"Pfc. Gene Landry was born in 1922 in Maryland and died in July of last year," Ziva said, pulling up a black and white picture of a Marine in his dress blues on the plasma. "He joined the Marine Corps right out of high school and was known as 'Thin Man' among his peers. He was a POW in Cabanatuan where he was given a position as a cook. He would sneak food for himself and friends to keep alive. He suffered an injury to his eyes that left him nearly blind. After being released, he was taught Braille by a young woman in the Navy by the name of Alice Goodwin. The two married and had five children, the youngest of whom gave birth to Myrna Parker, the young woman McGee met last night. She uses her mother's maiden name for her penname."
"She's published?" Gibbs asked.
"She's done a little freelance writing, including some non-fiction pieces that she put together for some small magazines based on her grandfather's stories."
"What else do you know about the granddaughter?"
"She got a bachelors degree in fiction writing and a masters in history. She teaches at a small high school in Arlington. She's never been arrested; she doesn't even have a speeding ticket."
"Any connection to Pfc. Robinson?"
"Aside from their grandfathers? Not that I can see. They don't leave near each other, they've never exchanged phone calls or e-mails, and I can't find anything that shows that they'd seen each other in the past year. Well, except for seeing each other yesterday, of course." Ziva looked at Gibbs and saw him staring at the plasma was a frown. "What are you thinking, Gibbs?"
"I'm thinking that, if the murder actually had anything to do with the map found in that journal, Pfc. Robinson had likely confided in someone else about it, maybe even planned to look for the supposed treasure with them."
"He and Matthew Keach were close. Perhaps he knows more than he's letting on," Ziva suggested. "Though, Keach was definitely not in the building last night."
"What about that janitor?"
"I corroborated his explanation with Rodney Toole. Toole said he'd been helping out Green with some extra hours here and there."
"Doesn't mean he didn't do it."
"Very true. Ms. Lambard, though, is in the clear. She was having drinks with Rick Watson and Patricia Kroger until 3:00am as they finalized the plans for the convention."
Gibbs pulled a photo of Pfc. Robinson from the file. "Go around to the restaurants and bars surrounding the hotel and ask if they've seen Robinson in there with anyone else in the past two months."
Tony entered the small café where he was scheduled to be meeting with Randy Veux. It was an extension of the hotel and had only about nine small tables, as well as a bar that ran along the front counter. He was ten minutes early and not at all surprised to see that Veux hadn't arrived yet. The only other people present were a blonde woman, a brunette woman, an elderly man, and the young woman taking orders at the front counter.
He sat at one of the tables with his coffee, and removed his jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair. Immediately, his phone began to ring and Gibbs' name appeared on the ID screen. "Hey, boss."
"…ony…Veux…Mc…sses…" Gibbs' voice faded in and out.
"You're breaking up, boss," Tony said, standing and walking to a corner window of the café. He placed a finger on his other ear to drown out any other sounds. "Can you repeat that, boss?"
"Have you talked to Veux and did you give McGee his glasses?"
"No and yes. McGee should be set for the day, but Veux hasn't shown up yet. It's still about five minutes until our meeting time."
"Well, when you finish with that, call Ziva. I sent her down to show Pfc. Robinson's picture around to local bars and restaurants and find out if he'd been seen hanging out with anyone in the past couple of months."
Tony turned around and saw Randy Veux enter the café. The man stepped to the side, smiling and holding the door open as the blonde woman passed by. He then glanced around, catching Tony's eyes. "Veux is here boss, but yeah, I'll get right on that when I finish up here," he assured Gibbs while simultaneously gesturing to Randy to sit at the table.
"Agent DiNozzo?" Randy asked, extending his hand. He was in his sixties, though his black hair only had flecks of gray around the sideburns. He didn't dress like a bestselling writer, wearing simple corduroy slacks and a button-up shirt with a jacket that looked as though it had seen better days.
"That's me," Tony told him, shaking his hand. "And I take it you are Randy Veux?"
"One in the same," the man said with a warm smile. "Now what can I do for NCIS?"
"Does the name George Robinson ring a bell for you?"
"Of course. I worked in his furniture store years ago when I was still in high school. He was one of the best employers I ever had."
"His grandson was murdered here two nights ago. Nathan Robinson?"
Randy shrugged. "I hadn't seen Mr. Robinson since I went off to college back in 1960. I've never even met his grandson. I'm sorry to hear that he was murdered, though."
"Did you know that George Robinson had died two months ago?"
"Yes, I remember seeing his obituary in one of the papers. Sadly, I was leaving that day for New York to promote an upcoming book, so I was unable to make it to the funeral, but I did send flowers for the family."
Tony reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the journal. So far, they hadn't told anyone about the map found in the journal. Veux, however, had known the elder Robinson and may know something about the old map. He held the book up for the writer to see. "Recognize this?"
Randy peered at the journal. "I think Mr. Robinson had an old journal like that. I remember he would talk about his days spent in the military and sometimes he'd have to refer to his journal to remember exactly what one of his friends had said."
"Did he ever mention any sort of treasure to you?"
Randy lifted one eyebrow. "Treasure? Like gold and silver?"
"Any sort of treasure, Mr. Veux."
"Nothing comes to mind," he admitted. "Mr. Robinson was happy with his lot."
"Did he ever mention a treasure map in his possession?"
"A treasure map?" Randy repeated, looking as though he wanted to laugh. "Agent DiNozzo, I can't imagine what you're talking about."
Tony opened the back of the journal where he'd placed the map that morning…and found nothing. Furrowing his brow, he flipped through the pages of the journal, even held it upside down and shook it, but it wasn't there. "One moment," he mumbled to Randy as he searched through the pockets of his jacket and his trousers.
"Will that be all, Agent DiNozzo?"
Tony frowned. He knew he'd had the map when he'd left. He couldn't imagine where it had gone. "Uh, yes, Mr. Veux, that's it for now. We may need to be in touch with you if we have anymore questions."
The man stood, finishing off the coffee in his mug. "Well, I'll be here until Monday, so you know where to find me. Good luck with your investigation!"
Tony glanced around the small café. The number of patrons had dwindled down to just one – the elderly man – with both of them women having left. Could it have been stolen from his pocket? He had left his coat (with the journal inside) unattended at his table while he talked to Gibbs. It wouldn't have been hard for someone to snatch it.
With a groan, he pulled out his cell phone, aware of how well Gibbs was going to take this.
"What do you mean you lost the map!" Tony held the phone away from his ear as Gibbs' bellow was so loud he didn't want to rupture his ear drums.
"Boss, I swear! I don't know where it is. It's not in my pocket and I've already checked the car."
"You dropped off McGee's glasses? Check his room! Check the entire damn hotel!"
"Boss, we've still got the real map," Tony reminded him. "That one was just a copy."
"You think I don't know that, DiNozzo? Whoever killed Robinson probably wanted the map and we don't want to drop it right into their hands. We also don't want some damn hotel guest to find it and go on some crazy treasure hunt. Find the damn copy of the map!"
The phone clicked in Tony's ear and he was glad that he hadn't told Gibbs about leaving the journal unattended for a minute.
