Chapter Eleven
The Nosy People are Back

Gibbs and Pride, having sent DiNozzo, David and LaSalle back to the Aventine Ambulance Service, work on what aspects of the case they can, with Pride at DiNozzo's desk and Brody at Ziva's when Gibbs' phone rings. It's a short conversation, culminating in his announcement as he leaves his desk: "The Evidence is in from Annapolis and is being delivered to Abby."

Unbidden, the other four agents follow. The physical evidence may be two decades old but it's more useful than the memories and suppositions they've had to work with.

xx

"Hello." "Hey, guys," Ruby and Abby call when the five emerge from the elevator and pass through the clear sliding door, the rapid beeps piping them in. "It's Christmas," Abby announces of the boxes that she and Ruby Rae pile high on her Evidence Table. "Well, actually, not Christmas, since this is July even though some Theologians say this is probably when Jesus was born since that was when the Census took place but it's not really Christmas now, that'd be kind of gross as this is evidence of a murder, but still–."

"What've you got?" Gibbs' question halts her.

"Aaaaaaaaaa - bunch of closed boxes."

Pride goes to the first, folding knife in his hand. "Rule 9."

"You know it," Gibbs says.

"Did you guys have all the same rules?" Abby asks, to which Pride reveals that

"After Number 11, they started to diverge."

"Appropriate," McGee says. "When the job is done, walk away."

"We did."

"Gibbs is up to 71," Abby says. "How about you?"

"43. Never be sure they won't knock the house down while you're inside it."

"Ohhhhh – kay," Michelle says, wondering how crazy things get in New Orleans. If Abby's an example, plenty, but "That one would probably have limited use."

"You only need it once," Pride assures her. "Twice is pushing your luck."

"Amen," Brody concurs, accepting a sheaf of papers from Rae.

x

The contents of the first box, which Abby takes firm charge of so that no one puts a hand in until she inventories and confirms everything from Rae's ancient papers, contain personal minutia such as might be found in a bedroom dresser drawer, but three plastic bags spark interest. They're diaries, small blue books of different shades with locked straps that operate more on trust than security, and all three are dated consecutively.

Gibbs selects the final one and hands it to Michelle. "To Ducky. See what he can make of it from his Psychological Autopsy thingy." He hands the other two diaries to McGee and Palmer. "You two learn her history."

"I'm studying Psychological Profiling at Tulane," Brody volunteers.

Gibbs pulls the final book from Michelle's hand and puts it in Brody's, leaving her with the previous year's. "Bring it down to Ducky. You have one hour."

"For a preliminary report?"

"To finish."

Michelle can read in the woman's eyes as she turns away to the door 'Next time I'll keep my mouth shut.'

xxx

Tony DiNozzo, accompanied again by Ziva and Chris LaSalle, stops his motor-pooled black Stratus on the curb short of the space before the large white ambulance. They're here for additional information but he doesn't want to hinder the exit of the vehicle, which could depart literally at any moment. This time, however, the white bay door is lowered but he can see the truck's upper lights through the slatted window.

The door to their left of the bay is unlocked and lets them into said bay where one of the white shirted men looks up at their unexpected entrance. They can see he's about to inquire about the reason for their entrance until recognition lights his eyes.

"Captain," he calls into the office on the right side, "the nosy people are back." But it's said with a companionable smile, which is how it's replied to and a moment later the door opens and John Gage steps out.

xx

When the trio is seated opposite the older man, DiNozzo pulls from his shirt pocket a folded sheet of paper. Gage doesn't even open it, just sets it on the desk blotter before him.

"I pulled the folders for everyone who was on the team when Annette Saunders was here," he points to a stack upon the window sill behind him, "but it's not much. We don't update after they leave so you'll have some work ahead. I couldn't even tell you how many are even still alive."

"We'll deal with it."

"I studied her file, but it's pretty dry. Dahl didn't put in a lot of personal stuff. Certifications, Licenses, copies of Unit Citations and of 'Thank You' letters that would have gone to everyone who made a particular run. Not a lot more beyond Insurance, Background checks and so forth. Those other folders aren't much fuller."

"What about Saunders' Medical Records? Our M.E. found a broken arm and broken rib, each healed. Anything in there on that?"

He pulls the folder, scanning briefly. "She had a 'Medical Deferment' for the couple of weeks in her final year, arm and rib broken, but it doesn't specify how. This was a couple of months before she disappeared. She'd have been off duty here until she healed."

"She couldn't even man the phone?"

"Not a chance. I certainly wouldn't allow it; there's too much chance she would have to work a short-handed shift and you can't lift a stretcher into the truck with a broken rib." He double checks the folder. "Yeah, no reason given. If it were me there would have been," he assures them, his opinion of the omission clear in his face and tone.

x

"We appreciate everything you've done," Chris LaSalle assures him.

"Wish it could be more. I never knew her, of course, but when I think something could happen to any of the members we have now, I'd want to contribute to a solution."

"We do have more questions," DiNozzo says.

"I expected you would."

"Would she have had her own defibrillator?"

Gage's expression is enough of an answer. "Her own defibrillator?" He considers the point. "I can't understand why. According to her file she worked in Sewells Point Clinic at the Navy Base and they'd have their own, possibly several. We have two here, State-of-the-Art models; back then they'd still have had one here like I used in LA. That was a big thing, twelve by nine in its own case. It was portable, at least that's what it was billed as, but I was glad we had a Squad and I didn't have to carry it more than short distances. And it was expensive so we took good care of it."

"But would she have had one?"

Gage considers the point. "I can't speak for back then, what Nathaniel Dahl would have allowed, but unlike Volunteer Fire Departments where the guys keep their gear at home and will run or drive when the siren sounds, Medical equipment is specialized. If she were on duty at that Clinic or here, she'd have what she needed. I don't forbid my people from having supplies, 'Emergency' is just what it says, but I don't encourage them having a full truckload either."

"So she could, but unlikely."

"I'd say so. She might have a First Aid kit at home, but she'd hardly need specialized equipment."

Nevertheless, they do know from Gibbs and Pride's interview with Paul that Annette Saunders kept a mysterious closet full of things off limits to the little brother.

The problem with a mysterious closet from two decades ago is that there's no way for them to say that, despite the certainty of the man before them, that Saunders didn't have the equipment. 'You can't prove a negative'; DiNozzo decides it ought to be one of his Rules. The only thing they knew for certain is that, if she had wanted the stuff, she certainly could have afforded it.

"We think she might have had a closet full of medical equipment, including a defibrillator, that the family cleaned out some time after she disappeared. If they gave it to you, would there be a record?"

"I don't know. There might, if I had a clue as to where or when to look, or it might have been accepted as a donation and not recorded. They might get a receipt for taxes–"

"The family was richer than a Politician."

"So maybe yes or maybe no. If you could give me a clue as to when to look for it I could try, but don't get your hopes up."

"Story of our lives."

x

He shrugs. "Just what is this interest in defibrillators?"

They're alone and Gage had been 3,000 miles away when Annette Saunders was killed, so "We think she was killed, possibly tortured first, with a defibrillator."

"Wow. What makes you think that?"

"Forty marks covering her torso." Gage's expression makes Tony ask "What?"

"I'm thinking. Defibrillator generally work at 1,000 volts. It's meant to shock a heart that's having ventricular fibrillation or tachycardia. It stops the heart for a moment so the natural rhythm can reestablish itself. Think of it like slapping the face of a hysterical person. But if you use it to cause an asystolic state, you would need CPR or intravenous medications that I can name, or something like adrenaline pumped right into the heart together with CPR. If you're going to stop the heart that many times and then use CPR each time to bring her back... I'm sorry, I can't see it."

"What about a partial charge?"

"What's that?"

The question catches DiNozzo short. "Partial, like not fully charged to a thousand."

"No, I'm trying to tell you that's not how it works. The one we had back then in LA didn't fire until it was up to a thousand, or four hundred Joules, depending upon the scale you wanted to use: full power. And I haven't seen one since that will."

"So someone did go all the way more than twenty times?" It's not a pretty picture at all.

Gage shakes his head. "That's not torture, that's repeated murder."

xx

In the black Stratus, and in this moment all three agents are in full agreement that a black car in a mid-Summer heat wave has to be the decision of a bureaucrat, Tony touches the speed dial on his phone.

/Special Agent McGee./

"Tim, check Saunders' financial records. She may or may not have bought a defibrillator on her own. The best we can get is guesstimate that she probably wouldn't have."

/Let me guess, it wasn't against the rules but she wouldn't have needed it off duty./

"You got it, buddy. I'm thinking she planned for local emergencies, like a grandmother with a heart problem." The woman had died of a heart attack five months after Saunders had gone missing, which irony is lost on no one.

/Will do./