Tony managed to make it down to the lab without puking, passing out or pissing his pants, none of those urges having anything to do with the painkillers. The giggle he just managed to stifle at his alliterative thoughts, however, just might have been thanks to the pain pills.
His thoughts were all serious, though, when he stepped into Abby's lab and waited for her to nod at Gibbs, who would then slap cuffs around his wrists while Kate and McGee stared in shock at his fingerprints on Landry's ring. Tony wondered if Gibbs would at least cuff his hands in front because of his shoulder.
He hoped not. Because he didn't deserve the consideration.
And then he had to remind himself again that he hadn't killed Landry. That someone else had plunged that K-Bar into the man's chest.
Someone, Tony? a voice whispered from the back of his head. Someone else killed him? Come on. You're a damned good liar, but you can't lie to yourself. You know who killed Landry.
"Whaddaya got, Abbs?" Gibbs said, making Tony wonder if it would be the last time he heard that familiar phrase.
"Me?" Abby asked, her spiky bracelets catching the light as she brought her hands up to her chest. "I got nothin', Bossman."
"Abby—" Gibbs started.
The Goth grinned and pointed over his shoulder at Ducky, who was entering the lab. "But we? We got somethin' for you, Gibbs."
But Gibbs was not placated. "You got nothing, Abby?" he asked, sounding frustrated. "From all those boxes of evidence, you got not one hair, one fiber? Not one fingerprint?"
"Gibbs," Abby said, sounding wounded—and a bit nervous, Tony noticed with a wince. "I have spent the entire day testing hairs and fibers and prints—"
"Oh my," Tony couldn't help saying. He was also trying to gauge Abby's reaction, but he got nothing more than an impatient half-smile in return. And maybe he was also discreetly begging her to save him. But he knew he couldn't actually ask her to lie for him—it was why he had pretty little drunken Julia as his alibi, should he need one.
When you need one, he thought guiltily.
"But it got really, reeeeeaaalllly boring when they all turned out to be Landry's or his son's—or the team's," she added quickly. And then quickly when on, "Do you have any idea how frustrating it was to get all excited, over and over and over again, when I'd get a match and look up to see one of your smiling faces? Not that I don't like seeing your smiling faces—because I do. Just not, uh, as evidence at a crime scene. I'm going to be quiet now."
Gibbs gave her a look. "I'd rather you tell me what you found on the evidence we didn't touch, Abbs."
She blanched in a way that made Tony want to blurt out the truth and spare her this hell. He had to mentally slap himself when the first words that came to mind were: I killed Landry.
But Gibbs was already saying, "Like the murder weapon? The ring? The photo?"
"I told you, Gibbs," Abby said, shaking her head and looking at the floor. She sighed heavily and continued, "Landry's prints were on the knife and the photo. But his were the only ones. On both items. In fact, I found Landry's prints only on the bottom of the knife—a palm print. The handle was a mess of smeary junk. And I know why." She called up the photo of the gouge in the door. "This gash matches the dimensions of a Marine Corps-issue K-Bar, almost perfectly. The height of the blade is slightly shorter than the gouge though. I know why that is, too. In fact, it's the same answer both questions."
She moved to the table and picked up the bagged knife, drawing it back behind her ear. "Someone threw it into the doorframe with so much force that it buried to the hilt. Now, it also takes a lot of force to pry a knife out of solid wood. I mean, a lot a lot of force. Even one of those awesome guys who wear the kilts at the Highland Games and chuck tree trunks and stuff would have a hard time with this. So," she said, placing the bagged blade carefully between the fingers of her outstretched hand, "whoever pried it out of the wall made this up and down motion, elongating the gash in the wall in order to free the knife. And smearing any prints that might have been on the blade to kingdom come. Wherever that is."
Tony listened numbly while she spoke, wondering why she was delaying the inevitable. He got lucky with the knife. But he knew she had found his prints on that ring. He looked up at her, taking in her big black combat boots, the chains decorating her short skirt, her black t-shirt covered in red stars—and the white lab coat that would have seemed at odds on anyone else.
But to him it was pure Abby.
Tony wanted to hug her. To pull her against his chest and whisper into her pigtails that it was okay. That he didn't blame her for doing her job. That he was sorry he had used her. That he hoped she could forgive him—for everything he had done.
He met her eyes and saw the emotions rolling through them—felt her pain like a blow to his own body.
"What about the ring, Abbs?" he asked, his voice low and even.
She didn't even blink. "There was nothing on the ring. Not even a partial."
Tony kept his mouth from dropping open. Barely. It felt like the world was tipping over, but Tony couldn't say a word. Not with a room full of people. He met Abby's eyes and saw the warning in them.
"Wiped, Abby?" Kate was asking.
"Like a baby's butt," Abby replied, sadly. Her eyes met Tony's again and the message was clear: If either of us freaks out right now, Gibbs will know everything. Keep it together, DiNozzo.
"Maybe you were right, Kate," McGee said. "Killer was going to move the body and got interrupted."
"Or," Gibbs said, "the killer wore gloves. Still doesn't explain why he wiped Landry's blood from the doorframe."
"Ah," Ducky said, joining the conversation. "And I have another mystery for you, I'm afraid."
"This is the 'we' part, Gibbs," Abby said, somehow managing to sound excited, which shouldn't have been surprising considering the four empty Caf-Pow!s Tony counted in the trash. "I was getting bored with all the false positives I was getting on the fingerprints so I went to visit Ducky while my machines did all the work for me. Shhh, don't tell the director."
Ducky continued, "The first thing my scientist friend said upon seeing Landry's body was that man's face looked almost striped. I took a closer look," he said, placing photos on Abby's long table. "And you can clearly see this darkest bruise came from striking the edge of an object. But look closely, and you'll see that all of the bruising has that vertical orientation. The killer never struck Landry in the face with his fists."
"So the killer didn't want to risk damage to his hands," Kate said, frowning. "That makes perfect sense."
"Ah," Ducky said, flipping more photos onto the table. "Therein lies the mystery, Caitlin. See these bruises here? On his chest and his sides? These lack that straight line. And the marks definitely match Landry's ring, Abby and I double-checked that. The killer put the ring on his finger and punched Landry. Repeatedly. Whoever did that would likely have the puffy knuckles to prove it, whether he punched Landry's face or not."
Tony looked from Gibbs' scraped, slightly swollen hands to his own and he tried not to flinch. He purposely did not look to see who else might be taking notice.
"Are you trying to tell me there were two attackers?" Gibbs said, making Tony's breathing pick up ever so slightly.
"If we're going by method of punishment," Ducky said, "then that would make three. There are clear boot prints on Landry's lower back."
"Do you think you could find me a brand, Abbs?" Gibbs asked.
"Way ahead of you, Bossman," she said, quickly turning her back to the group and calling up a screen on her monitor. "I got this impression from the heel and I'm ninety percent certain it's from a Rockport Basalt or Rockport Banni—both have identical tread patterns and retail for about ninety bucks. Banni comes in black and brown, Basalt in black only—no judgment here. I am, however, one hundred percent sure that this won't help you find a suspect because both are sold in stores across the country and are quite common."
"And quite ugly," Tony said, trying to follow Abby's unspoken advice to act normally. As if his best friend hadn't just risked her career, her beloved job, her Gibbs—and possibly her freedom for him.
"Shoe snob," Abby teased, looking relieved. "I bet you don't own anything less than Ferragamos."
Not anymore, Tony thought, immensely grateful that he had thought to bury the boots in his trash before it went out Sunday night. He remembered his heart racing about as fast as it was now when Gibbs had looked pointedly at the sling on Tony's arm and demanded he hand over the bag. Tony was glad that had happened before Gibbs had any reason to go through his trash, even though he had every right to. Tony was guilty, after all, and innocent people don't throw away perfectly good boots—even if they were unfashionable ones bought to go hiking with a girlfriend who had not lasted nearly as long as the boots.
"But," Ducky said, "I highly doubt there were three attackers. Or even two. Rather, I think there is a psychological reason why the killer didn't want to punch Landry in the face."
"He never hit Brian's face," Tony said softly, without thinking.
Tony realized there was no way for him to know that at the same time Kate did. He actually gave her credit for having the balls to ask. "How do you know that, Tony?" she asked, her tone sympathetic rather than accusing. "Brian's friends confirmed that, but I just found that out tonight," she said softly.
And Tony suddenly knew that she knew—well, about his abusive father, at least. Always was a good profiler, he thought, steeling himself with a deep breath. He just looked her in the eyes and said quietly, "My father never hit mine."
Those pretty brown eyes went wide, but she didn't say anything.
"So it's like the ring and the photo that was moved," Abby said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "The killer was making a statement."
"That sounds very likely, my dear," Ducky said. He turned to Gibbs. "While Abby was working on the boot prints, I managed to determine an approximate time of death. Landry was killed sometime in the wee hours of Sunday morning—I would estimate between midnight and 4 a.m. I wish I could be more specific, but our killer did not make it easy for me, what with turning the air conditioning so low. And, Staff Sergeant Landry's blood alcohol level was .21, very high indeed, considering a reading of .30 can be fatal."
Tony was barely listening to the figures on how much of that bottle of Scotch Landry had consumed because he was watching Abby swallowing hard at the time of death, her posture slumping in her swivel chair. And if he had any lingering doubts that she had wiped the ring for him, if he had thought he was simply projecting, her sad eyes turning on him obliterated those doubts.
But then she simply sat up straighter, those green eyes going steely with determination as she turned to Gibbs. "How did the interviews go?" she asked.
Ducky cast a slightly concerned look at Gibbs when the agent didn't answer. "Have you found any viable suspects?" he tried.
Gibbs pulled his gaze up from the floor. "Got a teacher who knew about the abuse coming in tomorrow morning," Gibbs said, and Tony actually felt bad for the look McGee got at those words.
"Well, then," Ducky said, looking around at the team's tired faces. "May I make a suggestion?"
"Take him home, Duck," Gibbs said, nodding at Tony. He turned to Kate and McGee. "Get out of here, you two. I want everyone back at 0700."
Tony's head jerked up at that, but Gibbs just said, "Not you, DiNozzo. Stay home."
"But Gibbs—"
"Stay. Home." Gibbs shook his head. "Hell, Tony, right now I wish you were half as lazy as you pretend to be."
Tony just shut his mouth, oddly stung by the words. He let Ducky keep a hand on him when he stood shakily, and he didn't shrug it off as the doctor walked him to the door, following behind Kate and McGee. They filed out into the hall, but Tony's impeccable hearing picked up the conversation in the lab, his boss's behavior making it all but an afterthought.
"You didn't order me home, Bossman," Abby said, sounding tired for the first time in Tony's memory. "How come?"
Gibbs' steady response did nothing for Tony's unsteady legs.
"Because you and I need to talk, Abby."