Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan.
Note: Thank you, BugFan4Ever, Mexwojo, lbcjfan and buddies. I'm terribly glad you liked the fluff! :) This one isn't very fluffy, though.
"This guy is one sick puppy," Nigel muttered indignantly. He had just finished taking photos of the victim, so he headed towards the computer to do a facial reconstruction. The lacerations on this woman's face were significantly more serious than on the previous one's. They still went from the corners of her mouth, but were deeper and longer. She was beaten more brutally, too. All that in mind, a computer reconstruction wouldn't help only the police, but the next of kin, as well. They wouldn't have to see the heinous image that bothered even the hardened employees of the BPD and the ME's Office.
"And that's a major understatement," Jordan added wearily. That was going to be one long night, but she had no intention of leaving the autopsy for the next morning. Every minute could be important. She didn't want another body mutilated in the same way on her autopsy table. Ok, they hadn't found anything on Moore's body, but they would find something this time. She kept encouraging herself by repeating her old mantra: "All the answers are on the body." The good old forensic science couldn't let her down. She took a deep breath as she made the first cut of the Y incision with the blunt side of a scalpel.
Some time later, Woody entered Autopsy, a manila folder in his hand. Trying not to look at the table, he went past it and joined Nigel.
"I've got three missing persons reports," he addressed the Brit. "You got anything I could compare them with?"
"Just a sec." Nigel's finger hovered above the keyboard for a moment. "Here you go."
Woody flipped through his folder, comparing photos from the reports with the image on the screen.
"Julie Cohen," he said, "thirty-five, married, address in northern suburbs. Went missing three days ago."
"Oh God." Jordan's voice was faint. The men hurried to her. She looked as if she was going to be sick. She felt the same way.
"Jordan, you okay?" Woody grabbed her arm.
"Yeah, luv, you look a bit greenish," Nigel added.
She shook her head dismissively.
"It's nothing, I just found…" She looked down at her arm, "That hurts," she said matter-of-factly.
"Sorry." Woody smiled sheepishly and let her go.
"So, I found," she resumed solemnly, "what was missing the last time. Unfortunately, it's here now."
Nigel was shaken up.
"You mean the grass and the feces?" he asked quietly, looking for confirmation at the autopsy table.
Jordan nodded. Now Woody looked as if he was going to be sick. Nigel's eyes were downcast in disbelief and disgust. Like the murder itself wasn't enough. This was just… plain mean. Evil. The killer was using the body as an outlet for his rage. He was dishonoring it.
Jordan spoke first, "So, the son of a bitch is getting angrier."
"That can't be true." Leonard Cohen sobbed. "Nobody would want to hurt Julie. Why would anyone want to hurt Julie?" He lifted his red rimmed eyes to Woody, desperately looking for an explanation.
"We're doing our best, Mr. Cohen," was the best the detective was able to offer, however. He doubted there was a rational motive. If there ever was such a thing, that is. He also failed to grasp the connection between the two victims. They were both in their thirties and had dark, wavy hair. They were pretty, although Moore wasn't exactly the kind of a girl who cared much about her appearance. The similarities stopped there. While Madison Moore came from a privileged background and was a brilliant scientist, Julie Cohen was a housewife from the middle class, not even upper-middle, and she had barely finished her high school.
He turned around to look at the pictures, which filled the Cohens' living room.
"You have any children?" he noticed that a lot of photographs showed Julie with kids.
"No." Leonard shook his head. "Julie… well, Julie couldn't have children. And she loved them so much. She was involved in a number of charities. She was carrying them toys, books, clothes, sweets,… That," he motioned to the picture Woody was holding, in which Mrs. Cohen was surrounded by a great number of kids and an even greater number of cakes, "was taken a couple of days ago. One of the children's homes she was visiting had that 'Cook of the Month' competition. You know," it seemed that the small talk was keeping Mr. Cohen from falling apart, so the detective nodded encouragingly, "all the women make cakes and tarts and everything and the children decide which tastes best and the winner gets a ribbon and everything… The kids prepare a play and a small concert. Nice idea, all in all," his voice trailed off as the thought of his wife's death crossed his mind again. "I can't believe she's gone… And in such a way…" Tears welled up in his eyes again.
Woody thought how it had been a good decision not to tell him the details. Blunt force trauma was all the husband knew for now. He reckoned it was probably the time for him to leave.
"One last question, Mr. Cohen." He tried even though the answer was more than predictable, "Do you or your wife know a Madison Moore?"
"No," Leonard Cohen's eyes widened in surprise. The name sounded familiar, but he didn't know from where. "Should we?"
Jordan was trying hard to concentrate on the autopsy report she was writing. It seemed that they weren't an inch closer to the killer. And it was only a matter of hours when the press was going to be all over the cases, blowing them out of all proportions and coining a pompous name for the murderer. She sighed. It also was a matter of time when the next body was going to appear, making the whole thing a serial killer case – three bodies and it's serial. Keeping in mind that whoever was doing it was becoming angrier, the interval between the killings was bound to be shorter.
She put her pen to paper again, writing the time of death into the corresponding blank. It was about 9 pm the previous evening, two hours before she was found.
Jordan continued to write for a while, when her stomach made a threatening sound. She glanced at her chocolate donut, but it only made her stomach flutter. And definitely not in a good way. "It's not lunchtime yet. I'll survive." She dismissed the idea of eating the donut anyway and forced herself to go back to Julie Cohen's autopsy report. A couple of lines afterwards, she almost jumped from her seat. "That could be it," she thought. "And if I'm right…" She headed to Trace.
Jordan was sitting on the edge of a computer desk when Nigel entered Trace.
"Didn't know you were here, luv." He was taken aback when he saw her.
"Yeah, well," she smiled, motioning towards a piece of equipment, "I'm just running something through the mass spectrometer."
At that moment, the machine in question beeped and Jordan touched the closest computer screen to have her results printed. She jumped off the desk to get them, but Nigel was faster.
"Blood analysis?" he was puzzled. "But, there wasn't a drop of blood anywhere on the scene…"
"Yeah, I know!" she snapped at him, pulling the paper from his hand. "And did you know that Julie Cohen isn't the only case I'm working on? Does Lilly Jones ring any bells?"
He was bewildered at her outburst.
"Sorry, luv, I was just saying…"
"No, no, I'm sorry, Nige," she regretted her behavior. "I overreacted," she said, folding the results. "I've got somewhere else to be," she headed for the door.
Opening the door, she ran into Woody.
"Just the person I was looking for." He smiled broadly. "Wanna grab some lunch?"
"No, not now." She seemed eager to walk past him. "I've got to go," she said, walking through the door. "A case," she glanced back at him, flashing him the paper and a weak smile.
Flashes blinded her the moment she stepped out of the building. She cursed under her breath.
"Dr. Cavanaugh! Dr. Cavanaugh!" How the hell did they know her name? Then again, those vultures always knew everything. She cursed again. Of all the days, she had to park in front of the morgue precisely today. She had enough on her mind already. She couldn't deal with these leeches right now. Clenching her jaw, she started to make her way through the crowd of reporters and photographers.
"Dr. Cavanaugh, does the ME's Office think it's a serial killer?"
"What's COD, Dr. Cavanaugh?"
"Is it true that the killer is copying the Black Dahlia murder?"
"No comment," she answered curtly.
A minute later, she sighed, relieved, and started up her El Camino. For some time, she pondered where to go. Then she just shrugged and pulled away from the curb.
"I just stopped by to see if there's anything new by any chance," Woody addressed Nigel once he had gotten over Jordan's strange behavior. It was just Jordan being… Jordan.
"Nope," sighed Nige. "But I'm telling you, mate, Madison Moore wasn't the first. Nobody would have done it so perfectly."
Woody gave it a thought.
"So, you're saying there have been others? Before her?"
"Yes." Nigel nodded. "And we're bound to find them. Sooner or later. And then they're going to lead us to our man."
The detective had to admit there was logic in that. The only thing left was to hope that it would happen sooner rather than later.