Dressed in green surgical scrubs, Dr. Douglas "Ducky" Mallard stared at the young face on his autopsy table. "Oh, my dear, you are far too young to go through such horrors." His skilled hands explored her neck before he looked up at the x-rays.

"Whatcha got, Ducky?" Gibbs said, walking in with a cup of coffee.

"Not much, Jethro. Dr. Rollin's diagnosis of a broken neck is confirmed. Our killer placed his hands here," pointing to the left side of her face, "and here," pointing to the back of her head, "snapping her neck. Instantaneous death." He sighed. There's bruising all over her body, especially her forearms. Defensive wounds, probably during the initial attack."

"Rape kit?"

"I haven't done one yet, but there's no visible signs to suggest that a sexual assault took place. He beat this poor thing nearly to death before breaking her neck."

"How long do you think the beating lasted?"

"Hard to say. When was she abducted? Was she reported missing by anyone?"

"Working on it."

Ducky looked at Gibbs for a minute. "Are you looking for something in particular, Jethro?" Gibbs pulled the evidence bag out of his pocket and handed it to Ducky. As he read the paper, he nodded. "I see. You think this is Curtis Gentry. But isn't he locked up doing life without parole?"

"He's supposed to be, Ducky," Gibbs replied, taking the poem and replacing it in his pocket. He threw his cup away as he walked toward the door. "If he's there, we've got a copycat. If he isn't there, somebody better tell me why."

­

Down in the bullpen, Tony and Kate got off the elevator, the latter pushing a cart loaded with boxes. Stopping in front of their desks, they dropped their bags and shed their coats. "How's it going, Probbie?" Tony said, sitting down.

"Look up at the screen." McGee tapped the keyboard, and a picture of a young woman in a naval uniform popped up on the big monitor by his desk. "Lt. Sheila Byers, age 24. Lives in an apartment near the Judge Advocate headquarters, where she works as a paralegal. Parents are still living in Dallas; two siblings, a brother Marc, who lives in California, and a sister, Elizabeth, who attends the University of …what's the matter, Tony?"

Tony stared intently at the screen. "Is it just me, or does anyone else think she looks just like Kate?"

"She does not look like me, Tony." Kate stared at the screen again. "We just happen to have the same hair color, which proves you have a thing for brunettes, DiNozzo."

"Don't forget blondes and redheads, Kate," Tony grinned. "I never discriminate."

McGee interrupted them. "No, Tony's right, Kate. It's not just the hair."

"What does DiNozzo THINK he is right about?" Gibbs said, coming in.

"Tony thinks that Sheila Byers looks like me, Gibbs. I said it just proves he has a thing for brunettes."

Looking at the photo, then Kate, Gibbs nodded. He's right, Kate. She does look like you." He looked at the cart. "Are those the boxes I asked for?"

"Yes, boss," Tony replied. "All the files and evidence from the Alexander case, as well as everything I could find on Curtis Gentry."

"McGee, what did you find on Gentry?"

Swallowing hard, McGee nervously hit a few more keys, and Sheila's picture was replaced with one of a rugged man, who was looking at them with dull grey eyes that stood out because of his dark hair. "Curtis Gentry, convicted over seven years ago for the murder of Lt. Rebecca Alexander. Former marine, served during Desert Storm. Divorced, no children, no known living relatives. Sentenced to Leavenworth in 2001." He abruptly stopped.

"Anything else, McGee?"

"Well, according to prison records, Curtis Gentry was found unresponsive in his cell, transported to the clinic, but died a short time later. Tests found cyanide on his dessert, a brownie."

"When?"

"Two years ago."

Gibbs stared at Gentry's picture. "If Gentry is dead, then who killed Sheila Byers and left that poem on her body?"