"How does a straight-laced Petty Officer who is in New York to participate on some egg-head game show, end up in a Chinatown alleyway with a bullet in her head?" Tony asked. He clicked a picture of said Petty Officer who lay below. She had been a beautiful girl, now left for maggot food.

"That's what we're here to find out," a gruff Gibbs responded. "Got me a T.O.D., Duck?"

The ME had just pulled the liver probe out of the young victim and, with the body temperature and ambient temperature, he quickly calculated in his mind. "I would estimate that she was killed nearly twelve hours ago."

"That all you can tell?"

"No, Jethro, I can also tell you that this young woman was killed somewhere else and then the body was moved here. I would also guess that cause of death was the bullet to the head, but, of course, I'd rather wait to get her back to the autopsy room before giving you a definite answer."

Gibbs stood, jerking his thumb out of the alley. "Ziva, see if there's blood anywhere nearby. Our P.O. was killed elsewhere."

"Uh, boss?" Tim called tentatively.

Gibbs turned and saw the young agent holding a small bag of a powdery, white substance. "It was in her pocket," Tim explained as Gibbs took it from his grasp.

"Cocaine."

"Think this was a drug deal gone bad, boss?"

"Well, I don't know, McGee." Gibbs handed the small bag back to Tim. "See if you can pick up a print from the plastic bag."

"There was no mention of drug use from her C.O.," Tim mentioned. "Could be someone trying to point us in the wrong direction."

"Think he hasn't already thought of that, McGee?" Tony asked.

Tim frowned at his colleagues patronizing tone. "I was just making a point, Tony."

"And I was just making a point that it doesn't take a genius to recognize that the cocaine conveniently placed in her pocket could be a red herring."

A shrill whistle broke up the bickering and pair looked to see Gibbs giving them both a hard glare. "I have given you each something to do. If that's not enough to keep you from bickering like children, I'm sure I could give you more."

"No, boss," they mumbled in tandem. Tony went back to taking pictures while Tim grabbed the print kit and tried to dust a print off the surface of the bag.

"Interesting," Ducky muttered.

Gibbs knelt beside him. "What have you got?"

"The bullet is still implanted within her skull," he explained, lifting the head and turning it as to allow Gibbs to see. "And the bullet has been smashed, nearly flattened."

Gibbs tilted his head to the side as he examined the bullet that was peeking out between the broken, blood-soaked skin. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine P.O. Kaufman in her final moments. "She was lying down," he said as he too lay down. "The shooter was above her."

"Perhaps she fell," Ducky suggested. He leaned over Gibbs, pressing a forefinger to the man's head. "The bullet entered here, but the gun wasn't directly against the skin." He stood and stalked around to the other side of Gibbs so that his feet stood right against Gibbs' head. "The shooter was standing right here."

"If she'd been pushed, the shooter would have been on the other side of her."

Tony glanced over at the impromptu re-enactment. "She was running from someone. She slipped and fell onto her back. Whoever was chasing her caught up to her and bang!"

"Very eloquent, Anthony."

Ziva reappeared at the entrance to the alley. "Gibbs, there is blood spatter on the concrete at the corner."

"Yeah, I'm coming!" he called as he stood and brushed himself off. "Duck, get our Petty Officer out and back to D.C. Let me know if you find anything suspicious."

"Don't I always, Jethro?" the older man asked with a smile. Gibbs gave him a friendly pat on the back before jogging toward Ziva.

"Ah, such a pity," Ducky said softly to the dead woman. "A beautiful woman with a beautiful mind, gone to waste."

Claudia Jackson, the executive producer for Fountain of Knowledge, was a blunt and slightly acerbic woman with no patience for weakness or failure. Her voice indicated that she'd been a chain smoker for quite some years now and that it may not be long before she had to talk through a hole in her throat. "You can't be in this business and not smoke, Agent Gibbs," she rasped out as she lit up a cigarette while Gibbs and Tim sat before her. "This…P.O. Kaufman's death is just another nail in the coffin of what is becoming a crappy two months."

Both Gibbs and Tim had a feeling that her frustration and sorrow wasn't due to the fact that a woman had just been killed, but rather due to having to find another military officer to compete in the Military Tournament that her show had been hosting for the last couple of months. People from all branches of the military had been brought in to compete in the tournament. It was being used in an attempt to popularize the armed forces as well as gain viewers for the floundering game show. That day was to have been P.O. Kaufaman's first competition. Had she won, she would have advanced on to the finals, competing with all of the others who had won so far.

"Had Kaufman seemed at all unusual, Ms. Jackson?"

Claudia let out a slow exhale of smoke before answering Gibbs' question. "I only met her for the first time yesterday, Agent Gibbs, and that had only been for all of five seconds. The girl could have been ODing on crystal meth and I don't know that I would have noticed." She stopped the cigarette in her over-flowing ashtray and lit up a fresh one. "God, I should never have agreed to this," she muttered before sucking in the taste of nicotine.

"Have there been any problems with contestants lately?" Tim asked. "You said this was the last nail."

"There are always problems, Agent McGee. Contestants try to fight us when they lose, contestants try to fight each other before the competitions, the studio is snapping at my heels over our ratings, and that damn Plessy has suddenly decided that he needs a raise!"

"Plessy, uh, that's Martin Plessy, your host."

"Yeah," she affirmed. Her finger adeptly flicked ash off the cigarette into the ashtray. "For some reason he seems to think we're doing well enough for a pay increase. Sweetie, I can't even get a pay increase at the rate we're going."

"Why would P.O. Kaufman have been in Chinatown at all last night? Don't you provide meals for the contestants?"

"Sure we do, but even I wouldn't touch half the stuff we serve them. Most of our contestants prefer to fend for themselves." Claudia shrugged, adding, "Besides, so many of them have never been to New York, they like to see the sights."

"Do you think any of the contestants could have seen her as a threat and killed her?"

"It's possible. Some of our military contestants have shown huge ego and a competitive spirit. I just don't see how anyone would know whether or not she was a threat considering her first episode hadn't been taped yet."

At this point they were getting nowhere. They had no concrete motive, no witnesses, no leads, and no idea where they were going with this investigation. Gibbs only hoped that Ziva and Tony, who were currently interviewing contestants of the show, were having more luck.

"We got nothing, boss," Tony proclaimed as the group reconvened. "Kaufman has just arrived yesterday and hadn't really spoken to anyone. She left the hotel around 16:00 for some private sight-seeing. She asked the front desk to recommend some good places. He admits he suggested some little restaurant in Chinatown."

"The restaurant in question is about five blocks away from where she was found," Ziva told him. "The only other thing of interest is that Mr., ah, Plessy, the show's host, he said that P.O. Kaufman had seemed jumpy when they were introduced."

"Maybe it was drugs after all, boss."

"Drugs aren't the only reason to be jumpy, DiNozzo."

The group made their way out of the hotel and Gibbs pulled them off to where the truck and car were parked. "We need a set of eyes and ears in there. If Kaufman's murder is at all connected to her participation in this game show, we'll have better luck with someone in there."

"You want me to pose as Kaufman's replacement, boss?" Tony asked, his eyes already gleaming at the notion of going under cover.

"No, Tony, not you." Gibbs looked to the young computer geek. "You."

"Me?" Tim asked just as Tony exclaimed, "McGeek?"

"Who better to compete on a game show than a geek, Tony?" Ziva asked with a bemused smirk.

"Most of them have already seen you, Tony, and they know you're investigating the murder. The only person who's seen Tim was the executive producer. Besides, we'll need someone who can stay in the competition as long as possible."

"Ah, boss, does this mean I'll have to…you know…be on TV?" Tim asked nervously. "Because I, uh, I get nervous and those lights make me sweat…" But his concerns fell on deaf ears.

Gibbs pulled open the door to the truck. "Ziva, I want you to drive everything from the crime scene back to Abby. I'll be following behind in the car and we'll both drive back up together."

"McGee, find the nearest walk-in place you can and get a haircut. Then I want you and Tony wired up." He thrust a set of ear wigs and receivers into Tim's hands. "We'll explain to Ms. Jackson that McGee will be filling in Kaufman's spot. Tony, you will be in the audience when McGee is on. McGee is our eyes backstage and you're our eyes out front."

"What if Jackson doesn't let you choose your own replacement?"

"She will, Tony," Tim assured him with a resigned pout. "She was already desperate to find a replacement so she'll probably kiss Gibbs' feet for suggesting one."

Tony slapped Tim on the back with one hand and patted the young agent's stomach with the other. "Just remember to suck in that gut, Elf Lord. Camera adds about ten pounds."