The click of high heels echoed in the silent darkness that can only occur in the earliest of hours of a suburban morning. The woman smiled at the light burning inside the house. The heavy suitcase is wheeled wearily up the front walk, keys jingled ready to be dropped on a familiar coffee table.
"Joel, are you up already? I'd love some coffee if you have some made." She toed off her shoes and sighed with pleasure as her some of the ache lessened in her feet. "Have you seen Shiloh at all this weekend? I thought maybe since I told her I was leaving town for a few days she might stop in to spend some time with you." When she walked into the kitchen it was spotless, the coffee maker empty. "Hon, do you want me to start the coffee?" The house remained silent. "Joel?" Walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway, she saw that the bathroom light was on. There was no sound of running water. "Joel, would you just answer me?" She pushed the door open.
For a full minute all she could do was stare, standing paralyzed. Then she began to scream. And scream.
The former Lt. Colonel Joel Evans was lying in a tub full of water mixed with blood.
Gibbs walked into the Evans' bathroom and looked down into lifeless eyes of the Lt. Colonel. His widow's passionate sobs could be heard from the living room. Ziva peered in.
"Suicide?" Gibbs didn't even turn.
"It sure is supposed to look like it." Ziva came in to take a closer look.
"Wrists are slit." She met Gibbs' gaze. "Where's the knife?"
"DiNozzo found a bloody razor blade in the back yard." Ziva looked from the body back to her supervisor.
"Why would someone committing suicide ditch the implement in the back yard and then come back in to the bathroom?"
"That's for us to find out."
Mrs. Evans finally calmed down enough to let the team question her. Her eyes were red and raw, but her hands were steady around the cup of tea a neighbor had brewed for her.
"Mrs. Evans, was your husband depressed? Was he taking any medications?"
"Please, call me Anne." She set the mug down. "Joel wasn't depressed Agent Gibbs. He was always in good spirits." She swallowed hard, obviously trying to fight off another wave of grief.
"What about medications?" The widow shook her head.
"Only the occasional aspirin for headaches. He was very healthy."
"Did he use any recreational drugs?" Her head snapped up with pure shock in her eyes.
"He was always anti-drug. He even helped with an anti-drug campaign for the children living on base."
"Mrs. Evans, with all due respect, there's a difference between practicing and preaching." Ziva interjected.
"I just lost my husband." Anne snapped. "My husband is dead. Do you have to try and take his integrity?"
"I apologize, but we need to cover all the bases."
"Joel didn't use drugs!" She began to sob again. "He hardly even drank! He was a sweet, honest man!" The tears rolled down her cheeks while she did nothing to try to stop them. "I was married to him for 30 years for crissake! Shouldn't I know what he did or didn't do?"
"Being a military wife is often very different from regular marriage. He's spent time away from home." Gibbs said quietly.
"We shared everything, Agent Gibbs. I'd like to remember my husband the way he was, and not have any doubts cast over our relationship." She let her head fall into her hands. "Are we done here?"
"For now. Do you have someone you can stay with?"
"I… I was going to try to stay with our daughter, but I can't get a hold of her. I'm going to stay with one of the other wives, her husband is in Iraq."
"You're daughter doesn't know about this?"
"Jesus, didn't I just say I can't get a hold of her? I'm not trying to keep this from her, though God knows I wish I didn't have to tell her that her daddy is dead."
"Do you have any idea where she might be?"
"She moves around a lot, stays with friends. But she does spend quite a few nights at a bar downtown."
"We'll find her." Gibbs turned to Ziva and Tony with a significant look. "Do you have a recent photo?" Anne nodded and slipped a snapshot out of her wallet.
"This is Shiloh." She studied it before handing it to Gibbs. "God she looks just like Joel…" Another woman rushed over as the widow broke down again.
"We're done here, but we need to find the daughter."
"Hey boss, I think I found her." Timothy McGee stood up as Gibbs walked past his desk.
"The daughter?"
"Yeah, I called some bars in the downtown area and asked about her. Actually, quite a few of them seem to know her."
"Cut to the chase McGee, where do you think she's going to be tonight?" The young agent glanced down at a pad of paper he had scribbled on.
"Uh, The Statesman. It's a pretty popular place, they make a good martini."
"Probie, you surprise me." Tony smirked over at McGee. "I didn't figure you for the kind of guy that haunts trendy bar sipping martinis." Tim cleared his throat.
"I don't 'haunt' bars, I visit them occasionally for a civilized social drink."
"Social? Oh McGeek, do you have a little special someone you're hiding from us?"
"No, and if I was seeing someone, I don't really think it would be relevant to this conversation."
"Would you both cut the bull?" Gibbs cut in. "You, you, and you," he pointed at McGee, Tony, and Ziva. "Are going to the bar and try to find her. If you don't have luck there, try another place. I want her found by the end of the night."
"Yes boss."
The Statesman was crowed, but shoes didn't stick to the floors and the tables were kept clean by busy wait staff. The three agents shared a small circle by the wall, not far away from a small stage set up for a band. A pretty blonde waitress sauntered over.
"Would y'all like to order anything?" She drawled, smiling at Tony, who began to pile on the charm.
"What a charming accent, where you from honey?" The girl preened.
"Kentucky, born and raised." Her eyelashes fluttered and Ziva snorted. Tony ignored her.
"How interesting, what brings you to Washington?"
"You know, the French fries smell great, why don't you bring us an order to share?" Ziva interrupted and delivered a nasty kick to Tony's shin. The blonde looked a put out but wrote down the order.
"Anything else?"
"Yes," Ziva pulled out a copy of the photograph. "Do you know this girl?" The waitress squinted and looked.
"Yeah, she sings with the band. Sara or something like that I think."
"She's in the band?" McGee asked.
"No," the girl replied. "She just sings with them some nights. I think she does gigs at other places too."
"Is she here tonight?" Ziva asked.
"Um… I think so. I think she might be in the bathroom."
"Thanks you."
"Uh, do you still want the fries?"
"Of course." Tony answered, shooting her his famous DiNozzo smile. She giggled and strutted away, giving Tony a look over her shoulder.
"Unbelievable." Ziva muttered. "Well, I'm gonna go catch her in the ladies' room."
"Too late." McGee put his hand on her arm to stop her. "They're going on stage now."
The obvious regulars were already cheering. Three men dressed in mostly black took their places on stage. Guitar and bass were plugged into amps, drums were tested. Shiloh Evans hopped up and flicked on the mic and lowered it. She couldn't have been more than five two. In her worn converse high tops, faded jeans, and black tank, she looked like an average high school student.
"Great, we get to listen to an Avril clone." Tony sighed.
"Avril?"
"Forget it Zee-vah."
A mass of red curls streamed down her back, and the twinkle of a single ring on her right hand completed her look. She cocked a hip and smiled at the audience. She hadn't said a word but the crowd was obviously already entranced. McGee felt his heart speed up as her eyes met with his own.
"Hit it boys." The cliché should have sounded ridiculous, instead Timothy McGee was spellbound. Shiloh Evans looked like she was hardly old enough to buy cigarettes, but her eyes had the depth of a woman. The guitar riff for "Barracuda" started, and she looked away, but not before giving McGee a slow, knowing smile. As she started to sing, it became clear that she was her father's daughter. Instead of commanding military personnel, she commanded the entire bar.
"You've never seen her before Probie?" Tony shouted over the music. "Don't you come here often?"
"Shut up Tony. I've been in here maybe twice. And not on a Friday." He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. "She's magnificent." He murmured. Ziva raised her eyebrows. Tony was too busy ogling the waitresses, and the sound was too loud for him to hear, but she could see McGee's face, and just caught what he had said so quietly.
"Yes, she is rather good isn't she?" She nudged Tony with her elbow. "Anything like that April person you were talking about?" He laughed and munched through a handful of fries.
"No Ziva, she's not."
The band played an hour set. Shiloh belted out the last song as strong as the first. As they took their bows, she blew the crowd a flirty kiss, and looked back over at McGee. She nodded towards him.
"Let's go talk to her." Ziva stood and the two men followed. She cut a path through the people. Shiloh Evans was gulping down water and dabbing her forehead with a towel.
"Miss. Evans?" She small woman turned a sad face to the agents.
"This is about my father." Tony sputtered.
"How-?"
"A friend of mine heard it on the news." She jerked her shoulder and started for the back door. Once outside she sat down on a wooden crate. "I found out about two hours ago."
"You heard about you father's death, and still went on stage?" Ziva demanded. "What about grief? Shouldn't you have gone to your mother?"
"Look, I don't need a lecture right now lady. I loved my father, and I certainly didn't want to find out about his death like it was passing gossip."
"Are you sure you didn't know about it first hand?" She leaped up and struck out, Ziva was faster and caught her wrist, twisting it just hard enough to get the point across.
"I wouldn't try that again." She released the girl's arm.
"Fuck you. You practically accused me of killing my father."
"Did you?"
"God lady, you are a piece of work."
"Well why the hell were you up there performing for a bunch of drunks and not grieving?" Tony joined in.
"You think I'm not grieving? The hell with you. I'm a performer, you jerk. The show must go on."
"Even when your father is lying in a morgue with a toe tag?" Shiloh shook with rage, her fists clenched.
"I perform to let out emotion. Most of the time its joy, but it can be anger and grief too. My father wouldn't want me wallowing, and he wouldn't want me to flake on an engagement." She turned and walked away, wiping furiously at her face. Ziva started to go after her, but McGee stopped her for the second time that night. He jogged to catch up with her and took her arm. When she turned to face him, tears were streaming down her face. She trembled as her mother had hours before sitting in their living room.
"I… I'm sorry for your loss." He said quietly. She sank to her knees and McGee lowered down with her. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder and wept.
Despite the voice in his head reminding him that she could still be a suspect of murder, he let his arms wrap around her, and let her cry in the dark alley.