Tim's day didn't improve very much after he returned to the bullpen. He had gotten stuck at his computer running in depth background checks on each of the CBK victims while Tony and Ziva were sent out of the building. They were to re-interview the family and friends of the first eight victims to try to find the link between them all - despite Tim's insistence that the very fact they had no link was the link. It was as if it was all random on purpose.
They checked in occasionally, asking him to run a search on this or that, and he asked if they had found anything in common. Tony had laughed once and said, "Well, they're all the nicest person in the world. Does that count?"
Tim had rolled his eyes and hung up on him before starting the three searches Tony had requested. That brought the total to twenty-four searches running on his computer. Too many more and he'd have to start using Tony's computer. Tim smirked to himself - it would probably the first time the computer had ever actually been used for work.
"McGee!"
Tim still had no idea how Gibbs could appear out of thin air and suddenly be standing right before his desk.
"Boss?"
"Have you completed those background checks?"
"Most of them. Nothing unusual or criminal in any of the backgrounds of the victims Metro had been dealing with. Tony and Ziva have called in several times and they're coming up with nothing significant, but they are having me run some searches on extra financial and family information they dug up that they weren't sure if we had already."
Gibbs stared at him for awhile and Tim could only hope that it was good enough for him.
"What about the rest of the background checks?"
"Still working on those."
"Get them done. I'll be in MTAC. Come and get me when Tony and Ziva get back - but otherwise I'm not to be disturbed."
Tim watched Gibbs take the stairs two at a time and join up with a serious-looking Vance. They headed into MTAC together.
Once Tim was sure he was alone he let his head bang down on to his desk.
"I've gotten six background checks done and I'm running over twenty searches," he mumbled to himself. "Is nothing good enough for that man?"
His phone rang and interrupted his mental answer - which would have been an emphatic NO!
"Agent McGee," he said, not all that enthusiastically.
"Ah, Timothy. I was hoping I might be able to get you to come down here to help me."
Tim brightened up. Doing something else - anything else - would be a gift right about then.
"Sure Ducky, I'll be right down."
NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS
Ducky wanted to see the Metro victims all spread out so fifteen minutes later Tim found himself in the middle of putting together his second photographic autopsy puzzle.
"As soon as Jimmy returns from visiting Abigail I can let you return to your duties, Timothy."
"I really don't mind, Ducky. I needed a break from what I was doing."
Ducky, back to his normal perceptive self, noticed the tone in Tim's voice, but temporarily dismissed it when he was able to finish up another photographic body. He began on a new victim and the idea to question Tim about what was wrong slipped completely from his mind.
Tim repressed a sigh. He really wanted to talk about his day. Starting with waking up, right up to just before Ducky called it, had been horrible. From being forgotten in the conference room by Gibbs and thus oversleeping and being harassed by Tony, to being unfairly rude to Jimmy, to being used like a puppet to obey Gibbs' every whim while his beloved golden agents were out in the field.
Tim shook his head and tried to banish the downtrodden and whiny thoughts. Instead he went back to the one thing that day which had been his fault.
"Ducky?"
"Hmm?"
"What was it that Palmer saw in Lance Corporal Jackson's cuts?"
Ducky didn't say anything for several moments. Tim looked up to find the doctor looking at him, puzzled.
"What do you mean?"
"Palmer and I ran into each other in the bathroom this morning. He said his gut was telling him something about the cuts but that you didn't think there was anything specifically interesting about the cuts themselves. I was just wondering what it was he thought he saw."
Ducky shook his head.
"Mr. Palmer never mentioned the cuts to me."
Ducky walked over to his desk and grabbed Jackson's preliminary autopsy report and scanned it.
"Hmm."
Tim walked over to peer over Ducky's shoulder.
"What does 'Hmm' mean?"
"It means that Mr. Palmer noted down several irregularities in the cuts, but never mentioned them to me."
Tim read over Ducky's shoulder and saw written in Jimmy's scrawl: 'Five instances of irregular incisions. Straight for 9cm then cuts deeper and veers suddenly to the right for 1cm to 2cms.' He went on to catalog exactly where on the body the cuts were to be found.
"Hmm."
Ducky chuckled.
"Now, Timothy, it's your turn to tell me what 'Hmm' means."
"Oh," Tim said, looking up at Ducky. "It's just - the mentions of the abnormal cuts seem familiar."
Tim walked over the files and began looking through the files. The very first one he grabbed mentioned the abnormal cuts. Soon they made the same discovery Jimmy had - no matter what the reports said each of the victims had the abnormal slices.
Ducky began comparing reports at a rapid pace and scribbling down notes.
"Could you please retrieve Mr. Palmer from Abigail's lab? Maybe he can shed some light on this."
"Palmer hasn't been here for a long time, McGee," was Abby's answer when Tim reached her lab two minutes later and asked where Jimmy had gone. "I helped Ducky move the case files and we assumed he was in the bathroom. I thought he went back to autopsy after that."
"I'm afraid not," Ducky said, speaking over the video link between the lab and autopsy. "When did Mr. Palmer leave?"
"Not long before you got here, Ducky. I was just telling him about discovering traces of Cephalotaxus harringtonia - er, Japanese Plum Yew - in the plastic lining that Lance Corporal Jackson's body had been found in. Japanese Plum Yew is only found in one county in Virginia."
Tim's eyes narrowed in confusion.
"And he seemed surprised by that?"
"No - he disappeared. When I turned around he was gone."
Tim's gut began clawing at him then. Something was either very wrong with Jimmy, or something was going to go horribly wrong for him.
Tim sat down at his normal computer in Abby's lab and soon had a GPS track going on Jimmy's cell.
"He's 45 miles away from D.C., heading into Virginia. Where exactly is he heading, Abby?"
"Somewhere in Augusta County would be my guess - that's the location I was talking about when he left. But why did he leave without a word to anyone?"
Tim shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Uh, I think that might be my fault. I told him to ignore his gut feeling - that if Ducky didn't find his ideas to be pertinent then they probably weren't important. I didn't know he hadn't spoken to Ducky."
Abby sent him a glare that made him want to cower under the desk. He settled for flinching and turning back to the tracking program.
"I'm afraid I share that blame, Timothy," Ducky said over the video link. "Mr. Palmer tried to tell me something when we were still going over all the wounds on Lance Corporal Jackson's body. I was - short with him and didn't allow him to speak."
Abby sighed.
"Okay, so you're both to blame, but Palmer still should've let someone know he was leaving. Have you tried calling him, Ducky?"
She saw Ducky nod.
"He is not answering."
Tim pushed back from the table and stood up.
"I'm going after him. Abby, keep me updated on where he is and let me know when his car stops. Ducky - keep trying him and let me know if you get a hold of him."
Abby captured him in a quick but fierce hug.
"I'm sure Palmer's just fine - but be careful Timmy."
"I will Abs, I promise."
Tim made a stop in the bullpen to grab his gun from his drawer. Tony and Ziva were not yet back and Gibbs was still up in MTAC. He tried Ziva's number and had to leave her a voicemail. The same thing happened when he tried Tony's number so he had to resort to jotting down a quick note and leaving it on Gibbs' desk.
NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS
Over an hour later and Tim was beginning to catch up with Jimmy, thanks to his car. On the way out of the building he decided to forego the extra time it would take to check out a company car and just take his Porsche.
He didn't like to speed, but his car had the ability to purr into 80 miles per hour and he let her do it this time, hoping he wouldn't be pulled over - for his gut was telling him that would be a delay he couldn't afford. Something was on his side that day - God, karma, fate, destiny - whatever it was, he was grateful.
"Okay, he just backtracked again," Abby said, her voice coming over the hands-free headset. "He seems to know where he's going, but not exactly how to get there. I'm feeding your GPS the coordinates now."
"Thanks Abs. Keep me updated."
Tim disconnected his phone and drove on, only to have Abby call again six minutes later.
"He's come to a stop. I think he's reached his destination. You have the coorBLSTS."
Tim couldn't help but jump at the loud burst of static.
"Hello. Abby?"
He got nothing but static - and then a dial tone - in return. One quick look at his phone told him he was definitely out of the service area. He just counted his blessings that the coordinates made it over before they lost their connection. There may have not been a cell phone tower nearby, but there was certainly a satellite somewhere overhead.
Ten minutes later he pulled up next to Jimmy's beat up old rust-and-green Coupe. He didn't take the time to marvel at the mansion that spread across the property. Instead his ears immediately tuned to the muffled sound of voices coming from around back.
Tim's gun was in his hand and his feet were moving before he really thought about what was going on. His gut had never stopped screaming at him. Somehow he knew that Jimmy was one of those voices and that he was in danger.
The sound of a single gunshot cemented that feeling - and caused him to run the last few yards. Caution had long ago been drummed into him and so he took a moment - just a moment - to peak around the corner of the mansion.
Jimmy was almost right next to him, with his hand wrapped around his right shoulder - doing nothing to block the flow of red that seeped into his scrubs. Across from him was a man who would have seemed right at home chatting with fellow well-to-dos in a country club - if he wasn't currently aiming a gun at another man and sporting a very out-of-place happy smile.
"Sorry Jimmy! I'm not used to doing this with people. Just stand still, it'll be over soon," the man said before squinting to line up a better shot.
Tim didn't even think, he just moved - his gun out front and aimed right for the man. Three things happened simultaneously: With his right hand Tim pushed Jimmy aside with a well-placed shove to his left shoulder - and the triggers of both guns were pulled.
Tim was a federal agent and he was trained to kill, not disarm. He only needed one shot to forever silence the man who was trying to kill his friend.
Jonathon McCrady practiced at shooting targets - and wasn't even very good at that. But all the same he only needed the one shot to bring Tim to his knees, hands clutched over his abdomen.
As Jimmy stared up at the sky - watching snowflakes falling - Tim stared down at his hands, watching with dispassionate curiosity as blood began to ooze out between his fingers.
