A/N: Many of you asked, and in some cases begged, me to continue where the last chapter left off, so here you go! This chapter required a little legal research into the workings of the federal courts (I'm used to state/district courts) and served as a bit of a refresher course for me on Constitutional law!
In response to a PM I received from guest reviewer "June", I'm not sure where you got the idea that I wasn't finishing this story! Sometimes updates take longer than intended, but I have not and will not ever abandon a story!
Disclaimer: Still don't own and still not making money from this. As always, no copyright infringement intended.
CH 28:
"Damn Tony," Gibbs groaned, overwhelmed as always by the indescribable pleasure he felt when making love to Tony. It wasn't purely the physical act, but there was also something much deeper. He loved Tony more than he thought possible, and Tony loved him back in equal measure. Years of pent up desire and longing faded away with each hug, kiss, caress, stolen glance, wink, and smile. Gibbs had been sure that his only chance to love and be loved died with Shannon, until Tony tackled him on the streets of Baltimore all those years ago.
Gibbs' first instinct had been to take him slow and sweet, which was what morning love making normally entailed, but Tony's unabashed request triggered an overwhelming urge to release his animalistic side. On the most basic level, Gibbs wanted - no needed - to leave his mark, stake his claim, and forever erase any lingering memory of the only other man to ever make love to his Tony.
The predatory look Gibbs leveled at him had struck a chord with Tony as well. It was a look of pure feral need, hunger, and possession laser focused solely on him. He could feel desperation with each kiss, bite and long, powerful stroke as Gibbs made love to every inch of him. Wanting nothing more than to have Gibbs posses him body and soul, Tony surrendered and spurred him on to take what he needed.
"Take me, Jethro. Claim me, mark me, make me yours. I wanna be only yours," Tony panted just before Gibbs sank his teeth into the tender flesh of his neck and sucked hard. "Yessss," he hissed just seconds before coming again, slightly weaker than his first release.
"God Tony! Need you … want you … love you," Gibbs declared breathlessly as mere moments later he too came undone.
Tony tossed his jacket over the partition wall then gingerly lowered himself down into his chair, wincing ever so slightly and squirming to find a suitably comfortable position. A hot but all too short shower had taken care of most of the familiar post-coital aches and pains, and a couple of Advil with breakfast was beginning to ease the rest. He was grateful that the soft sage green turtleneck he chose to wear that morning covered the deep purple brand that Gibbs had bestowed upon him a few short hours ago. McGee's raised questioning eyebrow went ignored, but Tony narrowed his eyes in response to Gibbs' self-satisfied smirk as he dropped into his chair with nary a flinch and powered up his computer.
Gibbs was called up to MTAC almost immediately leaving Tony and McGee alone in the unnaturally quiet bullpen. Tony sighed as he flipped open the cold case file he and Ziva had been working on the day before. Staring at her unoccupied desk for a few minutes Tony let his mind wander. He could picture Ziva in full ninja mode, stealthily lurking in the shadows under cover of darkness unobserved. An involuntary snort escaped at the thought of her decked out as a cross between Laura Croft of "Tomb Raider" fame and Catwoman, with an assortment of knives and guns strapped to her lithe frame as she stalked her unsuspecting prey.
Shaking his head to clear the superhero image, Tony turned his attention back to the file. Just as he was about to attempt to decipher Ziva's hastily scrawled notes, which he would swear under oath, if asked, were written in Hebrew, McGee cleared his throat.
"Uh, hey Tony? Um, what's it really like being Agent Afloat," McGee asked. He knew what the actual job description itself entailed, but not really how an AA fit in with the crew. All he knew from the tiny fragments Tony shared about his deployment was that he hated every minute of it.
Knowing the question had a legitimate basis, Tony pondered it as he slowly rolled his chair over to McGee's desk.
"Well, for one it's pretty fucking lonely. I mean, who wants to be friends with the ship's only cop, right? Low level crew, the real rank and file guys, they were okay I guess. Used to play no-stakes poker with some of them. But, the senior deck crew guys made it pretty damn clear that they didn't want you hanging around. Thank God Gibbs convinced Vance to let me come home when he did. I was not joking when I said I was ready to do a half-gainer off the fantail. Longest four months of my entire life," Tony stated plainly.
It was a guarded and almost clinical response, but McGee didn't push for more. Instead he changed tack and filled Tony in on some of the information that was finally starting to come together. He kept delving deeper into the records of the flight deck crews as Tony had suggested, and had narrowed his search down to half a dozen well-seasoned crew members. It was becoming clearly evident that some shady things happened on the Reagan that had never been reported to or by the Agent Afloat. Something was definitely hinky, and McGee was determined to find out what it was.
The morning wore on at a snail's pace. Tony stumbled onto a promising lead and left to follow up on it with the promise of returning with lunch. It was a definite breach of protocol going out without backup, but he didn't think interviewing a high school teacher and the principal in the middle of a school day put him in any great danger. Besides, he was going stir crazy being chained to his desk, and a few minutes of fresh air and a change of scenery were just what he needed.
After a quick "got lunch" text, he returned shortly after noon with Chinese take-out just as Gibbs appeared in the bullpen cursing about some "bureaucratic assholes and desk jockeys who don't know a goddam thing about running an op". Despite the team being in a current state of limbo, Tony couldn't help but grin. "Well, at least some things are getting back to normal".
Gibbs was able to make short work of a container of almond duck and noodles while simultaneously half-heartedly chewing Tony out for breaking protocol. Glaring for effect and cranky about likely spending the rest of the day back up in MTAC, Gibbs ordered Tony to follow up on the new information on the cold case and directed McGee to "shoot him if he tries to leave on his own again".
Ziva checked in periodically, mostly because of boredom, to report that Stan hadn't left his apartment except for one short trip on foot to a deli a few blocks down the street. Being only a two-man team they could not keep up 24/7 surveillance so they worked rotating 8-hour shifts. If Stan knew he was being watched, he didn't let on. Ziva checked in for a final time late in the afternoon when Allen showed up to take the 5:00 p.m. to midnight shift.
Satisfied that Stan seemed to be keeping a low profile, at least for the time being, Gibbs ordered Ziva to go home and get some rest.
"Okay you two, let's call it a day. McGee, back here at 0800," he ordered as he pulled his Sig and badge from his desk.
Working side by side in Tony's gourmet kitchen they threw together a quick and easy stir-fry for dinner. Tony pulled ingredients out of the crisper drawer of the fridge and blindly tossed each one over his shoulder making Gibbs scramble to catch each item of produce as it sailed haphazardly in his general direction. They laughed as they playfully bumped each other out of the way as they fought for work space on the granite-topped island.
Tony manned the wok and starting browning the chicken in sesame oil while Gibbs finished chopping up a small mountain of red and green peppers, carrots, shallots, and mushrooms. Setting the knife down and wiping his hands on a dish towel, Gibbs glanced out into the living room and was suddenly reminded of Ducky's advice.
After dinner and a quick clean up, Gibbs refilled Tony's wine glass and poured himself a double-bourbon. Tony was about to open the French doors and head out onto the patio for what would likely be their last chance for a post-dinner cuddle beneath a warm fuzzy blanket on the double chaise lounge. Fall was setting in with a vengeance with rain and snow forecast for the next several days, and soon it would be too cold to enjoy the serenity of the rooftop paradise. His hand stopped on the door handle when Gibbs cleared his throat.
"Hey Tony? Would you play something for me?" Gibbs requested as he ran a reverent hand along the smooth curved line of the baby grand piano.
Turning back to face him, Tony smiled and shrugged. He sauntered over and placed his wine glass on top of the piano. Grabbing Gibbs' free hand he asked, "Sure. Whadya wanna hear?"
Gibbs kissed him chastely. "Our song?"
Tony beamed then returned the kiss before taking a seat on the bench. He cracked his knuckles and flexed his fingers then ran them lightly over the ebony and ivory keys as if caressing a lover. "Our song, huh? You know, I actually wrote that sitting right here," he said as he warmed up with a few scales and arpeggios.
"How long have you been playing," Gibbs asked curiously. Tony never talked about music, except for occasional comments about whatever it was Abby had blaring in her lab. Having heard the stories ad nauseum of his glory days playing football at Ohio State, Gibbs could give an accurate accounting of Tony's stats from memory if asked to do so, but Tony's passion for music had been a surprising and delightful new revelation.
"Started taking lessons when I was four or five. I had this really pretty piano teacher, Miss Tillingham. She came over two or three days a week after school. Naturally, my dad had to literally screw things up so my mom fired her. She took over teaching me herself, and we had so much fun," Tony answered, smiling at the memory. He moved over and patted the bench inviting Gibbs to sit next to him.
"We used to sit like this and play duets. My mom was amazing! She played violin, cello, flute, and piano. Had a great singing voice too, until the booze destroyed it. We'd sit on this bench for hours and play, laughing and making up our own songs. When she died I gave it up. Not having her there to play for was really sad. When Dad would leave town on business for days or weeks at a time I started playing again. Mimi, she was our cook, would sometimes sit with me while I played. She was pretty cool and didn't seem to mind taking care of me. This was my mom's piano, by the way. It's the only thing I have of hers, well except for the trust fund that dear old Dad keeps trying to get his hands on."
It was common knowledge that Tony didn't like to talk about the more painful aspects of his childhood, usually involving Senior, but over the years he had shared a few fond memories of his mother. It didn't take being a federal investigator to see that Tony absolutely adored her, and that losing her at such a young age, with no one to turn to in his grief, had been devastating for him. It certainly explained a lot of his insecurities, including his fear of giving his heart to anyone.
When he began to play their song, Gibbs was instantly mesmerized by Tony's long, curved fingers deftly skating over and striking the keys. Each note and chord brought the instrument to life. An aura of peace seemed to wash over Tony as the music and fond memories carried him away. His eyes fluttered closed and he began swaying to the music filling the room. After several opening bars he began to sing softly, and Gibbs fell in love all over again.
The next morning they arrived in the bullpen just as all hell started breaking loose. McGee shot out of his chair sending it crashing into the partition wall the second he saw Gibbs. The countless and sleepless hours spent hacking into various Defense Department servers, researching the carrier and her crew, reviewing hundreds of service records, and tracking down a couple of former crew members who were actually willing to talk, had finally paid off.
Both crew members had emailed him with detailed information about a few harrowing experiences onboard ship that helped put the final pieces of the rather bizarre puzzle into place. Working diligently until the wee hours of the morning, with only a bottomless cup of coffee and half a large package of Nutter Butters to sustain him, McGee printed three copies of his detailed preliminary report. As the printer spit out the last sheet of paper, McGee slumped back in his desk chair and let out a long relieved sigh.
McGee thought his head might explode if he didn't get it all out at once. Stammering and stuttering from a caffeine fueled sugar overload, he made the mistake of opening with a bunch of tech speak that Gibbs didn't understand even when spoken very slowly.
Gibbs quickly grew impatient trying to decipher McGee's excited ramblings and finally resorted to shutting him up with a powerful head slap. "Get to the damn point, McGee," he barked.
"Breathe, McSherlock," Tony suggested around a laugh. Grabbing McGee firmly by the shoulders, he tried to calm the rattled nerves his now wide-eyed and stunned partner. "In and out, deep breaths, om, om - that's it, nice and easy. In and out. Picture your happy place," Tony instructed in a hushed lilting voice, like some spiritual Zen master.
"DiNozzo, knock it off," Gibbs barked good naturedly before turning back to McGee. "Now, you wanna slow down and tell me what the hell you're talking about, and for God's sake skip all the techno crap?"
McGee took a deep calming breath and rubbed the back of his head to ease the lingering sting. It had been a couple of years since Gibbs last smacked him to get him to focus, and he had forgotten how unpleasant the experience could be.
Tony smirked.
"I took Tony's advice and focused on the deck crew - the really big guys - and worked backwards from there. A few of them got away with a lot of stuff, I'm talking serious stuff - drugs, theft, numerous assaults, and a couple of them were accused of raping a local teenage girl on Malta. Boss, in each case the Agent Afloat was ordered to stand down - the XO wanted it handled internally," McGee reported. Before he could continue the briefing, Gibbs moved their conversation to the nearest conference room.
"I tracked down a couple of former blue shirts, trainee air craft handlers, who were willing to talk - off the record. I tell you, Boss, they were just glad to get off the carrier alive. They told me all about these two guys - Walters and Zacek." McGee slid file photos of the two men across the table. "Zacek, the guy on the left, was kind of the leader. He and Walters were green shirts - catapult and arresting crew. Anyway, the guys I talked to stumbled onto a drug deal and reported it to the Agent Afloat, who opened an investigation. The next day, Zacek and Walters beat the hell out the blue shirts and threatened the AA. No charges were ever filed."
Sliding another photograph across the table, McGee stated, "This is the XO, Captain Gerald "Gerry" Willmont, Jr. 46, divorced, no kids. He started serving under Commander Stovic, six months before Stan came on as Agent Afloat. Stan's predecessor, Special Agent Robert Baxter, kept detailed notes. Wrote a lot about Captain Willmont handling disciplinary matters internally - and personally. There was a lot of talk, but no one ever came forward. Zacek and Walters were basically Willmont's enforcers. I, uh, pulled our file on the case we worked with Stan. Kate interviewed Willmont. From her notes, he wasn't too crazy about having a bunch of Navy cops harassing his crew and asking too many questions."
Tony dropped his head in this hands with a sigh. "So what are you saying McGee? Sounds to me like Stan's story might actually be true. This guy, Willmont, sounds just like Stan described him," he stated quietly.
"No, no, no! Don't you get it, Tony? Stan would have seen all of Baxter's notes, copies of his emails, and all of his monthly NCIS status reports," McGee replied as if that explained everything.
"That son of a bitch!" Gibbs growled at the implication. "You're saying Stan used all of that information about Willmont and his goons to concoct his bullshit story?"
McGee nodded as he presented Gibbs and Tony with copies of his report, complete with his handwritten margin notes. "Yep. It's all in there, everything he could have used to put together a credible story. I bet Stan has copies of all of it at his place, probably right there with all the information he dug up on us. But here's where it get interesting! Matching the details you gave me against all of the records, the timeline seems to fit - except for one little detail."
Spreading more photos and documents out on the long table, McGee continued, "Ziva's contacts in the region came through. Mossad has always maintained a heavy presence in the region and have infiltrated dozens of alleged organized crime mobs for possible ties to known terrorist groups. They deny that there was ever any organized drugs for guns operation like the one Stan described, and none of them had ever heard or seen anything about a guy fitting Stan's description being offered up as a sex slave."
After giving Tony and Gibbs a few moments to flip through his preliminary report, McGee continued again, "Turns out, Captain Willmont was murdered in a small village just on the outskirts of Rota, but not by any group on Mossad's radar. According to them, it could be any one of a number of small local bands of petty thugs, who just harass and rob tourists that happen to wander into the wrong part of town. Now, here's the clincher! Stan said he was sick and restricted to quarters when the XO in his story was murdered, right? Well, according to the ship's medical logs, Stan was diagnosed with flu-like symptoms and was out of commission for a few days, but that wasn't until ten days after Willmont was murdered."
Gibbs shook his head in disbelief. It was impressively cunning on Stan's part to concoct such a detailed story that would likely never be challenged. However, he had failed to take into account the one thing that would bring it crashing down - Gibbs' gut.
"Wow, McGee," Tony exclaimed as he sank back in his chair and tossed his copy of the report on the table. "I don't even know what to say."
McGee cracked a hint of a proud grin. Leaving the one and only Tony DiNozzo stunned and speechless was high praise indeed.
"That's some damn good work, Tim," Gibbs said with an abundance of sincerity, extending his hand.
McGee tentatively shook the offered hand and swallowed hard. "Thanks, Boss – um, Gibbs. Just glad I could finally do something to help," McGee replied as he gathered up the photographs and documents and organized them back into their respective files.
Tony stood and offered his hand as well. "Trust me; you've done more than enough, McGee. Thanks, man."
The minute the federal courthouse opened for business, Fornell and Assistant United States Attorney G. Robert Lange marched in and presented a formal request for an arrest warrant. Fornell's friend at BioGen Labs in New York City had called him at home the night before to report that his retest of the DNA had yielded the same 93% match, plus or minus 2%. After a brief en camera conference with a federal judge in his chambers, Fornell had a signed warrant in hand.
Less than an hour later, along with a contingent of FBI agents creating a perimeter around the building to thwart any escape attempt, Fornell showed up and knocked on the non-descript apartment door before taking up a position to its right.
Taking great pleasure in serving the warrant himself, Fornell called out, "Stan Burley, FBI! Open the door then step back with your hands up!"
Stan, bleary-eyed and stinking of booze, shuffled to the door a few moments later and allowed the feds to enter. He protested and declared his innocence but complied without incident as Fornell patted him down and cuffed him, while a four-man team of agents quickly cleared the small apartment, seizing four guns in the process.
"Stan Burley, you are under arrest for suspicion of murder in the death of of Marine Sergeant Major Joshua Markam," Fornell stated calmly before reciting the full Miranda warning from rote as he had done hundreds of times over his storied career.
At Stan's repeated protests that he was innocent, Fornell admonished authoritatively, "Save it for your lawyer."
As he marched a securely cuffed Stan out into the mid-morning light, Fornell caught sight of Ziva and an unfamiliar man leaning against the side of an unmarked, nondescript black van. Fornell handed Stan off to Agent Sacks but not until he made sure that Stan got a good look at Ziva, who looked every bit the cold-blooded, lethal assassin she had once been. Her eyes were cold and accusing but her posture was deceptively relaxed. Stan knew damn well from his indepth research that she was capable of striking with no warning and could be positively lethal at the slightest provocation. He sighed and nodded purposefully at her knowing that he had overplayed his hand and had seriously underestimated her.
Showing no emotion whatsoever, Ziva did nothing to acknowledge Stan as she watched Sacks place him in the back seat of Fornell's car. She straightened up but remained expressionless as Fornell approached, his smile growing with each step.
"Special Agent David, I should have known Gibbs wouldn't waste any time," Fornell stated. Turning to Allen, he introduced himself and the two men exchanged a warm handshake.
"It is finally over, yes," Ziva asked, her voice maintaining a cool, professional detachment.
"Sure looks that way. My team's moving in to process the apartment. You're welcome to stick around and watch, but we got this," Fornell offered in response.
Ziva replied with a courteous bow of her head and climbed into the driver's seat of the van. Once Allen was secured in the passenger seat, the van peeled away leaving an impressive cloud of tire smoke.
Gibbs' phone rang as Tony and McGee followed him out into the hallway on their way to brief Vance. McGee was protesting that his report was only a rough draft and he wanted to finalize it before presenting it to the Director. Gibbs held up a finger to silence the quarreling pair as he flipped his phone open.
"Yeah, Gibbs," he answered as he purposefully strode toward the elevator clutching his copy of McGee's report in his hand. He said nothing but listened attentively to other person on the line. Tony, following in his customary one step behind to Gibbs' right, nearly crashed into him when he came to an abrupt stop.
Tony and McGee traded nervous looks and watched curiously as a smile slowly grew on Gibbs' lips. When the call ended, Gibbs casually flipped his phone shut and let his hand fall to his side.
"That was Fornell. He, uh, just arrested Stan. Charge is suspicion of murder," Gibbs said flatly looking Tony dead in the eye. "It's over," came out as a shaky whisper.
McGee smiled and muttered a quietly excited, "Oh my God!" Noticing immediately that his boss and best friend had tuned him out leaving him once again feeling like an intruder, he slowly backed away with a nod leaving Gibbs and Tony alone in the fairly secluded corridor.
Struck by the gravity of the news, McGee ducked into the nearest stairwell and headed to the lab to break the news to Abby in person. The last thing he wanted was for her to find out through the lightning speed of the office grapevine, or worse by seeing a breaking news alert on ZNN. Right-leaning cable news stations had made the murder and subsequent investigation their lead story, spouting conjecture and criticizing the FBI solely to fan the flames of some alleged but wholly unfounded military cover up. An arrest in the overly sensationalized case would certainly warrant hours of endless coverage.
Tony and Gibbs stood and stared at each other for several long moments as they both processed the news and let it sink in. Unsure how Tony would react, Gibbs observed him intently as a series of emotions flash in his pained green eyes. Gibbs let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when Tony suddenly threw his arms around his neck and murmured in his ear, "It's over, Jethro. Thank God, It's finally over."
Gibbs briefly returned the hug before pulling away and tugging Tony the ten feet to the back elevator. Once inside, he pushed the button for one floor up.
"So what happens next," Tony asked.
Gibbs shrugged. "Guess that depends on Stan. Fornell's gonna interrogate him this afternoon. He'll brief us when it's over. You gonna be okay," he asked getting a nod in response.
Tony smiled and tugged Gibbs over for an all too brief kiss as the elevator slowed to a stop. "More than okay. Just - wish we could be there for the interrogation. I'm worried about Abby though. This is gonna hit her hard. Guess McGee went to tell her. Poor bastard."
Freshly showered after being allowed a few hours to sleep off last night's bender, Stan, dressed in a standard orange jumpsuit with "Federal Prisoner" stenciled in bold black letters, sat quietly with his cuffed hands folding in his lap. He was counting on Hart and her reputation to secure his release, but he knew it would be an uphill battle. It was going to take every ounce of charm he possessed to get through what he knew would be an extensive interrogation by Gibbs' best friend.
Knowing he was being watched, Stan had spent countelss hours shut up in his apartment crafting a timeline of events since he blew into town. He had nothing to hide and knew that any alleged evidence would be easy to refute, but he wanted to be prepared for any contingency. Anything they had on him was circumstantial at best. So what if his dick did most of the thinking for him? It wasn't a crime to fuck whoever willingly offered themselves to him, was it? Sometimes he was fortunate enough to find someone who liked it rough, who liked to be dominated. Sure, sometimes he got carried away and got too rough leaving a few partners bruised, bloodied, and barely conscious, but a growled threat was all it took to insure they would keep quiet about their encounters.
Stan spent a few evenings a week trolling gay bars looking for a quick fuck, but during the day he focused all of his attention on finding a job that would keep him in D.C. It wasn't easy given the current circumstances but a couple of interviews, one with Metro P.D. and one with his old boss on the Hill, had left him feeling hopeful about the future. He figured if nothing else he could easily use his skills and become a successful private investigator.
As expected the FBI agents assigned to tail him had been easy to shake, and Stan amused himself by turning it into a cat and mouse game. One morning he decided to see how far the feds would follow him. Hearing out on foot for a much needed walk to clear his head, he chose the quiet serenity of Rock Creek Park. He couldn't believe his luck when he arrived to find Gibbs and his team working a crime scene. Keeping a safe distance, he pulled his baseball cap down to hopefully conceal his identity and stood amongst the growing crowd of gawkers and watched the scene unfold, his eyes following Tony's every move.
Armed with a stack of sworn statements, gruesome crime scene and autopsy photos, Fornell burst into the interrogation room to personally question Stan at length about his whereabouts on the night of Sergeant Major Markham's murder as well as the days leading up to it. He was going to force Stan to explain his every move from the minute he stepped off the carrier and onto dry land. That Stan's eyes went wide and his posture stiffened momentarily upon seeing the 8x10 color photograph of Markan's broken and bloody corpse did not go unnoticed.
As expected, Hart objected to every question often before Fornell finished asking and advised Stan not to answer. Having quickly regained his composure, Stan ignored the advice of counsel and confidently offered his full cooperation. Keeping the details to a minimum, he recounted his visits to Gibbs' house as just catching up with an old friend and colleague. He admitted his past relationship with Tony, but took on a defensive tone when it came to explaining away his often cryptic phone calls.
Fornell pressed him on his involvement with Randy Mitchell's disappearance in San Diego. Hart correctly objected vehemently that it was irrelevant to the case at hand, but she knew that Fornell was trying to establish a pattern of behavior. It struck her that this inappropriate and inadmissible line of questioning could actually help her client. Hart casually jotted a note on her legal pad to contact Randy Mitchell as a potential character witness.
Stan calmly stated that on the night in question he had been at Max's Tavern right up until closing time, then walked straight home to his apartment a short distance up the street. He offered an admission that he couldn't prove his whereabouts after leaving the bar since he left alone.
"I had a few drinks and went straight home. Probably tossed back a couple more drinks then crashed. I sure as hell didn't go all the way to Quantico to murder a Marine," Stan offered heatedly.
Fornell tossed a copy of Ziva's report, including notes and photographs from her unsanctioned covert surveillance, across the table. Hart snatched it and quickly scanned the report finding each page more damning than the last.
"Hmmmm...I thought Agent Gibbs told you that your buddy Matt, the bartender, gave you up. He told Agent David that you left the bar before 11:00. We have his sworn affidavit stating that you paid him to lie for you," Fornell stated never breaking eye contact with his prey. "I got you now you son of a bitch," he thought as he waited for Stan's next move.
Faced with a big hole in his alibi, Stan shifted nervously in his seat. Going in for the kill, Fornell stood and leaned across the interrogation room table and deliberately slid the gory photo of Markham directly into Stan's line of sight. Stan turned his head to look away from the gruesome photo.
"Dr. Mallard, who is a pretty damn good M.E., puts the time of death between 2200 and 0200. Fits the timeline in Agent David's report. So, former Agent Burley, anything about your alibi you'd like to change? If not, I think we're done - for now."
Unable or unwilling to offer any plausible explanation for the discrepancies, Stan was pulled to his feet and officially charged with aggravated murder. In light of the amended charge, Fornell read Stan his Miranda warning again before handing him off to a pair of guards with instructions to book him.
