Chapter Two
Dead Man Walking
Gibbs' Charger with Ziva riding shotgun precedes the black and white MCR truck to stop before a tall condominium, the blue and white ME truck sliding in behind it. The building is distinguished from its companions by its impressive collection of patios, one outside every apartment that faces the street.
It faces a park and Tony notes the number of women in it. "I'd love to live here," he says, thinking both of the convenience and the opportunity to view from the patios so many delectable sights.
"Talk to the Super," Ziva advises. "We already know there is a vacancy."
That thought makes the prospect lose much of its appeal. Though he had obtained his current apartment through the landlord's difficulty in renting out a former crime scene, he has no desire to press his luck.
"Come on," Gibbs commands, "the Joralemons aren't going to wait all day. And call McGee again."
Ziva pulls out her phone. "We'll be investigating his murder next," DiNozzo predicts.
"We will not have to look far for a suspect."
xx
"Metro Homicide got the call late last night about gunshots fired in an apartment on the twelfth floor," Gibbs fills Ducky and Palmer in while they ride the elevator. Lee stands in a rear corner trapped by the Examiners' extensive equipment and she tries to remain discreetly unobtrusive. She doesn't look directly at them, uncomfortable to be in such close quarters with Palmer and have to pretend casual disinterest when she really wants to take advantage of close and crowded quarters to enjoy some intimate contact, but she doesn't trust Jimmy's control.
DiNozzo and David had been left in the lobby, neither anxious to be with Gibbs while in his present mood.
Gibbs had filled the Agents in already on the way and is quite annoyed not to have McGee on the scene. Granted it's his day off, but to be out of touch violates of Rule 5 and is an offense the man will pay for. "When they found that the husband is a Navy Captain they called us," he concludes to Ducky and Palmer.
The doors slide open onto the twelfth floor, a sign before them indicates their destination to the right. Michelle, last out, manages a handful under Jimmy's jacket that almost makes the man wind up on the next floor up, but even his smile back to her isn't noticed by their bosses.
Making that right turn, the sign becomes quite superfluous.
The apartment in question is easily distinguished by the yellow 'Crime Scene' tape crossing the open door and the uniformed Policewoman stationed outside. Gibbs, leading the others, has his shield case already out, displays the gold badge and then his two Identification cards. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS; Special Agent Lee; Medical Examiners Mallard and Palmer."
"I recognize you, Special Agent Gibbs," the black woman assures him. "We worked a case two years ago. How have you been?"
"Good, and you?" He doesn't recognize her, but it never hurts to be sociable - to a point.
She hands him the Crime Scene ID Log, which each of them must sign. "No worries."
"Gibson, let them in already!" a sharp voice commands from within. The woman steps aside, essaying a smile. It's not easy.
x
Gibbs, having signed, ducks under the tape, Mallard, Palmer and Lee each greet the woman cordially before doing the same, Ducky doffing his white fishing hat to her.
The living room is as big as Gibbs' living and dining rooms combined. A computer workstation and an entertainment center cover the right wall. The far wall, almost an obscene distance away, is a huge glass expanse partially covered by white drapes spread to show the sliding glass door and patio beyond. The left wall contains chairs and a couch that face the overlarge entertainment center.
Gibbs already recognized the voice of the Detective Lieutenant in charge. He's a tall, thin man in a trench coat that belies the heat wave, a brown suit and browner mood. "'Lost another one to Nickis'," the man paraphrases disgustedly.
"Hey, can I help it if we get all the interesting ones?" Gibbs' cheeriness is in sharp contrast to the other's mood.
"You could if you'd try," the man tells him sourly, his moustache bristling. "This is the fourth time this quarter. I didn't like losing the Hotel Maritz killings. That could have been a Career-maker."
The four uniformed officers and the Agents have all paused, watching this confrontation. Though the Lieutenant seems quite put out, Gibbs is unflappable.
x
"Or breaker," he points out affably, relishing the other's ire. "Besides, what would you have done with 'Batgirl' or 'Wonder Woman'?"
"Not a lot, they were dead. But we'd've found 'Supergirl' a lot quicker - without losing an Agent or raising an unholy row throughout an entire Convention."
"You're just mad that we finally made the News." NCIS had been given detailed and accurate credit in print, radio and television, finally coming out of the shadow of 'Federal Authorities'.
"For four freakin' days! I couldn't turn on the radio without hearing about Nickis."
"Tell you what, Carpenter," Gibbs offers with a rare smile, "next time you can have 'Catwoman'."
"I'll take her," he says, breaking into a delighted grin. "I just love Halle Berry."
"Don't let Cathy hear you say that. She'll teach you some new tricks with claws," Gibbs warns with a disarming smile, the faux tension between them vanishing.
"Amen to that. How've you been, Leejay?"
"Good, Carp. You?"
He shrugs. "Can't complain. Doesn't do any good and eventually they just stop listening."
"Ya think?" But then the easy mood evaporates into work as DiNozzo and David duck under the tape. "What've you got?"
"A bloody mess," Jeff Carpenter replies, "and you're welcome to it. I's outta here."
He leads them to the door on their left and the bedroom beyond. Gibbs looks pointedly to Ziva, who once again pulls out her cell phone.
Her partner/boyfriend is a dead man.
x
To right of center is a queen size bed upon which lies a man's nude body. The pillow and headboard are drenched in blood. The top of the man's head is shattered and covers the top of the bed and they can see where bone fragments have ricocheted off the headboard. To the right, on the floor, a woman's body lies crumpled in the space between the bed and sliding closet door. She wears only a very brief, translucent and generously cut pink nightgown, but the front of the babydoll is sprayed with blood. Her head is largely intact, though a pool of blood has soaked the carpet. There's a large spray of blood at higher than head height that covers the sliding door behind her. Near the center of the wide spatter is a small hole.
On the floor at the left side of the bed lies the only article of clothing the man had evidently been wearing, the boxers apparently dispensed with in expectation of his wife's arrival. Ziva displays no visible reaction to his prepared state but Michelle looks away, her face reddening. Near the left side foot of the bed lies a Smith and Wesson .22 revolver.
"DiNozzo, sketches; Lee, photos; Ziva, scan." The team spreads out while he and Carpenter return to the outer room.
xxx
Tim McGee and Siobhan O'Mallory casually tour the myriad tents and booths of the Festival. They have no particular interest in what's being sold, less in the thousands of trinkets being competed for in games of chance or more questionable skill. Their interest is in the time they may spend together so they indulge in the art of shopping without shopping. Siobhan, even as she looks over the wares offered in the various tents, is more aware of Tim's eyes upon her than they are on the tables and booths.
She will not, however, reconsider her choice of attire, even if she could. In addition to being suitably outfitted for the September heat, there has to be a distinction between the two aspects of her life. There aren't two lives here, her position and her choice are distinct and the commitments she has made inviolable and inflexible. The Priest has her life and her duty - and not for a moment will she shirk that - but she also owes a duty to the Woman.
She has a life outside St. Mary the Virgin Episcopal Church, and in a very real sense Tim McGee - both on and off duty - is a part of that life. He's her oldest friend, they have a long if interrupted history together and the time they spend together, rare enough as it is away from work, is important to her. She hopes it is to him.
Besides, if anyone were to question her choice of leisure time she would, after frying that person in his own grease, point out that it is still work related. He is an Agent and she is, by his unabashed and devious manipulation, the Chaplain for the Headquarters District of Enkiss.
x
She briefly wonders if, while they're alone and able to speak freely, it would be a good idea to bring up the fact that she had engaged the assistance of a Psychiatrist in the hope that she will help her with recurring panic attacks.
She firmly dismisses the idea.
The panic attacks are a result of her very narrow escape from death when her apartment had been bombed by the madman who'd been stalking Abby Sciuto. Siobhan had been asked to give Sanctuary to the woman and a few hours later her apartment had been blown up.
But no, Timmy had instigated that Sanctuary for their friend and the consequence of it could only cause him guilt. She will not speak of it, no matter how much Dr. McFadden has recommended it.
x
Bent low over a table, she glances up in time to catch his eyes below the level of her own before they dart aside. She looks further down and smiles when she discovers the cause of his intense scrutiny. He will, however, not be allowed to pretend he's fooled her. Looking up, she pitches her voice so low no one else may hear. "Timmy, you are dangerously close to having to meet me for Confession."
"I'd love to get you alone in a dark booth."
The words are out of his mouth before he can pull them back and she straightens. It's an excellent question who's more surprised. "Timmy…."
"Shav - I - I'm sorry! I - I didn't - I wasn't - I didn't - think - I'm–." She raises her hands.
"I'm not offended," she assures him. It had been more of an admission than she had expected but they're hardly strangers in that sense. Their Bethesda High School years, though well in the past, had been fiery.
He looks around, somewhat desperately she thinks, searching for absolutely anything until his eyes lock on something outside the tent. "Would you like some chicken?"
She grins. It's the most forced segue she's heard in months. "Sure." As they start out of the tent, she asks: "Leg or wing?"
"I like breasts and thighs," he answers, grateful his gaff had been evaded.
"I know," she responds meaningfully, causing him to stumble on a patch of uneven ground.
xxx
While Mallard and Palmer stand aside, patiently discerning what they may at a distance, the Field Agents spread out in the bedroom, each having his or her job. Lee, with the large digital camera, starts at one corner and takes a panorama series of shots, then repeats the procedure from the opposite corner. Then there's an orbit, or as much as possible, of the bodies, with a pause at each shot to log time, exposure and other settings. Next come close-ups of both bodies and the surrounding area. She leans in without disturbing the blood nor other evidence, though occasionally this is a strenuous activity and she must appeal to Jimmy to balance her for the more contorted positions. In the meantime, DiNozzo uses a large sketch pad to draw a triangulated perspective rendering that will give a better judgment of scale than can be obtained in any number of photos.
Ziva David does a careful visual inspection of the room, scanning a progressive layered grid, seeking anything that might require the attention of her fellows. Gibbs, in the outer room, continues gathering every detail he can from Lt. Carpenter and the four uniformed officers.
"Are you ready, my dear?" Mallard asks as Michelle withdraws a step, clears the way to the side of the bed and lowers her camera.
"All yours, Doctor Duck," she winces, unable to believe she's just said that. "I mean 'Doctor Mallard', sir."
"Why don't we just stick to 'Ducky', shall we?" he asks, unable to hide his amusement.
"Yes, Doctor." She steps out of his way across the foot of the bed and lets him pass, wishing she were not blushing so hotly. She meets Jimmy's eyes as he follows.
"'Doctor Duck'," he whispers teasingly, his lips barely moving.
"Looking at you," she whispers even more softly, her lips almost still, "you're lucky I didn't say 'Doctor Dick'."
"No," he corrects her so softly that to anyone else they could be just gazing silently into each other's eyes, "you're lucky."
"If you're quite ready, Mr. Palmer."
"Yes, Doctor." Jimmy breaks away to join his senior. There won't be room to do more than observe behind Mallard, but he comes into the space nonetheless. He's already come too close to getting caught and won't risk their secret being revealed.
"What have you got?" Gibbs asks, coming back into the room. He's dismissed the LEOs and formally assumed command of the scene.
"An Assistant who needs to keep his mind on business," Ducky answers testily, examining the body wedged into the space before him. "As to the rest, I'll let you know."
x
"The gun's a Smith & Wesson .22 caliber revolver, manufactured since the turn of the century," DiNozzo reports, pausing in his sketching. Gibbs looks at him pointedly, as if asking how he's determined manufacture date. "It has the modifications imposed in the 2000 Act. The safety is off, four shots fired."
"Gun came from in here," Ziva calls across the room from near the dresser at the window. Lee takes a picture of the position from near the bed and then crosses to photograph the contents of the open top drawer. There's a vacant space next to a cardboard box of ammunition, .22 caliber.
They'll learn at Headquarters who the gun is registered to. It's certainly not the sidearm which Captain Joralemon had been issued.
x
Turning to the bed again, Gibbs notices something small and dark buried under the unused pillow closer to the closet, presumably Mary's side. Lifting it, he finds a slim, round CD player, the unit barely larger than the disk it would play. A black wire extends to a three inch wide speaker, positioned just under the listener's ear. "DiNozzo, bag this." Lifting the pillow, he finds nothing else of interest, nor is there anything under the covers. Going to the foot of the bed, he looks under it. "A lot of books and magazines."
A check of the titles reveals an innocuous collection, no carnal bedtime reading. The titles run more to Sports Illustrated and McCall's, last week's TV Guide and a few paperbacks, mostly Science Fiction, Mysteries and Romance along with a Readers' Digest. Apparently the couple had a habit of reading in bed and then, when tired, tossing the books conveniently out of the way, kept in easy reach for the next chapters.
x
"What can you tell me, Duck?" Gibbs asks.
The Medical Examiner is perched on the balls of his feet beside the woman's crumpled body, as close as he can get in the limited space. He looks up from the thermometer inserted into her side, regards the Senior Agent past the brim of his white fishing hat.
"Three shots to Captain Joralemon's head, one to hers, so Cause of Death," he raises his hands expansively, "is fairly obvious.
"Time?"
He consults the probe inserted via a long spike through her side into her liver, the thermometer clipped to the outside of his shirt pocket and his watch. "I would say some twelve to sixteen hours ago." Working with temperature and the onsets and regressions of three stages of rigor mortis, one can never specify exactly a time of death; that's for television. However, a six hour range is usual and as few as four hours is better than Gibbs would have hoped for.
"After firing three bullets into the Captain's skull, managing to get blowback blood all over the front of herself, she turned the gun upon herself. Splatter on the closet door," he points upward, "indicates an upward angle. I'd say she is about 5'8", perhaps 9. The splatter and the bullet hole are directed upward. She inserted the barrel into her mouth and pulled the trigger, and backlash threw the pistol to the foot of the bed."
"Most women," Ziva interjects, "will be concerned about their appearances and she might have chosen this method as a way of ensuring a decent wake. He, of course, will require a closed casket."
Unfortunately, in his experience, Gibbs cannot argue with her assertion. It's a too familiar one. Looking to DiNozzo, he sees he's finished his last sketch.
x
"Where the hell is McGee?" he asks quietly, not expecting an answer and therefore not put out when his SFA fails to give him one. It may be his arranged make-up day off, but Gibbs can use the man's experience and he's growing quite annoyed at not having it.
"I tried his cell phone again," Ziva reports. "Nothing."
'When I get my hands on him.' "What about the bullets?"
"One hole in the closet door," she sums up, intending to check the interior when she has room. "The blood soaked into the pillow and mattress, but only one bullet exited the bottom of the mattress but did not penetrate into the floor." They will have to dig the other two out of the mattress after the man's body has been removed.
"Come on, Lee," Gibbs directs, "we'll go chat up the neighbors. The report says they were a loving couple, let's see if we can find the cause of this falling out."
"Yes, sir." She puts down the camera.
"Don't call me 'sir'," he directs as they start out of the bedroom, "I work for a living."
"Yes, sss - Special Agent Gibbs, s -," she looks up, lost, seeing his look and completely misinterpreting it, "I - I mean Supervisory Special Agent Gibbs, sss–."
"Lee?"
"Yes, Sp - si–."
"Stick with 'sir'."
"Thank you, sir."
xx
The cause of the falling out doesn't become readily apparent in the interviews with the neighbors on either side or directly opposite. The other apartments on this floor, four in the long corridor, are presumably unoccupied, no responses coming to their knocks. He will have to wait for evening for answers from that quarter.
As before, the Joralemons are described as a loving couple, just over a year married, never loud or obnoxious. Mark's duties frequently require him to be gone for extended periods, Mary is home daily. There were no fights, at least none that had ever been heard. Mary had been a fairly regular participant in the condo's Tenants' Association, never taking part in an official capacity but present at meetings. Mark, to their collective knowledge, had not attended one in the five years he'd resided in the building.
When Gibbs and Lee return to the apartment, they find David standing near the computer workstation at the right corner of the living room. Before her is an open checkbook next to the keyboard, a white pen holds it open. "Looks like one of them had been marking last month's transactions, but got as far as the 21st."
There's no printed statement from the bank in sight, and the unchecked transactions evidently continue on a later page, but the end of the current open page shows a balance on the 26th of $2,867. "This page shows utilities; monthly maintenance fee; church donations - Saint James' Catholic Church; a Doctor Samuel Richards; cable bill and three deposits totaling $1,580."
"All right; bag and tag the computer; McGee can look into it - assuming he ever shows up." It will not be the first time money had provided the motive for a violent resolution to a disagreement. Perhaps there had been something in the records that was 'displeasing'.
xxx
Tim McGee is thoroughly enjoying his afternoon and completely detesting himself.
For the first time - the very first time since he'd reencountered his former girlfriend well over a year ago - he has the opportunity to spend an afternoon with her outside the confining pressures of NCIS or St. Mary's and he cannot keep his eyes off her.
Part of him enjoys the prospect. Another, stronger part, bitterly remonstrates him for acting like a High Schooler in the throes of boiling hormones. He is a mature, seasoned Special Agent, well on his way to fame as a Writer. He recently had had three lovely women on his arm at a nightclub because of his writing. Okay, granted they were Agents and that was an undercover operation but they were still three sexy, hot women. Yet the mere presence of this woman is sending him spiraling out of control - and all because of a little not even overly revealing clothing. Granted she shows as much skin as most of the women and girls who he sees today, less than he's seen on many; but this is Siobhan, and he should not be -!
Okay, they are not strangers - far from it. They had spent four years together in Bethesda and he knows - knew - her intimately, with the intimacy only a Lover can manage during over three years, but that was years ago and they are not in High School anymore. He is a seasoned NCIS Agent who should have better control of his feelings and his responses and his behavior, and she's a Priest.
Okay, granted she doesn't look like a Priest at the moment with her very brief blue shorts and scarlet halter that leaves sides and back tantalizingly bare but she is one and definitely, absolutely off limits. Okay, she hasbeen very clear to him that the halves of her life are intertwined and distinct (how he wishes he could manage such a trick!) but he should have better control of himself than to be looking at her body every chance he gets!
Fine, okay, it is an exceptional body and the years - and not all that many of them - have been kind to her but - but - but it's wrong to do it and he should have better-.
"Timmy, what's wrong?"
"Huh?" he asks, broken out of his reverie.
"You're looking so fierce. What's wrong?"
"I… I guess I … I was thinking ... about a case. My mind was wandering. Sorry, won't happen again."
"You looked so angry. Is it anything you'd like to discuss?"
He shakes his head. Was this her professional priest side or her friend side? 'Oh, I'm going to go mad if I keep this up.' "Forget it; it's not important."
Discussing it with her is the last thing he wants to do.
xxx
When Gibbs returns to the bedroom Ducky and Jimmy have sealed the bodies into two black bags set on gurneys. Otherwise, the initial examination of the scene is not a rapid process; the Forensic team will be hours examining the apartment. His patience might not be strong but there is no arguing with this fact. As soon as the bodies are gone he'll have DiNozzo dig the bullets out of the mattress and cut a hole around the one in the closet, excising a segment of the wall. Then another series of pictures. David has already detached the computer and sealed it in a clear plastic Evidence bag.
Taking out his cell phone, he punches in a code and after two rings a lifeless computer drones in his ear in a poor facsimile of a woman's voice 'the subscriber you are trying to reach has moved out of reception range or is otherwise unavail-.' He snaps the phone shut.
"So, Duck," he asks, trying to mask his aggravation, "any conclusions?"
"Now, Jethro, you know I never give conclusions until after lunch," the shorter man admonishes. "However," he allows, picking up his black satchel and resting it on the bed, "I find no indication of a third party and the IGSR test on Mrs. Joralemon's hands is consistent with the visual evidence. The stippling on Captain Joralemon's body indicates the gun was fired from no more than approximately twelve to eighteen inches.
"Time of death is approximately between 8:00 and midnight, based upon the initial reports. COD is straightforward; three shots to the skull in his case, while one bullet entered through her upper palate and exited through the occipital bone. Death, in both cases, was instantaneous - but the main question awaits much deeper examination."
Gibbs knows he has received all that can be presented from an initial survey. More answers will await the more detailed examination in Autopsy and Abby's lab. But the main question in this case is 'Why?'
xxx
"I can't see the ticket office." Siobhan admits, trying to look through the crowd within the rides section.
"I'm taller, I could see it better."
"Can you find it?"
His head swivels to track three young women almost wearing a partial set of clothing between them. When he looks back to her, he's surprised to see her smiling. "What?"
"You weren't this easy to distract when we were younger," she quips.
"Yes I was," he maintains, still searching among the rides for the booth. "You were the one doing the distracting."
"And now?" she asks meaningfully.
He turns to her, completely lost for words. He has already made a fool of himself once for speaking instead of thinking. That is not going to happen again.
Since resuming his more 'casual' relationship with her since she had joined NCIS at his instigation, he's held himself in very careful check with her. On the one hand, they have an old and long history together, and quite an intimate one, but he cannot - will not - allow himself to forget that, in the intervening years that they'd been apart, she had become an Episcopal Priest.
"Well?" she urges, reminding him that she had asked a question.
"Shav, I-" He doesn't know what to say, cannot admit to what he would say to the lovely woman. "I–"
She steps in front of him, smiling that maddening smile, "Yes?"
"I–" He's relieved as a break in the crowd reveals his target. "I've found the ticket booth. Come on." He steps around her, quickly.
"On your sex, Timmy," she agrees.
He slams to a stop, looks back at the flame-haired woman. "That's 'Six'; as in behind."
"Exactly." She smiles sweetly at him as she steps past; "You have your fun, I'll have mine."
As she walks away, she adds a definite accent to the hip hugging shorts.
x
Siobhan admits to herself she shouldn't tease him so, but he's so uncomfortable and conflicted around her she would do anything to break through it. He had been the one who had suggested this afternoon as a way of spending time together away from the restrictions of their respective duties, but he's so uncomfortable in seeing her as a woman as well as a Priest that he cannot relax and see her for herself.
She's going to break through that.
Somehow.