This is the third story spun off my NCIS series of mysteries in which Private Investigator Su Lin Palmer, daughter of Jimmy and Michelle Palmer, appears. She was introduced in 'Into the Light', which depicted the final day of one of NCIS' most celebrated agents.
She began her own series of mysteries in the episode 'Otherworld'. It offered a glimpse into the NCIS of the future, in an undefined date in the late 2030's. She is in her mid-20's.
Many familiar faces continue to appear, this is a speculation of what life might be like for our intrepid Investigators in the mysterious world of the future.
As usual, I'll say that Belisarius Productions owns NCIS, I am not making a penny off the concept or characters and that any persons appearing herein are fictional and bear no relation to any person, living, dead or yet to be born.
Penalties
by JMK758
Chapter One
M.J.
It was a dark and stormy night…. Actually, it's a glorious early autumn afternoon, 68 degrees and the sun shines brightly in an azure sky lightly dappled with cottony clouds. It's a day made not for work but for pleasant contemplation on the meaning of Life, the Universe and Everything. That my life lately reads like an old Douglas Adams novel suits the everything.
But to the point, it's two in the afternoon and I'm sitting back facing, to the left of my desk, my floor to ceiling and wall to wall window which overlooks the best the best view of Washington. I'm high enough on Virginia Avenue North to see from Lafayette Square to the Ellipse. I just let my mind start to drift when the intercom on my desk speaks to me. "Su?"
I turn the swivel chair, attentive and anticipating a nice, juicy case. "Yes, Tina?"
"Your father on one."
x
Well, not a case but hardly unwelcome. I slide aside the cover on my desk that protects the inlaid computer, touch the white button next to the screen and dad's face appears on it. "Hi, dad!" It's amazing how seeing him, even after a few days, shines a bright light on the universe.
"Hi, Princess," he looks over the tops of the half-glasses he still has to wear for fine work, "busy?"
His serious tone, despite the fact that he's calling his favorite - okay, only - daughter, wipes the smile off my face. He's in Autopsy at NCIS and past his left shoulder I can see part of his partner, just her head and shoulders. My attention goes up another notch. Sammy Marsters is consistently the happiest person I've ever met. There was a long ago pool in NCIS, long since abandoned in frustration, about the day that she and Aunt Abby would mutually spontaneously combust from sheer joie de vivre, so if she isn't smiling about something the situation is really grim.
I know, however, that it's not disastrous. Mom's job is utterly dangerous at times, but they aren't that grim. Furthermore, I'd have felt anything far in advance of any possible visiphone call. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not discussing this with you, but I have a body I'd like your opinion on."
I cut off a laugh and don't ask if he's taking his insulin; there's no humor in his eyes and the translation is too easy. I'm not a Federal Agent but the Chief Medical Examiner of NCIS has found something so outré it merits a call to a Private Investigator. Furthermore, he's not doing this officially and though he likes the 'cloak and dagger' stuff, this must be really out of the ordinary.
"How soon do you need me?" I've a way I can be there in seconds by using my Scrying mirror, sort of my personal 'transporter beam', unpleasant though it is. Using it, walking through blackness spotted by bursts of eldritch energy of every color flashing past me at insane speeds, scares the willies out of me. I usually make the trip through the vortex with my eyes clenched.
"Don't break any traffic laws; I'll let 'Pass and ID' know you're coming."
Okay, important but not urgent. I put on my best smile. "See you soon."
x
When the screen goes dark I slide the cover back over the computer and go through the door to the outer office. "Tina?"
"Going to NCIS?"
It's scary sometimes how well she can read me. Tina doesn't have a trace of magical talent, but there are times I wonder which one of us is the better Witch. "Looks like dad has a mystery for me."
"We could use a Government Retainer."
"That would be so nice." I have one with Metro PD but lucrative cases have been sparse lately and I could use a few days steady work. I pull a jacket out of the closet. "I'll let you know what I get."
xxx
I should introduce myself. I'm Su Lin Palmer, Licensed PPI, that's a Private Paranormal Investigator and I run 'Otherworld Investigations' here in Washington D.C. It's 'Susan Linda' on the license but I never go by that. I have a little of dad's Nordic complexion but the Asian blood is strong, so for all my adult life it's been 'Su Lin'.
It's in the eyes.
You can call me a 'Paranormal Investigator' if you don't confuse the old definition for the modern one. You see, I don't investigate the paranormal; I use the paranormal in my Investigations.
Not to put too sharp an edge on it, I'm a Witch, and I'll say without a trace of false modesty that I'm quite good at it. Like all those in my Coven, I follow the Celtic tradition; Dana and Dagda are our chief Deities. I know, looking at me, you'd expect me to be Feng Shui or something like that; sorry to disappoint you. Then again, I'm not much of a traditionalist and I enjoy not matching people's expectations.
But my life's passion has always been mystery solving. You can't grow up begging for Case Histories and the dramatic recollections of a bevy of Federal Agents instead of boring bedtime stories without it having a massive effect upon your life. My family's best friends are the foremost Special Agents of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and I'm the daughter of the Chief Medical Examiner and the Deputy Special Agent-in-Charge, so it was inevitable that I'd get into Investigating too.
I didn't join NCIS, oh no. When your parents are in the upper echelons, then no matter how good you are, you're still your parents' daughter. I struck out on my own, in a field where I could put my talents to their best use.
xxx
NCIS Headquarters in the Navy Yard on the Anacostia has grown over the years to encompass two buildings, the result of the rest of the Navy and Marines' expansion in the past decade. Conflicts sparked in the beginning of the century led to all branches of the Military growing in size and scope, so NCIS, the Army CID and Air Force OSI increased proportionately. CGIS formally partnered with NCIS ten years ago under their Director Bourne and today you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
The job remains the same, the techniques and scope expanded tremendously - and not always for the better.
x
Anyway, I make it down to Autopsy after a few pauses to exchange greetings with old friends I encounter along the way. But when the main door slides aside the psychic tension in the air feels like I walked into a brick wall.
I'm surprised at how many people await me in the huge white room, the expanse of which is broken by three silver metal tables. I was expecting two people, at most three, not six.
Dad's dressed in blue scrubs, an image I've known forever. I once teased him that I'm going to intercept his next order and substitute a shipment of yellow or pink, he said it'd be a refreshing change. Yellow might suit his lightening blond hair, the lightening growing each year as more white strands mingle with the blond. Dad'll never go grey, he'll ultimately go a glorious white but I'm in no hurry.
He's been Chief Medical Examiner following Ducky Mallard's retirement, when he returned to Scotland ten years ago along with his wife Jordan. I was eight before I learned that Ducky had an actual first name. What does a kid know? I was disappointed. I never used it. Besides, I always thought he took particular pleasure in being called 'Uncle Ducky'.
Anyway, when he retired there were only two left on the team. Dad was bumped up to 'Chief', a title Ducky had declined, because Samantha Marsters is an M.E. too. She'd be mad if I told you how long that's been, but last year they took her out to a big dinner party to celebrate her twenty fifth year, so you do the math.
Sammy. If anyone can be described as a 'spirit of ecstasy' it's Sammy Marsters. I've never met anyone else who is perpetually happy. She might project 'serious', even 'grim' when it's warranted, but you always knew it was a mask. There's always that core of sheer happiness she can occasionally bottle up when the situation warrants, but when I catch her doing it I'm always counting the seconds until the cork pops and holes the ceiling. She's a five foot two bundle of energy packaged in an ecstatic shell. She'll never die; I still expect that some day I'll get that call that she'd spontaneously combusted.
x
"Hi, Su!" she manages to greet me first, a half syllable faster than anyone else, and since she's closest she pulls me into an enthusiastic hug.
"Hi, Sammy!" I return as brightly - with her you can't be anything else - but I can look over her head to see that mom and dad, though happy to see me, are distracted about something. You wouldn't see it, you'd see parents waiting to greet their wandering daughter, but I can see it.
As always, it's in the eyes.
"Sammy?" Dad's voice is barely patient.
She looks up and meets my eyes with an infectious twinkle that says 'I know what I'm doing and I'm doing it anyway'. "Hmmmm?"
Dad cocks his thumb to one side, unable to completely disguise a smile. After years together, she has no secrets from him. "Gid outta da way."
I know from their manner that they're stalling a grim revelation for as long as possible. Why else would not only mom be here but her Team as well?
x
I hug and kiss them both. If dad doesn't show the ravages of years, neither does mom.
I take more to mom than dad, the eyes (though mine are green), the black hair (though dad's curls give me curves), and when I look in the mirror I can find some of dad's Nordic complexion but Chinese blood is strong.
Dad, as I said, is Chief Medical Examiner for the Headquarters District, Mom's the Deputy Special Agent-in-Charge and leader of the Major Case Response Team ranged out behind her but responsible for twelve teams, just as her predecessor uncle LeeJay Gibbs had been.
Her presence, of course, is no surprise. When greetings have wound down - I saw them for Sunday dinner so it's not a big reunion - attention has to return to why I'm here. I'm here not for a reunion but because I'm needed.
x
Her MCR Team, Cathy Matheson, SFA Bill Parsons and Ken Smalley, hold their places a few feet away, unobtrusive observers of whatever is about to happen. Without a word that might shape my perceptions, dad goes to the bank of cooling units inset into the left wall and opens a silver door second from the top. I take a position opposite him so the drawer will slide out between us. I've already caught a glimpse of blonde hair. "I'd tell you to brace yourself if it made a difference."
I've seen more corpses than I ever want to number, most often the result of walking into this room unannounced and not quite invited, but I steel myself anyway. Mom and Sammy take positions a few feet to our side, where the slab will stop when fully extended. He pulls out the tray, cold metal sliding on cold metal to display the naked body.
x
I'd wasted time preparing; an hour's preparation wouldn't have helped. When I see her face, or rather what's left of it, I clamp my hand over my mouth to contain a gasp of shock and outrage. Her hands and knees are crushed. Blood had been cleaned from the wounds but fill the flesh under her skin, it's turned her hands and knees deep purple. Even without x-rays I can recognize shattered bones.
"April!" I force the word through lips that don't want to move, and at the thought of lips my stomach churns. Someone has taken a blade and cut off her lips. They left her cheeks, cupid's bow - okay, dad, philtrum - and the flesh below her lips, just taking the capillary-rich soft tissue, leaving her looking like she's smiling.
It's a particularly nauseating smile.
x
It takes a few moments to force my hand down, and when I try to speak my voice is rough with the effort to swallow bile. "April Stein. We call her 'M.J.'."
She looks nineteen. I don't know her exact age. Long blonde hair, slim but 'generously endowed', tanned without any visible lines; she has - had - that ability to silence conversation by walking across a room.
"How long have you known her?" mom asks. I was obviously sent for to make a positive identification, so I stuff my emotions into a strong box deep in my soul and make one.
"Almost a year," I look at mom, "and yes, you were right in whatever you were thinking. She's Rising Star."
x
'Rising Star' is our Coven, a gathering of over 30 pagan, neo-pagan and other various religious practitioners who share one thing in common. April, like mom and I, is a Witch. I'm not surprised, though, that mom couldn't make a positive ID herself. My schedule allows far more opportunity to attend our bi-weekly gatherings than does a Federal Agent's. She makes what Sabbats or Esbats, our ritual gatherings, that she can, but I guess neither of them were at the same ones. Then again, a positive ID is hard because I don't want to look at April's face any more than anyone else does.
"She's a Reservist Lance Corporal, assigned to Quantico," mom says.
"I didn't know." There are so many Witches, not only of Rising Star but other Covens, that I don't know well, at least not in their mundane lives. In some ways I have as little time for getting to know my fellow Wiccans as mom does, though I do try. I instantly resolve that that lack is going to change. "How did she die?"
Looking at what's left of her hands and knees, and her face, I've too good an idea.
"Her body was found by campers at Shenandoah Park who heard her screaming and tracked the sound. It stopped before they could get close enough to pinpoint and they had to search the area. They describe her last shriek as absolutely terrifying because it was so violent and cut off so suddenly. By the time they made it to the top of a knoll whoever did this was long gone. Her wrists, ankles and neck were clamped in metal arches similar to thick croquet wickets driven into the rock. Park Police had to pry her loose."
x
Dad picks up the story as I stare at April's body, the bruises that cover her hands and knees so horrendously familiar I want to be sick. The distortion that fills them is so widespread it can only be perimortem. "Blunt force trauma; the impact points are about three inches square. At this moment I'm thinking a sledgehammer such as what might have been used for the clamps." He's repressing, his voice is flat. He's going for details to keep feelings at bay. I don't blame him; right now I don't want to feel either.
"It shattered all the carpals, metacarpals and phalanges in each of her hands as well as the joints between each tibia and femur and crushed each patella. Atelectasis, initially indicated by petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes, shows she was smothered several times, but not fatally."
I want to be wrong about the bruising, but I'm not. "She was alive?" Please say 'no', dad; please.
"Through all of it, even when her lips were cut off."
I know from the bruising that fills her hands and knees that she lived for at least four minutes after they had been smashed, but I'd have preferred she'd been dead rather than to live through this final horror. I imagine blood gushing to cover her face, neck - before she was washed she must have been even more horrifying to behold. To think this was all done while she was alive….
I can't miss, however, that the rest of her is still intact. They haven't begun the autopsy. There's no mark on her other than her face, knees and hands. The torture, though agonizing, is not enough to be fatal. Please don't tell me she bled out through…
"What was the Cause?" I ask so no one will say those gruesome words. Anyone else might ask 'how did she die?' We deal in 'causes' and 'manners' of death. Horrible as it is, I can't force myself to look away. Goddess help me, I can't.
"When she was brought in there were apparently no fatal wounds, but lividity showed a massive concentration of blood in the middle of her back. I ordered an MRI."
A magnetic resonance image scan will show an almost perfect picture of the inside of her body, calibrated to whatever depth is needed. "And?"
"Her heart was attacked."
This pulls my eyes off M.J. to him. He hadn't said she had a heart attack. "Something tore the left side of her heart from the right. Without going through the thoracic cavity, something ripped her heart in half."