NCIS
McGee sat at his desk waiting for Gibbs. He hated when the answers to the questions only created more questions, but that came with the job. He just hoped it wasn't going to keep him too late.
When he figured he had a couple of minutes, he dialed David.
"Hey you, how's work going?"
"Intriguing so far, not yet open-and-shut but it could be a lot worse. Should still be good for tonight."
"Good. I can't wait," David said, and McGee could hear his smile through the phone.
"How's your day going?"
"Well I'm about $500 lighter. Liz and I reminisced about high school, and ended up going to a music store to look at acoustic guitars. It was just so pretty, and it sounded so wonderful. I couldn't stop myself. They finally kicked us out and we've been jamming in the park ever since."
Tim smiled at how easily David was entertained. "And you're planning on hauling that back in the Mini?"
"Hey, that thing is like the TARDIS. Bigger on the inside."
"Whatever you say." McGee had not found the lack of space as comfortable as David did. He then spotted Gibbs coming from the elevator. "I gotta run, see you tonight."
"What have we got?" As Gibbs walked into the bullpen, Ziva, Tony, and McGee stood up on queue.
McGee took point, pulling up their IDs on the screen. "Chief Petty Officer Warren Bronston, 35, wife Jessica, 31, married 3 years, no children."
Tony spoke next, "Registration shows Bronston drives, well drove, a yellow 2007 Shelby GT500, bought from a dealership, paid cash. Wife had an SUV, also new, bought at the same time, also paid with cash."
Ziva added, "A neighbor complained multiple times about Bronston's car. Apparently he would come back late at night, and did not drive quietly."
"A car like that's not meant to be kept quiet, Ziva," Tony said, still bitter after seeing the beautiful car in its current state and remembering the fate of his own Mustang. "It's meant to be heard and adored."
McGee clicked the remote to pull up his pictures from the garage. "Well apparently it wasn't just being heard, it was being raced. We found a couple of depleted nitrous oxide canisters in his garage, along with some car components. Based on his financials," he clicked the remote again to bring up the reports, "the components were paid for mostly by his card, but there is no record of enough money being in their accounts to pay for both of their cars outright, which means he had money from other sources."
"Have Abby check the car for the modifications," Gibbs nodded to DiNozzo, "and try and get a play-by-play of the crash. What about the wife?"
"Shot in the back with a .45. Seems to have been a very selective armed robbery," Ziva spoke up. "Their computer, her phone and her wallet were missing, but there were other obvious valuables that could've been taken and weren't." She took the remote from McGee, and he headed back to his desk. "We think she may have been trying to use her phone when she died, and the killer took it. Her arm appeared to have been moved after she fell."
"And we were right," McGee called from his desk, bringing more information to the screen. "Her phone records indicate that she placed a call to Bronston at 4:45AM, which his phone never received and it went straight to voicemail. Coincidence on time of death?"
"You know how I feel about coincidences, McGee," Gibbs called as he left the bullpen for the elevator.
NCIS
Gibbs walked through the morgue door to the site of two bodies, side-by-side. On the left was the charred body of CPO Bronston, and on the right lay his wife.
"I felt it appropriate to let them be together in death, Jethro. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all, Duck." Gibbs gave the elderly man a soft smile. A touch of sentiment was nice down here.
"I think we can get the obvious bit out of the way with Mrs. Bronston. She took a bullet through her back and straight through her heart. I believe it was a .45 caliber, which Ms. David said they found at the scene. Her husband, on the other hand, did not bear any bullet wounds. He suffered severe whiplash, but he somehow managed to completely sever his spinal column between his 5th and 6th cervical vertebrae."
"Could the accident have caused this on its own, or was there help after the initial impact?"
"If you're suggesting murder after the accident, I may have to disappoint you. Traditionally, when breaking someone's neck, the head gets twisted to the side until the spinal column breaks under the stress. This man had very sharp, rapid impacts from both in front and behind in a very short period of time, severing his spine with more lateral force. I suspect Miss Sciuto will be able to provide an answer to this part of the puzzle after examining the vehicle."
NCIS
McGee looked up from the computer in the evidence garage to see Gibbs coming out of the elevator bearing gifts of coffee and 'Caf-POW!,' walking towards the victim's car that McGee and Abby were examining.
"If that's Gibbs, tell him not to come down here yet!" Abby called from under the car.
"Too late, Abs," Gibbs responded. He turned to McGee.
"Boss, I'm running what's left of the car's electronics. Each car has what's called an Electronic Data Recorder, it's like a plane's flight recorder except it records data and stores it-"
"McGee," he interrupted.
"Sorry, boss. It'll tell us what happened just before and after the accident. I think I can decode it, but I'm just not sure how, yet."
Abby slid out from under the car, and got up to slurp her 'Caf-POW!' before quickly telling Gibbs, "I can't believe this, I'm coming up empty. I haven't even had time to check the bullets yet because this thing is like an alien spaceship. Except it can't fly, which would be super cool if it could but it's not because it can't."
"Abs."
"Right. The modifications made to this are pretty extensive but center mostly around the engine and transmission. I'm having a lot of trouble getting in there though to see it all because the front-end is so warped and damaged, and things are melted all over. I can't figure out if the crash caused the fire or the fire caused the crash because, again, everything is all twisted up. Right now, my best guess is that the crash started the engine fire, which blew up the gas tank, which then heated up and blew up the nitrous tank."
"Best guess, Abs?" Gibbs hated guessing.
McGee had a thought, but he wasn't sure if it was a good idea. "Boss," he spoke up, 'I have a friend who used to work with cars, especially modified ones. He might be able to lend us a hand."
"You trust him?"
"Yeah. He'll at least be able to give us a better idea of what we're dealing with. Won't have to get him too involved." He secretly hoped Gibbs would say 'no' so David wouldn't have to be brought in, but they did need help.
"Ok, make the call." Gibbs turned around and left for the elevator.
Abby turned to him with a very suspicious smile on her face. "Ooh, a friend?"
"Yes, Abby," he tried not to pay attention to it, "just a friend."
"Oh come on, McGee, I can read you like a book. You regretted asking Gibbs the moment you said it. You only ever do that when you're trying to hide someone from us, and you've been squirrely about what's going on between you and David for months. You might as well have made a sign!"
"Ok, look, you know I didn't ask because of that, but if we want to get this done soon we need help figuring it out, right?"
"Of course, but can you really say you don't just want to show off even more of David's skills, and see him bent over a car?"
"Abby!" he hissed.
"Make the call, McGee," she said in a sing-song voice as she skipped back over to the car.
McGee rolled his eyes. She was partially right, he did like that this could integrate David into his work life in a very fluid and small way. He just knew David would get serenaded with embarrassing McStories the entire time he was here. It was like bringing him home to family. He dialed David's number, really hoping he wouldn't pick up, and swore internally when he did.
"Hey there, out of work already?"
"Uh, no, in fact just the opposite." 'Ugh, why did I have to open my mouth?' "We're having a bit of difficulty with a case, and it's involving a suped up car that's in pretty bad shape. We just would like some extra input, well more like advice, or a second set of eyes just to see what we're missing. I thought of you but you really don't have to if you don't want, and it won't even take long if you do."
David chuckled to himself on the other end. "Ok, Tim. Give me a one-word answer. Do you need help?"
'Dammit.' "Yes."
"Then text me the address and I'll be right there."