Olivia Jenkins did not look like your typical grandmother. Tall and wiry with well-kept blonde hair, the septuagenarian wore a well-tailored paisley suit with five-inch heels and a rose print scarf wrapped around her head in a Marilyn Monroe sort of fashion. She didn't look like the type to spend her days quilting and baking cookies. In fact, if you erased the wrinkles that had managed to sneak across her face you might swear she was posing for a fashion magazine.
Three times a wife—twice divorced and once widowed—Olivia had done her share of living. She had gotten her start in fashion at a young age, posing for odd jobs here and there. At eighteen she met her first husband, an oil tycoon by the name of Calvin Miller. When they divorced eight years later, she took with her half of his assets and used it to open her own fashion boutique in downtown Washington, D.C. Her second husband, Lou Silverstein, had also been wealthy, mostly due in part to his embezzling. When the authorities closed in on him, he fled the country with his mistress, leaving Olivia fuming.
Last, but not at all least, was Ray Jenkins, an Army Captain, who turned out to be the first decent man in her life. Together they produced one son—Randy—before Ray died of a heart attack in 1984. She went on to juggle her shop with raising her son alone. If there was one word for Olivia Jenkins, it was "tough."
However, tough or not, there was no doubt that she cared deeply for her only grandson. Gibbs met her at the elevator and led her to the bullpen, calmly explaining that Riley wasn't hurt.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," she said. "I was doing inventory at my shop when the call came in. Daisy, the girl at the front desk didn't come and tell me until half an hour later and by then I was knee-deep in a shipment of scarves. If Daisy thinks she's going to be named manager when I retire, she is sorely mistaken," Olivia said in a huff as she removed the scarf from her head. "What's wrong with Riley? He's not hurt, is he?"
"No, ma'am. He's safe and sound."
"Then what is this all about, Agent Gibbs?"
"He witnessed a crime."
"You mean a burglary or something like that?"
"No, ma'am, I'm afraid it was more severe than that. A man was murdered and he seems to have been the only one to see it."
She paled and fell into an open chair, fanning herself. "Oh, no…no, not Riley…where is he?" she asked, looking around frantically.
"He's down in the forensics lab talking with our scientist to put together a sketch. Once he's finished we'll bring him up here."
"And then what, Agent Gibbs? I know there's something you're not telling me."
"We have reason to believe the killer saw Riley."
"And you think the man would…hurt him?"
"If he had to."
Olivia closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay back. "You can't let that happen."
"We don't plan to. You and he will have to be moved to a safe house for the time being."
"Me too?"
"Yes, ma'am. If this man thinks he can get to Riley by hurting you, he'll try it. We don't want to take any chances."
She nodded. "I understand, Agent Gibbs. I…" She stopped, losing the words. "This is the kind of thing you think only happens to other people. You never think it could happen to you or your loved ones. If I lost Riley I…well, he's all I have left in this world."
"Can I get you some coffee?"
"No, I don't drink coffee. It stains my teeth. Some tea, though, would be lovely. Thank you."
He gave her hand a squeeze and headed to hunt down a cup of tea. Ducky would be back by now and usually had some on hand. Gibbs wanted to speak with him anyway about the body. He nodded to the guard to keep an eye on Olivia and headed down to Autopsy.
"I remember my time spent camping. Not my hobby of choice, but I suppose it helped mold me into the man I am today," Ducky said as he and Jimmy conducted the autopsy.
Jimmy raised his eyebrows in amusement. "You were a boy scout, Dr. Mallard?"
"Heavens no! My father, however, was an avid outdoorsman. He believed it built character and gave a child the right perspective on life. How sleeping outside can give you anything other than bug bites and knots in your back, I'll never know, but I spent one week every summer camping with him from the time I was five until I was thirteen."
"Yeah," Jimmy said with a nod, "camping wasn't really my thing either. My parents tried to put me in the boy scouts, but I got bit by a black widow and had to be rushed to the hospital."
"Well, they took you out over one spider bite?"
"Actually," Jimmy admitted sheepishly, "it happened three different times, and then twice by a brown recluse. I don't know how I managed to attract them, but my parents decided it was a sign that I didn't belong in the scouts. Though, my time spent in the hospital is what got me interested in medicine."
"Yes, our ambitions can often come from the most unlikely of circumstances," Ducky muttered as he peered into the chest cavity. "Ah-ha, there you are," he said, extracting one of the bullets from its place. "Three rounds to the heart."
"Wow! All of them ended up pretty close together."
"Yes, Mr. Palmer. I would say our shooter has experience with firearms. He certainly knew what he was doing."
The "whoosh" of the Autopsy doors barely registered on them before they heard Gibbs' voice. "I hope you've got something for me, Duck."
"I do. At least, I have them for Abigail, whom I'm sure will be able to give you something from them."
"A bullet?"
"Yes. Three, to be exact." He dropped them into the open specimen jars that Jimmy held in front of him. "They were all well clustered in this poor man's heart."
"Hell of a shot," Gibbs muttered. "This was a professional.
"I'm afraid so."
"Got a positive I.D. on him?" The man had been wearing his dog tags when they found him, but they didn't like to jump to conclusions when it came to identities. Dog tags could be wrong, after all.
"Yes; dental records show that this is in fact Corporal Theodore Hartman."
Gibbs nodded. "I'll have someone alert his family. Anything else?"
"Not at the moment. How is the poor boy doing?"
"He's still with Abby and McGee, helping with the composite sketch."
"Yes, well I'm sure he's hoping to forget this traumatic event."
"His grandmother's here. Maybe that'll calm him down."
"Was he hysterical when you spoke with him?"
"No…just quiet. Very quiet. He's young, Duck, but I get the feeling he's more observant than people think. He's very expressive, even if he isn't saying much."
"Does he remind you of someone?" Ducky asked with a budding smile.
The smile was contagious enough that a trace of it came over Gibbs. There was a bit of Timothy McGee in Riley, there was no denying it. "I'm sure McGee sees it too."
"Yes, well I'm afraid I have nothing more to tell you at this point. It seems Corporal Hartman has said all he has to say."
"We'll see what Abby can get from the bullets. Now, do you have any tea on hand?"
"Of course, Jethro, but I never took you as a fan."
"Not for me; for Olivia Perkins, Riley's grandmother."
"Ah, well I'm happy to spare some Darjeeling. Do you know how she takes it?" Upon seeing Gibbs' exaggerated eye roll, he chuckled softly. "Of course. I'll bring a little honey and a little sugar, just in case."
"Thanks, Duck. She's up in the bullpen. Just bring it up when it's ready. I'm sure she could use the company."
"His nose was bigger…I think."
"You think?"
"I couldn't really see him too good."
Riley was seated between Tim and Abby as they put together a composite of their suspect. His arms were perched up with his elbows on the table and his cheeks were settled atop his fisted hands as he stared at the computer screen. It had taken a lot of coddling to get him to open up, but they were finally starting to get somewhere.
"What about his eyes?" Abby asked.
"Dark. And really narrow."
"Close to his nose?"
Riley shrugged.
"Did he have any marks on him? Like a tattoo or a scar?"
Again, he shrugged.
"Is there anything specific about him that you can remember? Anything that seemed strange?"
Riley considered this, silently sucking his thumb as he thought back to what he saw a few hours earlier. "Um…he was wearing a jacket. It was red and had a turtle on it."
"A turtle?" Tim echoed. "You mean like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"
"No, it wasn't like that. He was kind of…um…brown. And he had a big 'M' on his chest."
"An 'M'?" Tim furrowed his brow. What kind of turtle had a big 'M' on his chest?
"Testudo!" Abby exclaimed. She exited out of the composite and logged onto the internet.
"The genus of tortoise?" Tim asked.
"No," Abby said as she entered something in to the search engine, "I mean the University of Maryland mascot. He's a diamondback terrapin named Testudo and he has a big red 'M' on his chest."
"You seem to know an awful lot about University of Maryland."
"Yeah, well I briefly dated a guy who was on the football team there." Upon catching Tim's amused look, Abby added with a shudder, "It was a pretty dark time in my life. He had this habit anytime we were in his car where he would—"
"Abby," Tim interrupted, gesturing to Riley.
"Oh, right," she said, her cheeks turning red. "That'll be a story for another time."
She brought up picture results from her search and clicked on the first one. "Is that the turtle you saw on the jacket?"
"Uh-huh," Riley said, nodding his head. "That's the jacket he was wearing."
"Well, at least we're getting somewhere," Tim said with a tinge of optimism in the voice.
"I hope that 'somewhere' will lead us to this guy soon."
Gibbs was in the doorway, holding in one hand his customary Caf-Pow for Abby and, in the other, a soda from the machine, which he handed off to Riley. "Your grandmother's here."
"Can I see her?"
"Sure. We just need to ask you a couple of things first, see if we can track your memory."
"I already told them everything."
"We've got a composite that's good enough for a BOLO," Abby said, "and Riley helped us figure out that our killer was wearing a University of Maryland jacket, so we should check their rosters for students and past students."
"That's good work," Gibbs said as he knelt down to Riley's level. "Anything else you remember?"
"No."
"Nothing? What were they saying?"
"They were fighting."
"About what?"
"I…I can't remember. The dead guy said something about someone being in the hospital."
"And what did the shooter say?"
"He said the other guy had stabbed him in the back."
"What else?"
"I don't remember," he said with frustration.
"Do you remember seeing anything else? Anything other than the two men? Another person maybe?"
"No…but there was a truck."
Gibbs' interest was caught. "What kind of truck?"
"A pick-up truck. It was black."
A black pick-up truck. Lloyd Robbins had seen one pass while he'd been waiting at the bathroom. Gibbs asked if Riley had seen a license plate, but wasn't surprised when Riley shook his head. Still, they had a good amount to go on. Tony and Ziva were upstairs probing into Cpl. Hartman's life. With luck, they'd find the missing link to their killer and Riley and his grandmother would be able to sleep easy that night.
"Can I go see Gran Gran now?" Riley asked.
Gibbs gave him a gentle pat on the head. "Yeah. McGee, you and Riley head up. She's up in the squad room."
"Poor kid," Abby said once Tim and Riley were gone. "I can't imagine seeing someone get shot at that age. You think he'll be okay?"
Gibbs nodded to the composite sketch. "I think we need to find this guy before we can even hope he will be."
