Chapter Ten

Tim watched the medical examiner's van pull away with Marco Santori's body. His eyes were focused on what was happening right in front of him, but his thoughts were a million miles away.

In reality, they were only five miles away, at George Washington University Hospital. Where Tony was awake and healing, but lying in a bed with no memory of what had happened to him or who had done it. Where Tim was going to have to look Tony in the eye and tell him that one of the men who attacked him was dead but that he hadn't been able to find any proof of who the other one was.

He was going to have to tell Tony that he was failing him, and he wasn't quite sure how he was going to do that.

"McGee?"

Tim turned toward Fornell as he approached. An older man, short and squat, with thick glasses and grey hair that wasn't so much receding as it was completely gone, accompanied him.

"I'd like you to meet Gibbs' neighbor, Edgar Collins."

"Hello, Mr. Collins," Tim said tiredly. He looked at Fornell in confusion; he was sure there was a reason behind the introduction, but he couldn't think of what it might be. "It's nice to meet you."

"Edgar has a dog," Fornell went on. "A boxer named Mugsy. A very … regular … boxer named Mugsy."

McGee's eyes widened in sudden understanding, and he took a step forward. "What time did you walk Mugsy last night?"

"The same time I do every night," Mr. Collins answered. "I came outside at 8:15 and went back in at 8:30."

"And what happened while you were outside?" Fornell was actually smiling as he asked the question, and Tim couldn't stop the surge of hope that he felt wash over him.

"Well, I saw that blue Mustang pull up, which isn't all that strange. It belongs to that young man, the tall handsome one? He's Jethro's."

Tim nodded his head. "Tony," he said. "His name's Tony."

"That's right! Tony. He's a nice boy. He's over here two or three times a week, so I know his car. He always says 'hi' when he sees me, and he pets Mugsy. And Mugsy likes him, which is odd, because Mugsy doesn't like anyone. He doesn't even like Jethro. Come to think of it, not many people like Jethro, though I don't know why. He's a perfectly quiet and respectable neighbor."

Tim smiled, and Fornell chuckled.

"What about last night, Edgar?" Fornell asked. "Did Tony pet Mugsy last night?"

"Oh, no. I don't think he could have, even if he'd tried. Mugsy was mad last night, growling and barring his teeth and snapping."

"At Tony?"

"Well, no. I told you, Mugsy likes Tony. But he sure had his hackles up at the two men who were with him."

Tim's heart leapt into his throat.

Tony wasn't the only witness they had.

"They told me he was drunk and they were taking him home, which, I know he spends a lot of time at Jethro's house, but I also know he doesn't live there, so I don't know what they were talking about. But he couldn't stand up, I know that, too, because they were carrying him. He looked like he'd passed out, had his head down, didn't say 'hi' when I talked to him. And I kind of keep an eye on things, you know. Me and Mugsy. We know who belongs here and who doesn't. Tony belongs here. Those two men with him didn't."

"And you saw them?" Tim had to fight to contain the excitement he was starting to feel. Edgar Collins just might turn out to be the best nosy neighbor Gibbs could have asked for. "You saw their faces?"

"Well, of course I did, young man!" Mr. Collins sounded offended at the question. "They were standing no further from me than you are. And make no mistake about it. I might be old, and people think I'm senile, and my eyes aren't what they used to be, but I know what I saw. And I know Tony wasn't drunk."

"How do you know that?" Fornell looked surprised.

"Well, his head was bleeding, and I didn't think he did that to himself. But mainly, it was because I know what booze smells like," Mr. Collins said. "And I know that boy didn't smell like it."

"Did you call the police and report it?" Tim asked.

"I did. They told me they'd look into it, but they tell me that all the time, and I never see them here. I was going to tell Jethro when he got home, but I fell asleep watching the news." Mr. Collins looked regretful, as though he felt that he hadn't done enough even though he'd done everything he could have been expected to do. "When I woke up, the ambulance was here, and I thought that Jethro already knew what had happened. So I went to bed. Then I saw all the police cars this morning, and saw you on Jethro's porch, and thought that maybe I should say something."

Fornell smiled at McGee again, and he put his hand on Collins' arm. "Edgar and I are going to stop by the Hoover Building and look at some mug shots, Agent McGee. You can finish up here, right?"

"Yeah, I've got it." Tim reached out and grasped Mr. Collins' hand tightly and shook it. "Thank you, Mr. Collins. You and Mugsy are good neighbors. Gibbs is lucky to have you."

"Jethro's a good man," Mr. Collins said. "And that Tony, he's a good boy. I just hope they're all right."

Fornell led Mr. Collins to his car, and Tim watched after them for a few moments. Five minutes earlier, he'd been wallowing in the fact that all of their leads were running straight into a dead man, and he'd been convinced that without Tony's memory, they wouldn't be able to solve the case. But that had all changed. All they needed was for Edgar Collins to recognize Santori and DelMar from their mug shots, and they'd have the proof that they needed.

He turned back to the crime scene in front of him, feeling more hopeful than he had since Abby stopped him from pounding Duncan into the wall.

Gibbs ignored the shocked looks on the faces of the nurses as he passed them and barreled through Tony's door, shoulder first. He led the way with his weapon, clearing the hospital room just as he would any other potentially dangerous scene. He checked the closet, the bathroom, under the bed, in the cabinets and dresser drawers. Only after making certain that the entire room was empty and safe did he make his way over to the bed.

He placed his right hand on Tony's uninjured shoulder and closed his eyes. Tony's breathing was easy and even, his expression one of calm and comfort, and the beeping of the monitor indicated a strong and steady heartbeat.

'He's okay. Nothing happened.'

"Excuse me?"

He spun toward the door on instinct, raising his gun and leveling it at the person standing there as he did.

"Who are you?"

The mousey-looking man who stood just inside the door cleared his throat and pushed his glasses further up on his nose. It was the only sign of nervousness he showed. "I'm Dr. Simms. I assume you are Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs lowered his weapon slowly and carefully.

"Dr. Marquardt explained Agent DiNozzo's situation to me. I know that this is a special case, and I understand your concerns about his safety." He didn't sound as mousey as he looked. There was a strength in his voice that his appearance didn't imply. "But I'm afraid that I am going to have to draw the line at you running around the hospital with …"

"He needs a new room." He'd dismissed the doctor as a threat, and he moved on to more important things.

Dr. Simms tipped his head. "I'm sorry?"

"A new room," Gibbs repeated. "He can't stay in this one. It's not safe."

"Agent Gibbs, I assure you that our security is …"

"Incapable of keeping the man who tried to kill my agent out of this hospital, off of this floor, or away from this room." He spoke slowly, clearly, and through clenched teeth. "Now, go out there and do whatever you need to do. Call Doc Marquardt. Fill out your paperwork. Just find him a new room."

"Agent Gibbs …"

"On a different floor." Gibbs finally holstered his gun, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I'll be bringing my own people in to handle security. I'll need a list of the nurses who are assigned to the floor, and to Tony, with photo IDs for my people to check against."

"But that's not …"

"I'll need the security footage for the past half hour," he continued. "From the time I hit the call button until five minutes ago. I want the front door, the emergency entrance, all employee entrances, the elevators and stairwells, and every camera within fifty feet of this hallway. I might need more than that later, but that's good for a start. And I want all of the nurses and the person who brought up the mail available to be interviewed and fingerprinted."

"You can't just …"

"Don't tell me I need to get a warrant first." Gibbs stepped toward the doctor, but he didn't move far from Tony's bed. "We're on the same side here, Dr. Simms. My job is the same as yours – keep Tony alive and safe."

"Of course." Dr. Simms nodded his head slowly and turned away reluctantly. "I'll see what rooms we have available on the other floors, and I'll start the transfer."

"And everything else?"

"I'll speak to our head of security," Dr. Simms said as he pulled the door open. "I'm sure he'll be more than willing to coordinate with you."

Gibbs nodded briskly. As the doctor walked out into the hallway, he turned back to Tony.

"It can't ever be easy with you, can it, DiNozzo?"

He dialed his phone, and the call was picked up on the second ring. It was a vast improvement over the last time.

"Boss?"

"Get your ass to the hospital. Now."

"Gibbs has not yet called me to tell me about Tony."

Tim spun around, both surprised and reassured by the voice behind him.

"Ziva!" He smiled broadly at her. "How'd you get here so fast?"

She glanced down at her watch, and then up at him in mild confusion. "It has been twelve hours, McGee."

"Has it?" He checked the time for himself.

It was almost 11:00. It had been fifteen hours since Tony was attacked. It had been thirteen hours since Gibbs and Ducky had found him. It had been nine hours since Gibbs had handed him the picture of Tony's back, seven hours since he and Abby had first watched the security video, three hours since Fornell had told him that Marco Santori was dead …

"Did you lose track of time?"

Tim shrugged. "I've been busy."

"I can imagine. You do not look as though you have slept."

A few moments passed in silence as Ziva appraised Tim silently and he pretended not to notice that she was doing it. It didn't take long before her attention made him uncomfortable, though, and he decided to divert it.

"How was your flight?"

"How is Tony?"

The two questions were spoken over one another.

Tim smiled softly and held up his hand, indicating that he'd answer Ziva's question first. It was the more important of the two, especially to her. She'd been on a plane for twelve hours, and the only information she had was the little bit that Tim had been able to give her on the phone.

"The doctor says he'll be fine." He guessed that was what she would want to hear first, and the way her face lit up at the news told him that he'd guessed correctly. "He's awake and talking, but he doesn't remember what happened. They're thinking he might get his memory back, though. So we're waiting for that."

"Where is Gibbs?"

"At the hospital with Tony."

Ziva tilted her head in confusion. "He is not running the investigation?"

"No," he said. "He handed it over to the FBI from the beginning. We're working with them, and for the time being, we report to Fornell."

"That does not sound like Gibbs."

"No, it doesn't. But this time, well, Gibbs can't be part of the investigation, and he wanted to make sure that …"

"For what reason?" He could hear the growing suspicion in her voice, and he remembered just how much information he had that she didn't.

"A lot has happened in the last twelve hours, Ziva. I'll bring you up to speed." His phone started to ring, and he pulled it out of his pocket. When he saw the name on the screen, his heart dropped into his feet. "Boss?"

"Get your ass to the hospital. Now."

"What happened? Is it Tony?" Ziva stepped forward when she heard the question, apprehension and concern clear in her eyes. "Is he …?"

"DelMar was here."

"What?! At the hospital? How do you …?"

"He was here, McGee." Gibbs sounded so certain that Tim had to remind himself that they still had no evidence of DelMar's involvement. "The son of a bitch was here."

Fornell scrubbed a hand through his short hair in frustration.

"And you're sure, Edgar?" he asked the older man.

Edgar Collins was sitting in front of the computer in Fornell's office at the J. Edgar Hoover Building, where he'd been sitting for the past hour. Fornell had put together a collection of mug shots for him to look at, and he'd gone through them all twice. The good news was that Edgar had identified two people from those pictures.

The bad news was that he'd picked out the two they already knew about.

"I've told you three times, young man." Edgar took his glasses off and wiped at them with the hem of his shirt. It was the fifth time he'd done it, and Fornell was starting to think it was a nervous habit. "The big, ugly one with the scars on his face was there. He was driving the car, and he pulled Tony out of the back seat, and he's not the one I talked to. None of these pictures are of the man I talked to."

Fornell reached out and hit the scroll button on the computer. He did it almost absent-mindedly, like he was just scrolling at random, but he did have a purpose.

"I still don't believe that Tony has ever been arrested, though. That just doesn't make any sense. He's a good boy, and Mugsy doesn't like criminals."

Fornell let his head fall forward slightly, but he didn't stop scrolling. Throwing DiNozzo's mug shot in there had been a last minute decision, one designed to make certain that Edgar actually knew him. That part of the plan had worked, because Edgar had identified DiNozzo the second his face appeared on the screen. He'd picked Santori out almost as quickly.

"None of these other men look familiar? Not at all?" Fornell slowed his scrolling speed as he neared the mug shot he was looking for. "You've never seen any of them before? Not this one?"

Fornell had no idea whose face was on the screen at that moment, but the question did pull Edgar's full attention back to the monitor, and the older man leaned in to study it closer.

"Or this one?"

Another random face, and a shake of Edgar's head.

"How about this guy?"

The guy in question was a mugger who'd gotten his kicks attacking people in national parks until Fornell had arrested him two years earlier. He was serving a ten year sentence. As expected, Edgar shook his head again.

"This man?"

It was old and out-of-date, but it was the most recent one they had. Fornell wished they had a newer one, but DelMar hadn't changed much in ten years. To anyone who had seen DelMar for any amount of time, or who had a reason to remember him, it would be enough. Even if Edgar couldn't match the entire face in his head to the one on the screen, there would have been enough similarity to pique his interest.

But there wasn't. There was nothing. Not even the slightest hint of recognition on Edgar's face.

He'd been less than a foot from DiNozzo and his would-be murderers. He'd been close enough to see the blood on DiNozzo's face and know that there was no alcohol on his breath. He'd had to hold his dog back from attacking them. He'd spoken to one of them. He'd picked Santori out without the slightest bit of hesitation.

"If I saw the man I talked to, I would tell you."

"I know you would, Edgar." Fornell patted him on the arm, drew in a deep breath, and then blew it out slowly. "Do you think you could describe him?" he asked. "To someone who could draw him?"

"Well, I don't know about the drawing him part," Edgar answered. "I never have understood how it is you agents do the things you do. But I can see his face in my head plain as day. If you've got someone who can draw what I say, then I can do it."

Fornell flashed Edgar a tight smile as he stood up and walked out of his office. He had no doubt that Edgar would describe their second suspect in almost perfect detail. It was obvious that the old man was a lot sharper than most people gave him credit for, and that he saw – and remembered – everything that went on in that neighborhood. It would be a matter of hours before they knew the face of the man who'd tried to kill DiNozzo and who had murdered Marco Santori. But Fornell knew with certainty that it wasn't going to be the face Gibbs expected it to be.

Stefano DelMar hadn't been there.

Tim's phone rang again just as he and Ziva were stepping off of the elevator.

Gibbs had told him about the note and the dartboard and had hung up immediately afterwards. He'd called him back once more just to give him Tony's new room number, but that conversation was equally as short.

"Well, at least Tony's getting better," he'd said after the second time Gibbs had hung up on him.

"How do you know that?"

"Gibbs is starting to act like Gibbs again."

The rest of the drive had been spent filling Ziva in on everything that had happened since Tony had first mentioned the possibility that the man or men who murdered Brewer and Strauss were still unidentified. He told her everything that he knew, and answered every question she'd asked. Then he'd called Abby to check on the status of the tests she was running on the evidence from the basement, and she promised she'd call him back the second she had anything.

Obviously, that second had arrived.

"Hey, Abby," he said. "I'm going to put you on speaker so you can tell Gibbs, too."

He saw Gibbs standing further down the hallway, right next to the door to Tony's room, talking to one of the doctors. Gibbs looked up, and Tim raised his hand in greeting. The doctor smiled at Tim and Ziva quickly before he said something to Gibbs, then turned and walked away.

"Hang on a minute," he said into the phone. "Boss, we …"

"Officer David." Gibbs' voice was a combination of irritated and confused, but if he felt any guilt about not having called her himself, he hid it well. "I thought you were in Tel Aviv."

"I was." Her words were short, clipped … angry. "Fortunately, at least one person thought I deserved to be told that someone attempted to torture my partner to death."

The look that Gibbs shot him could have melted ice and refrozen it again. At the same time. Tim glanced down at his feet and shrugged.

"Do not blame McGee," Ziva said. "I would have done the same."

"And you'd better not be grumpy that she's home," came Abby's voice through the speaker on Tim's phone. "Because we need her."

Gibbs took a breath and looked as though he were about to say something, but after one look at Tim and Ziva and a quick glance at the phone in Tim's hand, the aggravation fell from his face and he nodded. "All right. What have you got, Abs?"

Abby's briefing was short, and though she had quite a few results back, none of them provided any new information or insight.

Marco Santori had left fingerprints in and on Tony's car – on the steering wheel and the handles of both doors. The soles of Santori's shoes matched one of the two sets of bloody footprints left behind on Gibbs' floor. It would be several more hours before the DNA results were back, but the blood on Santori's clothes and shoes was A positive, the same blood type as Tony's. The evidence that had been collected from Tony by Dr. Marquardt's team was still being tested, but Ducky had found deep scratch marks on Santori's right arm that matched the size and shape of Tony's fingernails and rope burn on the palms of his hands.

Gibbs wasn't writing anything down, but Tim and Ziva were making careful note of every word Abby said. He glanced between them before speaking again.

"Did you find anything new, Abby? Anything we didn't already know?"

There had to be something. If all of the evidence led them to the dead man they already knew was involved, they'd never be able to prove that DelMar had anything to do with it.

He heard Abby sigh on the other end of the phone, and he could imagine the distressed and upset look on her face. "Two things," she said. "Neither is good."

He waited a few seconds for her to elaborate, and when she didn't, he prompted her.

"Well? Are you going to tell us?"

"The tox screen results are back on the blood from the basement floor."

There was another long pause, and it went on long enough that both Tim and Ziva looked at him. He shook his head at them. Abby wasn't just reluctant to tell them what she'd found; she didn't want to tell them at all.

"Abby," he said gently.

All three of them heard the shaky breath she drew, and they braced themselves for bad news.

"Rohypnol," she finally said. "And GHB."

"Both?" Tim was visibly upset by the news, and Gibbs shared the feeling. "Together?"

"Yeah."

"Then it does not matter how hard Tony tries," Ziva said. "He will never remember."

"No," Abby confirmed. "He might remember flashes, impressions, shadows … maybe sounds, feelings. But nothing else. From the second they put that needle in his neck … it's all gone."

Gibbs closed his eyes and rubbed his eyebrows with his hand. He'd been prepared to hear it – they'd known Tony had been drugged since Dr. Marquardt had told them hours before – but he hadn't expected them to have used two of the nastiest drugs on the street to do it. One of them, maybe. But not both.

"What else, Abs?"

The answer was more silence. As much as he usually enjoyed indulging Abby in her more emotional moments, he was finding himself quickly running out of patience for them.

"Abby!"

"The ballistics are back on the bullet that killed Marco Santori."

Gibbs started in surprise. "That's fast." He thought about that for a second, and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "That's too fast."

"Well, it matched the first weapon I ran it against, so …"

"Damn it!" Tim turned away as he cursed softly to himself.

"I should be saying 'good work, McGee'," Abby said. "But I don't think that's what you want to hear, is it?"

Gibbs had no idea what they were talking about, though it was clear from the look in Ziva's eyes that she did. "Explain, McGee."

"You're sure, Abby?" Tim asked.

"Positive."

"What are you talking about?" Gibbs demanded.

Tim huffed out a breath, and the effort it took for him to make himself look Gibbs in the eye was obvious. "It's Tony's," he said. Gibbs' gut churned at the news.

"Marco Santori was murdered with Tony's weapon."