her brain began to piece together the clues. Bug and Lily said she'd gone home sick. She'd never gone home sick from work. The clothes on her floor, the ones she taken off as she'd gone to the bathroom for her shower, she didn't remember putting them on. And Garret had said he was calling on Thursday at two o'clock. How was that possible? It was only Thursday morning…wasn't it? Quickly she went back through her kitchen, past the now quiet answering machine, and to the entry room table, where she frantically picked up the newspaper. Scanning the date, she felt her knees go weak. Friday, May 20, 2005. It was there in black and white. But what the hell had happened to Thursday?

Coffee forgotten, she reached for the phone. Garret had said to call. Maybe he could tell her. One hand went to her forehead, as if it could keep still all the thoughts rushing through her mind. Dialing Garret's cell phone number, she put the receiver to her ear, wondering, hoping he could tell her what the hell was going on. What had happened to Thursday, and why couldn't she remember?

Part 2

Jordan drove carefully through the streets of downtown Boston. She found herself slowing and stopping for yellow lights. Just yesterday, scratch that – just Wednesday, she would have raced through them so she wouldn't have to sit and wait. But today she was stopping at each one. And at each one, she found her conversation with Garret playing through her mind.

"Hey Jordan."

"Garret," she said she said shakily. "How did you know it was me?"

"Caller ID, remember? Most cell phones nowadays come equipped with it. I assume you got my message?"

"Yeah. Both of them." She paused for a moment. "Garret, what happened? I can't remember the last twenty four hours. More than that, actually. Last thing I really remember, it was Wednesday and I was just about to get off work."

She heard Garret sigh on the other end of the line. "I was afraid of that. Look, I'm stuck at work right now. Why don't you take the morning off? Clean your apartment, go pick up your car."

"My car's gone!"

He ignored her. "Pick up your car. If you don't know where it is, maybe Bug or Nigel can track it down. Maybe your memory will start to come back. Come in this afternoon. Sidney's still sick and we're bound to get our usual Friday afternoon rush. We'll find some time to talk. Look, I've got to go. Nigel just rolled in with another body. I'll see you this afternoon.

"Yeah…okay."

The light turned green, and she pressed down on the gas. After she had hung up with Garret, she found herself dialing another familiar set of numbers.

"This is Hoyt. Leave your name, number, et cetera and I'll get back to you when I can."

She hadn't bothered leaving a message. He must be in court or something. She'd just try later. She had been hoping he'd be willing and able to shed some light on what had happened. They had spent so much time together lately that it was a good bet he knew what had happened yesterday.

She'd had to look up Mike's Tow and Repair in the phone book to find where it was located. And she'd called and confirmed that her car was, in fact, there and ready to be picked up. That done, she had finally put the phone in its cradle and gone back to the kitchen. The whole scene scared her to the point where she had felt her hand's trembling as she swept up the glass. Garret hadn't told her what had happened, but the tone in his voice indicated that she needn't call the police. No foul play had been involved. But still, the fact that she couldn't remember was driving her mad. What if someone had drugged her drink, like Malden had the night he'd been murdered? Leaving the glass in the dustpan, she rose up and went over to her hall closet, where she kept a small forensics kit.

"And Woody said I was paranoid for keeping one of these in my house," she had said aloud, shaking her head as she returned to the living room. Expertly she dusted the glass for prints. Unfortunately, any prints that had been on the glass were smeared beyond recognition. She doubted even Nigel could reconstruct them. She threw away the glass and moved on to the blood. Using a swab, she collected several samples of the blood, both from the floor and the refrigerator. She got lucky when she found a nearly complete print at the end of the smear on her refrigerator. After carefully lifting the print, she collected all her evidence in a bag. By then it was almost ten. Grabbing her purse, she had called for a cab and gone to retrieve her car.

Now she was in her car – which seemed to have sustained no damage besides a couple popped tires, according to the man at the garage – and pulling into on of the parking spots reserved for building staff. Grabbing the bag, she locked her car and entered the elevator.

Hesitantly, almost gingerly, she stepped off the elevator – only to run in to a yawning Nigel, who was stepping into the elevator, coat slung over his arm.

"Hey Nigel, off to another exciting crime scene?" she asked, trying to sound normal.

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "Nope. Off to bed. Goodnight, Jordan." The door slid closed and he was gone.

Jordan blinked at his unusually short salutation. Usually Nigel was full of pep and had some interesting tidbit to tell her about. There was nothing she could do about it right now, though. She had her own problems. Turning back toward the office, she greeted the receptionist, who smiled back at her.

"Good to see you back, Jordan. Glad you weren't down too long with that bug. We're already short staffed now that Sidney's had to go home again."

Jordan nodded absently. "Yeah. Good to be back, Michelle. Is Garret in?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but he's been busy, so good luck getting him to hold still if you need to talk to him."

"Thanks." Jordan continued to her office, where put down her bags. She was looking around her office, hoping that it would yield some clue to the events of the last 36 or so hours, when she heard a knock and a voice at her door.

"I thought I said not to come in until the afternoon."

She looked up to find Garret standing in her door way. Turning to face him, she shrugged. "Yeah, well, you know me. Always anxious to get back to work."

His face remained unreadable. "For once I'm glad. I just got a call from Walcott. She needs me over at the precinct for a few hours. Couple of big cases are going to court in the next few days. I need you in trace while I'm gone."

She frowned, recalling Friday's work schedule. "Isn't Nigel supposed to be in trace today?"

"Yeah, but he's been working double shifts for the last three days, covering for both you and Sidney. He was starting to fall asleep over his keyboard, so I sent him home. He'll be back in at about nine for the rest of his own shift."

"Oh. You said that we needed to talk…" She let her voice trail off.

"Yeah. Quit drinking."

"Ah, so it was you that taped up my alcohol cabinet. That's all you wanted to tell me? Could you at least tell me what happened yesterday?"

"Quit drinking. Maybe it'll come back to you. And don't bother trying to pry it out of anyone else in the office. As far as they know, you just went home sick yesterday with the twenty-four hour flu. I've got to go. If I'm not there in the next twenty minutes Renee will have my ass pinned to the wall."

Jordan stood in shock as Garret turned and left her office. Some friend! Now not remembering was starting to piss her off. And if Garret was right, no one else knew what the hell was going on. She looked over at the bag she had placed on her desk. Looked like the evidence she had collected was going to be more important than she thought. It would likely be the only way she'd get any kind of answers.

"Jordan!"

Bugs' voice interrupted her reverie. "Bug. Yeah?"

"Didn't you hear me calling you? Come on, get your scrubs on, I need your help. We've got a six car pile up on the express. Four DOAs and they're all on their way here."

Jordan closed her eyes. Her evidence would have to wait. "Yeah, I'm coming."

Four hours later, Jordan, Bug and the others had finished processing and evaluating the four bodies from the accident. From what they could tell, it seemed that the instigating driver – who now resided in drawer 13 in the freezer – had been intoxicated, a blood alcohol content of 0.29. Witnesses said he had overcorrected after changing lanes and caused the accident. Simple, no foul play, case closed. Just as stupid mistake by a stupid person who had decided to drive after drinking. She sat down at her desk, fully intending to do the paperwork on the bodies she'd just processed. Within thirty seconds, though, the pen she was using ran out of ink. No mater, she had more in her desk drawer. But which one? She never remembered. She pulled open the bottom drawer, looking for the box of pens and felt herself pause.

Lying on the bottom of her desk drawer was a 20 oz., half empty bottle of vodka. Pulling it out of the drawer, Jordan sat back in her chair and stared at the bottle. She'd brought it to work a week ago, when she had decided that Irish coffee was the best way to go in the morning. How had so much disappeared?

Suddenly her mind flashed back. A masculine hand picking up a bottle from her coffee table…the office toilet from very close up… telling someone about her nightmares…

Jordan almost dropped the bottle. What the hell had happened to her? Jesus, she needed a drink. Unscrewing the cap, she brought the bottle to her lips. But the smell roiled her stomach. She barely managed to keep her stomach in check and quickly screwed the cap back on the bottle. Garret knew what happened. Yet he wasn't telling her. All he had said was to quit drinking. Quit drinking. Just from that, it was pretty much a no-brainer that she had been drunk when whatever it was that happened had happened. But why the hell wouldn't he tell her!

Jordan slammed the bottle back into the drawer. Reaching to the corner of her desk, she picked up the bag that contained the evidence she had collected that morning. They were done processing the bodies; there was no one in trace; and Garret still wasn't back. Feeling a sense of urgency, she went into trace and immediately went to work. She scanned the print into the computer and set it to search through AFIS, doing her best to limit the search to the Boston area. While she waited for that, she took the blood samples and prepared them. She added the appropriate chemicals and set it in the spectrometer and waited for the profile to come up. She was thankful that Boston had one of the most advanced DNA identification systems. Just a few years ago, she'd have to wait hours for a profile. Now she only had to wait 10 minutes. Didn't matter, she still hated waiting.

Finally, one of the two machines beeped. The computer had come up with a match for her print… and her brain couldn't quite grasp what she was seeing. According to the system, the print was a 98.9 match for the left thumb of one Detective Woodrow Wilson Hoyt of the Boston Police Department. Jordan sat back in the chair. She wasn't surprised to find his print in her apartment; he often came over, usually once or twice a week, though he rarely stayed long. But it had been in the blood. Which meant that he had been there, and he knew what had happened; Garret wasn't the only one. The other machine beeped, and when she looked over, she got another surprise. Not only had the system created a viable genetic profile, it had matched it to a member of the Boston Police, which had decreed two years ago that all it's officers put their DNA on file as well as fingerprints. The blood in her apartment also belonged to Detective Woodrow Wilson Hoyt.

She felt a brief flash of panic as she realized what the data meant. Woody had been bleeding in her apartment. But why? Dear God, it couldn't have been her… she would never hurt him. He was one of her closest friends. Actually, her best friend, maybe more. She needed to talk to him.

Quickly she cleaned the equipment and erased any traces of her use. Once back in her office, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed his number.

"This is Hoyt. Leave your name, number, et cetera and I'll get back to you when I can."

She hung up. Why wasn't he answering his phone? She dialed his other number, his home number.

"Beep We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try your call again."

Jordan checked the screen of her cell phone. The number was right. Something must be wrong with his phone. She called his cell phone again, this time leaving a message.

"Woody, it's Jordan. Look, uh. I really don't know what to say except I'm sorry. Worst part is I don't know what I'm apologizing for. I can't remember most of the last couple days and…and I need some help. Seems like only you and Garret know what's going on, and he's not talking. So, could you call me? Please?"

She snapped the phone shut and stared into space. Moments later, she realized that she wasn't doing anything except letting thoughts buzz around her head without giving her any answers. She forced herself to snap out of it. Hell, she was a trained medical examiner and forensic technician, and the daughter of a detective; she'd solved cases all her life. She should be able to figure out what the hell happened. First she had to start with what she knew, what she remembered from both before and after the blank spot in her memory.

But before she had a chance to get started, Bug poked his head in her office once again. "Jordan, there you are! Come on, I'm going to need your help. We've got more bodies rolling in. There's been an explosion at a residence in Southie. It looks like the weekend is starting early." He slapped his hand against the door frame and left as she heard the clatter of a loaded gurney entering trace.

Sighing, she followed.

AN: Wow, longest chapter yet! Thanks for all the reviews! As I've said before, it's like chocolate without the calories!