Disclaimer: I do not own Crossing Jordan.

Note: I'm really sorry I haven't been updating regularly. The story is almost finished now, and I need your opinion on something (so I'll be spoilerish) - the last chapter (Chapter Ten) was intended to be Jordan-centric and to end with a conversation between Jordan and Woody. Now, this conversation turned out to be a longish one (1,000+ words), so I was thinking to divide the chapter into two (the conversation thus becoming Chapter Eleven). What do you think? Would you like to read their conversation as a separate chapter? You don't have to leave a review to tell me (though reviews are always welcome), you'll find a nice little poll at my profile. :) The voting ends tomorrow at midnight PST (which this site uses). I'll post Chapter Ten then, and Chapter Eleven - if there is one - the next morning (after I proofread it again :)).

lbcjfan, BugFan4Ever, KJ22, Mexwojo and luckygirl13, thank you very much for your reviews of Chapter Eight. :)

Eleve Osirian (xKiagax), I really appreciate your review of Chapter Seven. :)

"You-" started Nigel, but then reconsidered his words. "I'll tell Woody."

Jordan nodded, and then both of them took a sudden interest in the floor. The criminologist blessed inwardly the sound of the swinging door.

"Hey, Buggles, you'll never-" he began only to cut himself off when it turned out that the person entering Trace wasn't Bug, but a brunette in her mid-thirties.

Jordan was the first to react.

"I'm sorry, madam, but you can't go in here," she told her, but the woman didn't seem to take notice of her words as she proceeded onwards, whispering something inaudible.

The M.E. stepped forward and, gently but firmly, took the woman by the upper arm.

"I'm sorry, madam," she repeated, "but this is staff-only area."

"Please come with me," she added, taking a small step towards the door.

The woman, however, stayed in place, just like the unreadable expression in her eyes. She started to talk more loudly, though.

"No, I've already been everywhere else. I have the right to know," she insisted. "You have to tell me."

"Tell you what?" intervened Nigel, finally getting up from his computer chair.

The woman pulled a photograph from her purse and held it in front of Jordan.

"Do you recognize him?" she asked, not even a hint of urgency in her voice. She was completely tranquil. Then, seeing the look Jordan exchanged with Nigel, she asked, motioning to the slab with her head. "Is that him?"

She moved forward, as though to approach the lifeless body lying on the metal table, but Jordan detained her.

"I am very sorry for your loss," she said, "but you can't go any farther. You'll contaminate the evidence."

The woman shook her head, as if Jordan had no idea what she was talking about.

"You don't need evidence," she said. "I'll tell you what happened to him. He killed himself four days ago."

"My niece, his only child, Kathy..." Audrey Robinson made a pause to pull another photo from her purse and put it in front of Jordan. The two women were now sitting in the conference room, where the M.E. had brought Ms. Robinson after a quick "I'll tell Woody, later." murmured to Nigel. She wanted to talk with this strange-behaving woman in private first.

"She died," continued Audrey, "in Mass General four days ago."

"I'm sorry," Jordan said and then cast another look at the skinny blonde smiling contagiously right into the camera.

"Ovarian cancer. She was twenty-two. Twenty-one when got diagnosed nine months ago. At first we couldn't believe it. She was so young." She paused again, this time to wipe away a tear that had escaped her. "We started to believe it was real when her doctor told us that nothing was working. He then suggested stem cell therapy. But the insurance company wouldn't cover it. Of course, we couldn't afford it," she said bitterly. "I work in a small bookstore, Janie - Bobby's wife - left her job when Kathy got sick, she was spending all her time with her, and Bobby is-" she bit her lip, "Bobby was a construction worker. We knew that we would have to beg. And we did. We were sending letters to charities, companies - big and small, rich people. A few Kathy's friends - she played the cello, you know," a proud smile lit her face up for less than a moment, "they gave a couple of recitals too. Even the hospital agreed to help us. But nothing was enough." She shook her head and added, almost inaudibly, "It's so unfair."

Jordan, who was trying to keep tears in check, just nodded.

"Then," Audrey went on her story, "some three months ago, Bobby came home smiling. That was the first time I saw him like that since Kathy had been diagnosed. He told me he'd found the money for the therapy. I asked him where, but he wouldn't tell. We never spoke about it since. I was afraid he would answer, I guess. I figured he'd robbed a bank or something."

'If only,' thought Jordan.

"Anyway, this new therapy wasn't really working either. The cancer was too advanced, or that was the doctor's explanation. And then..." Her voice trailed off and she put her hand to her mouth as though to smother a cry.

"Four days ago she died," she said after a while. "In her sleep. She looked so serene. An angel." She dried her tears before she continued. "I'll never forget the look on Bobby's face when he found out. It was terrible... Like a mask. And he acted like a robot. It must have been the shock." She almost timidly looked at the M.E., seeking support for her explanation.

Again, Jordan just nodded.

"I was afraid for him. His heart isn't... wasn't in a good shape. I was afraid for him, so we went to say our goodbyes together. He just stood there, beside her, and then he kissed her hair and told me he'd wait for me outside."

"I never saw him again," she added and then burst into tears.

Jordan hugged her, searching for the right words to tell this woman whose story was another challenge for her black-and-white view of the world. Couldn't anything be simple these days?

Woody was sitting at his desk; a file was spread in front of him, a pencil was in his hand, and his mind was cosmic years away from anything around him. He usually managed to use his work as a means of getting away from his thoughts, but not today. Today he couldn't get away from the truth. And the truth was that he was an ass. What in the world had made him say that to Jordan? Had he completely lost his mind? He sighed. The truth was that he was always out of his mind when it came to Jordan. When it came to her, he'd always forget to look before he leaped. Today obviously was no exception. It wasn't that he regretted telling her. He regretted the time he'd chosen to do it.

Sighing again, he put the pencil to paper for the tenth time, at least. The report wasn't going to write itself, and he already had the captain riding his ass because of the freaking Reilly case.

After the third word, he heard his name being called. When he looked up, he discovered, much to his dismay, that it was Seely who'd called him.

"There's a lady who wants to talk to you, Hoyt," the redhead detective grinned at him. "In private," he added significantly. "I told her to wait in front of the box."

His curiosity stirred, Woody got up and strode to the interrogation room, mumbling a thank you to Seely as he walked.

His eyebrows rose when he saw who it was that was waiting for him.

"Mrs. Reilly."

"Good evening, detective," she said in reply, her voice and countenance friendlier than usual. "I have something important to tell you." She looked around discreetly. "In private, please."

"Sure." He nodded, showing her into the interrogation room.

When they were seated, Meghan Reilly put a piece of paper folded in four on the table and gently pushed it towards him.

"I owe you an apology, detective Hoyt," she said as he was unfolding the paper. "I found this in the mail this afternoon."

Jordan breezed into the bullpen and then stopped in her tracks when she found Woody's table empty. The officer at the reception had told her he was still there.

"Hey, Cavanaugh," a voice startled her.

She turned around to find Matt Seely's toothy grin less than a foot away from her.

"Looking for Hoyt?"

Not having the time for Seely's unwitty remarks, she went straight to the point. "You know where he is?"

The detective flashed a lopsided smile. "What I do know is that a hot blonde just came searching for him too. She wanted them to talk in private."

An idea crossed Jordan's mind. "Was she tall? With curly hair?"

Seely nodded. "You know her?"

"You know how much I enjoy chit-chatting with you, Seely, but do you mind telling me where they are now? I really have to talk to Woody."

Something in her voice made him swallow a comment he considered extremely funny, so he said only, "I think they're in the box."

She was half way to the room adjacent to it when she heard him almost yelling after her, "Oh, be my guest, Cavanaugh! Feel free to enter all the premises of the Boston Police Department at will."

Having gotten that off his chest, he headed to his desk to finish his paperwork, but suddenly he got a better idea. "I'm so not missing this," he said sottovoce before he joined Jordan.

She didn't even acknowledge his presence. Her eyes were glued to the sight at the other side of the glass.

"As you can see," said Mrs. Reilly, wringing her hands together, "you were right. He did stage everything."

Woody looked solemn. "We still can't be sure if this letter is authentic, Mrs. Reilly. I'll send it to the lab to compare the prints with those we found on your lease agreement with Mr. Jackson. It might be a Confessing Sam."

"You don't believe that, detective." She shook her head. "Who could know all these details? Even I didn't know them."

They were quiet for a moment, and then she said, "You think you know somebody, but you don't know them at all. How could he ever do such a thing?" Her voice suddenly sounded very small.

"What your husband did is..." His voice trailed off as he was struggling to find the right word.

"It's horrible," Meghan Reilly helped him, tears welling up in her eyes. "What he did doesn't have a name. He used the poor man whose only daughter was dying t-to..." She couldn't bring herself to finish.

"Yes, you're right, Mrs. Reilly," Woody made himself say, "but he wanted all the best for you and your kids."

He didn't sound convincing enough to himself, let alone to her. She smiled a little, bitterness filling her eyes. "That's nice of you to say, detective Hoyt, but you and I both know that the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

They sat in silence for a while.

"The best he could do for me and for our children," resumed Meghan, "was to take responsibility for his losses. My daughters would relatively easy come to terms with living without a big apartment, a country house, a grand piano and all those things. But, what do you think, how long will it take them to come to terms with this? How long will it take me?"

She stood, and so did Woody.

"Just promise me one thing, detective. Don't let Mr. Robinson's name appear in the papers, please."

"I'll do my best not to let the press find out any of this," he assured her.

Goodbyes were exchanged, and Woody was left in front of the Interrogation Room No. 2 with a pounding headache. Jordan joined him silently, but Seely wasn't that considerate.

"What was that?" as sensitive as always, he broke the silence. "Was that that lawyer's wife?"

"The conversation was meant to be private, Seely," Woody reminded him wearily, too worn out to even snap at his co-worker.

Matt shrugged in his usual manner. "It's Cavanaugh's fault."

Woody's attention then turned to Jordan.

"I tried calling you," she explained, "but you were out of reach, so I had to come. And when Seely told me you were talking to a tall, curly blonde, I assumed it was Meghan Reilly. She brought a letter with Bob Robinson's confession?"

Woody's eyes narrowed a bit in suspicion. "How do you know his first name?"

"I'll explain," she said impatiently, "just first tell me."

"Yes," he admitted, though reluctantly. "Robinson sent it to her before he killed himself. She hadn't been reading mail since her husband's funeral, so she finally found it this afternoon. He said that Reilly had paid him to kill him, and he'd accepted because his daughter was dying and he needed the money for the therapy. He begged her for forgiveness. He couldn't live with the guilt, he said, so the day on which she'd receive his letter would be either the day of his daughter's recovery or the day of her death."

He stopped and looked at Jordan, half-hopeful.

She shook her head slightly. "Kathy Robinson died in Mass General four days ago. Her aunt came to the morgue looking for Bob a couple of hours ago. She told me about Kathy."

"Did she...?"

She understood the unspoken part of the question. "No, she didn't know that it was her brother who killed Jacob Reilly." She locked her eyes to his. "And I think it can stay that way," she half-asked.

Both detectives nodded.