AN: Here is an interesting chapter I hope you are pleased with. I've come out of my wb by getting a few other ideas off my chest (the control me and take over my life! I can't help it!)
Special thanks to those who commented, I don't have a list of you with me right now, though I'm sure that it's my most faithful readers! Thank you very much; I hope you all enjoy this chapter!
So Long and Goodnight
"Was that Woody?" Max asked. He had steered clear of the room the entire time Woody visited. It was his way of pushing the two together.
Jordan, still slightly miffed at him, decided to let the pizza box speak for itself. She paid more attention to the encore presentation of CSI Miami on TV.
Max thought it better to change the subject, "Why are you watching that crap, you know it's all fake.
Jordan mumbled an agreement. Max shrugged, she obviously was in no mood to talk. "I'm going out for a bit, Jordan."
There was no answer from the living room. Max shook his head and left.
--- --- ---
Woody did not feel like going back to his apartment. He felt as if he had made progress with Jordan and was feeling good about himself, as if anything were possible, as if he could solve a crime he had been working to solve for a month.
The criminal, Jarvis Poltski, had been eluding the authorities for a month, ever since he had ruthlessly murdered his ex-girlfriend and his brother when he found them sleeping together. It was a scene Woody would never forget; the blood splattered carelessly on the walls, two bodies, tortured and the killed on a bed in the east part of town. He had a strong motive and forensic evidence tying him to the case. The problem was finding him.
Woody felt that every move he made was like pieces in a chess game, he felt like a pawn trying to take down a rook. He had spent countless hours on watch duty but Jarvis had never shown his face. He was about ready to give up on the case except whenever he tried; there was another clue, something else to light the fire of the hunt in Woody.
He felt good, like he could do anything, until three hours after he had left Max's house, he got a call that would change everything.
"Max, hey, how's Jordan?"
"Woody, I think you should come here, quickly," his voice was shaky, like he was scared, but there was a hint of authority in it as well, as if he was ordering him to go back to his place. Woody did not like it, not one bit.
"Aren't you going to tell me what this is all about?"
"You're going to see what it's all about when you get your ass over here!"
Max hung up the phone. His anger was still ringing in Woody's ears. Woody sighed, thinking that it could not be anything good.
--- --- ---
He arrived twenty minutes later; Max was waiting for him at the front door. "You are the slowest cop I have ever met!" He ridiculed.
Woody's temper was flaring and the comments were not helping. "What is this about, Max?"
"It's about my daughter."
"Jordan?" Woody asked.
"Yeah the only one I've got, where is she?"
"Where is she?" Woody repeated, confused, "You were here when I left, weren't you? You should know better than me."
"Take a look in here."
Woody took a step into the room, Jordan's temporary room. It looked like a southern tropical hurricane had ripped through it. At first glance, with all of the clothes strewn on the floor, it looked as if Jordan had thrown a tantrum. On closer inspection, there was broken glass and droplets of blood in places. A rock on the bed alerted Woody to the smashed window.
"I'm calling backup, you call the morgue," Woody said urgently. He had a few guesses at who would do something like this, but he would not say them aloud to Max just yet.