Chapter Ten
Blessed Be
Gibbs enters the bullpen in foul humor, finding his team working diligently at their desks. DiNozzo and David had wisely departed from the Observation Room when they had seen Gibbs' return to the Interrogation Room and his subsequent embarrassment. He's still embarrassed, and annoyed, with himself. In the elevator he had given himself a suitable 'wake-up call', but it had done little good in settling his feelings. He had made the logical conclusion and had followed reasonable procedure, but his lack of understanding of the outré aspects of this case, unreasonable though they are, had led him to forget the details of a report he had read.
It's not going to happen again.
Passing DiNozzo's desk, he slams to a halt upon seeing the headline blazing across the top banner of a pseudo-tabloid: 'WICCAN WHACKED!'
He picks up the offending 'scandal sheet', the 'Washington Interrogator', and begins reading aloud to the team, disbelief quickly replaced by outrage:
"'Under the full moon late Monday night, self-proclaimed Warlock Michael Kane was executed while performing a Black Mass for a coven of Devil worshipers who have yet to be captured or interrogated.
"According to a reliable source who spoke on condition of anonymity, Kane had been prominent in the Washington area as a practicing member of a Black Magic cult of worshipers of a demon known as 'Menvera', believed to be a pseudonym for the Fallen Angel of Biblical mythology.
"The reason for Kane's execution by his followers, members of the 'Coven of Satan', using methods of human sacrifice normally applied during their Sabbaths, is still unclear. The Washington Police Department has declined to launch an investigation, citing unspecified 'conflicts of interest'. In the meantime, the case has been left in the hands of civilians from the NCSI, the Navy Crime Scene Interrogation Division, under the direction of former Marine Sharpshooter and Assassin L.J. Tibbs."
'Has this guy read McGee's books?'
"Efforts to reach Mr. Tibbs have been unsuccessful, as a spokeswoman for the Navy denies having any record of Tibbs in their Interrogation Division, going so far as to deny the existence of the division itself.
"Meanwhile, none of the local Churches have any comment on the final disposition of Michael Kane's body, claiming they have not been contacted regarding the desirability of holding Christian burial services. A spokesman for the Catholic Archdiocese declined to comment upon this matter. However, our source indicated that, due to the lifestyle Warlock Kane led, an interment in sanctified ground is highly unlikely.'"
Gibbs lets the paper drop onto the desk. "Unbelievable."
x
"That paper has a national subscription base in the hundreds of thousands, Boss," DiNozzo points out grimly.
"I just hope his family never reads any of -." He stops when DiNozzo holds up a yellow post-it note.
"His family's in Kentucky. His father already got a call from a relative in Wisconsin about the article out there. He's very anxious to speak to 'L.J. Tibbs'. I set him straight."
"Wonderful. Thanks, DiNozzo." He starts toward his desk and a very unpleasant phone call. "I don't suppose the Navy's spoken to his family?"
"The CACO's been out to see them already." He tells Gibbs, referring to the 'Causality Assistance Calls Officer', a person assigned to make such unpleasant visits and to offer aid to the family. "She didn't know much about his faith or practices," he tells the very annoyed Agent.
"The family's Roman Catholic, so that crock about 'sanctified ground' hit them pretty hard. The father answers and the only name he has is 'Tibbs'."
Gibbs starts back to his desk, grimly keeping his thoughts to himself, reminding himself forcibly that Tony is not a valid target for his outrage.
"I don't suppose you care to know what the 'National Inquisitor' has to say about this?"
"I do not," he says, sitting down and reaching for the phone.
"The 'Inquisitor's' a weekly." McGee protests from his own desk, barely able to believe the nonsense. There should be a reasonable, rational limit; not everyone can be faster than the truth.
"Paid website, Probie."
"Does it get any better?" Gibbs demands, deciding he'd better know everything before talking to Kane Senior.
"Yes, but you're not going to want to hear."
"It's not hard to guess who the 'anonymous source' is," McGee says.
"Ya think? Unfortunately, we can't bust him for talking. It's a free country, even for idiots."
x
Gibbs will never cease to be amazed at the lowest denominator of human intelligence. Instead, he turns back to constructive progress, turning to the desk beyond DiNozzo's, the normally vacant one to his left. "Lee, go up to the lounge, meet Megan Wood there. She claims she spoke to Michael Kane last evening on some sort of Ouija board. Find out what the hell she's talking about." He brings the agents up to date on what he'd learned. "Then we're going back to Kane's place."
"Why, boss?" DiNozzo asks. They and the backup Forensics Team had already gone over the entire scene with a fine tooth comb. Everything that had been in the crime scene is presently ensconced in Abby's lab.
"To reenact the crime," he turns back to Lee, who's already partially out the bullpen's rear exit in obedience of his original order, "with you in the starring role. You claim you've studied these ceremonies."
"Yes, sir." 'Studied' is perhaps too mild a word; but it had at least allowed her to stick to the truth, in letter as well as spirit.
"I want to see exactly how it was done. Wring every detail you can out of Wood, then come back here."
"Sir, I have an idea."
"What is it?"
"Well, if we're going to reenact everything, make conditions the same as those he experienced; I don't have a robe like he did, but I do have a winter cloak which is almost like it. I live pretty close to the scene; I can swing by my apartment and pick it up. It won't delay me at all."
"Do it. Ziva can drive you." This way he knows there'll be no delay.
"Yes, sir." She turns and leaves, heading for the lounge. She is not sure if it is going to make any difference, but if she is going into a situation where magic was invoked and death was the result, she wants all the protection - from charms to her protective cloak - that she can get.
Gibbs picks up the phone, wondering if things can get much worse, then banishes the thought.
Things always get worse.
xx
Finding Megan Wood is no problem. Even if Michelle hadn't met the young redhead just the previous evening, she merely has to look for the only person in the large, sparsely filled room who isn't an NCIS Agent.
Actually it's easier than that. Practice of magic touches the soul, charges the mind. In finding Wood, all she has to do is lower the barriers she keeps around her own sensitivities and feel for the witch.
Stepping over to the woman, who sits in a cushioned chair with her head back against the wall, she puts on her best 'friendly and helpful Agent' face. "Ms. Wood?"
Megan picks her head up off the wall, sitting forward when she recognizes her. "Agent Lee?"
"May I?" She asks, indicating the chair next to Wood. When the woman extends her hand in invitation, Michelle sits down and looks about. The nearest Agent is over 10 feet away. Dropping her voice, she says softly; "Blessed Be."
Megan's eyes bulge. "Holy shit!" she whispers. This cannot be happening in the middle of NCIS Headquarters!
Michelle grins. "That's not the customary response," she admonishes.
Megan stares at her in amazement. In their earlier conversation, she had picked up no sense or clue. "How long have you been practicing?"
"Eight years."
"Does anyone know?" She is all too used to the mild or overt 'persecution' of disapproving friends and family that led many practitioners to conceal their faith and activities when among the 'Muggles'; a term from the Harry Potter novels which had recently begun to catch on.
Michelle shakes her head. "No one - and I prefer it that way." She knows she could have told her that one other does know, but that might lead the woman to wonder who, and might have her speak aloud before the wrong person.
"Don't worry," Megan pledges, "your secret is safe with me."
x
"But now I have to ask you to reveal 'secrets';" she says, getting comfortable on the couch, "Michael Kane's. If I'm to understand his practices well enough to reenact what he was doing, I have to know more about him. I know he was Wiccan, but what 'discipline' did he practice?" Even within a formal structure there are variations of practice, any one of which could be very significant.
Megan looks at her blankly. "I don't know."
This has the most untrue ring Lee has heard in a long time. "You were together for years and you don't know?"
"It was just the two of us. He taught me everything I know, but though I met some of his friends, the conversations never focused on any detailed 'discipline' or coven, at least not that I can remember."
"He was Solitary?" she asks, to which Megan nods. Michelle has known many such in her time. The variations in practice among the Solitary are unpredictable, not at all her favorite situation; though in investigations the NCIS conducts, unpredictability is the normal routine.
"What about you? Are you with a Gathering?" Megan asks.
"I don't belong to a Gathering, I belong to a Coven."
"Cool. Which one?"
"Rising Star."
"Do you think they might take me in?"
Michelle is surprised, but does her best not to show it. "Perhaps," she grants uncertainly, not wanting to commit to anything far beyond her power to grant. "I can talk to the High Priestess - but only after this case is over. Until then it wouldn't be appropriate."
"Of course. I understand."
"Now to business. I notice - couldn't help noticing actually - that Michael Kane's Athame had a white gripe, rather than the more traditional black that, at a guess, 98 percent of practitioners use. And the embellishments are unusual, to say the least." There were four images of the red haired woman clad only in an open purple cloak and representations of that very dagger, two on the gripe and two on the scabbard. "What's up with those?"
"He named his Athame 'Minerva'; and consecrated it to his Patron Goddess."
"That's no representation of 'Minerva' that I've ever seen," Michelle tells her with a grin. There's a certain amount of gratuitous lechery in his selection of an image. "Plus, the Athame is a male tool, representative of Fire and symbolic of, well, the male tool. The cup is female." Michelle does not feel comfortable 'reminding' the woman of something she should certainly know - 'Witchcraft 101' - but she can't assume the other's knowledge. Yet.
"Mike was a firm believer in 'Unity'." Megan explains. "He charged it to Fire and Water, dedicated it to the God and Goddess. This way, he said, he could work even if he couldn't get to his chalice."
'That's very interesting,' Michelle thinks, impressed. She'd never heard of such a method; but obviously it had worked or the tool would be rendered useless. "You say 'if he couldn't get to his chalice.' Why wouldn't he?" Most practitioners, certainly all those she knows, keep their magical implements together in one secure location.
"He normally kept it in a fitted velvet lined box in a safe deposit box at the bank. He did it all the time he was away. He only took it home when he was preparing to celebrate an Esbat or a Sabbat."
"And he definitely had it on Monday?"
"Yes."
"You saw it?"
"Before the others got there. He invited me to stay when the others would leave." She sighs feelingly. "I wish I had."
"So you were already at Michael Kane's apartment when the others arrived? How did your boyfriend feel about that?"
"George isn't jealous or anything like that. He knows we had something, but that it's over."
That does not jibe with what Gibbs had told her earlier. "You were having sex with Michael Kane up until when?"
Megan isn't surprised the woman knows. There is also no point in keeping things from a fellow Wiccan, to say nothing of a potential sister. "Friday; but it's no big deal. George didn't know, and we had firmly agreed that time that we were going to make an end of it. That last time was, well, that was the last time."
x
Michelle sits back. "As Special Agent Gibbs would say, 'you're setting off my bullshit alarm'. I've seen pictures of Kane, and he doesn't look like the type I'd have a regret-free time turning down the attentions of. If I'm going to eventually bring your 'petition' into my Coven, I have to believe I can trust you."
"You can. I swear. It was over," she puts her two fingers, partially separated, on her cheeks below each eye in a gesture reminiscent of the 'Bewitched' television series and movie. "Witch's Honor."
Several resting Agents look to the corner at the burst of laughter coming from the two lovely young women. But where Megan's is high and gay, Michelle is not sure whether her laughter is from humor or from astonishment tainted by the odor of bullshit.
xxx
Leroy Gibbs walks into the Forensics lab carrying a large red and white plastic container of 'Caf-Pow!'. He displays it to the white coated woman while setting an almost as large coffee cup upon her table.
"Gibbs!" Abby exclaims in delight. "Where did you get that?" She has not seen a 'Caf-Pow!' in over a month, not since he, Ducky and the Director had ordered the dispensing machine removed.
"From the machine. It was reinstalled this morning. You get the Inaugural cup." He holds it out to the ecstatic woman, but when she reaches for it he tugs it back out of reach. "I'm trusting you. Control yourself."
"I will, Gibbs, I promise." He'd had the machine removed when her addiction to the powerful stimulant had caused her to have a breakdown in this lab. That had been followed by a month's 'enforced vacation'. "It'll never happen again."
"Better not. You're one of the very few I ever give second chances to, but I promise you'll never get a third one."
"I understand." He hands her the cup and she takes a mighty draw, shivering in ecstasy. "Oh, wow, liquid orgasm!"
"Isn't that redundant?" he asks. He frequently tells himself he shouldn't be surprised by anything this woman says or does, but it never helps.
She smiles saucily, assuring him that "I'm the only woman you'll ever meet who has hot and cold running orgasms."
x
There's no way that he can answer that line. Best to just let it die and return the focus to business. "What have you got for me?"
She considers, then gives him a broad smile. "Well, I figure you've earned it." She begins opening the buttons of her white lab coat.
"With the case!" His loud and very firm demand only increases her mirth. "You know, Forensics; that thing we pay you for?"
"Well, if that's all you pay me for; you're not getting half your money's worth." He takes back the cup. "Okay! Okay!" He puts it back down. "Party pooper."
"The day I have a party with you..." he begins, but thinks better of it. In her present mood, he doesn't want to hear what she'd probably return. He glances at the wall clock. Is it still only morning?
x
Seeing she's pushed the humor as far as she is going to get away with, Abby returns to business. To Gibbs it's eerie; as though she has some secret switch inside her that she can throw at a moment's notice, from irreverent funster and flirt to professional scientist, both usually with a 'Caf-Pow!' enhanced 33 rpm manner on a 45 turntable. "The murder weapon," she presents a plastic evidence bag containing the elegant dagger, holding it up before her. In an attached bag is the equally distinctive white scabbard. "That is to say, the supposed murder weapon which is no such thing - I'll show you 'exhibit C' in a moment, is clean of prints but not of evidence. The inscribed guard," she points out the detailed work on the pewter, "picked up traces of latex mixed with blood, here on the upper side, but only on three sides. It looks like our mystery man held it into the wound by the 'webbing' between thumb and forefinger to avoid getting any fingerprints on it that wouldn't be obscured by the gloves. Thin latex still allows prints through; you need the thicker variety for protection."
"I know."
"I know you know, Gibbs; I was channeling Ducky." He is not going to answer; it's the best way to keep her on track. "Anyway, he then used pressure there and on the pommel," the dagger ends in an elaborately carved, two sided image of the mask of Anubis that comes upward to a point, "to press the dagger into the stab wound. Of course, the real murder weapon was far too long; there's no way a 6 7/8 inch blade is going to disguise a 9 inch wound. This blade is 1 ¼ inches wide at the widest point. In other words it's a quarter inch too wide, but nowhere near long enough to fit the bill.
"I checked the other knives in the apartment; with Ducky's report it wasn't hard." She picks up another clear bag, upon which are written the signatures that constitute the evidence trail. "There were only three that fit the description, a matched set. Now the killer wore latex gloves; but as careful as he thought he was, he was careless. He probably ran it under water - but like Visine that only gets the red out; it doesn't remove all traces of the blood. I hit it with an ALS rather than Luminol, the light showed blood and microscopic bits of latex as well. The gloves were probably roughed up in the struggle to hold Kane down. I have a sample cloning for DNA analysis; I'll be able to let you know definitely if it's Kane's blood and only Kane's."
"One hour, Abby." He picks up his coffee cup, turns and starts away.
"Four hours, Gibbs." He stops, turns back. His eyes say the words for him. "I keep telling you 'you can't rush science'. You can yell at it, swear at it, threaten it, spank it occasionally if you're into that sort of thing and I am but you can't rush it. I should take sixteen, but since I have a sample of his blood already I'm taking a shortcut that will get you an answer in four."
"How was Hawaii?" he asks pointedly, reminding her she could be back there.
"Fantastic." He's the only one she knows who would use a tropical resort as a threat. "I told you Gibbs, I found this great 'nude' beach that allows women to go all the way if they agree to keep one special spot 'hidden'. I've got the cutest little bat outline right–" she lowers her hands.
"Four hours," he says.
"Four hours."