A/N: Thanks to my beta Kristen! The ninth story (or tenth, depending on where the count begins) in the Lily series.
Dedication: For my father, who loves reading about murders. This is more casefile heavy than any of my other stories, although there is plenty of team interaction as well.
To Kill A Man
Chapter 1: Prologue
The warm July air was a balm to Peter Lambert. He had spent the last three months in Alaska, and had been craving the warmth of DC ever since he had stepped on the plane to leave. Finally being back was worth more money than he could ever wish for.
The stars were shining brightly from their appointed places in the heavens above, while the full moon lit up the streets more effectively than the streetlamps, most of which were broken anyway. Clearly the politicians were still too busy voting themselves more money while letting the country go to rack and ruin. And yet people continued to believe their lies and broken promises.
He sighed as he walked, forcing himself to focus on happier thoughts. His friends were waiting in a small bar a few blocks away, the result of a planned welcome-back party. He hoped to drink a few beers tonight, safe in the knowledge that someone else was the designated driver for once. They would sit around all night, talking about everything and nothing, perhaps go see a movie, and then make plans to meet up tomorrow night.
There was nothing to worry about…
It was at that precise moment that Peter Lambert stumbled over a dead body.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs took in the scene as best he could.
Three dumpsters were lined up along the far wall, with the back door to the bar stationed a few feet away. No bouncer on the door – that would make everything so much easier – but fate had a habit of refusing to shine on him. The rear of a shop took up the other wall, although the late hour automatically meant it was shut. There were no cameras either on the main street or in the small alley.
Though there was a dead body.
From his years of experience, he was able to make a few educated guesses before Ducky showed up. The position of the body suggested the man died where he fell, and the absence of an obvious wound on the man's back suggested a frontal assault. He was lying in an almost fetal position, so he could have been stabbed? Punched? Without moving the body, and thus incurring Ducky's wrath, he was not able to approximate anything further.
His team were all busying themselves with their respective jobs. Tony had commandeered the camera again, leaving Ziva to sketch and glare at her partner's back, while McGee interviewed the man who had literally stumbled over their body. Gibbs doubted they would get anything of use out of their one and only witness; it had been too dark down here when they had pulled up. Nevertheless, there was always a chance.
He rubbed his brow and wondered what was keeping Ducky. From what he was aware of, he was fairly sure that his old friend had planned to go straight home when he had left the Navy Yard a few hours ago, which meant he should have arrived by now. If anything had happened to his mother, a phone call would have been made, undoubtedly apologetic and promising the services of Mr. Palmer. What could be keeping them?
The familiar purring of a van bought him back into focus. It seemed that Ducky had thought it worthwhile to return to NCIS and retrieve more effective tools of his trade. He really should have thought of that option instead of panicking. He would never live it down if a certain CIA agent found about it…
Although considering she was currently in France, it was unlikely she would. All the same, she had a knack for finding these things out. He wouldn't put it past her to have someone shadowing him at all times. And if he told Jenny anything, her sister would figure it out in seconds.
He watched as the medical examiner approached, noticing how his team parted unconsciously to allow him access. McGee finished talking to the witness, who took himself off as soon as he had the chance, leaving the agent to return to the flock. Gibbs found himself moving closer too, waiting for Ducky's judgments.
They would all be well thought-out, and useful too. Ducky had a knack for refusing to pronounce on anything he was not completely certain about. While it could be aggravating on occasions where they needed fast results, it had the advantage of not sending them off on wild goose chases every five minutes. When time was of the essence, Ducky performed admirably, and he did an excellent job when he had more time as well.
Tony set off a flash incredibly close to Ziva's face, and Gibbs doled out the requisite head-slap. Some day that boy would learn better. Until then, the old method seemed to work. Perhaps he could set Lily on him…
"Time of death," Ducky announced, still pouring over the soon-to-be latest visitor to his domain. "It looks to be around two hours ago, although I cannot be certain until I get him back."
"Two hours ago," Ziva repeated. "That would be around 2200."
Gibbs didn't mind her stating the obvious; if it helped her, it helped the team and it would get the job done that bit quicker.
"Cause of death," Ducky mused, attempting to roll the body over carefully. "Ah. I would venture that the cause of death has something to do with this stab wound here."
Gibbs leaned in closer, trying to get a better look. It helped when Tony took several pictures of it, the bright flash lighting up the bloody wound in the man's chest.
"From the lack of a trail and the blood pooling, I would say that he died where he fell."
As it confirmed his original assumption, Gibbs chose to say nothing. They could canvass the area to see if anyone saw or heard anything. His team were already moving away, having anticipated his next order, when Ducky made a startled noise.
Everyone leaned in closer.
"It appears," Ducky noted, "That our killer has taken a trophy."
Gibbs stared at the stump for a few moments. Who would take a finger?