Thanks to horseninja for the review!

III

The next morning Ziva and Gibbs were at the kitchen counter, eating cereal and sipping the coffee she had prepared. It wasn't as good as the one they had had the previous morning, but given their current mood, neither of them could care less.

They were eating in silence, but the atmosphere between them was warm, intimate, tender.

Ziva had never been happier in her whole life. Jethro was a wonderful partner, considerate and demanding in the right measure, willing to go slow but ruthless in taking and giving pleasure. But her joy at discovering their sexual compatibility was nothing compared to the joy she had felt upon listening to his nightly talk about his love for her.

She felt overwhelmed by how open Jethro had been, about his past and his emotions, something that, if she had read correctly between the lines, he hadn't done with any of his ex-wives and former lovers. She felt privileged by the trust he had again put in her and silently vowed to never break it.

The doorbell rang, interrupting the silence of the kitchen. Gibbs turned to look at her, "Are you waiting for someone?"

"No."

The bell rang again as a muffled voice was heard from beyond the door.

"Agent Gibbs? Are you there?"

Gibbs stood up at once. "It must be Chief Johnson. Yesterday afternoon I told him that, if he needed me, he could find me here if I wasn't at the hotel."

"It must be really important to come here so early in the morning," Ziva commented, rising to her feet.

Breakfast forgotten, they went to open the door. As predicted, their visitor was the police chief.

"Chief Johnson," Gibbs said with a nod.

"Agent Gibbs, Miss David," the man tilted his head in greeting. "There has been another victim of the Hair Collector. My men have secured the crime scene and I thought you might want to see it." By the tone of his voice, it was evident the Chief desperately wished Gibbs would go to see the crime scene. He probably hoped the US federal agent would be able to shed some light on the killer's identity.

"Thanks for alerting us, Chief. We appreciate it. Ziva, grab-"

"-your gear," she completed with a smile.

She left the men on the door steps and went to fetch her backpack, putting a small sketch pad and her digital camera inside it. It was like she was working again with NCIS and it felt so damn good.

Once she was done, Ziva joined Gibbs and Johnson and together they boarded the police two-horse cart that was waiting in the street and trotted away, toward the central area of Heavenly Shores City.

-----

The victim was lying on her back in an alley near one of the town only two authorized discos.

She was a woman in her late thirties, early forties, attractive, well-dressed, certainly not a whore. Her eyes were still open and her face was frozen in an expression of surprise, but not of terror. A lock of her red hair had been unevenly cut very close to her skull.

Ziva and Gibbs put on the latex gloves Chief Johnson gave them and started examining the scene. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to work on, because it had evidently rained after the murder had been committed, and the water had washed away the blood and any other evidence there might have been.

As Ziva sketched the scene and pointed out stuff to Johnson' men, so they could bag and tag them, Gibbs used the camera, taking pictures of the body and its position. Then he approached the local ME and asked if it would possible for him to take detailed shots of the slashed throat and the wound's edges.

After getting Johnson's approval, the ME helped Gibbs by pulling apart the cut edges and using a special ruler to record width, length and depth of the wound.

When he was done, Gibbs put away the camera and went to talk with Johnson.

"Who is the victim?"

"Marie Louise LaBelle, 41, Canadian citizen," the Chief answered. "We found her ID card inside her purse, along with a lot of cash and a stack of credit cards. Whomever this killer is, he isn't interested in the money."

Gibbs observed the victim's clothes. They, along with what Johnson had just said, made him comment, "She doesn't look like the type of woman who would attend this kind of place." The alley was crowded by many of the disco patrons, most of them young, dressed with ripped jeans and skimpy shirts, some showing impressive collections of tattoos or piercings.

"No, this certainly isn't the place where you would expect to find a woman like her. However, one of the bouncers told me she had taken a fancy for the DJ."

"Uhm…" grunted Gibbs. "Did you talk with him?"

"Yes; he said he had never seen her before. He could be lying, of course, but even if he is, he didn't meet her yesterday, because he had been working from 22.00 to 05.00, and the bouncer said he saw the woman near the gate around midnight. According to our ME, she was killed shortly afterward. The body was discovered at 05.00, when the disco closed and all the exits, including the one opening on this alley, were opened to allow the patrons to leave quickly."

Gibbs took some quick notes on his notepad, then asked, "Was she married?"

"Yes, to Jacques LaBelle, a rich Canadian industrialist. He divides his time between here and Montreal and he has several interests on this and other nearby islands." Chief Johnson ran a hand over his thinning hair. "This is a nightmare and she is the worst possible victim we could have. LaBelle is already protesting with the central authorities and the Canadian press will soon land here like a flock of vultures…"

"Do you think your government will now allow security cameras and lights in the streets?" Gibbs growled, not sympathetic at all with the other man's plight.

Johnson raised defeated eyes on him, and Gibbs felt some of his rage recede. It wasn't the man's fault. He knew all too well how hard it was to work with politicians that cared only about not upsetting those who had sponsored their campaigns.

Ziva rejoined Gibbs as Marie Louise LaBelle's body was carried away, and they fell silent, showing respect for the poor, unfortunate woman.

Once the coroner's cart had left, Johnson returned to look at Gibbs. "I saw you took many detailed photos of the gash at her throat. What do you plan to do with them?"

"I'll email them to the NCIS's ME in the hope he discovers something helpful, but to be honest I've not many expectations. This bastard is very good, and he had even the rain on his side this time."

Johnson nodded. "I see." A sigh. "Do you have any suggestions about our next moves?"

"Other than installing lights and cameras?"

"Yes."

"In your place, I would monitor all the communications to see if someone saw something suspicious. I would also go house to house to ask if someone saw Mrs. LaBelle yesterday night, and if there was someone in the area that looked like he was waiting for someone. Other than that, I don't know what else I could do to help you, Chief."

Shortly afterward, Gibbs and Ziva left the crime scene and walked toward the communication centre.

"So, what do you think?" she asked after a while.

Gibbs shook his head and stared far ahead, lost in thought. Then he said, "I'm puzzled. As you have seen, Mrs. LaBelle was completely different from the other victims, so we do have proof he doesn't have a type. Also, this murder came very close to your attempted one."

"This could mean the interval between the killings is getting shorter or that he wasn't satisfied by simply cutting my hairs, and that he needs to kill and not just take a trophy."

"Yeah…Damn it!" Gibbs said angrily, and Ziva reached out with her arm, rubbing his tense back. "I hate feeling so powerless!"

"It is not your fault. This monster is not leaving any evidence behind."

"It's not that. If I was in charge, I would order every man in town to come to the police HQ. I would ask all of those with a body type similar to your attacker's to give us an alibi for yesterday night—and I would throw in the interrogation room all of those without one. I would also run a massive search for that damned knife and-"

"- who cares if you managed to piss off a lot of important people," Ziva added.

"Yeah…that's part of the job. Chief Johnson not only has no experience in these matters, but he's too afraid to upset the high brasses. I would like very much to burst into some office and shake some common sense into those thick skulls, but I'm controlling myself."

"Why? You are not afraid of them, are you?" Ziva teased.

Gibbs glared at her. "'Cause I would only be put on the first departing plane and that would really piss Vance off…something we can't afford to do just now," he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

Ziva nodded and swallowed hard. She didn't want to be reminded that in eight days-- perhaps even sooner if Vance recalled her lover before she was scheduled to leave—she and Jethro would have to part, neither of them knowing if they would see each other again.

No, she thought. Not 'if'. 'When', because now that I have found him I've no intention of ever letting him go.

---------------------------

So, any theories about the Hair Collector? :)