Gibbs set two cups of coffee on the conference room table and pushed one across it as he sat. Burt Avery removed the lid and inhaled. "You don't skimp on quality here, do you, Agent Gibbs?"

"Least I can do." He sipped his own coffee, watching and waiting.

Avery continued, "All Marion ever makes is that instant shit, if you'll pardon my language."

"Doesn't offend me."

"I wouldn't imagine it would, but…" he coughed harshly, covering his mouth with a closed fist. "Manners, and all that."

Gibbs was fairly certain that Avery wanted to talk, had something he needed to say. No reason to push yet. There was a long stretch during which coffee was liberally consumed. "Where did you serve?"

Avery nodded with a knowing smile. "One Marine always knows another. Is it the hair?"

"Yeah. And your Eagle, Globe and Anchor."

He pulled up his sleeve to reveal the entire tattoo on his forearm. "Didn't get it 'til I got home from Korea. My older brother served in the Pacific during World War II, the Marianas campaign. He was stationed on Tinian when…well, he really hated Spam when the war was over," he finished lamely. Gibbs allowed him a moment and he eventually continued, "I wanted to be just like him, so I volunteered when I found out I could be in a war. He asked me not to go, but he never told me what it felt like to kill another man."

"Not good," Gibbs said simply, not wanting to turn the conversation around on himself.

"Spoken like a man who knows. But I'm not here to talk about my service record, though. Unless it turns out they discharged me early and this has all been a cruel prank to squeeze and extra month out of me…" He tried to smile, but managed only a twitch at the corners of his mouth. "No, you don't strike me as a cruel man, Agent Gibbs."

He shrugged. "Depends on who you ask. Some people might say yes."

"I bet they're all in jail." Avery tipped his cup upside down, holding the position for a moment as if he wanted to ensure he finished every last drop of coffee. He placed it on the table a moment later with a hollow clack. "Can't trust a man from jail."

"Mr. Avery…"

"Is my grandson all right?" he asked unexpectedly.

"He's with two of my agents."

"I noticed he was partial to that pretty girl." He shook his head. "Quite the little lady-killer-in-training. And Marion is being questioned too?"

Gibbs cocked his head, sensing he was getting close. "Have I asked you any questions?"

"No. No, sir, you haven't. Not about…this, anyway. And I don't know if I should thank you or be disappointed."

"Meaning?"

"My daughter and her husband were murdered today. I'd have expected you to be a little more concerned with finding the man who did it than with making me feel comfortable."

"Mr. Avery, I can assure you that we are going to do everything in our power to find the person or persons responsible." Now was the right time. "Is there anything you think you could tell me to help us do that?"

He frowned and tented his fingers on the table. "You're sure that Marion won't be storming in?"

"I'm sure Agent DiNozzo has her occupied."


"Ziva…I mean Officer David and Agent McGee are perfectly capable of looking out for your grandson, Mrs. Avery," Tony pleaded, beginning to lose his patience. Sure, the woman had lost her daughter and son-in-law a few hours before, but that was no reason to try running out of the conference room every few minutes. He blocked the door, praying that she wouldn't resort to blows below the belt; Ziva and McGee would never let him hear the end of it if he let an old lady beat him up. "Please, the sooner you sit down, the sooner we'll finish and the sooner you can see little Harry again. Mmkay?"

"You just don't understand! We waited so long for him…Joanne's first marriage, then her divorce, and when she met Greg, they just waited so long to get pregnant and…"

"Whoa, slow down. Joanne had a previous marriage?"

"Yes. Is that important?"

"We won't know unless you tell me about it." He put on his most charming DiNozzo smile – the one he used to annoy Ziva when he knew she wouldn't like the answer to a question. "I know you've been through a lot today, but let's sit down and talk about it."

"Yes, I have." She gave a last fleeting glance toward the door before sinking into her chair on the opposite side of the table. "What did you want to know?"

"Joanne's first husband?"

"Chris. He was a nice boy. I still don't know why it didn't work out. What are irreconcilable differences?"

"I think it depends on the people." He decided not to describe it based on his father's third wife, instead asking, "What's this guy's full name?"

"Christopher Harrington. I think his middle name is Nathaniel. Oh! Esq. on the end. He's a lawyer."

"With a name like that…" Tony muttered, adding the title to his notes. "And where could we find Mr. Harrington, Esq.?"

He tensed as she made a move like she was going to shoot out of her chair again. "He can't have had anything to do with this! I know they divorced, but that was almost ten years ago. They met in college and got carried away. I'm sure he'll be devastated to hear about…" She dissolved into sobs and Tony was relieved to find her jerking motion had just been a reach for the box of tissues in the middle of the table.

"And if you tell me where I can find him, we'll be able to confirm that."

"He…the last I knew, he was with a big firm in Philadelphia. I don't remember the name."

"Not a problem." Philadelphia lawyer? Tracking Harrington was going to be the easiest thing he did that day. Was Joey still on PPD? He had some other people he could call if Joey wasn't; he made a note next to Harrington's name and looked up. "Had either your daughter or son-in-law been having any problems lately?"

"What do you mean, problems?"

"Well…marital problems, or anyone who might be angry with them, any enemies…"

"Joanne and Greg were both good people who loved each other very much! I can't imagine anyone ever wanting to hurt either of them." She stood again. "I would really like to see my grandson now."

Tony pushed his wheeled chair in front of the door. Leaning back, he sighed. "You can see him once we're done here. You really don't have to worry about him. He's got two NCIS agents with him who aren't letting him out of their sight."


McGee stood outside the men's bathroom, regarding Ziva as she casually leaned against the wall after turning away two people who had wanted to go in. "Wouldn't it have been easier for me to go in with him?"

"He made a point of saying he could do it himself. If we show that we trust him, he will be led to trust us more."

"Did Ducky say that? Because I got lost about two sentences into whatever he was saying about dissociative states. Something about psychology just shuts my brain off."

She raised an eyebrow but said, "You cleared the room before he went in and we've been outside ever since. Unless he has climbed out through a ventilation duct, I don't think we have anything to worry about."

Walking to the opposite side of the wide hallway, McGee looked at Ziva carefully. She was relaxed; it might be safe to ask her…not like she could deny it now. "So…are you happy you're finally getting a chance to show off your Harry Potter expertise?"

"Finally?"

"Yeah. Remember during that case we had when you first joined the team?" He blinked and a mummified hand gripping a map was clearly visible on the inside of his eyelids. "We opened that safety deposit box and the first thing you said was that it reminded you of Harry Potter."

"That was over two years ago." She shook her head, a few soft chuckles telling him that it was okay to go a little further.

"Right, but then you denied it. And I didn't argue because I was afraid you'd do I don't know what – but I knew there was something there."

"You assumed that I was some Harry Potter freak because I said something eerie reminded me of one of the novels?"

"No, I thought you were a Harry Potter freak because you were making a specific allusion to the Hand of Destiny." He kept his expression neutral and waited.

She rolled her eyes and, as expected, corrected him, "Hand of Glory, McGee."

"So…not a Harry Potter freak?"

"I never said…" She was momentarily flustered. "What, exactly, is your point?"

"Just saying." He puffed out his chest, waggled his finger and tried a Tony line, "You think you're so mysterious, but I've had you figured out longer than you think."

She wasn't impressed in the least. "As evidenced by Officer Lisa?"

McGee felt the wind drop from his sails. "Just because she's based on you doesn't mean she has all your personality traits or habits or…"

"Quit while you're ahead. Unless you don't have me figured out well enough to know what happens next."

"I'd probably have more reason to be afraid if I were Tony," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"I said I have reason to be afraid." He turned to a careful contemplation of the bathroom door. "Should we check on him? He's been in there an awfully long…" The door made three abortive swings in before opening wide enough to allow the passage of a seven year old. "Oh, hey. All set?"

Harry held his hands up. "I washed really good. Can I have a snack?"

Ziva reached down, took his hand and began leading him the direction of the vending machines. "What would you like?"

"Do you have Every Flavor Beans?"

"Remember what I told you?"

"Right. Muggle stuff only." He smiled up at her adoringly. McGee couldn't help but smile too. Before leaving the crime scene, they'd hastily come up with a story about being undercover wizards who worked to keep the wizarding world secret from Muggles by arresting wizard criminals. As a result, they were limited in their permission to use magic or access magical products. The explanation had been satisfactory to Harry, as they were treating all the terms he used as legitimate; Ducky had thought the best course of action for the present would be to make him feel safe and understood.

For his part, Harry didn't seem terribly bothered that his parents had been murdered, or that he had watched one of the murders occur. Ducky had explained that it was all part of the coping mechanism that had brought on Harry Nelson's belief that he was Harry Potter in the first place, but McGee still found it a little weird that the boy could be excited about the fruit snacks in the vending machine, given the circumstances. Ziva just led him to the juice machine, entertaining no protests that he preferred soda. "We're going to have lunch in a little while and you can have a soda then if you would like one."

"Deal."

When Harry was resettled at Ziva's desk and eating his snack, McGee took the opportunity to whisper to her, "I didn't realize you'd be so good with kids."

"I don't see why not. It's the same way I handle Tony, just with different motivators. Do you think he regularly chooses pizza or…"

"I get it!" McGee pursed his lips for a moment. "Where is Tony?"


"Are we done yet?"

Tony felt the plastic in his pen stretching as he did his best not to snap it. "Just a few more questions, Mrs. Avery. When was the last time you spoke to your daughter?"

"I told that other man earlier – the one with the grey hair!" She toyed with the pile of used tissues in front of her. "I would really like to see Harry now."

"We're almost done. Please, just…humor me."

"Fine. I spoke with Joanne this morning, she was calling to tell me we didn't have to pick up Harry from school because he was sick, and that was the last time I…" She grabbed a fresh tissue as the tears started again. "That was the last time I'm ever going to speak to my little girl."

Tony waited for the tide to ebb before asking, "Did you get the impression that she was worried about anything?"

"Worried?" The red-rimmed eyes that confronted him were something right out of a horror movie. "Do you understand that my daughter is dead? DEAD?"

"Do you understand that I am trying to do my job to catch the person that did it?"

"You could be a little more understanding about it," she sniffed.

"It's my last question," Tony protested, wishing he'd been given some backup for this not-quite interrogation. "And please remember that I'm only trying to help."

"What was the question?" she asked, a little more brusquely than he thought was necessary, given his compassionate tone.

He let it go. "Did your daughter seem worried about anything when you spoke with her?"

"Only about Harry. He had thrown up earlier that day and that was why he was out of school. Can I see him now?"

"Yeah, fine. Let's go down to the bullpen." She nearly bowled him over on her way out the door. "Yeah, I'll just follow you down there." He waited patiently at the doorway for her to discover the left she'd taken in her rush had been a dead end. When she reappeared, he waved her toward the stairs. "This way, Mrs. Avery."

"I hope you've been treating Burt better," she huffed, "because he wouldn't stand for this kind of disrespect."


"I think she told me things she didn't tell her mother. Daddy's little girl, you know."

Gibbs nodded, pen poised over his notepad as he waited for Avery's confidence. They'd been talking about Joanne Nelson's first marriage, amicable divorce and subsequent remarriage for almost twenty minutes, but they'd yet to get to the secret Gibbs could feel lurking just under the surface. "And what did Joanne tell you?"

"Well, I never mentioned it to Marion, because she would just worry. And Greg was a good father to Harry. Now I don't want you to go twisting this around to make it seem like he was a bad man, because he wasn't. I want to be perfectly clear on this, Agent Gibbs."

"We're clear."

"Good. Like I said, Greg was a good man, but he had his vices. He liked to play poker and blackjack, and when he gambled, he drank. Not a good combination there."

"Was he violent?"

"Never!"

"Right. He was a good man?"

"That's what I said, and I stand by it. He just made some mistakes." He took off his glasses and rubbed his face, taking his time to get going again. "About a month ago, Joanne came to me and told me that Greg had lost several thousand dollars at the casino and had taken a loan to cover it. And not a bank loan, if you catch my drift."

"You think he got on the wrong side of a loan shark?"

"That I can't tell you. After Joanne talked to me, he came and asked me for a loan. I didn't have the money to give him." Avery carefully cleaned the glasses he'd placed on the table not long before and replaced them on his face. "Will you be straight with me, Agent Gibbs?"

"Don't think I've been anything but straight with you, Burt."

"Too true." He inhaled sharply and spoke quickly, "Do you think this is my fault?"

"How do you mean?"

"Could I have stopped this if I'd given Greg the money? Could I have saved my daughter?" He didn't attempt to wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks. "I just can't shake this feeling that…she didn't have to die. I could have done something."

"We don't even know if this is the reason they're dead," Gibbs reasoned, not wanting to see this man cry. "We'll look at that angle and any others that crop up. You have my word on that."

"Thank you, sir."

"Just a few more questions." At Avery's nod, Gibbs continued, "Could you tell me how much money?"

"He asked me for fifty thousand, but damned if that was all of it."

"And which casinos?"

"Those Indian ones up in Connecticut, I think."

"Quite a drive from DC," Gibbs remarked, retrieving a box of tissues from a side table.

"Don't I know it." Avery blew his nose noisily, talking if he were pretending nothing was wrong. "Marion and I have been a few times. Penny slots and bingo, mostly. Not even worth the aggravation. That traffic through New York is a killer."

"Why don't we see if she and Agent DiNozzo are finished, then we'll get you to your grandson."

"I appreciate it, Agent Gibbs." His handshake was firm, but he had an odd way of not looking eye to eye; Gibbs suspected it had something to do with the crying.

At the stairway, they bumped into Jen, who pulled him aside. "Have you seen the news, Jethro?"

"Been a little busy." He glanced over the railing to see Avery rushing down the steps and hugging his grandson in the bullpen.

Jen waited until the reunion had progressed before saying, "We may have a problem."