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Author's Note : Thanks to everyone who's reading, favoriting and following. Glad to see the response the story has gotten. As always, huge thanks to Duxe, scousemuz1k, Maunzeli, DS2010, angelscatie and Guest - NCIS fan.
Thanks for the support. I appreciate the time you take to leave your thoughts.
Enjoy.
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9:12am – Autopsy – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC –
Stepping off the elevator, Gibbs sipped the coffee he'd bought in the cafeteria when he picked up Abby's newest CafPow. Not one to purchase the beverage of his own volition, it had been an impulse buy when he slid into the line at the check-out register. The carafes, full and inviting, begged him to grab a cup and fill it with the offensive liquid. Proximity and an impending caffeine crash was responsible for the drink he swilled. Shaking his head at the drab paper cup, he rushed through the automatic doors into the morgue and, for the first time, actually hoped that he'd run into Palmer.
"Whaddya got, Duck?"
Both Mallard and Palmer, dressed in their macabre trade's attire of sterile gowns and masks, leaned over the corpse on the autopsy slab. While the medical examiner pulled down his mask, dribbling blood across it, Jimmy quietly shucked off his gloves and gown. Grabbing a few evidence jars from the side table, the assistant slid away in his best attempt escape unnoticed.
"You're just in time, Jethro. As always, your timing is most uncan - ."
Only stealthy in his wildest dreams, Palmer bumped into the edge of the gurney, sending numerous instruments crashing to the floor. Mallard and Gibbs whipped their heads to stare at him. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose, pressing his lips together as he glanced between the instruments and the door, uncertain as to which carried precedence.
"I have - . There are, er, samples. I have - . Abby," Palmer gasped, breaking towards the door.
"Not yet, Mr. Palmer," Mallard ordered, motioning his hand for one of the jars. Not bothering to glance at Gibbs, Jimmy passed him the one holding several pieces of a bullet. "As you can tell from the fragments, I'm unsure if Abigail will be able to confirm ballistics. We shall see what she able to ascertain."
"Thank you, doctor," Palmer stated, sliding towards the door when Mallard waved him away. Gibbs passed Jimmy his jar, raising his eyebrows at the twitchy assistant. "My mother sends me the beans for the coffee! I know - . Maybe - . I'll – I'll bring you some tomorrow, Agent Gibbs!"
When Gibbs nodded his approval, Palmer sprinted out the sliding doors.
"Should I inquire?" Mallard asked, perplexed by Gibbs' smirk.
"Whaddya got, Duck?"
"Well," Mallard gestured to Fox's slightly disfigured face, almost blue under the surgical lights, "our poor lad has numerous facial fractures, as well as a fractured left femur, crushed pelvis, and dislocated right hip. Both arms are also fractured in numerous places. While these injuries are a result of the accident, the distinct lack of a callus on the bones and swelling within the tissues indicate they occurred postmortem.
"Cause of death was the bullet I just sent upstairs with Mr. Palmer. As you can see," Mallard pointed to the burned tissue around the entry wounds, "the poor boy was shot twice at close range. First bullet passed through soft tissue, exited through his back and missed all his vital organs. The second nicked his left ventricle and shattered on his spine. Fragments were littered around the thoracic cavity. Death would have been instantaneous."
Gibbs nodded, starting towards the door.
"I'm not finished yet, Jethro," Mallard called, pausing until Gibbs returned to his perch beside the body. Rolling the body's shoulder up, he pointed to an exit would. "The remaining bullet seemingly stayed intact on its exit. It should be somewhere inside the car."
"Yeah, Abby found it, didn't look much better than yours. We looking at a body dump, Duck?"
"Perhaps. Although the distinct lack of defensive wounds indicates that the poor boy either knew his attacker or was lulled into some sort of security. Why, Jethro, did you know the mafia used to dispose of their victims by - ?"
"Thanks, Duck!" Gibbs yelled, sprinting towards the elevator.
He rode the slow car up to the bullpen, trying to make sense of the Navyman's strange death. With his brain turning over the pieces of the puzzle that didn't quite mesh yet, he absently swigged his coffee. All he needed was a little bit more time to allow the tidbits to come together or give him the time to push until he made them fit. With enough time and force, any connection could be established and any crime solved. Rounding the corner to his desk, he noticed Ziva standing at attention for his arrival. He gave her the go-ahead, nodding at her slender form, and she pointed the remote at the plasma, bringing up a news article.
"Gibbs, I have found another accident at the site where we uncovered Fox's car. Two months ago, three teenagers died at that site when the driver lost control of her car. There is no connection between our victim and the girls."
Leaning across her desk, she registered a few hollow mouse clicks and displayed a picture of the accident scene from Metro. The image, a straight shot of the broken guard-rail taken from the road, matched their picture of the same spot.
Seemed like VaDOT never got around to fixing it. So whoever killed Fox knew about the accident site.
He paused by the plasma, too engrossed in the information to even take the coffee, and Ziva changed the image to a young brunette's DMV photo. With her attractive features and perfect smile, she resembled the stereotypical college co-ed that she probably was.
"McGee called to inform me that a witness saw our victim fighting with another woman approximately six months ago. She threatened to 'make him pay for everything. I checked Fox's phone records and found many calls from Helen Mittermeier around that time. One day she called him thirty nine times. Fox obtained a restraining order against her in June. We did not uncover that during out first search because the reporting officer spelled Fox's name incorrectly."
Who the hell misspells the name, Fox?
Sliding behind his desk, Gibbs removed his gear from his desk. He motioned for Ziva to follow, clipping his gun to his belt as he passed.
"Hell hath no fury," he mused, stalking out of the bullpen. Confusion passed over Ziva's exotic features.
"How can hell anger?" she asked, checking her back-up clip as they walked. "A physical place is incapable of emotion."
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10:23am – Residence of Levi Fox and Andrew Newman – Norfolk, Va. -
On the concrete porch of a small blue rancher, DiNozzo dramatically rolled his eyes at McGee and pounded on the glass door again. A darkened figure passed by the glass, heading deeper into the hall. Tony let out an agitated sigh, nodding when Tim reached for his weapon.
"I know you're in there! For the love of G-d, I can see you!" he shouted, feeling the door shake with the next round of pounding. Smiling tightly, McGee leaned just against the frame, Sig always ready for the action he rarely saw.
"You know Boss and Ziva went to follow up with the woman Mara told us about, right? Fox had a restraining order against her," McGee reported, keeping his eyes on the door.
"Yeah, I know, Probie. You told me in the car on the way over."
Wiping a trickle of perspiration from his brow, McGee smiled apologetically. As the unseasonably warm day pressed on, the humidity rolled up the Virginia coast like an oppressive blanket. The light breeze that blew past pushed the stifling air into Tony's lungs, leaving him drenched in his newest addition to his Zegna collection. With the amount of money he'd just dropped on the suit, DiNozzo figured that he would have to deal with the sweat.
Like his father always said, "when you look good, you feel good."
As Tony grew older and expanded his taste in clothing, he always had a sneaking suspicion his father stole the quote from somewhere.
Unbuttoning his jacket, Tony ran his fingers over the delicate wool craftsmanship while McGee rapped on the door. Something crashed inside and Tony finally pulled out his weapon as well.
"Mr. Newman! We need to talk to you!" Tim yelled, peeking through the glass.
DiNozzo pushed him aside to pound on the door again.
"Newman! Open the door! We're here about Levi Fox! I know you're in there! I can still see you!"
The noise inside quieted down and Tony nodded at Tim. At the unspoken order, the junior agent leaned against the opposite side of the door, obscuring his body from the inhabitant. When the figure approached the front door, DiNozzo gestured his head and McGee raised his weapon. A blonde head popped out, followed shortly by a smell of stale pot and old pizza. While the pajama-clad man stumbled onto the porch, Tony coughed violently, clamping his hand over his nose and mouth in an attempt to ward off the smell.
"Who are you guys?" Newman asked, glazed eyes jumping from Tony to Tim and back again. "Whoa, you guys have guns."
Rolling his eyes, DiNozzo holstered his weapon and started into another coughing fit.
"Special Agents McGee and DiNozzo, NCIS," Tim explained, showing his badge and motioning to the hacking senior agent. "We have some questions about your roommate, Levi Fox."
Waving half-heartedly, Tony studied McGee through his watering eyes and wondered how Tim seemed immune to the pungent stench emanating from Newman. As he gasped for air again, Andy eyed him cautiously and slid towards the door.
"Why do you guys need Levi? He's visiting his parents in DC. Should be back tomorrow. He leaves on the boat in a few days. You guys know he's in the Navy, right?"
Sharing an incredulous look with DiNozzo, McGee shook his head.
"Yeah, that might have come up during our investigation," DiNozzo rasped, catching Tim's amused smirk. "Levi's dead."
"Who, man, shit, really?" Newman asked, his eyes focused momentarily on Tony's face. "That sucks, like really freaking sucks, man. I liked Levi. He was nice, always paid rent when he was on the boat. What happened?"
"He was murdered Thursday night," DiNozzo paused, searching for any reaction. Unfortunately, Newman's emotions were muted from whatever drug he'd dropped before the interview.
Well, at least that explains why he didn't come to the door right away.
"Murdered? Levi, really? Shit, that still sucks. Are his parents okay?"
"They're taking it hard," McGee answered. "Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt him?"
"Levi? No, he was alright. Everyone I knew really liked him. He did his thing, I did mine. We really didn't do too much together."
"Do you mind if we look through his things?" Tim questioned, raising his eyebrow when Newman returned from stoner oblivion.
Eyes wide, Andy looked down at the outline of pizza grease on his Batman pajamas and glanced back through the glass front door. Smiling nervously, he scratched his head.
"You're not, uh - , going to call the police, right?"
When Tony started to shake his head, he noticed McGee's jaw muscles tense out of the corner of his eye. With a sigh disguised as a cough, Tim glanced back towards the Charger, just in case anyone had decided to steal it on the opposite side of Norfolk. Many lifetimes ago as a uniform, Tony had learned overlooking a small crime could lead to a bigger bust. Even though Tim hadn't realized it yet, DiNozzo knew catching their murder trumped sacrificing an officer for an ethics violation or arresting this stoner in the middle of his breakfast.
Tony grinned at Newman, thumping the stoner's back. When the stench of pot and pizza assaulted his olfactory gland, DiNozzo held his breath, barely catching breakfast that rose to his tongue.
"Why would we need to call the police?"
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11:01am – Residence of Helen Mittermeier – Washington, DC –
Not bothering to pause at the red light, Gibbs barreled across the street with Ziva close behind him. They headed towards a dilapidated, inner-city apartment building that encompassed nearly half a city block. With most of its windows open, the complex seemed to invite the mid-morning heat to fill its units, leaving its occupants to swelter. Gibbs marched up the sidewalk, stepping out of the way as a scantily-clad woman sought refuge in a parked Mercedes. When she slid into the passenger seat, leaning over suggestively at the male driver, the team leader raised his eyebrows at Ziva.
"This is the address from the DMV, Gibbs," she stated, staring at a man who passed a stack of cash to another. The team leader paused, staring at the grimy reception area through the spray painted glass. When the door creaked open, he wondered how the young co-ed managed to fall through the cracks and land in a place like this.
"Apartment A5."
Sliding past the grimy, peeling wall paper, Ziva followed Gibbs through the poorly lit hallway with the dying florescent light overhead. Its death march, leaving intermittent flashes dancing before their eyes. He counted the apartments in succession, passing doors with more locks than he knew possible, vain attempts to keep out the crime that swirled around the neighborhood in an unchecked storm.
When they reached the appropriate one, Gibbs reached for his badge, staring blankly at the scratched, light wood door peppered with dents. He knocked heavily, wrapping his hand around his Sig just in case. After the sound of several dead bolts unlocking, a brunette appeared. With dark circles under her grey eyes and greasy hair, the woman seemed much older than the supposed resident.
When she glanced up at Gibbs with her lifeless eyes, he blinked slowly, barely catching the resemblance to the broad-smiled co-ed from her license photo.
"Can I help you guys?" Helen Mittermeier asked, leaning against the doorframe. Unable to stand how her clothes hung to her skinny frame, Gibbs peered over the woman's shoulder and noticed the filthy studio.
"Helen Mittermeier?" Gibbs asked, flipping open his badge when she nodded. "Special Agent Gibbs and Officer David, NCIS. We're here about Levi Fox."
Her fatigued features darkened as she crossed her arms over her chest.
"What about him?"
"He took a restraining order against you. Why?"
"It's a long story and I really don't have the time," she nodded, narrowing her eyes between Ziva and Gibbs. "What's going on?"
"Fox was murdered," Gibbs stated, staring at her intently. The anger melted from her face as she sagged her weight against the door. Barely able to believe it possible, Gibbs frowned at her increasing frailness. She pushed her hair behind her ears, sniffling quietly.
A baby's scream tore through the apartment, clenching Gibbs' heart as he remembered every night he'd sat outside Kelly's door. With a hiccupped wail of her own, Helen sank to the floor and began sobbing uncontrollably.
"I can't - . She won't - . I can't - . I just can't - . Please make her stop. Just make her stop," she moaned, covering her face with her hands.
Nodding silently, Gibbs stepped over the young woman's sprawled legs into the decrepit apartment. Directly in its center, a double bed stretched into nearly all of the available space. Clothes and dirty dishes were strewn across every available inch, including the bed except for a small spot in the middle where Helen probably slept. On top of scratched and beaten dresser, a small bassinet contained a pink-clad newborn.
"Hey there," Gibbs crooned, scooping up the baby with a parent's expertise. He cradled the newborn to his chest, feeling her warmth comforting despite the heat. When he rocked her gently, she stared intently at his face, her cries quieting. Studying the baby's dark hair and delicate features, he remembered the first time he held his own daughter.
Helen sobbed on the floor and Gibbs barely managed to swallow the lump that rose to his throat on the thought of Kelly.
Hugging her knees her chest, Helen glanced up at the team leader. Tears streaming down her face, she hiccupped and Ziva knelt down to gently rub her shoulder.
"The doctor says it's just colic," she sobbed, sliding her nose over her forearm. "He says it'll go away in a few months. But it's been nonstop since I came home. I can't do this for a few more months. I have no one to help me. I haven't slept in weeks. All she does is cry. When I first told Levi I was pregnant, he wanted me to end it. I just couldn't. I – I – I'm Catholic. My parents are dead. My faith is all I have left of them. So I called him to try to make him understand. I wanted him to man up. To be a father or at least give me money to get her out of this hell hole. So he called the cops on me. I shouldn't have - . I wish I'd listened to him."
The baby fussed, kicking out, and Gibbs hugged her closer. He closed his eyes and indulged in a fleeting connection to his own little girl. When he looked back at the stricken woman in front of him, he wondered whether she actually meant the words she'd spoken. Despite all his pain at the loss of his girls, he wouldn't sacrifice their memories for anything, some days their brief existence was all that sustained him.
He'd move heaven and hell for just one more day in Shannon's arms, just to hear Kelly's laugh one more time.
"Agent Gibbs," Helen nodded, leaning her head against Ziva's chest, "meet Naomi, Levi's daughter. I only wanted him to help me give her a better life than this."