AN: Nagging Cube, I used your nickname, like I said I would. Hope you don't mind.
Nat, I'd have replied to your review but the site didn't give me a link. So thanks!
Poisoned Poison
Chapter 3
At first Gibbs was tempted to let Ziva interrogate Sandra Strothers, but on reflection, he decided to do the job himself. If he'd left it to the Mossad officer, he'd most likely have had the minimum vital information in about thirty seconds flat, and a hysterical suspect incabable of saying anything else.
As they drove back to the Navy Yard, the unsuspecting Ms. Strothers kept up a steady stream of cheerful chatter. They hadn't arrested her; simply asked her politely if she could give them more information on the break-ins, the and how their security systems worked… she'd been happy to oblige, starting as soon as they got in the car, and smiling winsomely at the former marine.
Gibbs forced himself not to grind his teeth, or drive in his usual style, and even responded politely. Ziva, sitting in the back, had an almost overwhelming urge to pull out a knife and clean her fingernails with it. The silly woman wouldn't have noticed, she concluded. She had eyes only for Gibbs.
As they entered the building, the team leader began his questioning, without Ms. Strothers even noticing. "So, all the stuff that's brought to you… what happens to it?"
"Well, it's recycled, Mr. Gibbs," she said patiently, "People are only allowed to bring stuff that can be re-used."
Gibbs didn't give a hoot that he was being talked to like a five year old, as long as it got him what he wanted. "No, Ma'am, I mean exactly what happens to it? I get that you sort it, but then what? Where does it go?"
"Well, it's sold… to the building trade usually. It's cheaper than brand new stuff."
"Do you do the selling?"
"Oh, no… once it's sorted we never touch it again. It goes in bulk to the reclamation yard, and they sell it."
Gibbs inquired casually, "Do you ever spot anything you'd find useful yourself?" As he spoke, he opened a door, and invited her, with a gesture, to go through it ahead of him, and for the first time a flicker of alarm crossed her face. She wasn't so naïve that she'd never seen an interrogation room in a cop show on TV. He held the chair out for her to sit down, and took the one opposite. She tried not to look at herself in the mirror behind him.
"Well…" she began nervously, "We… er… it's not exactly legal, but it's a sort of a perk of the job… I mean, everybody does it… we don't take much."
That wasn't what Gibbs had asked; it would have been his next question, except that he'd been pretty sure he wouldn't need it. "So… if you wanted a bag of cement, or sand for instance… nobody would turn a hair if they saw you take one?"
"Well… I suppose the Director of Environmental Services might object… but then –" she tried a joke – "He might come down and take one himself. Nobody on the site would object…"
"So if it's openly done, is there any reason why you'd have to turn the cameras away, and come in at five am to take one?"
Now she understood the trouble she was in. "I… I don't know what you mean."
"Miz Strothers," Gibbs said lightly, "You're as bad a liar as you are a thief. You turned the cameras away from the sack you'd earmarked, but you left one pointing at the road, that filmed you in your car. You never thought to disguise yourself, so it's obvious from just the shadow who it is carrying that sack…" The manageress was white as a sheet by now, and pressing her hands up to her mouth. "What I need you to explain, though, is how you knew what was in there, and how you were able to leave it in plain sight for two days without anyone else touching it."
"I didn't know… I mean, I didn't –" Gibbs slammed his hand palm down on the table, and Sandra Strothers almost fell off her chair. Her bottom lip began to quiver. The senior agent shook his head almost imperceptibly. Yes, it definitely wouldn't have done to let Ziva do this.
In the observation room, the Israeli was thinking much the same thing. She sighed to herself. She actually rather liked her less violent statewide… no…stateside self… In Israel she'd have keyed herself up to make the suspect physically very unhappy, and would by now be bursting with unreleased tension because the woman had caved so easily. Maybe it was time to learn a new way of questioning… maybe Gibbs would one day let her do it his way…
The Boss simply repeated his question, without raising his voice. "How did you know what was in there?"
"Chaz told me."
"Chaz?"
"I don't know his other name. He works for the contractor who sent the load. He drove the dumpster truck, and when they'd unloaded, I saw him set the sack to one side. I thought he was earmarking it for himself, and he shouldn't do that without asking me, so I challenged him about it."
'Wonderful,' Gibbs thought, 'The petty pilferer objecting to some petty pilfering.'
"He looked guilty, and told me that there was something in there that was worth a fortune, and that if I kept it safe we could share it. We… we don't talk about it, it's sort of an unspoken understanding… that if we want something, each of us has a spot where we put whatever it is until we can take it away, and the others don't touch it…"
Gibbs gave a dry laugh. "If you don't talk about it you can pretend you're not doing it."
"Something like that… we don't take much…"
Gibbs didn't bother to laugh this time. "Did he tell you what it was, Miz Strothers?"
"I guessed," she said in a small voice, "So I asked him. Then he put the sack in my spot, and I checked that the camera was pointing at it."
"It didn't occur to you that the stuff was dangerous? That the one good thing to do would have been to call the DEA?" It was a rhetorical question, and certainly the woman didn't have an answer. She'd seen only dollar signs. He sighed, echoing the one that Ziva had made moments ago on the other side of the glass. "Do you know how many deaths that stuff has already been responsible for? And how dangerous the people are you're so willing to jump into bed with?" For some reason she actually looked offended at that comment. "You're lucky you're only looking at jail." He stood up abruptly and walked out of the room.
In the observation room, he spoke with Ziva. "I need to find out about this Chaz. Can you find out what they did with the stuff? Who they contacted? Anything else you can… without scaring her out of talking at all?"
Ziva lifted her chin, and suppressed a pleased smile. Then, remembering that she didn't have to suppress such things here, she beamed. "Yes, Gibbs, I can."
"Off you go, then." He left, wondering just how he'd pleased her so much. Sometimes he didn't understand women…
He half expected to find the terrible two in the bull-pen, but shrugged his shoulders… if Abby was keeping them out of mischief that had to be a Good Thing… He'd also half expected Fuller to still be around somewhere, because by rights Strothers was his affair, but the DEA chief had his own department to run…
He had begun, laboriously, to search for someone called Chaz, when DiNozzo came into the bullpen. He was struggling to get his arm back into its sling as he walked; he wasn't trying to hide what he was doing, but it still made Gibbs instantly suspicious.
"DiNozzo! Where have you been?"
Uh-oh… that huge, wide, innocent, dangerous grin, that always made him want to reach for the bourbon.
"Re-qualifying, Boss." As if it were the most obvious thing on earth.
"Me too, Boss," another voice said, as McGee entered the room. Gibbs thought he might be getting a headache. He said the only thing he could think of.
"How? I've got your Sigs."
"Yeah, well, we borrowed a couple from the armourer, that felt about the same as our own… then we swapped over, just to prove we could do it with any gun… you know the Probie's come on really well, Boss… reckon we could get him to do that trick where you use a mirror and fire over your shoulder… ouch, Boss… you better not do that to Timmy, he's just had a concussion…"
Tim kept silent, grateful that Tony's antics were keeping Gibbs' attention off him.
"Tell me again why we're doing this?"
"You don't have to, McCautious. But I know why I'm doing it." The SFA's voice softened. "And I know why you're doing it, too."
Tim knew by his tone that he did, and nothing more was said. Tony was doing it because no matter how mad it might make the Boss, he believed it was the right thing to do… and Tim wasn't going to see him face the wrath of Gibbs alone. He figured a guy who smashed a greenhouse to save his life, and by doing so put himself in the line of fire, had to be worth a dressing down.
"I don't suppose either of you thought to book your appointment with the department shrink?"
"Well, Boss… we know we have to at some point 'cuz we were injured in the line of duty; but we don't have to do that yet…"
Gibbs wondered if this was what an impending migraine felt like. The troublemint twins stood shoulder to shoulder, wearing the same innocent smile. If there was one thing he didn't want McGee to learn from Tony…
"Ya sure of that, DiNozzo? Becuz I'm beginning to wonder!"
"Ah. Well, since you're already doubting my sanity, this might be a good time to tell you…"
Gibbs listened to Tony's account of his day so far with mounting incredulity, but restrained himself from saying anything; after all, he owed the lunatic standing before him with his blue canvas sling and his white, pinched face a fair hearing. He didn't intend to stay silent for ever, gathering his anger together like an approaching storm-cloud, ready to release the thunder – until Tony's final words.
"You've seen the way he's been through this case, Boss… he lost his dog, then his team member; he didn't want to lose one of his scouts. Those kids are important, and they have guts, to do what they do. He's struggling on with an understaffed department, the kid called for help, and nobody had his back. I'd do it for you… hell… I'd do more for you… I can rest up when this is over. Struth, Boss, how would you have done it any differently?"
McGee spoke softly. "I'd have gone too if Tony had let me, Boss."
Gibbs closed his eyes, wrestling with himself. The legality of Tony's position was debatable; he was an agent, he'd been carrying his badge, but – ah, hell, there was no point in even debating it. Tony would always do what Tony believed was right, no matter what the consequences to himself – and that was what he was teaching McGee. The young man who had so much potential, and so much courage that he hadn't budged from Tony's shoulder, had to know, the same way that DiNozzo already did, that the Boss who demanded so much of them, understood and had their sixes no matter what.
He went to his desk, unlocked the deep bottom drawer and pulled out two Sigs and two Glocks in their holsters. He didn't need to even glance at them to know which weapons belonged to which agent. He handed them over silently, looked at the arm that was more out of than in its sling, and the yellowing bruises around Tim's eyes, then finally said, "You level with me. The first moment either of you feel you're not up to this, you admit it. You're back in the field. And I'm crazy."
"Thanks, Boss."
"On your six, Boss. So… let me guess… Ziva's with the manager lady. You think we should rescue her? The manager, I mean?"
"Let's go and find out. McGee… Guy called Chaz, works for the contractors that did the work for Izzy."
"Lindley and Krause."
"Yeah. Find out everything you can about him, text Ziva with his surname, then come and join us if we're not back."
"On it, Boss." Tim lowered himself into his chair and let out a shaky breath as he powered up… he'd just learned something very important about Gibbs. He knew what it was, and it felt good, but he pushed aside any attempt to put it into words, at least until he'd found the information the Boss needed.
Gibbs raised his eyebrows in inquiry at the technician as he and Tony stepped into the observation room. Ziva was leaning back in her chair, her face expressionless as the woman opposite her sat and sniffled. "She's doing fine, Gibbs," the tech told him cheerfully. "D'you want to see?" She flicked a switch, and they watched.
"So… you agreed to look after $2,000.000 of drugs for a man whose surname you do not even know."
"Two million?" Strothers gasped. "He told me fifty thousand! The cheating –" she shut up suddenly and her face acquired a mulish expression.
"Oh, please do not stop now! You have done such a wonderful job of incriminating yourself – I am sure you can do an even better one on him!"
"Wow," Tony said, entranced. "Ziva and sarcasm!"
"I don't know anything!"
"Where did you take the cocaine when you removed it from the yard?"
"I put it in my garage. Chaz came by on his way to work and took it away. I don't know where he took it." Ms. Strothers sniffed loudly. Ziva pulled a handy-size pack of tissues from her pocket and passed it across the table without comment. Ms. Strothers blew her nose.
"Where did he take it to?"
"I don't know!"
"What was he intending to do with it?"
"I don't know that either!"
"Hmm… his concept of 'sharing' and yours seem to be rather different. Did he mention any other names?"
"No!"Ziva gave her a look that said 'I do not believe you and I am becoming very bored', and the manager shrank down in her seat. She sat for a long time, silent except for the odd sniff. Ziva neither moved nor spoke. "Yes… er… he said I'd get my share as soon as he'd talked to someone called Stork."
Ziva blinked. "Stork? As in the bird?"
"Yes! That's all I know."
Ziva yawned. "Try harder, Miz Strothers."
The tech smiled. "That's where we're up to," she said. "They've not spoken for nearly five minutes, but the lady keeps sniffing like a dripping tap. Officer David yawns occasionally, but doesn't make a big deal of –" She broke off, as Ziva pushed her hand into her hip pocket, and gently eased her cell-phone out. She glanced down, and smiled very slightly, then just as discreetly put the phone away again.
After a few moments, she said, "So… Chaz Tressel… you know he has a record, and you still trusted him?"
"I didn't know – how did you know his name? He said –"
"Yes? He said? Miz Strothers, if you know anything more, and I am quite certain you do, now is the only chance you will get to tell us. When we find out without your help, you are no longer of any use to us, and you will have to take your own chances with the judge. Now, as I said, try harder!"
"He…" sniff – "he asked me if I had any cement in the yard… he said he thought it wasn't cut – is that the word? – much, and he was going to make it go further. I gave him a bag… about an hour before you arrived. That's all I know!" she wailed. Ziva got up and left her.
"Cement," Tony said disgustedly. "Inflammation to the nasal passages and the lungs…well I suppose it's better than being dead." Gibbs nodded soberly, and a moment later Ziva entered the observation room.
"Nice work, Ziver," Gibbs said.
"And well done for keeping your hands off her," Tony added.
Ziva shrugged. "She is beneath contempt," she said matter-of-factly. "I think she finally spoke truly. That is all she knows. The text from McGee came at a good moment. I was contemplating a more physical approach –" she broke off as Tony's phone buzzed.
"Yeah, Kent. Yeah, he's here." His face went hard. "Three. Are they alive? Two. Shit. Yeah, I'll tell him. We're on our way." He disconnected, and looked at Gibbs, his eyes blazing now with anger. He glanced through the glass at the woman sitting there, then turned away. "Potomac park, Boss," he said flatly. "Three young men having a farewell speedball party. Starling stuff. Two marines about to start their first Iraqui tour, and a pal…" His jaw tightened, as he bitterly remembered his earlier comment. "The pal and one marine are dead"
AN: Sorry, a day late…once I start a story I try to post every other day, but RL had the nerve to intrude.
