AN: Oops! Sorry — I didn't realize yesterday was Wednesday until too late to post. (Yes, it's been that kind of a week.) *sheepish grin* My weekly Wednesday Rory's Story Cubes writing prompt email also didn't go out, so it was just kind of a fail of a day. In actual story notes, the HUD report Bishop mentions is real and the numbers she cites come from the actual report that published in November. :( The JAG numbers and Fair Winds shelter numbers are completely made up, though, because the shelter and the storyline are complete fiction.

Chapter 14

McGee remembered to text Delilah that he wasn't going to be free for lunch — or dinner, at this rate — then went back to following the money trail. As he pulled documents from hearings and reports from departments to cross-check, he wondered why it had to be so much harder to figure out if there was money rerouted within the federal government than to trace a terrorist organization's money around the globe. "We don't even use Swiss banks," he muttered.

"Did you find something?" Bishop asked.

McGee snorted. "Just a headache," he said. "Whoever said computers would lead to a paperless society never counted on bureaucracy using it to generate 10 times the number of pages, all in electronic form."

"Thanks to all those pages, I think I found something," Bishop said.

McGee looked up to see her sitting on her desk, laptop balanced on her knees. "Something to help us solve the case?" he asked.

"Maybe?" Bishop frowned. "HUD, the office of Housing and Urban Development-"

"I know what HUD is," McGee interrupted.

"Did you know they do an annual homeless count?" she asked. "Every January, all over the country. That means in November, after they've processed and analyzed all the data, they release a report."

"And how does this help us find the missing money?" McGee asked.

"Well, I don't know that it does," Bishop said. "But I now know that a year ago, there were 499 homeless veterans in the city, and all but 64 of them had some sort of shelter, either through a place like Fair Winds or through transitional housing. That's 12.6 percent, which is slightly lower than the rate for all non-child homeless in the city."

"So veterans are doing a little better than average, but still not great," McGee said.

"How many people did you say were at the shelter?" Bishop asked.

"They have room for about 200, I think the brochures said," McGee said.

"And how many are veterans?" Bishop asked.

"I don't know," McGee replied. "Marques said many of their residents were veterans, but we didn't pin him down. Why?"

"You got the files from Capt. Coleman, right?" Bishop asked. "The ones Tony asked her to turn over about all the cases her office worked on."

McGee opened a folder on the server. "They're right here," he said. "Right down to a spreadsheet documenting time spent on each case."

Bishop set the laptop down as she bounced to her feet, somehow without falling or dropping the computer. "Can you sort it based on the source of the paperwork?" she asked.

"What, like the shelter the veteran was at when he or she filed the paperwork?" McGee asked.

Bishop nodded. "I don't want to know the shelter, but how many of the veterans that they helped are homeless?" she asked.

McGee filtered the data down. "It looks like in the past two years, they've filed paperwork on behalf of 600 homeless veterans," he said.

"But there are only 499 in the city," Bishop said.

"They file on behalf of veterans in Maryland and Virginia, too," McGee said. "And as fast as they help somebody get off the streets, more replace them."

Bishop ignored that comment. "Just the Washington ones," she said. "That's what we're dealing with here."

"200," McGee said.

"That has to be almost all the sailors and Marines in the city," Bishop said. "Although that number is across two years — some of these men might not be homeless anymore."

"Here's a question for you," McGee said. "Why aren't the Maryland and Virginia shelters also getting funding if the JAG office is the key to the puzzle? If this is all about helping veterans, wouldn't all of them be getting helped?"

Bishop frowned. "Unless..." She tapped her chin. "Maryland and Virginia are states," she said.

"Right...?" McGee waited for an explanation that made sense.

"The District isn't a state," she said. "Congress handles its funding and everything else."

He was already searching for the files before she finished what she was saying. "Which means that the only funding they can count on is federal because everything else has to go through Congress and a lot of District residents think that means their funding is based on what Congress wants, not what the residents want." He found the set of files he was searching for. "So if somebody wanted to do something, they would have to use federal resources and hide it because Congress gives the local city budget more scrutiny because they don't always agree with the City Council."

"Exactly," Bishop said. "And the district's congressional representative isn't on Armed Services or Veterans Affairs, so she has limited ability to influence what comes out of those committees."

"So maybe somebody decided that a little off-the-books help with funding would be a good idea," McGee said. "That probably means we're looking for a District resident — people who live out in Maryland or Virginia usually don't care too much about Washington's lack of local control."

"Don't you live in Maryland?" Bishop asked.

"Abby, Tony and Jimmy don't," McGee said. He rolled his eyes. "They all have different reasons for not liking it — even if Tony's is mostly because it gives him a reason to complain about how hard it is to park his car — but none of them like it."

"I will... make a note not to ask them about it," Bishop said. "Coleman's office has a connection in the VA, which is how they get the paperwork through."

"That person must be connected to the DOD somehow, because that's where the money's coming from," McGee said. "Coleman didn't tell us who her source was — and she's not going to now — but if you run a vector to find people in that office who have a connection with the DOD and live in the District-"

"We should have a list of suspects," Bishop said. She grabbed her laptop and started typing.

"And once we know who we're looking at, I can stop combing through about 80 percent of the budget lines in the DOD and narrow in on the ones most likely to be the source of the money," McGee said. "That will take me a lot less time."

He just hoped it was quick enough.

~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~

Burley pulled up in front of the neat ranch home. The carport on the side of the house sheltered an older-model Ford sedan, the blue paint faded from time. The walk and driveway were properly shoveled, no icy patches anywhere. He walked up and knocked on the door, waited a minute, then knocked again.

The woman who opened the door was thin, her shoulders bony under the sweater than hung on her, one purchased for a larger woman. But her face was puffy, the skin dull, and her sweater tightened across her belly.

"Sabrina Briggs?" Burley asked.

"Who wants to know?" she asked, her voice raspy.

"Agent Stan Burley, NCIS," he said. "I'm helping the team investigating your son's death."

Sabrina looked at him for a moment, then nodded and stepped back, allowing him in. She moved slowly toward the living room, then took a seat.

"What happened to John?" she asked.

"That's what the team in Washington is trying to figure out," Stan said. "Ma'am, I'm very sorry for your loss. Do you know anything that might help? Had your son mentioned any problems the last time you talked?" He hoped Gibbs had managed to keep the news that they had somebody in custody quiet, or he wouldn't get anywhere.

"I haven't talked to John," Sabrina said. "I didn't-" She stopped and gripped the arm of the chair until her knuckles showed white spots.

"Ma'am, can I get you anything?" Stan asked. "Are you all right?"

Sabrina laughed, sandpaper over a metal edge, ending in a coughing jag. "It's too late to help me," she said. "That's why John didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" Stan asked, although he was starting to put it together.

"I got sick," she said. "Real sick, and I'm not getting better."

"Cancer?" Stan wondered how much one family should have to bear.

"Ovarian," she said. "Stage IV, back when they discovered it nine months ago. My lungs, liver, everything inside — filled with cancer. The tumors probably weigh more than the rest of me these days."

"I'm sorry," he said, hating the inadequate words.

"I had my run," Sabrina said. "Some would call this what I deserve." She pointed to a photo on the wall, a small boy dressed in a button-down plaid shirt, hair slicked down except for a single piece, one front tooth missing. "That's John, in third grade. Stillwater Elementary, same as me. He had my old teacher, too." She winced and shifted position slightly. "My boy, he was everything to me. I did my best to raise him right, and to do right when he grew."

"That must have been a challenge," Stan said. "I understand your parents weren't much help."

"You've never been to Stillwater, have you?" she said, her laugh turning to a cough. "My parents had rules, lots of them. Things good girls did and didn't do." She clasped her hands on her lap. "I was never enough for them, never able to do what they wanted perfectly enough for them to love me."

"So you turned to somebody you thought did love you," Stan prompted.

"At first, I thought he loved me enough to leave behind his perfect girlfriend, and suddenly I'd be the princess of the class," Sabrina said. "Then I knew he wouldn't leave, and he didn't love me. But I felt that way with him a damn sight more than I ever did at home."

"And then you got pregnant," Stan said.

"At first I didn't know. It was different back then. You're too young to remember, but they didn't use to teach this sort of thing in schools," she said.

"I'm not that young," Stan said. "I remember those days."

"Then I didn't want to tell anybody, and I didn't have the money to do what his girlfriend would have done in the same situation. Not that she would put out. That's why he found me."

"Your parents were angry when they found out," he said.

"Threw me out," she said. "They wanted me to tell who the father was, and I wouldn't. They wouldn't have believed me. He was a nice boy. They thought it had to be a troublemaker." She shook her head. "The year before, they nearly made me drop science class because they didn't like my lab partner."

"Nearly?" Stan asked.

"Leroy's father runs the general store in town, and Mr. Gibbs kept Leroy on a short leash. He was rough, but he wasn't a bad boy. He wouldn't have done what Chuck did," she said.

"Wait, Gibbs was your lab partner?" Stan said.

"You know Leroy?" she asked.

"His team has the case," Stan said. Except she should have already known that after Gibbs went to Stillwater. He picked a course of action quickly. "Gibbs' team is the best one at NCIS. They'll find out what happened to John." He waited just a second before pushing the conversation back to Stillwater. "Your parents had letters from John at their house, recent ones. Ones where he didn't mention he wasn't in the Navy anymore."

"I didn't know," Sabrina said. "John doesn't know I got sick, because I couldn't call him and pretend. I waited for him to call me, but he didn't. I figured he was overseas, no phone calls. I had email at work, but I had to go out on disability almost right away. Hospital work is hard, and I was hurting. That's the only reason I went to the doctor in the first place."

"You wrote the letters," Stan said, just to confirm it.

"I tried," she said. "Over the years, even after we moved, I tried to stay in touch with them. Even when they didn't reply. I thought maybe they'd change. Maybe John would get better grandparents than I'd had parents. He didn't have nobody else."

"Did they?" Stan asked.

"I still know people in town," she said. "Mr. Gibbs was the one who told me how proud they were of their Navy grandson when I went back once to see a friend. That was the first time I knew they had opened any of my letters."

"So you started writing letters from him," he said.

"I printed, tried to make it look like a boy had written it," she said. "He'd tell me stories, and I'd tell them like he was saying it."

"Why?" Stan asked.

"They were all he has," she said. "I hadn't written in a few years, and then I got sick. I knew I had to start writing again."

"You wanted them to be there when you were gone," Stan said.

Sabrina nodded. "I wrote to them, and I called Chuck. It was the first time I'd talked to him since the night I told him I was pregnant and he brushed me off."

"Did he brush you off again?" Stan asked

"No," she said. "No, he didn't. Said he'd learned a lot, and lost a lot because he'd never claimed another boy of his." She let her lips curve up in a smile that held no humor. "Guess I wasn't all that special after all."

"Did John know?" Stan asked, resisting the urge to lean forward. He didn't want to spook her, not now.

She shook her head. "Chuck said he'd talk to a friend of his, find out how John was doing. He sent me a letter, sealed. Said it was for John if he wanted it. After I'm gone. It's on my desk, on top of the bills. He won't miss it." Her tone was even, stating just the facts in front of her.

Stan didn't point out that Briggs would never have the chance to see it. "You don't know who this friend was, do you?" he asked.

"He didn't say, and I had plenty to worry about," Sabrina said. "But I kept writing to my parents, kept hoping maybe this letter they would respond. Maybe this time they would realize what they missed by shutting us out." She looked up at Stan. "They didn't, did they?"

All he could do was shake his head.

~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~

Once his office was empty, Vance called down to the holding area and spoke with the agent on duty. Once he was satisfied that Horton was there for the long haul, he moved on to the next round of calls. He needed to deal with the congressman and SecNav, not necessarily in that order. He started with the person with the most power over him.

"Yes, Leon?" came the voice on the other end of the line. "Tell me you have answers so Schenck will let me get back to running the Navy."

"I have my best team on it," Vance said. "Gibbs and his team are working on a theory, but they need to make sure the evidence is in order before we can act. A case that could be this high profile, I want to make sure everything is by the book."

"As long as you have this resolved before I have to appear before the Armed Services Committee tomorrow morning to defend whatever they decide to question in my budget," she said. "I don't want any surprises from the committee members, and I don't want any questions about why we can't bring a killer to justice."

Vance raised one eyebrow. "We will ensure justice is served in this case, Madame Secretary," he said. "On that, you have my word."

"Then the next time I hear you're on the other end of the phone line, it had best be to tell me you've solved this case," she said. "Before my hearing."

"Agent Gibbs works well under pressure," Vance said. "Good afternoon, Madame Secretary."

Once that call was complete, Vance made the more difficult one — to Schenck. SecNav wanted to believe and trust him — he thought. He couldn't say the same for the congressman.

"Director Vance," said the congressman. "You're calling to tell me the awful person who killed Petty Officer Briggs is behind bars, I hope."

"I have my best team working on it," Vance said. "We do have a suspect, but as I'm sure you can understand, we don't want to put an innocent man behind bars."

"He's out on the streets?" Schenck said.

Vance cursed to himself. "We have him in custody, Congressman," he said, careful to keep his tone measured. "We're just making sure we have all the evidence lined up before we charge him. I'm sure you can respect our team's diligence."

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I can. Thank you for the update."

But something in the congressman's tone left Vance staring at the phone after the call ended. He thought over the conversation in his head, then made a call.

"Check the records from last night, Gibbs," he said. "Start the clock; make sure we charge Horton before that 48-hour window runs out. I don't want this case falling apart on a technicality." Vance listened to his response. "Then you'd better solve the rest of the case before then."