Chapter 2
Cypress Point Golf & Country Club was a lush, private 18-hole golfers' paradise. The greens and fairways were meticulously groomed, and manager Salvator Mendez was adamant that under no circumstances would the MCRT vehicles be permitted to drive on his precious grass. After he'd argued the point with Gibbs for about five minutes, they'd come up with a compromise; they'd used golf carts to transfer their equipment to the 14th fairway. The body of Lt. Col. Wilhelm (William) Hartmann lay, face down, in the mossy brush under a large stand of sycamore trees, about 150 yards from the green, his upper torso exposed to the elements.
"Bishop and I'll take the scene; you talk to the kids," Tony instructed McGee.
Tim nodded in acknowledgement, but then a different set of orders came. "McGee, photos. Bishop, bag & tag. DiNozzo, talk to those kids. Find out what they touched, and get their prints so Abby can eliminate them," Gibbs countermanded as he pulled out his cell phone to check on Ducky & Jimmy's whereabouts. Ellie gave him an apologetic smile, and donned her gloves. Tony's mouth opened and closed as Gibbs strode past, but he didn't argue. What was the point?
They'd been working together for thirteen years. He certainly didn't need Gibbs telling him how to do his job. Hell, he'd done Gibbs' job for several months, and received a commendation for it. Nevertheless, the boss seemed to have a persistent need to exert his authority at a crime scene. Making a fuss about it wasn't going to change that. Sighing, Tony pulled out his notepad and strode across the fairway towards the gathering crowd.
Although the pro shop had sounded the klaxon (normally used to alert golfers to incoming thunderstorms and consequent closure of the course), the sunny, cloudless sky had prompted many to ignore the warning. A backlog was building at the 14th hole. There were now three foursomes milling around the tee box, in addition to Mendez, Rick Steeves (the course marshall), and Violet Ferguson, the sexy 20-something canteen girl (who was the recipient of Tony's best and brightest smile). Everyone gawped in bewildered amazement at the three golf carts, multiple uniformed officers, and yellow police tape gracing the right rough.
Among the onlookers, Gerald Stanley stood by with Trevor and Michael, looking more than a little annoyed. He'd been pulled out of an important business meeting, as soon as the first responders had realized they were dealing with a couple of under-age kids. He had warned his sons on more than one occasion not to venture onto the golf course; it was technically trespassing, even though the club's manager (and Mrs. Stanley, for that matter) generally looked the other way. If only they'd done as they'd been told, someone else would be dealing with this mess right now instead of him.
"Mr. Stanley," Tony nodded. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I just have a few questions for your boys."
"Uh-huh…can we make this quick? I need to conference with Japan in an hour." Stanley Senior had a bluetooth device hanging out of his ear, a scowl on his face and an overall demeanour that was eerily reminiscent of Tony's father. Tony ignored the attitude, and persevered.
"This'll only take a few minutes," he said. Pulling the boys aside, he motioned to them to sit down on the bench away from the crowd, near the adjoining 17th tee, and began to take their statements - a process that went more smoothly than he'd expected.
"Ok, boys. No need to be scared. Just tell me what you were doing when you found the body." It seemed these kids watched far too much television for their own good, and were terrified they'd be implicated in the murder simply by virtue of having contaminated the scene. DiNozzo reassured them that as long as they told the truth, they had nothing to worry about. "Did you see anyone go in or out of the woods before you got there?" They shook their heads no.
He took their fingerprints, and shoe prints as well (the MCRT had found evidence of at least three different shoe treads in the muddy soil surrounding the crime scene). With a melange of eager anticipation, raw curiosity and sheer terror, the brothers closely examined every step of the process. "Nick Stokes doesn't do it this way," Trevor muttered.
"Do I look like Nick Stokes?" Tony snapped. He caught himself, and added more gently, "Don't believe everything you see on TV. Come to think of it, don't believe 95% of what you see on TV." He handed each of them a business card. "If either of you thinks of anything else you've forgotten to tell me, you can give me a call, ok?" They nodded.
As the boys ran back to their father, Tony turned his attention to the young blonde canteen girl.
"Hi there," Tony smiled. "I'm Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"
She looked him up & down and smiled nervously. "Sure. I guess." She blew a bubble and popped it.
"What's your name?"
"Violet Ferguson. I work in the canteen." She tossed her head towards the small snack shack perched on a hill between the first and tenth holes.
"Violet. That's a pretty name," he smiled. "Tell me, Violet, did you know Col. Hartmann?"
"Well, I wouldn't say I knew him, but I seen him around the last few days. I think he just joined the club a week or two ago. He's been playing 9 holes most every day. Sometimes mornings, sometimes after work, I guess. Doesn't talk much. Bit of a stuffed shirt." She wrinkled her nose.
"Uh-huh." Tony made notes. "When was the last time you saw him?"
"Couple of days ago. I guess it was Wednesday night. Yeah. I remember, 'cos he and Eagle had a fight - thought we were gonna have to call the cops, but Eagle had the good sense to walk away before it came to that."
"Eagle?"
"Yeah. Eagle. He's like our mascot. He hangs around when the course is open, does odd jobs, y'know? And he spots shots for the golfers. Some of these old guys forget where their ball went right after they hit. They lose way more balls when Eagle's not around."
"What were they fighting about?"
"No idea. I can't hear anything with the fan goin' in the canteen. It gets real hot in there." She fanned herself and smiled coyly at him.
He cleared his throat and continued. "This guy have a real name?"
She shrugged. "Sure, probably. I don't know what it is, though."
Tony gave her a pained smile. "I don't suppose you know where he lives, either?"
"Nope."
"All right. Do you think you could describe him to our sketch artist?"
"Sure." She looked up at him, smiled broadly, and winked.
Tony sighed, as he realized that the young, fluffy types no longer held any attraction for him. The older he got, the more he longed for a relationship with a woman of substance. His frat boy days were definitely over. He handed her a business card, and told her someone would be in touch with her shortly.
Interviews with Mendez and Steeves corroborated Violet's tale of an altercation between Hartmann and "Eagle" in the parking lot early Wednesday evening. No-one seemed to know what had started it, but Rick Steeves observed that they seemed to know each other. Neither man had seen "Eagle" since that incident. Tony made a note that the composite sketch should be shown when they interviewed Hartmann's family, friends and co-workers.
Returning to the thicket, Tony noted that Ellie had bagged a number of incidental items found at the scene, including several pieces of torn clothing. He surveyed the perimeter, and grabbed a pair of gloves and an evidence bag in order to secure a piece of partially chewed gum still stuck to a tree some 100 yards away.
Ellie's eyes widened, and she bit her lip. "Sorry Tony, I don't know how I missed that."
"Rule six, Bishop." Tony winked at her. "Just remember to always learn from your mistakes." She nodded appreciatively, and yanked the sealed bag out of his hand.
Just then, Ducky and Jimmy finally arrived, as usual each one blaming the other for getting them lost on the way. After receiving the same lecture from Mendez that had been delivered to Gibbs earlier, they had balanced the stretcher on another golf cart, and ridden out to join the rest of the team. The course was inaccessible to non-members, and Ducky was intrigued. The fourteenth hole was a dogleg left, with a water hazard along one side and two bunkers in front of the green.
"A three-wood off the tee, I think."
"I beg your pardon, Dr. Mallard?" Jimmy had received stern instructions to stick to the cart paths, but, not being a golfer himself, he was having difficulty getting his bearings, and it took all his concentration to study the little map on the back of the score card and find his way.
"Never mind, Mr. Palmer. Over there." The ME pointed to the clump of trees which had been cordoned off by the yellow crime scene tape. With relief, Jimmy pulled the cart up to a stop next to the thicket, and Tony helped him remove the gurney while Ducky surveyed the scene. But the ME hung back, waiting for his assistant to catch up.
"'Bout time you two got here," Gibbs groused. Ducky simply ignored him.
"Who do we have here, Jethro?"
"Lt. Colonel William Hartmann. Marine Corps Combat Development Command."
"Mr. Palmer." Ducky stood back and held out his hand, offering Jimmy the lead.
"Doctor?" Jimmy responded hesitantly, a reluctant smile on his face.
"You managed perfectly well without me for over three months. It's quite clear that you know what you are doing. Carry on."
"Yes, Doctor." Jimmy pulled out the liver thermometer from his kit, and inserted it carefully into the body. "He's been dead approximately 36 hours, Agent Gibbs." Gibbs made a note. TOD, early Thursday morning, somewhere around 6 or 7 am. Given that the victim was dressed in golf clothing, with a glove still on his left hand, it was likely he'd come out for an early morning round before starting his work day.
"Cause of death?" Gibbs inquired, as he scanned the crowd - mostly curious golfers, as well as the marshall, and a rather buxom young blonde who was vigorously chewing a wad of gum. Tony was chatting her up. He'd better be getting some useful information out of her, or else Gibbs would have something to say about that.
"There are multiple knife wounds. It looks like a pattern of some sort, carved into his back." McGee snapped three photos. "There's minimal bleeding, so it's likely it was done after he was killed."
"Anything else, Mr. Palmer?" Ducky stood with his arms crossed, trying hard to hide the sense of pride he felt in his assistant.
Jimmy examined Hartmann's hands - the right one exposed, the left sporting a pristine white leather golf glove. "No defensive wounds. It's likely that he was taken by surprise." They turned the body, revealing a wide slit across Hartmann's throat.
"Well, looks like we know what killed him," Tim said.
"Probable, but it's always best not to assume anything until after the autopsy," Jimmy replied. He hesitated for a moment, looking up at Ducky expectantly. Ducky smiled and nodded.
Tony peered at the body, and wrinkled his nose. "Ouch." Gibbs shot him a sideways glance that said, Shut up, DiNozzo. Tony grinned sheepishly, grateful the glare had not been accompanied by a head slap. What had begun as an occasional affectionate smack had lately turned into a nasty, and all too convenient outlet for Gibbs' frustrations, and Tony had come to dread it. "Interviewed the kids, boss. They're pretty freaked out, but I don't think they did much damage to the crime scene."
"What about her?" Gibbs grunted, nodding towards Violet.
"Apparently there's some homeless guy who hangs around the club. The owner says he's harmless, but Violet saw him arguing with Hartmann yesterday in the parking lot."
"Violet?" Gibbs snorted.
Tony ignored his boss' disdain, and continued. "I put calls in to Metro and my contacts at a couple of the local shelters. We don't have a name for this guy, but everyone calls him 'Eagle' , apparently. I've also arranged for a sketch artist. We'll get a likeness sent out on the wire."
Gibbs nodded approval. "You call me the minute you get a name." He took one last swig of his coffee, tossed it in the garbage next to the tee box, and marched back to the Charger.
As Ellie, Tim and Tony packed up the evidence they'd collected, Ducky and Jimmy bagged the body and loaded it onto the golf cart. It was a tricky business - Jimmy had to walk alongside the cart to stabilize the stretcher, while Ducky drove. It took them a full 10 minutes to return whence they'd come and load Hartmann onto the van.
Ducky glanced back longingly at the lush green fairway. This being a private club, the only way he'd ever have the chance to play the beautifully manicured course was by invitation. Sadly, he didn't know anyone who was a member. "If only…" he sighed.
On his way back to the parking lot, Tony noticed Violet heading into the canteen, hips swaying a little more than necessary. As she disappeared into the building, she spit out her gum into an ashtray by the door. Once she was out of sight, he approached, pulled a glove out of his pocket and retrieved the gum, sliding it into an evidence bag.
Once they were back in the bullpen, Ellie put up the victim's official military photo on the plasma. Gibbs breezed in, fresh from a coffee run.
"Go." All three jumped up to join him in front of the plasma, and Tim grabbed the clicker.
"Our victim is Lt. Col. William Hartmann, age 52. Currently assigned to Marine Corps Combat Development Command at Quantico, VA - Operation Urban Warrior. He's a highly decorated Marine, served two tours in the first Gulf War, the second as a Gunnery Sergeant in charge of a 5-man specialist tactical unit stationed in Kuwait.
"Family?"
Ellie chimed in. "Married, with two children - one in university, one in high school."
Tim handed her the clicker, and she brought up the crime scene photos, taking over the debrief.
"Our victim was found with an unusual symbol carved on his back, likely put there post-mortem. We found a torn shirt a few yards away from the body, very bloody. Also a piece of gum stuck to a tree," she gave Tony a sheepish glance, and he winked. "Abby is running tests on those now. We also have another piece of gum from one of the witnesses…Violet Ferguson." Ellie flipped through her case file to check the notes. "She is the canteen girl, and according to the course manager, she would have been on duty when Hartmann was killed. If we get a DNA match on the two pieces of gum, we can consider her a person of interest."
They waited for Tony to give his report on the rest of the interviews he'd done of the bystanders, but he seemed lost in thought. He stood staring at the plasma intently.
"DiNozzo. You got something for us?" Gibbs knew that look. He could almost see the puzzle pieces rearranging themselves in Tony's brain.
Tony returned to his desk and rifled through the stack of file folders, at last pulling one out with an "Aha!" He retrieved a photo from the file, and held it up next to the plasma.
"I knew it," he quipped. "I saw that symbol on Hartmann's back, and it looked familiar, boss. It's from one of the cold cases I've been working on. It's a Chi Rho - an ancient Christian symbol."
Gibbs arched an eyebrow, and nodded for Tony to continue. Ellie stood next to Tony as he read them in on the case.
"Three members of an elite five-man Marine unit were killed over a period of several months back in 1991, the first one within weeks of their return stateside after Desert Storm. Each victim had this same symbol carved on their backs. The DNA evidence was scarce, and what there was, was tainted so they couldn't get anything definitive from it. In '92 the murders stopped - the investigation never revealed why, and the case went cold."
Tony returned to his computer, and pulled up the file. He grabbed the clicker from Bishop and aimed it at the plasma, bringing up photos of the three victims. "Private First Class Andrew Murphy; Corporal James Warner; Corporal Steven Chu. The DC Field Office worked the case for months, and kept hitting dead ends."
Tony stopped talking. Gibbs tipped his head to one side and glanced at him impatiently. "What else?"
"That's it, boss."
"That's IT? What about their last assignment?"
Tim, who had returned to his desk and searched online for the file, rose to Tony's defence. "The file was sealed, boss. There's no additional information available."
"Sealed by who?" Gibbs demanded.
"DoD."
"Unseal it," the boss commanded, as if it were the most obvious course of action imaginable.
Tim glanced at Tony, then tossed a quick look over his shoulder, up at the mezzanine, just to make sure Director Vance wasn't overhearing any of this.
"Unsealing the file…"