The Dead Are Free
By Fewthistle

Disclaimer: These characters are the sole property of NBC Television and Wolf Productions. No copyright infringement was intended. No profit was made from their use. This story is the sole property of the author. Please do not archive without my permission.

Rating: R, for suggestions of sexual relations between two consenting female adults. If you find this thought unpalatable or you have yet to reach the age where you should be reading such things, then pray, adjourn to a more suitable site and come back either when your consciousness or your age are greater.

Title: The title is taken from the above poem by Sara Teasdale, a 20th century American poet.

Pairing: Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh (of Crossing Jordan) and ADA Elisabeth Kelling (of my somewhat peculiar mind)

Further Disclaimer: Ok, as we should all know by now, I am not a doctor, nor am I a forensic pathologist. I did spend two horrendous years in law school, but for the purposes of this story, I am going to plead ignorance of all things medical and most things legal. So, be kind and bear with any and all errors of either type which I may have made in this tale. OK?<g>.

The lyrics quoted are from the song, "Running to Stand Still", by U2.

One

Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh walked wearily down the hall towards her office. The postmortem of the fifteen-year-old girl had left her drained and depressed. Her body had been found in an alley in the area formerly known as the Combat Zone. Although the heyday of the red light district had passed, with new restaurants and shops lodged in buildings that had once sported massage parlors and dive bars, it still wasn't the Hill or Back Bay.

It was clear that the girl had been a teenaged hooker, a runaway probably, her dress barely to the tops of her thighs, bleached hair teased and sprayed. Her makeup had appeared mottled and garish against the unblemished skin beneath. She looked like nothing so much as a child caught wearing her mother's clothes and lipstick, a grotesque caricature of beauty. Thanks to some powdered bleach and baking soda that an enterprising soul had sold to her as cocaine, she would never have the chance to get out, to go home, to find some other life for herself beyond the graffiti riddled streets of Boston.

There were hundreds, perhaps thousands like her every year according to the government's statistics, lost children forced to play a role they were never intended to play, dying alone, unremarked and largely unmourned. That fact had settled onto Jordan's chest years ago, a heavy stone holding her in place, keeping her focused. Against her better judgment and troubling her peace of mind, she had been selected as one of the designated mourners for stolen dreams and shattered innocence.

Rounding the corner, she stepped into her office, crossing to where the desk sat in front of the window. With a deep sigh, she tossed the autopsy report on top of the steadily growing pile of papers that littered the top of the desk. It was only then that Jordan noticed the figure reclining on her couch. Well, half-reclining.

Her visitor's feet, encased in navy and white Bruno Magli spectator pumps, still rested on the floor. The rest of her however, clad in a simply cut, navy Donna Karan suit, was leaning back at rather an odd angle against the side cushion. Her head was tilted at what Jordan could see was an extremely uncomfortable slant, eyes closed, blonde hair falling like a curtain of silver around a classically beautiful face. Even with her eyes shut and half of her face obscured by her hair, Jordan was certain that she had never laid eyes on this woman before. A face like that you remember.

Watching silently for a moment, Jordan was relieved to see the steady rise and fall of the woman's chest. It would be just her luck to have someone show up at her office unannounced and then die on her. Jordan quietly left the room, making the short trek down the hall to where Lily, the ME's administrative assistant, sat in the break room, listening with rapt attention to an apparently heated discussion between two of Jordan's colleagues.

"I disagree," stated Nigel, his British accent making the words sound somehow less ludicrous. "If you factor in his relative size and weight, then Mighty Mouse was far, far stronger than Superman could have ever dreamed of being."

"Ah, but you see that is where you are wrong, my friend, " Bug began, the fluctuating rhythm of his diatribe brought to an abrupt halt as Jordan interceded.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt such an earth shattering discussion, but does anyone know how Sleeping Beauty got into my office, and who the hell she is?" Jordan asked, the quirk of her lips taking any sting out of her words.

"Sleeping Beauty, eh?" Nigel asked, a grin lighting his face at the prospect of a good-looking woman within a five mile radius." In your office? Why is it all I ever get in my office are bullet fragments and tire molds?"

"Your cologne, maybe?" Jordan bantered back, waiting for Lily to come up with the answer. Nothing went on in the office of the Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts without Lily knowing all about it.

"Perhaps I should go have a look," Nigel said cheekily, his eyebrows doing a pretty decent Groucho Marx impression.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Jordan responded, standing so that her body blocked the doorway, "I have a feeling that Lily has the answer, don't you, Lily?"

For some reason she couldn't quite name, the thought of people standing and gawking at the sleeping woman bothered her. Despite the fact that she didn't know her, had in fact, never seen her before, Jordan knew instinctively that her guest was far too elegant to appreciate being caught napping on the ME's couch by the entire office staff.

"Gee, she really must have been as tired as she looked," Lily finally offered.

"Who must have been, Lily?"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot to tell you that she called, and then she called back and said she would just drop by and talk to you in person, so when she got here, I told her that you were doing a post, but that she could wait in your office. That was about thirty minutes ago," Lily replied, her words tumbling over themselves as they raced from her lips.

"Lily? Who is she?" Jordan asked again, just a trace of exasperation in her voice.

"The Executive Assistant District Attorney for Suffolk County," Lily said with a slightly apologetic look, "Elisabeth Kelling."

"The Ice Queen is asleep in your office?" Bug asked incredulously, rising from his seat to join Nigel as he tried to make his way out the door past Jordan.

"Hold it," Jordan ordered, placing her body firmly in the way of any exit attempts, "The Ice Queen?"

"That's what some of the boys in the DA's office call her. Well, behind her back anyway. Apparently, while she is exceptionally polite and extremely fair, when it comes to having any personality outside the courtroom, she strikes out completely. In the courtroom, they say she is fantastic, very charismatic, charming, empathetic, but the minute she walks out she becomes this, well, ice princess," Nigel supplied, his interest clearly not waning at the opportunity to see the ADA in a less than dignified position.

"Just because she interacts with her staff in a professional manner, doesn't make her cold. Besides, did it ever occur to these guys that maybe she just doesn't like them?" Jordan argued, feeling the need to defend her slumbering guest, "Or maybe she isn't that great with social skills. Some people aren't, you know."

"From what I understand, if she isn't an expert at social situations, then her parents wasted a bloody fortune on her education. Miss Porter's, Smith, Harvard Law. Very very old, very very rich Boston family. So, I really don't think it's because she's not adept at making small talk. Besides, if she isn't, then she can give up any idea of being the DA. After all, in politics, schmoozing is the name of the game," Nigel informed her succinctly.

"How do you know all this stuff? Or better yet, why do you know all this stuff?" Jordan asked, a confused look on her face.

"I saw her last year at the annual Law Enforcement Ball, and since I make it a habit to do a bit of research before approaching a woman, I made some discreet inquiries," Nigel replied smugly.

"Struck out, didn't you?" Jordan asked, amusement lighting her face.

"Like one of your Little Leaguers up against Roger Clemens," Bug supplied, his expression more than a bit gleeful at being able to publicly cut Nigel down to size concerning his dating prowess.

"Well, thanks for the info boys, Lily. I think I should go and see if my guest is up from her nap and find out why she came here in the first place," Jordan told them, turning to walk back down the hall to her office.

Peeking cautiously around the doorframe, Jordan could see that her visitor was still asleep, although she had shifted positions, so that her head now rested against the back of the couch. Even so, it was a pretty safe bet that her neck was going to be stiff when she woke up.

"Ms. Kelling?" Jordan prodded softly, trying not to startle the woman.

"Ms. Kelling," she said, her voice louder.

There was no response from the slumbering attorney. Sighing deeply, Jordan moved to her side, reaching out a tentative hand to place it on her shoulder. Shaking gently, Jordan tried again.

"Ms. Kelling?"

A rather pronounced sigh and a slight frown were the only reactions.

"Elisabeth! Wake up!" Jordan urged, her voice loud and quite forceful.

Astonishingly green eyes snapped open, momentarily unfocused as Jordan's guest abruptly sat up, the movement causing a grimace of pain as she brought her head upright.

"You really shouldn't sleep sitting up like that," Jordan advised kindly, "You probably won't be able to turn your head for a couple hours."

"Thank you for the advice. I didn't actually intend to sleep at all. I just sat down here to wait for Dr. Cavanaugh and I must have dozed off," Elisabeth replied distractedly, rubbing her sore neck muscles, "Are you Jordan Cavanaugh?"

"That's me," Jordan affirmed amiably, "Considering you came all the way down here and even waited to see me, I guess it would be safe to assume that it's something important?"

"Yes, it is. My apologies, I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Elisabeth Kelling, and I'm the Executive ADA for Suffolk County. I'm sorry for falling asleep on your couch, by the way. Not exactly the kind of first impression I like to make," the ADA said ruefully.

"If it's any consolation, the first thing that occurred to me was that you obviously work too hard, or you wouldn't be tired enough to fall asleep on the ME's couch," Jordan smiled, leaning back against her desk as she faced her visitor.

"Somehow, I doubt that that was your first thought, Doctor, but I appreciate the gesture. It was kind of you. I always remember kindnesses," Elisabeth assured her, an answering smile just touching the corners of her mouth.

The two women sat in silence for a moment, eyes locked, slowly assessing each other. Jordan could see the sharp intelligence in those green eyes, narrowing slightly as they regarded her. Intelligence and something else, something Jordan couldn't quite place.

Suddenly, the ADA stood, rising gracefully from the couch, almost imperceptibly flexing the tight muscles in her shoulders and neck. Smiling briefly, she walked over to the door, asking with raised brows if Jordan objected to having it closed.

"Sure, that's fine," Jordan answered the unspoken query, gesturing for Elisabeth to shut her office door.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here, Doctor. I know you're as busy as I am, so I won't waste any more of your time. I need your help," Kelling pronounced quietly, her eyes watching Jordan with a guarded expression.

"Shoot."

"You did the autopsy on Kathy Donovan, the Allston barmaid who was tortured, raped, and strangled, correct?" Elisabeth asked, already certain of the answer but clearly intent on going through the motions.

"Yeah, I did the post. We didn't find any semen, but considering that the perp poured bleach into her vagina, that isn't really surprising. We did find a single, partial print on the victim's throat that matched up to your suspect, as well as fibers from the same type of coveralls he wears at work, most of them in the tape used to bind her hands. We also found a black, oily substance consistent with axle grease on the victim's clothing. Since he works in a trucking company garage, it all fit together. Is there some question about the results?" Jordan offered, watching as the other woman perched lightly on the arm of the couch.

"To be perfectly honest, Doctor, your findings are about all that we have in this case. The police were unable to come up with a single witness who ever saw Richard Garner anywhere near the victim's home. He has what he claims is an alibi, that he was at his cousin's house all weekend. The cousin in question has a rap sheet the length of Commonwealth Ave., but that won't matter much to a jury.

"We have 'a' pair of coveralls, but they're mass produced, sold to every garage, warehouse, bodyshop and gas station in the greater New England area, so making a jury believe that Garner and ONLY Garner wore them is next to impossible. As for the axle grease, well, that too is so common that it falls way inside the boundaries of circumstantial evidence," Kelling admitted, her eyes tired and frustrated.

"What about the partial print? It was made in the same grease that was all over Kathy Donovan's collar, so it was pretty clear," Jordan asked.

"You just answered your own question, Doctor. A 'partial' print. To a jury you might as well say, 'we found half a Twinkie and matched up the bite marks'. Unless you present them with incontrovertible evidence, an eyewitness, a full set of prints, DNA even, they aren't going to buy it.

"The crime scene unit was unable to find another solitary print of Garner's in the victim's house. Reasonable doubt has been beaten into the publics' head for so long now that the prosecution has to work four times as hard to get convictions, even if you have all that evidence," Elisabeth sighed, running a slender hand over her forehead.

"Wait a minute. I thought that the cops had spoken to Kathy's sister and found out that the victim knew Garner, that he had been hassling Kathy for several weeks?" Jordan queried, her own frustration beginning to show.

"Kathy's sister's testimony is hearsay. She never actually witnessed Garner harassing her sister, she never heard the phone calls, she only heard about them from Kathy. To the court, that makes them inadmissible. She can't prove he ever knew Kathy, much less ever raped and murdered her. No one else in the victim's family or any of her friends ever heard her mention Garner and they certainly never saw her with him," the ADA explained, her tone weary.

"This woman was brutally raped and then manually strangled until she passed out, strangled again when she regained consciousness, raped again, over and over, for two days till he finally killed her. He dripped hot wax into her eyes, he poured bleach into her vagina after he raped her. The pain and terror she endured was unimaginable."

" I know that Doctor Cavanaugh, and you know that, but unless I can make the jury believe that Richard Garner was responsible for this crime, he walks and there isn't a damn thing that either of us can do about it," Elisabeth stated, her eyes hard, "That's why I am here. I need you to do something for me."

"What?" Jordan asked, hoping that the ADA wasn't going to ask her for fake lab results or tampered evidence.

"Did you ever want to be an actress, Doctor?" Kelling asked her, her expression unreadable.

"You don't have to keep calling me doctor. It's Jordan. And, to answer your question, no, I can't say that I ever did. Why?"

Moving suddenly, Elisabeth crossed the small space between them to stand directly in front of Jordan, her gaze intense as she meet Jordan's eyes. The soft, sweet scent of flowers and citrus from her perfume clung to her clothing, drifting faintly to tease Jordan's senses. The rich tones of her voice melted into honey as a secretive, conspiratorial smile just touched her full lips.

"I need you to give the performance of your life, Jordan. I need you to stop being the dull, boring voice of the Medical Examiner and tell them, tell the jury not what killed Kathy Donovan, but how she died, what she felt, all the anguish and fear she must have experienced.

"I want the jury to feel as if they were there in the room with her as Richard Garner cruelly, savagely wrested the life from her fragile body. I want them left with no doubts of the viciousness of this crime. I need them outraged and angry and willing to convict whomever I present to them as the guilty party, because someone has to pay. I can do part of it, but I need an accomplice of sorts. Do you think you can, Jordan?" Elisabeth finished speaking, her eyes compelling and full of passion.

Listening to her speak, the lilting cadence of her words like a unknown yet familiar song, a stray line from The Great Gatsby floated through Jordan's mind. "Her voice is full of money." It was impossible to reconcile the barely contained emotions that emanated from this woman, the bright green flash of her eyes, the low, thrilling tones of her voice to the image of the Ice Queen that Nigel had spoken of earlier. Elisabeth might be many things, but lacking in feeling didn't seem to be one of them.

"Isn't the attorney for the defense going to object if I get on the stand and start dramatizing the crime?" Jordan asked somewhat hesitantly.

"You let me worry about defense counsel. Can you do this for me, Jordan? Can you do it for Kathy Donovan and her family?" Elisabeth implored, her face softening, her eyes hypnotic in their verdant depths.

Forcing herself to close her eyes and look away from that mesmerizing stare, Jordan laughed nervously.

"You don't lose very often, do you, Counselor?"

"The last time I checked, the people of the Commonwealth weren't paying me to lose, Doctor. In a great many cases, I am the only voice that the victim has, the only chance that they have to find justice. I use every means at my disposal to insure that they receive that justice," Kelling stated matter-of-factly, "Now, can I count on you, Doctor Cavanaugh?"

"I'll do my best. I can't promise to give an Oscar winning performance, but I will try to make it as non-clinical as possible," Jordan agreed.

"Just remember, Jordan. Tell them how she died, not what killed her. Tell them what he did to her, not what evidence you found on the body. Make it personal. Make them have to view her as a fellow human being, someone who could be them, could be their wife, or daughter or mother, not a corpse on a steel slab," Elisabeth urged, her eyes again glowing with an impassioned fire.

"Ok, I'll give it my best shot," Jordan promised, her mind still focused on the absolute dichotomy between the description that Nigel had provided and the compelling, fascinating woman who stood before her.

A grateful, tired smile lit Elisabeth's face, turning merely beautiful into exquisite, those green pieces of ice melted and warm, the barest hint of a dimple peeking out at the corner of a perfect mouth.

"Thank you. I know that all this may sound pretty insignificant to you, but if I have learned anything practicing law, it is to never underestimate the power of words on a jury. You can show them crime scene photos, murder weapons, evidence galore, but if you can somehow manage to put them at the scene, to make them become the victim, feeling all the pain and terror that the victim felt, then you've won your case.

"If between the two of us, we can make that jury imagine what Kathy Donovan's last forty-eight hours were like, we may be able to make sure that Richard Garner never harms another woman," Elisabeth stated quietly, holding Jordan's gaze with her own.

"Can I ask you a question?" Jordan could still smell the fragrant scent of Elisabeth's perfume, realizing that at some point, the attorney had moved well within her personal space. Oddly, Jordan found that she didn't care.

"Of course."

"Why is this case so important to you? I mean, you're the Executive ADA. I'm sure that you have dozens of minions to handle this for you. After all, the murder of some barmaid in Allston isn't really a high profile sort of case. Why do you care so much?" Jordan inquired, watching intently as emotions flickered across the other woman's face, before a polite, blank mask fell.

"I thought we already decided this one, Doctor. I don't get paid to lose, remember?" Kelling answered, her voice again as calm and unemotional as it had been at the start of their conversation.

"Bullshit," Jordan pronounced emphatically, noting the other woman's slight flinch at the word, "Sorry, but that's what it is. You may fool other people into thinking that you're simply a gifted actress, but I'm not buying it. When you were talking about what happened to Kathy Donovan, the emotions, the impassioned speech, they weren't an act. You really feel that way."

"You've known me all of thirty minutes and you have the key to the city and the map of my soul, eh Jordan?" Elisabeth replied sardonically.

"No, you're right, I don't know you. I do know what I saw, and what I felt and quite frankly, nobody's that good an actor. Juries know it too, that's why they believe you, because they can sense the inherent sincerity, they can see the integrity. You may have your staff convinced that you're some sort of automaton, but I don't believe it," Jordan informed her, leaning forward for emphasis, so that they stood just inches apart.

Elisabeth's eyes searched Jordan's face, a puzzled expression dancing across her own.

"Why not just admit that you care?" Jordan asked her gently.

The seconds ticked by as Elisabeth silently debated her reply. When it came, Jordan was glad that she was standing so close. Even from the short distance of the couch she would not have heard the whispered response.

"Because it hurts too much." Elisabeth breathed, her eyes gazing unfocused out the window over Jordan's shoulder.

"Wouldn't it be worse if it didn't hurt at all?" Jordan queried, the question as much for herself as for Elisabeth. It was an issue she had grappled with from the very first instant she set foot in a ME's office. How not to be eaten up inside by all the horror and sadness that she was privy to, day in and day out.

"I keep telling myself that, and some days, I even believe it. Then along comes a case like this, where the chances of my winning are so slim, and I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to really be the Ice Queen," the blonde admitted, her voice low and full of doubt.

"Yes, I know they call me that," she said, with a self-mocking quirk of her lips. " I'm glad they do, to tell the truth. It saves me from keeping everyone at arms length. At the end of the day, I don't want to sit over two or three or half a dozen drinks and rehash all the details. I don't want to go over and over all the loses, all the walking wastes of air that we have to set free every day. I just want to go home and pretend that I'm going to be able to sleep."

Sighing deeply, Elisabeth ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head in amazement as she turned away slightly, taking a few hesitant steps towards where her briefcase sat by the door.

"I've never told that to anyone. Ever. I'm not at all certain why I did today, except that, well, you seemed to know already. Most people simply accept the persona that I offer them, the reserved, unemotional front," she confided, her expression still slightly bemused.

"Yeah, well, I'm not most people," Jordan told her with a self-deprecating laugh.

"No, you're not," Elisabeth replied, her eyes narrowing, as if she could somehow see inside of Jordan's mind if she stared hard enough.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. I wouldn't want to be responsible for ruining your reputation," Jordan assured her, her own eyes twinkling.

"Quite frankly, Doctor, at this point, I don't think that anyone would believe you," the attorney retorted, a smile ghosting across her face, "So, court, Monday, nine a.m.?"

"I'll be there. I'll go over my notes tonight. You know, my Dad and I do something similar to solve cases, or we did when he was still on the force. We each pick who we want to be, the victim or the killer, and we act out the crime, try to see how it happened, the motive, the clues. So maybe, if I use the same technique on Monday, the jury will be able to really envision the scene," Jordan felt odd telling anyone about the game that she and Max Cavanaugh used, but given Elisabeth's admission, it seemed only fair to share a little of herself.

"I've heard that your father was a hell of a cop, Jordan. Sounds like a plan to me," Elisabeth reassured, her smile less forced now that they had both stepped back from the emotion of the previous moments, "I can't believe that I've been here over an hour and a half. I've got to get back to the office.

"Thank you for agreeing to help me, Jordan," the ADA said, offering her hand to the dark-haired pathologist, "And for your kindness and understanding. I won't forget it."

Taking the proffered hand, Jordan felt an odd little tingle snake its way across her palm and up her arm. Smiling into those amazing green eyes, Jordan found her mouth way ahead of her brain.

"If we win, you owe me dinner, Counselor. Someplace expensive. On a state employee's salary, all I can usually afford is Legal Seafood, once a month," Jordan teased, her expression challenging.

"Who do you think I work for, my dear?" Elisabeth laughed, pulling open the door and moving into the hallway, "All right, you're on, Dr. Cavanaugh. You sell that jury for me and dinner is yours for the asking."

"Be sure to bring your credit card, Elisabeth," Jordan grinned, rather astonished at the way things had turned out.

"For you, I'll bring the platinum card. See you Monday, Jordan," she threw over her shoulder as she made her way towards the elevators.

"Bye."

Jordan couldn't help but laugh out loud at the mouths hanging open in shock as Bug and Nigel witnessed the lovely ADA's departure.

"Ice Queen, my ass," Jordan informed them, leaving them standing in the hall as she reentered her office, smiling as she threw herself down on the couch recently occupied by a rather stunning blonde.

TWO

Jordan Cavanaugh slid into one of the remaining seats in the visitor's gallery of the courtroom. From where she was sitting, she could just make out the occasional glint of silvery-gold hair at the table reserved for the prosecution. The room was packed, the pews filled with reporters, families of the victim and accused, and a great many people just there for the "show".

Waiting outside in the hall four days ago to give her testimony, Jordan had been amazed at the number of people filing in to fill the gallery seats.

"Is it always this crowded, or is it just because it's a murder case?" She had asked the bailiff, stationed outside the worn and scarred wooden doors.

"Most murders do get more of a turnout, but the ones Ms. Kelling tries herself, they get the biggest crowd. We got so-called, professional court watchers who come for the interesting cases. You know, retirees, former cops, law students, and such. They always come for the Duchess's cases. You can be guaranteed that they'll be full of drama.

"Lots of people come just to listen to her give her closings. Course, there are them that come just to look at her, but they only do that one time. After they see her try a case once, they come for the show," the bailiff had responded sagely, his eyes moving watchfully over the milling mass outside the courtroom.

"The Duchess?" Jordan had inquired, an intrigued grin lighting her face, "I thought they called her the Ice Queen?"

"I don't know who you been getting your information from, Doc, but only those stuck-up, frat-boy assholes who work in her office and the defense attorneys she doesn't let get over on her call her that. Just cause she doesn't lift her skirt for any of the stupid bastards or go out drinking with them every night of the week. We call her Duchess, as a term of respect, see. She's got brains and class and she treats every single human being with respect, like they matter, you know.

"Not like some of these snotty-nosed little shits who come in here and treat everybody, from the accused on down to the victims and their families like they were scum. There isn't a bailiff or a clerk or a judge in this courthouse that doesn't like and respect Ms. Kelling. If those dumb little fuckers in her office don't know enough to appreciate her, then more's the pity, if you ask me," he pronounced rather vehemently, his eyes straying from his scrutiny of the crowd to stare somewhat belligerently at Jordan.

"I couldn't agree more," Jordan assured him, feeling gratified at having her own assessment of the ADA verified. Seeing the icy glare with which she was still being fixed, Jordan started to elaborate on her opinion of the idiots who populated Elisabeth's office, when the door to the courtroom opened and the lady in question emerged.

Glancing quickly around, she saw Jordan perched on the bench to the right of the doors. A bright smile lit her face, those astonishing green eyes glowing warmly as she crossed the short distance to the bench.

"Hi, Jordan," Elisabeth said, seating herself on the hard wood.

"Joe, how are you today?" She asked, smiling at the stocky bailiff.

"Fine, Ms. Kelling, just fine. And yourself?" He answered, clearly pleased at her inquiry.

"I'm wonderful, Joe, thanks. Been taking good care of my star witness, here?" She returned, her smile and tone of voice friendly and inclusive.

"I always do, don't I?" he laughed, "Putting the bastard away in there?"

"I'm trying, Joe, I'm trying. Hopefully, with the good Doctor's help, I'll be successful. Jordan, walk with me a minute?" Elisabeth asked, rising to her feet and inclining her head in the direction of a relatively deserted section of hallway. "Joe, please give me a yell when he's ready to resume, will you?"

"No problem."

"Thanks"

Moving past the door to follow Elisabeth down the hall, Jordan sensed that, in light of the ADA's extremely friendly behavior towards her, that she had somehow passed some sort of inspection in the eyes of Joe the bailiff. She had no doubt that any future court appearances that she had here would be as easy and cooperative as possible.

Good to know people in advantageous places , Jordan thought wryly, certain that having the real powers inside the courthouse working against you could prove to be a thoroughly unpleasant experience.

Speaking of advantageous people. Elisabeth stopped in front of a closed door, marked "Official Use Only". Opening the door, she stepped aside for Jordan to enter, pulling it shut behind her as she leaned back wearily against the frosted glass.

"Not going too well?" Jordan asked, taking in the barely noticeable lines of fatigue around the generous curves of Elisabeth's mouth.

"Actually, not as bad as it could be. Defense counsel is a little aggressive, which works to my benefit. He's also managed, in an amazingly short space of time, to get on Judge Sanders' bad side," she smiled faintly.

"What did he do?" Jordan inquired, half-sitting on the edge of the wide conference table and regarding her companion.

"Cited Rehnquist and Scalia," Elisabeth rejoined, laughing softly, "Sanders absolutely despises both of them, particularly our esteemed Chief Justice, so if you have any hopes of not pissing him off, you don't mention either name in his courtroom. Fortunately for me, this guy just moved here from Worcester and has never tried a case in front of Sanders before."

"From what your friend Joe out there just told me, I doubt that it would matter if you trotted Rehnquist into the courtroom and had him serve as co-counsel," Jordan told her, smiling crookedly.

"What are you talking about?" Elisabeth asked, a confused frown creating tiny fissures along her forehead.

"According to Joe, everyone in this building pretty much thinks that you walk on water, so I doubt that even a detested Chief Justice could turn them against you," Jordan told her, watching in amazement at the slow spread of rosy pink that crept along those perfect cheekbones.

"Joe's a very sweet man, though I have to say that I think he is prone to exaggeration," Elisabeth responded, clearly embarrassed at the compliment.

"To tell the truth, he struck me as being a 'tell it like it is' sort of guy. Being liked and respected isn't something to be ashamed about, you know? Besides, it was nice to have my own impressions of you verified by an outside source," Jordan stated matter-of-factly, a smile just touching her lips.

"What exactly would those impressions be, Doctor?" Elisabeth asked, her voice quiet, her face a blank mask. Only her eyes betrayed her intense interest in Jordan's answer.

"As I told you the other day, it's pretty clear to anyone paying attention that you care a great deal, maybe too much for your own good sometimes. I think you're remarkably brilliant and talented. You're warm, charming, charismatic, and well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, Counselor," Jordan informed her, her voice dropping to a whisper as these last phrases left her lips, "but, you're a nice person. I realize that you can probably be kicked out of the Bar for that, but, I'm afraid that there is no escaping it. You're actually a decent, caring human being."

"There's no need to be insulting, Doctor," Elisabeth replied, her wounded tone belied by the pleased look on her face, as out of those luminous eyes peered a small child, unused to praise, "You promised me last week that you wouldn't ruin my reputation."

"Sadly, you seem to have done it yourself, already. That's what happens when you treat people with kindness and respect. The next thing you know, the rumors start and from there it is all down hill," Jordan teased, fully aware that she was flirting with the lovely ADA.

She had spent a good deal of the day after Elisabeth had left and the weekend that followed, going over the conversation in her mind, trying to pin down the elusive feeling of fascination that had taken root in her. It had been a long time since Jordan had felt this kind of intense attraction to anyone, and while she had never been closed to the possibility, it had never happened before with another woman.

Not that gender had much to do with her attraction to people. The only things that really mattered to Jordan were brains and compassion, humor and warmth, all of which Elisabeth seemed to possess in abundance. The fact that she was also rather gorgeous was merely a perk. All told, the thought of seeing Elisabeth again today, even in the less than private setting of the courtroom, had left Jordan with a pleasant tumbling of butterflies and a sense of anticipation.

Watching the flicker of emotions make their way across the blonde's beautiful features, Jordan experienced a rush of relief as it became slightly clearer that the attraction wasn't only one way.

"Do you flirt with everyone, Jordan?" Elisabeth asked lightly, her eyes narrowing a bit as she attempted to accurately gauge the ME's response.

"Not everyone, no. And definitely not with the same intent. Usually, it's all just in fun, but I do make exceptions for brilliant, gorgeous blondes who fall asleep on my couch," Jordan answered, pushing off from the edge of the table to move the short distance to where Elisabeth leaned back against the door, "If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't do it anymore."

Looking up at Jordan from under long lashes, Elisabeth seemed to be considering her response, her eyes scanning Jordan's face, searching for clues to the lanky brunette's sincerity. Finally a decision seemed to be reached, as Elisabeth's hand came up to gently clasp Jordan's wrist.

"Don't do it in fun," she entreated softly, "Only do it if you mean it. I don't like games and I definitely don't like to be played with. It took me a long time, but I realized that I deserve more than that, so if you're just passing the time, Doctor, find another playmate, ok?"

Jordan stared long into eyes that had gone cloudy with remembered pain, the hurt hovering on the surface like fog over a still pond. It was incredibly remarkable to witness the immense vulnerability in the beautiful face before her, the face of one of the most powerful women in Boston, a woman who daily held the lives of people in her hands.

"I don't like that game myself," Jordan whispered sincerely, "Besides, I'm really lousy at it. And you most definitely deserve more."

Her glance straying down to full lips, Jordan began to lean forward, her intent quite clear.

BANG BANG

"Ms. Kelling? Judge is ready to start back," came Joe's voice from the other side of the door.

Her hand still around Jordan's wrist, her eyes fixed on Jordan's own hazel orbs, Elisabeth assured the bailiff they would be right out.

"Well, Doctor, that may have been perfect timing. Think you can channel some of that energy and feeling into your testimony?" Elisabeth asked, her expression shifting subtly.

"I can try," Jordan replied, neither of them moving from the relative closeness of their positions.

"I'll be right there, asking you all the right questions. Just answer them for me. Focus on the jury, tell them the story of what happened to Kathy Donovan, not the bare facts. Show me some of that passion I just saw in your face, Jordan," Elisabeth importuned, her eyes darkening as she moved slowly closer to Jordan.

"I thought you didn't like games, Counselor?" Jordan asked, running the tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips as the scent of Elisabeth's perfume wound itself around her senses.

"I'm not playing, Doctor, " Elisabeth promised quietly, inclining her head suddenly to brush her lips across Jordan's.

Pulling back just as suddenly, the attorney straightened abruptly, releasing Jordan's arm and stepping to the side to open the door.

"Ready?" She asked Jordan, who drew in a deep breath and nodded her assent.

"Elisabeth?"

"Yes?"

"Dinner tonight?" Jordan inquired, still feeling an intense welling of emotion, from desire to a strangely overwhelming feeling of protectiveness.

Smiling sweetly at her, Elisabeth stepped out into the hall.

"Most definitely, Jordan, most definitely."

Smiling to herself, Jordan let the memories of that night's dinner scroll through her mind. They had eaten at one of the amazing Italian restaurants that dot the North End of Boston, this one small, intimate, and very expensive. Sharing a bottle of Chianti, she and Elisabeth had dissected her testimony, not only replaying the answers, but speculating on the jury's response to them.

Jordan had amazed even herself with her "performance" in the courtroom, bringing at least one of the jurors and several of the gallery to tears, including the sister of the victim, whose wrenching sobs had provided a disconsolate dirge to which Elisabeth had timed her questions and Jordan's responses. Defense counsel had, of course, objected on several occasions, complaining that the witness was not at the scene during the events and therefore could only speculate as to what had occurred.

Elisabeth had deftly pointed out that Jordan was, in fact, the only witness who possessed the skills with which to recreate the crime. That indeed, that was part of the ME's job, to assess the evidence and, utilizing scientific methods and experience, with as much accuracy as possible, tell police and prosecutors the what, the how, the where, and sometimes, even the why of a crime. The defense's objections were overruled.

Jordan had been astounded to observe firsthand the almost hypnotic hold that Elisabeth seemed to have on the court. As she paced gracefully across the well, pausing often beside the jury box, her hand, slender and elegant, resting on the wooden railing that separated the jury from the court, the eyes of not only the jury, but the gallery and even the judge followed her enchanting form. Effortlessly, she lead Jordan in a solemn verbal waltz, their steps harmonious, lissome, and precise.

Dinner had been a revelation as well, as the cool, controlled attorney languidly altered into a complex woman, full of warmth and passion, green eyes almost black in the flickering light of the glass-encased candle that adorned their table. They had quickly moved on from the topic of work to more personal subjects, sharing favorite movies, college memories, childhood traumas, all the little things that make up who we are, making an honest, good faith effort to get to know one another.

They had parted at Elisabeth's car, as she dropped Jordan off at the ME's office where she had left her own vehicle. The unimaginably soft, almost unbearably gentle kiss they had shared had lingered in Jordan's mind, graciously replayed and improved upon several times in the last three days, as she found herself dining with the lovely attorney every night this week. Those evenings filtered across her memory now, as she waited for court to begin session. She had come to watch Elisabeth's closing arguments, grateful that court was set for one p.m., so that she could sneak away during lunch to witness the proceedings.

"All rise. This court for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, the Honorable Melvin Sanders presiding, is now in session. God save the Commonwealth, God save this honorable court," the Bailiff intoned, as the black-clad jurist made his way to the high perched bench.

"The court is ready to hear closing arguments. Ms. Kelling, is the Commonwealth prepared to proceed?"

"We are, Your Honor," Elisabeth answered, rising from her chair to cross the well to the jury box.

She stood for a long moment, her gaze traveling from one juror to another, assessing, connecting, until with a muted sigh, she began to speak, her voice low and melodious, honeyed tones that seemed to hang for an instant in the air, silvery and solemn.

"For this she starred her eyes with salt/ And scooped her temples thin,/ Until her face shone pure of fault/ From forehead to the chin./ In coldest crucibles of pain/ Her shrinking flesh was fired/ And smoothed into a finer grain/ To make it more desired./ Pain left her lips more clear than glass;/ It colored and cooled her hand./ She lay a field of scented grass/ Yielded as pasture land," Elisabeth pronounced, the rhythmic cadence of her voice sonorous and mesmerizing.

"For this her loveliness was curved/ And carved as silver is:/ For this she was brave: but she deserved/ A better grave than this," the final stanza of the poem lingered in the still air of the courtroom, as everyone waited motionless as the words and their meaning seeped into their consciousness.

"Kathy Donovan deserved a better grave than this. She deserved more than a tortured, harrowing, obscene death, a death filled with pain, filled with fear and unbearable agony. I can't even begin to imagine, can't even begin to comprehend what thoughts must have raced through her mind as Richard Garner bound her to a bed, her bed, in her own house, in the neighborhood in which she grew up.

"I can't imagine how she must have felt as he then raped her, over and over and over, pouring bleach inside of her to hide any trace of his DNA. I can't imagine what desperate pleas she must have uttered, soundlessly, through the thick tape he used to gag her, pleas to God, to her family, to anyone, begging them to save her.

"My mind is, thankfully I suppose, incapable of envisioning what it must have felt like to feel Richard Garner's hands around her throat, squeezing the life out of her as he violated her body. My own fears tell me that, after the second or third time he had done this, that she probably began to pray that he would kill her, that the torture would end, that the pain would cease.

"Death would have been a blessing for her then, halting the abominable, abhorrent, sickening torment to which she was being subjected. Unfortunately for Kathy, death didn't come, not right off. In fact, by the Medical Examiner's judgment, Kathy Donovan was tortured for approximately forty-nine hours before Richard Garner finally grew tired of his game and, wrapping his huge hands around her bruised and swollen throat, strangled her to death as he raped her one last time," she explained quietly, her words painting a portrait of Kathy Donovan's last hours as surely as if she had drawn the scene for them in lurid shades of blood and fear.

"You've heard the evidence, listened to the witnesses. You know that Kathy Donovan lived a quiet, uncomplicated, some might say, mundane existence. She lived in the house she grew up in, the house her parents bought when they were first married, over forty years ago. She went to work, went bowling with her sister and friends, went to Mass at St. Anthony's every Sunday morning. She shopped at the local grocery store that the Donnelley family has owned since she was a child.

"No, it wasn't a life of great adventure, no exciting trips to exotic foreign locales, no flashy cars or fancy clothes. It was an ordinary life, just like yours, full of the little things, full of family and friends. It was a life that deserved to end peacefully, years from now, not violently, not agonizingly, not filled with terror at the hands of a murderer," Elisabeth told them, both hands gripping the railing at the front of the box, her knuckles white, her voice outraged and laden with such immense sadness.

"And make no mistake, that is what Richard Garner is, a rapist and a murderer. Fibers matching those of his work uniform were found on Kathy Donovan's body and in the tape that was used to bind her. A partial print matching his was found on her throat, found I might add, in axle grease, axle grease that was on Richard Garner's hands when he left his job as a body shop mechanic. A body shop that is across the street from the bar where Kathy Donovan worked as a waitress.

"He has admitted that he knew Kathy Donovan by sight, that he frequented the bar at least a few times a week. Who knows, maybe he asked her out, maybe she turned him down, maybe he is telling the truth when he says he never spoke to her. One thing is certain, however, and that is that he raped her and he killed her. It wasn't necessary for him to ever speak to her. In my experience, when it comes to rapists and murderers, etiquette isn't all that important.

"As for his alibi, well, we know that the man who claims that Richard Garner was with him all weekend is a convicted felon, with a string of assaults and rapes to his discredit. Not exactly a sterling witness. Especially when you take into account the fact that Michael Garner is Richard's cousin.

"The defense will tell you that there is reasonable doubt, that it is possible that someone else committed this heinous crime. It's possible that the harbor bridge may one day be completed and that the Red Sox may actually win the World Series one day, but it isn't likely," Elisabeth admitted, her eyes alight and hypnotic.

"Can you reasonably say that you believe that Richard Garner may not have raped and strangled Kathy Donovan? Given the evidence, given the testimony of all those witnesses, do you find it reasonable to think that the Allston Police Department, the Massachusetts Highway Patrol, the Suffolk County Sheriffs Department, the Crime Scene Unit, the Medical Examiner's Office for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and the District Attorney's office of Suffolk County all made a mistake?

"Do you find it reasonable to believe that we all got together and decided, 'Hey, if we can't get the right guy, we'll settle for this one?'" Elisabeth asked imploringly, gesturing with her left hand to where the defendant sat with his attorney, "I am here to assure you, none of that happened. The police arrested the right man , the District Attorney's office prosecuted the right man . Now I am asking you to do your job and convict the right man .

"Doesn't Kathy Donovan deserve that much from us? It is certain that she did indeed deserve a better grave than this. This is your chance to give it to her, to give her the peace and justice in death, that she never received in life. Please, don't fail her," Elisabeth concluded, making eye contact with each and every juror, before turning and resuming her seat.

"So, how long do you think that the jury will be out?" Jordan asked, glancing over at Elisabeth's profile.

The blonde was concentrating on traffic, as the sleek blue BMW convertible made its way through the constant congestion towards Cambridge. Elisabeth had picked her up at the ME's office after work. Jordan had suggested dinner in Chinatown, but the weary attorney had stated firmly that the only place she wanted to go was home. A compromise of Chinese takeout and a good bottle of Merlot had easily been reached.

"I haven't a clue. If I am really, really lucky, they'll be out for a couple of days, but who knows, they could page me before we even get home and let me know that they're back in," Elisabeth responded somewhat vaguely.

"I thought that the prosecution always wanted the jury to come back as soon as possible? I mean, doesn't that mean that the evidence and the case were strong?"

"Usually, you do want the jury back quickly. That is, in cases where you expect to win. In this case, however, I'd be happy if they sat arguing for a week. As long as I managed to convince one juror, just one stubborn holdout, then I'm still in the game," the blonde informed her, deftly steering the car along the clogged street.

"Wait a minute, I thought that you were trying to win this case? Doesn't that mean that you have to get a unanimous verdict?" Jordan prodded, turning to face the driver's seat.

"To convict, yes. To get a hung jury and thus, a mistrial, all I need is one solitary juror who thinks Richard Garner is guilty. And at this point, that is all that I am hoping for," Elisabeth admitted, pulling the car into the narrow driveway of a pale yellow Victorian.

"All you wanted was a hung jury? What about that whole, stopping Garner from harming another woman speech you gave me in my office?" Jordan asked, her face confused, as the two women emerged from the car to walk up the brick path to the wide porch of the house.

"I meant it, Jordan. Listen, there was absolutely no way I was going to win this one, at least not on the available evidence. There was too much doubt, too much of a chance that someone else might have committed the crime," Elisabeth answered earnestly, slipping her key into the lock and motioning Jordan to precede her into the house.

"I needed strong testimony from the ME's office to even give me a hope of hanging the jury. A hung jury doesn't attach jeopardy, which means that the police and the DA's office have the opportunity to come up with some more damning evidence than we managed this time around. You gave me that chance and I am extremely grateful."

"Is that what this is about, gratitude?" Jordan asked quietly, her face half in shadow as she stood in the still dark entranceway.

"Is that what what is about?" Elisabeth replied, sliding her coat off and tossing it carelessly onto the antique hall tree.

"This, all those dinners, the kissing, me here now. Is this just because you're grateful for my help?" Jordan's eyes were cautious, her voice holding the barest hint of perplexed hurt.

Stepping across the short distance to where Jordan leaned against the far wall, Elisabeth spoke softly, her hand catching Jordan's in a gentle hold. Those green eyes were sincere and intense as she gazed at Jordan.

"This, us, has nothing to do with gratitude. Oh, I'll be the very first to admit that I'm grateful, Jordan, but not for what you're suggesting. I'm grateful that you're here with me, that you took the time and the care to look beyond what most people accept as who and what I am. I'm grateful that you didn't allow the rumors and the stories you heard to decide for you. I' m grateful that you're one of the few people I know who accepts me just as I am, and allows me to be myself, without worrying that I am somehow failing to meet your expectations.

"I haven't been on a date in five years, Jordan. I've never felt that my private life, or my sexual preferences should be fodder for the gossip machine. That's one of the reasons that I have no wish to be District Attorney. I have absolutely no desire to be the poster girl for lesbian politics in the greater Boston area. But the main reason I haven't been out with anyone in five years is that I haven't had the time or the energy, or, quite frankly, the inclination to get involved in any relationship more challenging than the one I have with my dry cleaners. At least I didn't, until I met you last week.

"So, if you think that this is merely some misplaced appreciation for your testimony, then let me assure you, you couldn't be more wrong. As the ADA, I expect your cooperation. Do you honestly think that I reward every helpful witness by having dinner with them? Or kissing them? Come on, Jordan, do you really think I'm that much of a whore for my job?" Elisabeth finished, having closed the small space between them, so that Jordan could feel the warmth of her body against her own.

With a self-deprecating laugh, Jordan slipped her arms around the slender form in front of her.

"No. I'm sorry, I don't know where that came from. I'm not usually so insecure. I guess, I'm still feeling my way along here. I can't claim to have been the paragon of virtue that you've been, but to be perfectly honest, I've never been involved with a woman before and although I can't pin down why it makes a difference, it does.

"Maybe it has something to do with that whole expectation thing you were talking about. With men, I never really had to worry about motives or feelings. Or maybe I did, but I just didn't care enough. My point is, I guess I just needed some reassurance that we were both on the same page here," Jordan explained clumsily, part of her mind distracted by the curve of Elisabeth's breasts against her own and the subtle weave of the intoxicating scent of her perfume.

"I had a feeling this was virgin territory for you, pardon the expression," Elisabeth smiled, "I should have been a little more sensitive. I'm sorry for that. As for being on the same page, well, if that means that in the next few seconds you and I are going to kiss again, then yes, I would definitely say we're on the same page."

"Aren't meetings of the mind a wonderful thing, Counselor?" Jordan answered, her lips very effectively cutting off any response the lovely attorney might have made.

THREE

Walking down the hallway to her office the next Monday morning, Jordan Cavanaugh couldn't keep the rather self-satisfied grin from touching the corners of her mouth. While both she and Elisabeth had decided to take things slowly, they had managed to spend a wonderful weekend together. The two women had wandered with the throng of tourists through the shops at Faneuil Hall and Harvard Square, bought fresh lobsters down at the wharf, seen Nanci Griffith in concert at Symphony Hall on Saturday night.

The cold, rainy Sunday that followed had proved the perfect sort of day to peruse the wonders of the Gardner. They had spent the other two evenings parked in front of the fire in Elisabeth's living room, with a bottle of Rabbit Hill Cabernet, watching Hepburn and Grant and Bogie and Bacall, the light from the fire and the black and white flicker of the TV illuminating the two figures nestled close on the overstuffed couch.

Her mind focused on those very pleasant thoughts, Jordan failed to notice the two figures settled comfortably on her couch until it was too late.

"Soooo," Nigel's voice cut through her reverie, a somewhat sadistic grin lighting his face, "My dear, Dr. Cavanaugh. Tsk, tsk, tsk. We've been a rather busy little bee this past week, haven't we?"

"Nigel. Bug. What can I do for you guys?" Jordan replied, sidestepping the initial volley quite nicely.

"Tell us, Jordan, did you have a nice weekend? By the looks of that smirk on your face when you walked in, I would have to guess that the answer is yes, wouldn't you, Bug?" Nigel deftly tossed back at her.

"Most definitely," came the enigmatic reply, "In fact, I would further venture to surmise that perhaps a certain tall, leggy, blonde district attorney might have something to do with Jordan's overall demeanor. What do you think, Nigel?"

"That would be the same frostily attractive attorney with whom we saw the good doctor exchanging saliva samples in the parking garage last week, wouldn't it? Oh, I would have to concur with my esteemed colleague on that hypothesis. Tell us, Doctor, have you managed to share any other vital fluids with the lovely Ms. Kelling? I ask for purely scientific reasons, of course," Nigel queried sweetly, the devilish smirk on his face mirrored by the expression of glee on Bug's face.

"What's the matter guys, is there a shortage of corpses in Boston today? Because, if that's the case, I'm pretty certain that I could personally supply two more," Jordan replied acerbically. Just her luck. Of all the people that worked in the ME's office, these two would have to be the ones who saw her kissing Elisabeth.

"Actually, it is a rather slow morning. Wonderful really, because it gives us this chance to catch up and spend some quality time together. Anyway, I believe we were discussing you and the apparently not-so-Ice-Queen, weren't we, Bug?" Nigel's face was alight with mirth.

"Why, yes, Nigel, I believe we were," Bug intoned solemnly, a wicked twinkle lighting his dark brown eyes.

"So, come on, love, it's just us chickens, be a good girl and tell brother Nigel and brother Bug all the lovely little nasty details," Nigel urged Jordan, his voice dropping conspiratorially, a rather feral grin twisting his lips.

"You've got a better chance of getting Teddy Kennedy to tell you what really happened at Chappaquiddick, so you two may as well give it up," Jordan informed them, scanning through some of the reports that Lily had left on her desk for review and signature.

"Revelation is good for the soul, Jordan. Trust me, unburdening yourself to your friends will leave you with an amazing sense of peace and well-being," Bug offered, neither of the men willing to give up just yet.

Since delaying tactics had failed to provide the desired result, Jordan suddenly switched gears. After all, despite the appearance to the contrary that they were displaying right now, both Nigel and Bug were good guys, something that Jordan had absolutely no problem exploiting.

"Speaking of being friends, I do have something to ask you. Although I couldn't give a rat's ass one way or another who knows about this, I would really appreciate it if the two of you could manage to not share this clearly salacious gossip with all of Boston. Elisabeth has worked damned hard to get where she is, and quite frankly, she doesn't deserve the hassle. Being the true friends that I know you are, I have absolute and complete faith that you would never betray my confidence. Right, guys?"

"Wait a second. We don't get even one juicy detail but you expect us to not share what we do know with anyone else, is that it?" Nigel asked incredulously.

"Yup, that's it."

"Apparently Bug, the lovely Ms. Kelling is not the one we should be concerned is getting screwed," Nigel said resignedly, disappointment clear on his face, "Alright, Jordan, we'll be good little co-conspirators and keep our mouths shut. But, only on one condition."

"Why do I get the feeling that the condition may be worse than simply taking out a full page ad in the Globe announcing our engagement?" Jordan sighed, certain that whatever Nigel had in mind, it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Now my dear Jordan, our wants are simple really. We just want a little private viewing," Nigel replied smugly, a slightly smarmy smirk on his face.

"There's a greater chance of my stripping naked, painting myself with cheese whiz, and tying myself to the Bunker Hill Monument than there is of my letting either of you miscreants within a hundred yards of Elisabeth," Jordan responded succinctly.

"We could live with that. But seriously, all I meant was that we wanted a little better view of one of those delightfully long, smoldering kisses that we got a glimpse of last week. After all, the lighting in the parking garage is less than artful and we did have to hide behind one of the pillars. So, all we are asking for is one of those lovely little snogs right in front of us. And for that, we will never tell a soul that you managed to thaw out the Ice Queen."

"A kiss? That's all you two peeping toms want to see? One kiss?" Jordan asked suspiciously.

"That's all."

Since Elisabeth had never actually requested any secrecy on her part, and considering that they had been more than a little affectionate in public all weekend, holding hands throughout most of Boston, Jordan didn't think that Elisabeth would object to being kissed. And if it just so happened that that kiss took place in front of the boys, well that would be ok, too. Clearly, people would soon find out about their burgeoning relationship, but Jordan wanted to spare them both the nasty gossip that would be bandied about if Bug and Nigel started the ball rolling.

"Ok, deal."

"Really?" Bug asked, a look of disbelief bringing his eyebrows together.

"Sure, why not. I mean, since you two obviously lead such sad and pathetic lives that you need to get your jollies by watching us, living up to every pitiful stereotype about emotionally developmentally delayed men who get off on seeing two women together, then who am I to judge?"

"Exactly," Nigel pronounced, smiling as he and Bug rose and, their mission accomplished, left her office.

The faint ringing of Jordan's cell phone barely cut through the noise of clanking dishes and fifty different conversations, as she and Garret Macy sat across a table weighed down with succulent Chinese food. Shrimp dumplings, radish puffs, roast pork buns, rice cakes, pork dumplings, barbecued chicken buns, shrimp won-ton soup covered the small table, leaving little room, it seemed, for the two over ambitious diners.

"Hello," Jordan fairly shouted, as threads of conversations in English and a variety of Chinese dialects wound their way around the table.

"Jordan? Where the hell are you?" Elisabeth's voice came through faintly.

"Having lunch. Where are you?"

"Standing in your office, wondering why you aren't here," Elisabeth answered, a faint note of amusement coloring her tone.

"Garret had a craving for dim sum, so we headed down to Chinatown. We're at China Pearl, on Tyler. Why don't you come and have lunch with us? God knows, we've got enough food here to satisfy the Patriots' defensive line," Jordan responded, shaking her head in laughter as her boss, Garret Macy, attempted to place an entire shrimp dumpling in his mouth.

"Well, darling, when you make it sound so appetizing, how could I refuse?" Elisabeth chuckled, "I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Save me some of those dumplings."

Hanging up the phone, Jordan saw the quizzical look that had affixed itself to Garret's broad face.

"I take it that we are having a guest joining us? Anyone I know?" Garret asked, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Probably. I mean, I'm pretty certain that you've probably met at some point. Despite the size, this is still a small town," Jordan answered somewhat mysteriously.

"The fact that whoever this is has your cell phone number and that you're being coy suggests that perhaps you and this mystery person are on what could be termed, a 'friendly basis'. So are you going to tell me now or must I wait and be surprised?"

"Garret, did anyone ever tell you that you're a party pooper?"

"Frequently. Now, who's the mystery diner?"

"Fine. Be that way. You just have to promise to me that you'll be nice," Jordan sighed.

"Is there some reason that you think I wouldn't be nice?"

"Let's just say that you haven't always had the most cordial relationship with the DA's office and that might lead you to be less than friendly," Jordan admonished.

"The DA is joining us for lunch? You mean to tell me that you and that pompous, arrogant, pugnacious....," Macy began to rant, only to be cut off by Jordan's expression and waving hand.

"Garret. I didn't say the DA, I said the DA's office. Actually, it's the Executive ADA, Elisabeth Kelling," she told him soothingly.

"The Ice Queen?"

"You, too? What is it with you people? You don't even know the woman and you take the word of some assholes in her office and call her that? God, Garret, I expected a little more from you. Bug and Nigel I can understand, but I would have thought that you of all people would know what it means to be in charge and be misunderstood by the people who work for you, to have your attitudes and methods questioned," Jordan remarked hotly.

Under the intensity of Jordan's gaze Garret had the good grace to color slightly.

"You're absolutely right. I'm sorry, Jordan. I should know better than to listen and repeat idle gossip and nicknames. I apologize," Garret pronounced sincerely, "And I do promise to be as polite and friendly to Ms. Kelling as I can."

"Good," Jordan replied, her face still wearing a disgruntled look.

"I take it from your rather vehement defense that you are fond of the lady in question?" Garret asked, delicately.

The slow, sweet smile that made its way across Jordan's face was really all the answer that Macy needed, but after a moment, Jordan responded, her voice the audible equivalent of that satisfied grin.

"Yeah, you could say that," she answered, "I know it sounds like a cliche, and maybe it is, but I really have never met anyone like her before. She's incredibly sweet, thoughtful, warm. She has this really droll sense of humor, very dry. At first, I thought we really wouldn't have all that much in common. She grew up on Beacon Hill, I grew up in Southie, but, you know, it doesn't seem to matter. Elisabeth honestly couldn't care less whether you belong to the Mayflower Society or the Daughters of Hibernia. So, yeah, you could say that I'm fond of her."

"Why, Dr. Cavanaugh, are you the same, 'terrified of commitment' soul who sent poor Tyler on his way not so long ago?"

"Poor Tyler?! Since when is he 'poor Tyler'? Jordan exclaimed, her voice outraged.

"God, you're amazingly simple to get a rise out of," Garret laughed, "Well, at least it doesn't sound as if you'll be thinking up a way to scare this one off. Although I don't know Ms. Kelling at all, something tells me that she doesn't scare easily."

"No, she doesn't. And she seems to have the patience of a saint, which undoubtedly comes in handy when dealing with me." Jordan agreed smilingly.

"Now, that is something to which I can personally attest. I'm looking forward to meeting her," Macy said chuckling.

"Well, now is your chance, cause she's here."

Garret rose from his seat as a tall blonde made her way through the maze of tables, smiling graciously at him as he held out her chair.

"Thank you, Dr. Macy," Elisabeth smiled warmly, "It's very nice to see you again. We met three years ago at the Mayor's New Years Ball, didn't we? I'm sorry that we haven't had the opportunity to work with one another on any cases, although I did have the chance to work with Dr. Yamura."

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Kelling," Garret replied, his smile all the more genuine as he silently acknowledged the kindness of her words.

"Jordan's right," he thought, "only those people with true manners and class are thoughtful enough to remind you of where you met them."

"Hello, you," Elisabeth said softly to Jordan, "I just stopped by, but, alas, I was disappointed to find your office empty. Glad you remembered to turn your phone on today."

"Me, too," Jordan beamed, "I even saved you some dumplings."

Elisabeth simply smiled at her, picking up Jordan's fork and spearing one of the pork dumplings on her plate. She took a small bite of it, raising her eyebrows at Jordan's expression.

"What?"

"I said I saved you some. I didn't say, eat mine," Jordan told her, a trifle petulantly, "I'll bet, if you asked nice, they'd even bring you your own plate and fork."

"True, but unnecessary. I have yours," Elisabeth grinned at her, depositing the rest of the dumpling in her mouth. Chewing slowly, she smiled at the pouting expression of Jordan's face.

"Forgive me for not saying this sooner, Dr. Macy. Congratulations on your new position, " Elisabeth abruptly switched gears, turning to face Garret, "I know that it must be a daunting task trying to get the department organized and running the way you want it to. After all, every administrator has their own methods and ideas and I have no doubt that there were changes you wanted made."

"Thank you. Yes, it has been a little trying here and there, but I have a great staff and things seem to be settling down very nicely."

"I'm so glad to hear that. I know that, not being the most glamorous of the law enforcement organizations, the Medical Examiner's office often gets short shrift on a good many levels, from the budget to simple respect," Elisabeth replied, all the while impaling a large sautéed shrimp from Jordan's plate and nibbling on it.

Sighing resignedly, Jordan merely reached behind her to the next empty table and snagged a fork from the nearest place setting, trying to ignore the look of pure amusement that lit Garret's face.

"Unfortunately, you couldn't be more right on that score. We have to fight for every penny we get, despite the fact that without the ME, there would be no evidence to try anyone. Add that to having what one might term some 'unusual' staff, and it does make for interesting days," Garret agreed heartily.

"Unusual in what way, Doctor?" Elisabeth asked, a look of complete innocence on her face.

"Well, it does seem, on occasion, that certain members of my staff like to play detective and become rather involved in their cases," Garret answered, his own face guileless.

"So, Elisabeth, did you drop by solely for the pleasure of my company or did you want something?" Jordan interjected, trying to get control of the conversation.

"What, darling?" Elisabeth asked, turning to face Jordan, green eyes twinkling in amusement.

"I said, did you have anything in particular that you wanted to see me about, or was it merely the pleasure of my company that brought you over?" Jordan queried pointedly.

"Really, dear, do you think we should be discussing how pleasurable your company is in front of your boss? We wouldn't want Dr. Macy to get the wrong idea," Elisabeth responded sweetly, a slightly wicked gleam lighting her eyes.

"You two rehearsed all this, didn't you? You got together and decided, 'Hey, let's humiliate Jordan for lunch', right?"

"Now, Jordan, darling, it wasn't really necessary to plot against you when you rise to the bait so wonderfully all on your own, was it, Dr. Macy?"

"She's got you there," Garret smirked, unable to contain his laughter any longer.

"Hey, that's fine. Yuck it up, you two. I'm not paying for lunch, so what do I care?" Jordan responded, biting rather vehemently into a radish puff. The pungent taste of the diakon brought a wave of tears as she began to chew, the drops of water pooling in hazel eyes before running down her cheeks.

"You know, Jordan, nonchalant works a lot better when you don't have tears streaming down your face and beads of sweat on your forehead because the radish is too hot," Garret laughed.

Just then, a particularly acrid bite of radish altered Jordan's sarcastic rejoinder into a fit of coughing, leaving her two companions scrambling for water glasses and laughing.

Still chuckling slightly, Elisabeth inveigled, "So, Dr. Cavanaugh, interested to hear what happened with my jury?"

"They came back?" Jordan asked, her pique evaporating instantly at the news.

"Just about an hour ago," the DA replied, "I was trying the Donovan murder case," she explained to Garret.

"So, what was the verdict?" Jordan urged, her purloined lunch and the gentle teasing forgotten for the moment.

"Much to the judge and defense counsel's annoyance, the jury, God bless their little pointed heads, were unable to reach a unanimous verdict. Judge Sanders was forced to declare a mistrial and I now have six weeks to come up with some better evidence and refile the indictment. Hopefully, something will break and we'll be able to get a conviction. I doubt that any sitting judge will allow me two mistrials," Elisabeth explained, clearly pleased at the outcome.

"Cool," Jordan exclaimed, a wide smile lighting her face, "I'll get Bug and Nigel to help me go back over all of the forensic evidence and see if I missed something. If that's alright with you, Garret?"

Smiling ruefully at the obvious ploy, Garret nodded his assent.

"Of course. Anything we can do to help. In fact, I'm so sure that Jordan and the guys will be willing and able to help that I'll bet that a lot of the work can be done in their free time. What with all the budget cuts, overtime is so limited. But I am certain that won't be an impediment, will it Jordan?" Garret assured, a smug grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

"I'm pretty sure I can persuade the boys to help me out. Good thing for you that my own payment is of the more personal, non-monetary variety," Jordan smirked back, her eyebrows wiggling up and down as she turned her glance on the ADA.

A slight blush tinged Elisabeth's cheeks at the implication, her eyes dropping to the table as she shook her head in amazement. After a moment she raised her head to meet Jordan's amused gaze.

"So, are we even now for the dumplings and the earlier remarks, or did you want to share any other personal information with Garret?" Elisabeth inquired, her head tilted challengingly, a spirited gleam in her green eyes.

"No, I'm good for now. Touch my coconut pie and I might have to open up and share some more though," Jordan replied sweetly, her own smile met with an answering one from Elisabeth as the two women gazed at each other.

Elisabeth was the first to notice the silence from the other side of the table. She turned to face Garret, the blush now touching her cheeks brought on by the obviously uncomfortable Chief Medical Examiner.

"I am sorry, Dr. Macy. I don't usually indulge in teenaged flirtation at the dinner table. I do hope that you will forgive us," Elisabeth implored sincerely.

"Please, don't worry about it. I know that Jordan has a tendency to bring out the more juvenile aspects in people," Garret rejoined, "There have been times I've found myself actually tempted to throw myself on the ground and kick my feet in frustration at something she's done. Besides, it's nice to see her getting back some of her own."

"Hey! Just remember I know some pretty incriminating things about you too, Boss Man," Jordan threatened good-naturedly.

Macy was about to reply when Elisabeth glanced down at her watch and grimaced slightly.

"I hate to say this, but I have to leave. I'm due back in court at two and I need to stop by my office and pick up some papers. Garret, it was very nice to see you again. Perhaps we can all have dinner sometime?"

"I'd really like that, Elisabeth," Macy replied, rising to pull her chair out for her.

"I'll walk you out," Jordan told her, turning to Garret as they left the table. "Remember, no touching the pie till I get back."

Smiling, Garret nodded and watched the two women leave the restaurant. As soon as they had disappeared out the front door, he picked up his fork and dived into the rich, succulent pie.

FOUR

And so she woke up, woke up/From where she was lying still/Said I got to do something about where we're going/Step on a steam train/Step out of the driving rain/Maybe run from the darkness in the night/Singing Ha La La La De Day/Singing Ha La La La De Day

Sweet the sin/But bitter the taste in my mouth/I see seven towers, but I only see one way out/You got to cry without weeping/Talk without speaking/Scream without raising your voice, you know/I took the poison from the poison stream/Then I floated out of here./ Singing Ha La La La De Day/Singing Ha La La La De Day

She runs through the streets/With her eyes painted red/Under black belly of cloud in the rain/In through a doorway she brings me/White gold and pearls stolen from the sea/She is raging/She is raging and the storm blows up in her eyes/She will suffer the needle chill/She is running to stand still.

The solemn, mournful melody poured forth softly from the CD player on the bookshelf, as the song played over and over. The room lay in almost total darkness, the only illumination the small lamp next to the couch, as the lone occupant of the room gazed with unseeing eyes at the crime scene photos. It wasn't necessary for her to study them any longer. The grotesque images, the obscene remnants of a life had been seared into her mind over the past three weeks.

Despite the combined efforts of the detectives assigned to the case and the staff of the Medical Examiner's office, no new substantive evidence had come to light in the Donovan case. Jordan had worked for hours, pouring over every potential clue, anything that might link Richard Garner to the crime, only to come up empty. As Elisabeth sat in the darkness and let the words of the song weave a plaintive thread through her mind, she tried to ascertain why this case mattered so much to her. Granted, every murder case was important, but for some reason, this one had gotten under her skin.

Glancing down at the photos again, her eye focused on the stack of books still settled neatly on Kathy Donovan's nightstand. Fodor's Guide to Greece, to Italy, to Ireland. Books about Alaska and New Brunswick, about the Grand Canyon, and New York.

Kathy's sister had told her that although Kathy could never afford to travel, that she had dreamed of visiting all those places, of seeing the town in County Clare that her grandparents had left seventy years before. She had been saving what she could from her tips, hoping to be able to make the trip someday. But, someday never seemed to come for her, as her meager income was eaten up by bills. She had to take a second mortgage out on her parents house to pay for some medical bills, and that, combined with the ever rising cost of heating oil and groceries, took up most of her paycheck.

Sitting there in the dark, Elisabeth could imagine Kathy Donovan lying in bed at night and envisioning herself gazing in awe at the Sistine Chapel, or sipping a pint in the very pub where her great-grandfather had urged his youngest son to flee to a better life in America.

Focusing on the pictures once more, Elisabeth felt an impotent rage as she studied Richard Garner's handiwork. On the bed, next to the book laden nightstand, lay the battered body of Kathy Donovan. Her features were contorted, the skin of her face mottled, tongue protruding slightly, the bruises around her neck standing out against the pale, torn nightgown that had been tossed over her body.

It wasn't until she heard the faint sound of bare feet padding across the hardwood floors that Elisabeth looked up.

"Hey. What are you doing down here?" Jordan asked tenderly, crossing the room to sink onto the couch next to her. Reaching out, Jordan gently extricated the photos from Elisabeth's hand, laying them, face down, on the coffee table.

Slipping her arms around the solemn blonde, Jordan leaned back against the cushions, pulling Elisabeth back with her. For a moment the somber melody was the only sound in the room as the two women sat without speaking.

"You've got to let this go, you know?" Jordan whispered softly into Elisabeth's ear, "You're just going to make yourself crazy."

"Jordan, you of all people should know what it feels like to want answers, to want justice for the dead. I know you get just as obsessed with cases as I do," Elisabeth said, quiet outrage in her voice, as she swiveled in Jordan's arms to face her.

"You're right, I do. And I do understand. I guess it's just different when it's me doing the obsessing. I hate seeing how this is tearing you up. I hate waking up and having you gone and knowing that you're sitting down here staring at these pictures again. Elisabeth, you've tried hundreds of cases. Why does this one matter so much?" Jordan asked, her eyes concerned as she gently brushed back a lock of silver blonde hair from Elisabeth's cheek.

For a long moment Elisabeth didn't respond. Finally, she shook her head.

"I don't know, Jordan, I really don't know. I've prosecuted so many cases, some much more heinous than this one, and yet, for some reason, I can't seem to get this one out of my mind. I keep going over and over it, trying to find that one missing piece of the puzzle. I know it's there, somewhere, that I am overlooking something, but I can't find it."

"Sweetheart, you've been over this case a hundred times. I've been over the forensic evidence a hundred times. The cops have combed, and searched and interviewed and come up with nothing new. Don't you think that you're going to have to admit that you may never be able to prove Garner killed her?"

"If the situation was reversed, would you give up, would you just stand by and watch this monster walk free?" Elisabeth asked earnestly, her eyes dark in the faint light.

Shaking her head ruefully, Jordan answered honestly.

"No. I wouldn't. I'd do everything I could to make sure he never saw sunlight again. But you're not going to find that missing piece by sitting down here in the middle of the night, staring at the crime scene photos. Come on back to bed, and I promise we'll spend all weekend going over the case, item by item. OK?" Jordan replied, rising to her feet. She reached down and grasped Elisabeth's hand, pulling her gently off the couch and into her arms.

"OK?" She asked again, one hand moving in small circles along Elisabeth's back, the other snaking through the thick fall of blonde hair at the nape of her neck.

"OK. Thanks, by the way, for being so wonderful to me and understanding my fits of melancholy and obsession," Elisabeth answered, pulling back a little in Jordan's embrace so that they stood face to face.

"Lucky for you that you come with so many other, delightfully compensatory attributes," Jordan grinned teasingly.

"Delightfully compensatory? Why, Jordan Cavanaugh, you certainly do know how to sweet talk a girl, don't you?" Elisabeth laughed.

"I'd be happy to elaborate on all of those delightful attributes, if you'd be so kind as to return to bed with me. Mainly because several of them require a little physical perusal, but also, because my hands and my feet are freezing," Jordan grinned back.

"I'll see if I can think of some way to warm you up," Elisabeth promised, as she took Jordan's hand and started towards the stairs. At the doorway, she flipped the light switch that controlled both the lamp and the CD player, throwing the room into silent gloom. Only the faint glow from the streetlight outside the window shed some illumination into the darkened living room, the pale yellow light slanting across the photos, still spread out against the wood of the coffee table.

The late morning sun filtered into the house through the wavy glass of the window panes. The faint sound of the bells of the Catholic church down the street could be heard amid the relative quiet of a typical Sunday morning in Cambridge.

The stack of papers landed with a thud on the hard wood of the dining room table, scattering a few of the files already littering the surface. Jordan Cavanaugh pushed back one of the heavy Shaker style chairs, gingerly rubbing her neck as she began to pace slowly around the room. At the other end of the long table, Elisabeth sat, an equally large sheaf of papers in front of her, her head bowed over a copy of the reporting officer's account of the discovery of the body of Kathy Donovan. As the papers hit the table, Elisabeth looked up.

"I'm going to be reciting this stuff in my sleep," Jordan stated wearily, "We've been over and over these reports and there isn't anything. Maybe we need to think about going over the crime scene one more time."

"Darling, the CSU went over it twice, and you and Nigel and Bug, which by the way is a rather odd name for a grown man with a medical degree to be called, but that aside, the three of you went over the scene twice yourself. What exactly do you think that you and I are going to find?" Elisabeth asked, pushing her hair back of her face tiredly.

"You haven't actually looked over the scene, have you? I mean, in person?"

"No. DAs don't usually go to the crime scene. By the time that we get a case it is assumed that the scene has been compromised in some way, either by all of the procedures used by the CSU, or by being turned back over to the owners. There would never have really been a point in my going to the scene," Elisabeth explained, removing her reading glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Maybe, since you haven't actually been in the house, something will strike you that the rest of us missed. As far as I know, Kathy's sister has left it the way it was. I guess she isn't ready to deal with it yet. Think that you're up to it?" Jordan asked solicitously.

"If you think it will help, I'm willing. God knows, getting out of the house can't hurt us. We've been at this for two days straight now. Let's go. We can stop and pick up something to eat on the way home," Elisabeth agreed, rising and crossing to Jordan's side. Slipping her arms around her waist, she buried her face in Jordan's neck.

"I just want you to know how much I appreciate all that you have done to help me with this case. I wish I could explain to you or to me even, why it is so important to me, but I can't. Maybe it's just that final straw, after years of bad cases, of lousy luck, and tainted evidence, and citizens who don't give a tinker's damn about anyone but themselves, and a legal system that is perverted daily to the ends of whoever has the most money or the most power.

"Maybe it's just that this once, I would like to see the law have something to do with justice. Or maybe I've been doing this for too long and I just need to find something else to do with my life. I really don't know, Jordan. I do know one thing though," Elisabeth admitted slowly. She stepped back after a moment, circling the table to stand and look out the window at the winter remains of her garden.

"What's that?"

"That I am so extraordinarily lucky to have found you. No matter how this case turns out, I hope that you know that my feelings for you are genuine, Jordan. I keep trying to convince myself that we could have reached this point without having a mutual focus. I guess I am just worried that once it is over and we don't have an automatic topic of conversation, that you'll find yourself less interested in me," Elisabeth revealed hesitantly.

"Hey," Jordan said, moving to her side and reaching up to gently grasp her chin and turn Elisabeth's face to her own, "That has to be the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say."

"Well, gee, thanks, I guess," Elisabeth replied uncertainly.

"What I mean is, that I didn't find you fascinating because of this case. Yes, it gave us a focus, but that isn't all we ever talk about. In fact, it makes up a very small percentage of our time together. Elisabeth, I genuinely care for you. You're a wonderful person and I'm very happy being with you. Neither of us can predict what happens five months from now, or fifty years from now. All I can tell you is how I feel right now, and I promise you, that isn't going to change because this case is over," Jordan told her firmly.

"I know, really Jordan, I do. At least intellectually, I know. For some reason I find myself left with feelings of insecurity that I don't usually have, and I'm not sure why I have them. I think that it may be because this is the first time in a very long time that I have put myself in the position to be hurt, and it scares that hell out of me. To be perfectly honest, Dr. Cavanaugh, you have the potential to do grave and perhaps mortal injury to my heart. You see, I'm rather afraid I've fallen in love with you, Jordan," Elisabeth pronounced softly, her voice dropping to almost a whisper as the last phrase left her lips.

The silence that followed seemed to stretch out as Jordan processed what the lovely attorney had just said. Before she could respond however, Elisabeth turned away from her with a look of pain on her face.

"So, I'll get my coat and we can head over to Allston," Elisabeth announced abruptly, taking in a deep breath and starting towards the living room.

"Whoa!" Jordan exclaimed, reaching out a hand to snag Elisabeth's arm as she attempted to walk by her. "You can't just tell somebody you're in love with them and then leave the room."

"Given the look of astonished terror on your face, a tactical retreat did seem in order," Elisabeth answered, still not meeting Jordan's eyes.

"OK, I'll cop to the astonished part, but I firmly deny looking terrified. I just didn't expect you to say that," Jordan assured, "Especially considering that I spent the better part of last night watching you sleep and trying to convince myself that I would be all right if this didn't work out. And wondering how the hell I got so far in, so fast, because, guess what, Counselor? I'm in love with you, too. So, how do you like them apples?"

"Jordan, that was the single most unromantic declaration of affection I've ever heard. I really do adore you, you know?" Elisabeth laughed, slipping both hands behind Jordan's neck and pulling her face down to her own, effectively cutting off any response the lanky brunette might have made.

Several minute later the need for oxygen brought them apart.

"We should really get going," Jordan said, dipping her head to brush her lips along the long line of Elisabeth's neck.

"Just for the record, doing what you're doing is not conducive to motivating me to go anywhere other than back to bed," Elisabeth murmured, eyes closed and head tilted back to allow Jordan easier access to her throat.

"So, you're saying I should stop?" Jordan teased, her breath whispering along satin smooth skin as she slowly nuzzled that sensitive area just below Elisabeth's ear.

"I'm saying that if you don't, we may not even make it back up to the bedroom," came the rather unsteady reply.

"Tell me, Ms. Kelling, have you ever made love in your dining room?" Jordan inquired, her hands having moved up under the thick sweater Elisabeth wore to caress the silken warmth of her back and sides.

"Uh, no, I, uh, Jordan, it's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning and...," Elisabeth replied somewhat incoherently.

"And?"

"And, don't you think it's a little indecent to be making love at ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, in my dining room, with all the curtains open, and my neighbor outside in his driveway, supposedly scraping the ice off his windshield, but actually staring in the window?" Elisabeth asked, her eyes fixed over Jordan's head on the stout figure in the driveway ten yards from the dining room window, a clearly enthralled figure who was doing everything possible to get a better view of the proceedings, including standing on tiptoe, his hand braced against the car as he maneuvered for a clearer line of vision.

Jordan raised her head to look at Elisabeth inquiringly, before turning and walking over to the window, a decidedly wicked gleam in her hazel eyes. Before the neighbor or Elisabeth could react, Jordan had reached down, throwing the window open and sticking her head out.

"You know, I gotta hand it to you, it takes some really big brass ones to be a Peeping Tom when the person you're peeping on is the DA and could throw you in jail," Jordan told the man loudly, a smirk turning up the corners of her mouth.

"JORDAN!" Elisabeth hissed, coming up behind her and yanking her back into the room.

Raising a hand in a halfhearted wave to her neighbor, who stood stock still and red faced in his driveway, clearly humiliated to have been caught in the act, Elisabeth quickly closed the window, pulling the curtains across it with a little undue force.

"I can't believe that you just did that," she complained to Jordan, the quirk of her lips belying the seriousness of her tone.

"Hey, I could've told him to fork over the cash. You know there are places downtown where you have to pay to watch. Why should he get to for free?" Jordan chuckled, her eyes alight with laughter.

"You're incorrigible," Elisabeth sighed, allowing Jordan to pull her close once more, "You do know that I have to see him every morning when I go to work? And that he's the head of the neighborhood watch? I guarantee that by the time church lets out, most of Cambridge will know that I was cavorting with my lover in my dining room on the Sabbath."

"I wouldn't really call it cavorting. Although, if you'd like, I'd be happy to provide a demonstration of real 'cavorting'," Jordan's face was full of mischievous amusement.

"Maybe later."

"Maybe?" Jordan asked in mock affront.

"Ok, definitely later. We really should get going," Elisabeth responded, her eyes warm and smiling.

"Yeah. Let me just grab my sweater, ok?" Jordan stated, moving quickly through the dining room to the hallway and the staircase.

"Jordan?"

"Hmm?" The brunette replied, leaning over the banister to stare down at her companion.

"Thanks," Elisabeth said softly.

"For what?"

"Lots of things. Being you, making me laugh, taking my mind off of my work, humiliating my neighbor. Oh, and telling me in your own inimitable way that you love me. Lots of things," Elisabeth answered, the nonchalance in her voice belied by the expression of great emotion on her face.

"You haven't gotten my bill yet, Counselor," Jordan joked, her own eyes soft as she stared down at this lovely creature who had swept into her life.

"I see. Well, maybe I can take it out in trade?" Green eyes twinkled up at her from below.

"I thought you were the one who said we needed to get going? And now you're propositioning me?"

"I didn't say, right now. Get your sweater." Elisabeth smiled.

As Jordan made her way up the stairs to the bedroom to retrieve her sweater, Elisabeth pulled on her jacket, the dark brown suede a contrast to the pale blonde hair at her collar. Reaching in her pocket, she searched for the keys to her car.

"Jordan!" She yelled up the stairwell.

"I'm coming. Jeesh, can't a girl even powder her nose in peace," Jordan complained back, her voice faint behind the bathroom door.

"That's not what I meant, although you could move a little faster. No, I was going to ask you if you've seen my car keys. I could have sworn that they were in my coat pocket, but I can't seem to find them."

No reply was forthcoming from upstairs as Elisabeth continued to search for the missing keys.

"Jordan? Did you hear me? Do you know where my keys are?" Elisabeth asked again, standing in the middle of the hallway with her hands on her hips, a perplexed frown creasing her forehead.

The sound of the bathroom door being flung open was followed by the rather loud thumping of Jordan's shoes on the wood of the stairs, as she practically flew down the stairway. Grabbing Elisabeth in a hurried, abbreviated embrace, she then turned and bolted towards the dining room, leaving a mystified attorney in her wake.

"Jordan, what the hell are you doing?" Elisabeth asked, her voice bewildered as she followed Jordan back into the dining room. "I thought we were leaving?"

"One second. Just let me find this," Jordan mumbled, her mind clearly on other things as she rummaged through the piles of papers, searching for a particular report.

Minutes passed as she continued to search, Elisabeth standing across the table from her, still confused by the pathologist's behavior.

"You know, if you tell me what you're looking for, maybe I can help you find it," the DA offered, "Jordan?"

"Here. I knew I saw it," Jordan exclaimed, pulling a single sheet of paper from near the bottom of the stack.

"What is it?"

"A police interview. They interviewed everybody who knew Kathy Donovan, including all the people she worked with and the regulars at the bar. This one is with Nancy Mullens. She and her bowling team go in there every Thursday night for drinks after they bowl. One Thursday, about two weeks before the murder, she and a friend ended up staying till closing, cause apparently the friend had tied one on, and Nancy stayed to drive her home," Jordan began, her eyes scanning the report.

"Jordan, get to the point," Elisabeth interjected impatiently.

"I am. The point is, on that Thursday, Kathy Donovan was closing and she ended up catching a ride with Nancy Mullens and her friend," Jordan pronounced, watching as recognition dawned on Elisabeth's face.

"Hold on, Kathy always drove to work, because she delivered Meals on Wheels every afternoon before her shift. Why did she need a ride?"

"According to Nancy's statement, Kathy couldn't find her keys. She always left them on a hook behind the edge of the bar, but that night they were nowhere to be found." Jordan couldn't keep the note of satisfaction out of her voice as the pieces fell into place.

"We always assumed that Kathy must have let her attacker in, because there was no sign of forced entry, but if he had a key, there wouldn't be, now would there. Garner was in the bar all the time, he would have known where she put her keys. It would have been child's play for him to have lifted them, had a copy made, and put them back the next day. Kathy would simply have thought that she mislaid them, and that some kind soul had returned them," Elisabeth said, as the chain of events played out in her mind.

"Exactly. Now all we have to do is check the keys and see if we can find the locksmith who made the copy," Jordan stated.

"But, as careful as Garner was with everything else, chances are pretty slim that he didn't wipe the keys before he returned them," the DA reasoned.

"True, he probably did wipe the keys. But, Kathy Donovan had just gotten herself a new used car, a 1997 Buick, which I would be willing to bet came with keyless entry, those lovely little remote door gadgets. Gadgets made out of plastic, which has a tendency to hold prints, especially if the person handling them has any grease or oil on his hands. If we can find the keys and then find the guy who made the copy, we've got him." The look of satisfaction on Jordan's face was mirrored on Elisabeth's as the reality that they just might have enough evidence to convict Richard Garner settled in.

"The keys are probably still in the house. I doubt that CSU or anyone else would have thought to pick them up. I'll call the Sheriff's Dept. and the Allston cops and have them start canvassing all the locksmiths, hardware stores, pawn shops, and grocery stores in the area who make keys. You and I can head over and pick up the keys and take them down to the lab so that you can do your magic on them," Elisabeth asserted firmly, the mantle of District Attorney obviously in place.

"I'll call Nigel and have him meet us down there. If anyone can find a usable print, it'll be Nigel," Jordan agreed.

"Good. Use my cell phone to call him. I need to get the police out looking when the stores open at one," Elisabeth replied, her mind clearly racing through the list of things that would be required. She crossed the room to pick up the extension in the kitchen.

"Gotcha." Jordan smiled, fascinated to see the woman who ten minutes before had been sweet and dewy-eyed, now cool and professional.

Elisabeth must have caught the brief grin on Jordan's face for she suddenly stopped and pivoted, her own face lit by a brilliant smile.

"Just in case I didn't make myself clear this morning, the fact that I'm in love with you has absolutely nothing to do with your help on this case," she told Jordan.

"I know. But, hey, a few brownie points never hurts," Jordan replied, laughing, "You never know when I'm going to be tempted to accuse your neighbors of being perverts or engage in less than modest activities in front of open windows."

"My dearest Jordan, right at this moment, you could walk down to Harvard Square and back buck naked and I wouldn't care," Elisabeth assured her, grinning.

"I'll settle for trying out the dining room table sometime. Or maybe the island in the kitchen? Or hey, when it gets warmer, there's that great swing on the porch," Jordan teased, mischief evident in her eyes.

"Make your phone call and then let's go and get our evidence," Elisabeth laughed back.

"Fine. I'll just start keeping a running tally. I'll let you know when I'm ready to cash in my points."

"I have no doubt you will, darling, I have no doubt you will," Elisabeth asserted fondly, shaking her head in amusement as she picked up the phone and began to make the calls that would put the final nails in Richard Garner's coffin.

Epilogue

The late March sky was an overcast gunmetal gray, clouds hanging low and heavy. They looked like great clumps of gray wool, reaching down to obscure the tops of the tall buildings along the distant Boston skyline. The air was frigid and damp, while the cold wind that blew in off the harbor seemed strong enough to carry all the way to Worcester.

In the small cemetery on the outskirts of Allston, two figures moved slowly across the snow covered ground, traversing the narrow paths, carefully negotiating around partially hidden gravestones. Finally they reached the far edge of the graveyard, where a new stone of black New Hampshire granite stood out in sharp relief against the backdrop of snow.

Katherine Ann Donovan

March 21, 1962 - November 18, 2001

Beloved daughter, sister, and friend

"Love your enemies, bless them that curse you,

do good to them that hate you, and pray for them

that despitefully use you, and persecute you, that you may be

the children of your Father which is in heaven:

for He maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the good,

and sendeth rain on the just and unjust."

Jordan and Elisabeth stopped before the marker and in silence read the final summation of a life, a life that had been brought to such a brutal and violent end. Kathy's sister had told them that the verse from Matthew was one of Kathy's favorites. She had tried to live her life according to its edicts, faltering and even failing quite often, as most people do. Still, it was what Kathy had asked be carved on her stone and her sister had honored her wish.

Richard Garner had been retried and found guilty of the rape and murder of Kathy Donovan. His fingerprints had been found on her key chain and a hardware store in Jamaica Plain had verified that they had made a copy of a set of keys for Garner, two weeks before the crime took place. The judge sentenced him to life without possibility of parole, the maximum sentence in the Commonwealth.

Bending down to uncover the ground in front of the gravestone, Elisabeth placed a brightly colored ceramic basin filled with daffodils and red tulips against the base of the stone. One of Kathy's friends had told them that Kathy loved those two flowers, anxiously waiting for them to appear and herald the rebirth of spring.

"You do know that they'll die of frost, don't you?" Jordan asked quietly.

"I know."

"We could have waited till spring and then brought them," Jordan suggested.

"Come spring and the ban on live plants gets lifted and then I'm sure that lots of people will be bringing her flowers," Elisabeth explained, "Her sister and friends are placing the flowers at St. Anthony's in her memory today. They said it was just too painful to come out here right now. So I asked her if she would mind if we came."

"So, this is actually illegal, the flowers I mean," Jordan queried, studying the pensive expression that shadowed Elisabeth's face.

"Yes, it's against the law. And as the person in charge of enforcing the law in this county, I decided to break it. Today Kathy Donovan would have been forty years old. She really did deserve a better grave than this one, Jordan. The least I can do is bring her flowers on her birthday," Elisabeth admitted, slipping her hand through the crook of Jordan's arm and leaning her head on her shoulder.

"You brought her justice. I have a feeling that that counts as much as the daffodils," Jordan said comfortingly.

"Maybe."

"Come on, let's go home, ok?" Jordan asked, gently turning them from the grave, "I think it's going to start snowing again soon."

"Jordan, remember when we first met, and you asked me why I couldn't just admit that I cared?"

"Yeah, I remember. You said it was because it hurt too much." Jordan replied, guiding them through the maze of stones back toward where they had left the car.

"Then you asked me if it wouldn't be worse if it didn't hurt at all," Elisabeth said, stopping to turn and face Jordan.

"I wasn't really sure what the answer was then, but you know something, darling? You were right," Elisabeth told her, a sweet, sad smile gracing her lips.

Silently, the two made their way back across the frozen earth to the car. As they drove out of the cemetery, Elisabeth glanced to her right out the passenger window. There, brilliant as sunlight and blood against the snow, the fragile blossoms gave silent testament to the promise of rebirth.

THE END

Notes: The poem quoted in Elisabeth's closing argument is titled "Epitaph", and is by an early 20th century American woman named Elinor Wylie.

I have tried to include a good many real Boston sites, streets, etc. including the China Pearl, in Boston's Chinatown. Some of the menu items were taken from some of the other, wonderful Chinese restaurants in the area, but China Pearl is amazing.

Btw, Elisabeth would have been unable to prosecute her neighbor, at least personally. Cambridge is actually in Middlesex County, not Suffolk, so she was out of her jurisdiction. Suffolk County comprises all of Boston proper, as well as several of the surrounding towns, including Allston, and is the largest, in terms of population, of the jurisdictions in New England.