Heads Will Roll
by Very Special Lee
AN: I hope you enjoy this story and leave any kind of comments and criticism behind. And I'm shutting up now.
Washington D.C. 2002
"DiNozzo, you're with Agent Thompson today," said Gibbs not even looking up from the files on his desk as his Senior Field Agent entered the bullpen. He was carrying two cups of coffee and placed one firmly on Gibbs' desk. "Can I ask why?" Tony asked, taking a draught of the hot substance and nearly spitting it out again. "Yours," grimacing he changed the coffee cups. He frowned slightly as Gibbs looked up to him.
"Of course you can, DiNozzo." A barely noticeable smirk appeared on Gibbs' face, but Tony saw it even though it only stayed there for a matter of seconds.
"Why do I work with Thompson today, Boss? I thought he was still working on a case in Baltimore with Special Agent Lucas."
"The case was solved last week," answered Gibbs, "and every team is already assigned to a case. Lucas called in sick yesterday and you're the only agent I trust enough to lead an investigation with a probie."
Tony almost choked on his coffee (four large spoons with sugar- a taste he had acquired keep Gibbs away from his coffee) as he heard those words and the underlying praise in them. He found himself looking at his Boss- jaw nearly touching the floor and with shock widened eyes. That was unexpected. It wasn't like he didn't know that Gibbs trusted him, or else he wouldn't let him do interrogations or research on suspects. But working with a probie and solving a case without the support of his partner was a whole other story.
"What about you, Boss?" Tony asked, not knowing if he just misheard. A smile that could've been seen as insecure flashed over his face.
Gibbs took a sip from his coffee and then said curtly "I'll join you later on."
Tony pressed his lips together and nodded. He just hoped he wouldn't disappoint Gibbs and that the probie would actually have some skills or talents that were needed for the job as an investigator. He felt like someone was watching him; no, rather like ice blue eyes were piercing right into his soul and were burning his skin- he was staring. Shaking his head slightly he followed the subtle nod of his Boss to his own desk where the young man was standing and apparently waiting for him, since he was already wearing his gear already and a green bag over his shoulder. Thompson looked like he hadn't slept properly in days and as if he had spent the entire weekend behind his desk, writing reports and filling in forms. His blonde hair was unkempt and his designer beard told he hadn't had time to shave yet. He was shifting nervously on his spot and his gesture seemed a bit stiff, but drained.
"He looks anxious," Tony noted as he turned back to his Boss.
"So would you if you're handed from the care of one agent to another, DiNozzo," replied Gibbs, giving Tony the what-the-hell-are-you-still-waiting-for look. Tony tilted his head in confirmation and then shot a grin at Gibbs. "How does he drive?"
"Slower than I," Gibbs said vague. "You probably won't get carsick, but I wouldn't count on it."
NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS
Thompson flinched as Tony patted him on the shoulder. "C'mon Tommy-boy, you're with me."
He raised a lonely eyebrow as Thompson handed him the keys of the car when they entered the main elevator. "Doctor Mallard still hasn't cleared me for every task field work requires, driving is one of them," Thompson explained quietly.
Tony gave a curt nod and in silence they walked over to the truck of Special Agent Lucas. Mud was knee-high on the exterior, and though the inside was clean it smelt of cigarettes and old socks. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and out of the corner of his eyes he saw Thompson doing the same. How could someone possibly endure this smell all the time? Poor probie.
However, Tony smiled as the younger one said, "We should leave the windows open. You shouldn't have much trouble breathing then." Thompson mirrored his smile, but it didn't reach his haunted eyes. "And call me Ben, please."
"Pleasure, Ben. I'm Tony," DiNozzo answered, extending his right hand to the man riding shotgun and casting a wary glance at him. His eyes didn't miss the genuine sign of relief in Thompson's eyes at this simple and normal gesture. After entering the address into the satnav Ben leaned back and winced as he lifted his bag up, searching for a file.
"What do we have?"
"According to the one who found the body suicide," said Ben, scanning over a print of the conversation Gibbs had given him earlier. "But until proven it is murder. The victim is Sergeant Marie Randall. She didn't return from leave two days ago and her CO couldn't reach via phone. So he sent someone to check on her. They found her body in her bedroom. She hanged herself-"
"Hung," corrected Tony, his eyes not leaving the street before him.
"Right, hung herself," Ben repeated. He flushed and bit his lip. But he tensed as Tony stopped abruptly, almost crashing into the side of a car. He didn't seem shocked by the sudden change of speed, more of the force which pressed him back into his seat. In fact, Tony would have gone so far to describe the expression on Thompson's face as fear like he was having a flashback of some gruesome event. And then Tony understood why Thompson's posture had been so stiff the whole time- he was on alert. Pupils enlarged and his grey eyes were reddened. Dark shadows were beneath them. Thompson looked like he was ill.
"What happened?" Tony asked in a soft voice after a while and it remained silent for such a long time that he wondered whether to repeat his question or not as Ben eventually began to speak, his voice wavering. "My partner, Special Agent Silverstone, and I were on an undercover mission. Someone blew our cover and he was shot immediately. I wished they'd just do the same to me, but they didn't." He laughed a bitter and humourless laugh that made Tony's blood ran cold. "They… they injected me truth serum and tortured me. I was held captive for almost a week. When the FBI found me in an abandoned building I was delirious and John dead. More than a year of undercover work for nothing- we lost track of them in Spain. By now they could be anywhere."
Tony stayed silent. He knew better than to interrupt the younger one.
"This was four months ago, but after all this 3Rs crap I was cleared to do work beyond desk duty only six weeks ago. The bloody FBI even made me participate in a psychological test." Ben forced a grin.
"No offense, but I like doing undercover work," said Tony, uncertain of how to handle the situation. But he assumed saying he was sorry would neither give Thompson comfort nor help.
"Yeah, me too."
NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS
When they arrived at the crime scene Tony sent Ben inside to take photographs of the room and to search for evidence as well as for "hinky things" as Abby would say. He knew the younger man would give his best at this task and wouldn't been stupid enough to touch anything, nor to move things even when wearing gloves before he had inspected the scene himself. At least he hoped so.
Putting on his cap, he smirked as Doctor Donald "Ducky" Mallard arrived; maybe the ME had some information on the current state of Thompson's health. Hippocratic Oath or not, he needed to know what was wrong with him and how far he could push the probie without breaking him. DiNozzo's rule number 13: Never pick on a probie when he's down.
"Anthony, my dear boy, where's Jethro?" asked Ducky, patting Tony's arm in an affectionate manner.
"He'll be the first to ask back at the Head Quarters what you've got for him. Trust me," Tony said, taking in the surroundings of the small house. The meadow was well kept and not even a single leaf was resting on it, though it was already October. None of the windows were broken, but heavy looking curtains were drawn shut. Either Sergeant Randall had done it before her death or someone else had, and he'd curse those LEOs if they had anything to do with it. There were few things he disliked as much as contaminated crime scenes and he was aware that Gibbs would so not be pleased if he found out some rookie had made a major mistake.
"But until then I am leading the investigation. Agent Thompson's under my command at the moment."
"Did he drive?" Ducky narrowed his eyes at Tony in question as they walked toward the front door of the house.
"No. He told me he couldn't. Care to tell why?"
Ducky sighed quietly and glanced at Tony with an unreadable expression in his eyes, which were full with compassion and sincere concern. "Physically Benjamin is cleared for driving, but his supervisor, friend and also partner was shot in a car after their cover was blown and I simply can't guarantee he won't suffer from flashbacks while being on the road. It'd be irresponsible to allow him driving a car."
"Understood," Tony whispered flatly. He learned what it was like losing a partner the hard tour back in Philly, where some even framed him for the murder.
Carefully Tony glanced at the carpet runner in front of the door. With pride he noticed Thompson had marked it as evidence, maybe Abby would be able to find some traces of someone who shouldn't have been there.
"There's no sign of forced entry, Tony," said Ben, almost stepping backwards as Tony's gaze met his eyes. "I've been breaking door locks for ages; however, I can only examine the obvious state of the lock and of what's left of the door… The guy who was sent to check on Sergeant Randall kicked in the freaking door. Hurray."
"Alright," Tony grinned at the thick note of sarcasm in Ben's voice. "Try and figure out if Randall had family or people who knew her very well."
"I wondered when you'd ask," Ben stated, and rubbed his bloodshot eyes before he started telling Tony everything he knew. It turned out that Randall's closest acquaintance was her CO and a fellow soldier, who was currently deployed in Iraq and would stay there for the next ten months, unless unfortunate events would send him home sooner and in a wooden box. She grew up at an orphanage and usually spent her time on her own if she wasn't at the military base.
"Let's go in, shall we?" Ducky said. "We don't have as much time as the poor girl inside before Jethro wants our heads."
Chuckling Thompson followed the ME inside. "He will want Tony's head, Doctor," he replied and guided the older man to the corpse.
"I heard that," Tony muttered under his breath and joined them.
NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS
At first glance it really looked like suicide: the young woman was hanging on the ceiling fan with a rope around her neck, no bruises were covering her lifeless body and as far as Tony could tell from a two metres distance she looked fine, that is apart from the fact that she was dead. The room was as tidy as you'd expect it from someone in the military and the only thing not fitting in the picture of utter cleanness was her undid bed. Then again why would someone who committed suicide make their bed? Exactly.
"Assuming this was murder… why didn't she fight the rope? There no scratches around her neck," asked Thompson quietly, his full attention resting on the ME. "I mean, it's like in the movies. You know Robin Hood starring Kevin Costner, Alan Rickman and Morgan Freeman? So there's this boy the sheriff from Nottingham wants hanged and they put the rope around his neck and push him down-"
"And he brings his hands up to his neck, trying to prevent the rope from choking him," completed Tony.
"The rope isn't long enough to have broken her neck from this height, unless she jumped from the bed but there ain't any traces of footsteps on it," Thompson cut in. "A long rope breaks your neck but a short one chokes you till you pass out from the lack of oxygen."
Ducky nodded. "I'd be grateful if you'd stop doing my job," he said jokingly.
"Approximate time of death?" Tony asked being serious again and ready to write it down on his notepad.
"You're just like Jethro, dear Anthony, impatient," retorted Ducky. "I arrived here less than five minutes ago. Before I can tell you we need to get her down there."
For a moment Tony looked taken aback, and then he motioned Thompson to pass the camera and scanned through the pictures taken. Finding them good enough he took in every detail of the scene before him. The not existing sign of a struggle or fight, the closed window, the untouched bed, the well-kept plants- hold on. Untouched bed?
"Thompson, do you think Randall slept in this bed before committing suicide?"
Without even glancing at the bed Thompson confirmed that no one recently had touched the white sheets. "Maybe she was on holiday?" he suggested.
Tony simply looked at him, tilting his head. "And I'm gone checking if she indeed was on holiday," Thompson said and left the house in a hurry.
"Atta boy," muttered Tony and helped Ducky to get the girl down to the floor. Then he stood close by and drew a sketch of the crime scene without even needing to look up from his sketchbook. He didn't need to. The details had burned themselves into his mind and he couldn't help but to shudder as he realised that he would've been able to draw the sketched of crimes committed years ago, when he was still working of the PD in Baltimore, Philly or Peoria. This was one of the reasons he tended to joke around at work, because it was hard not to suffer from nightmares after cases that hit close to home or left someone loved behind. They always did. Someone would always miss the victim.
"According to my calculations she died twelve hours ago," said Ducky and pulled Tony back into reality. Tony sighed and then closed his sketchbook. "Time of death: around 9 o'clock in the evening, yesterday."
"Can you see these penetration whole here at the side of her neck, Tony? I think the poor girl was given drugs to sedate her, but I can tell you more after the autopsy."
"Clearly someone wanted to cover them," mused Tony and moved around, kneeling opposite the ME now he took a few more pictures. Then he pointed at the red marks in a v-constellation around Randall's neck. "Maybe they drugged her and then put the rope around her neck to make it look like suicide."
Awesome. He silently watched as Ducky wrapped Randall's body into a plastic tarp, after he had helped him to get her down. Sensing a presence at leaning in the door frame he lifted his gaze and blinked at Thompson, giving him the permission to speak.
"She wasn't on holiday!" Thompson said, "I checked her banking account and her e-mails. Additionally, I found her duffel bag in the bin in a plastic sack. Sure as hell she wouldn't have packed it if she intended to take her own life, right? And she sent her CO a message she'd be ill on Monday, a day before she was ought to return. But why would she kill herself three days later and not this instant?" He bit his lip and then said more to himself than to anyone else "That's what we're here for. To find out of course."
Standing up Tony nodded. "Thompson, take the evidence to Abby and tell Gibbs it wasn't suicide."
Tony looked at the content of an evidence bag. "Antidepressants... Whoever did this wants everyone to believe she did it herself."
"On it," said Thompson and obediently returned to the truck, loading it with the bags containing the evidence. "Oh, and Tony," he said, sticking his head back into the room once more, "her car is missing. I'll write an APB."
"Don't talk about it, probie. Do it!" yelled Tony and flipped his mobile phone open. "And find out who had motives to kill her," he called after the younger agent. "I want the name and address of everyone having a grudge against her."
He almost jumped as someone patted his back. "Somehow you remind me of our friend Jethro," Ducky said quietly. "Don't be too hard with Benjamin, Anthony. He's not back to 100 % yet."
"He wants to become a Special Agent of the NCIS, Ducky," answered Tony, mildly surprise how cool and collected he sounded. "No matter how he's feeling, he has to be there with more than a 100 %."