"Petty Officer Scotto gave Agent Willis a letter before he left, told him to read it if anything happened to him," Gibbs told the rest of the team as he and Langston rejoined them. "He's sending us a copy of the letter, along with all of the stuff in Petty Officer Scotto's bunk."
"Any idea what the letter said?" Torres asked.
"It was a confession; seems he witnessed the murder of his younger foster sister, Amanda, when he was about seven," Gibbs said.
"Wow," Bishop said, eyes wide.
"Update," Gibbs said.
"Credit cards gave me the name of the hotel where he was staying," Torres said. "I'm about to go check it out. Wanna come, Langston?"
"Not this time, I'ma 'fraid. I gotta reach out to CPS, see iffin I can find th' Wentworths, who were the foster parents Petty Officer Scotto was apparently staying wit at th' time of Amanda's murder," Langston said, going to her desk and pulling her keyboard to her.
"It's worth a burger, and I know someone at CPS who can cut through the BS," Torres offered.
"You're only trying to bribe her because you're hoping the petty officer's room will be dirty, which means you can pick on her," Bishop said.
"An' it worked," Langston said, grabbing her coat and hat, tan colored ones this time, causing laughter between McGee and Bishop. "I never turn down lunch when someone else is payin' fer it."
"I called the hardware store, found out what Petty Officer Scotto bought," Bishop said to Gibbs. "A shovel, a tarp, a large lantern flashlight, the kind that uses a six volt battery, a roll of orange flagging tape, and some rope."
"Sounds like he was serious about digging Amanda up," McGee said.
"His car?" Gibbs asked.
"Nothing on the BOLO yet," Bishop said.
"And his cellphone hasn't pinged, so it means either it's destroyed, someone took the battery out, or it's still off," McGee said. "I checked his call history, but nothing popped up, not even text messages. If I can get his laptop, we might find out more."
Bishop's phone rang. She answered it, wrote something down, thanked the caller, and hung up. "BOLO came through on Petty Officer Scotto's car. Police found it behind a local bar, and are waiting on us."
"Go," Gibbs said.
Bishop and McGee quickly left. A soft beeping noise on Gibbs' computer let him know he had email; it was the copy of the letter Petty Officer Willis had written. Gibbs sat down to read.
The car, a simple blue Ford Focus, was parked behind a local bar, with an accessible alleyway. The bar had cameras, but the Focus had been parked within the bar's blind spot and the only reason it had even been found was because someone from the bar had noticed it sitting there and called the police. When the police had run the plate and discovered the BOLO, they had called NCIS.
"It's clean," McGee said, emerging from the front seat. "Way too clean. I'm smelling bleach, which means someone wiped this thing down."
"Same here," Bishop said. "Nothing, not even food wrappers, or drinks, or even receipts. Petty Officer Scotto was either a very, very neat person, or someone cleaned up after him. What about the car's GPS?"
"Nothing I can find right now, but I can check once I get it to the garage," McGee said. "You said he bought a bunch of tools?"
"Yeah. Pop the trunk," Bishop said.
McGee did so, and they headed for the back of the car. Inside were the tools Petty Officer Scotto had bought; everything, with the exception of the shovel, were still in the hardware store bags.
"Looks like he never got a chance to use what he bought," McGee said. "Either someone missed them, or didn't think they were important enough to take."
"Well, that someone was smart enough to move the car out of the bar's cameras, which means either they got lucky, or they know the area," Bishop said.
"We can check the cameras; maybe someone came into view," McGee said. "Right now, let's get this thing to Kasie, see if she can find something we can't."
As the car was being towed away to NCIS, they checked with the owner about his cameras.
"It's been pretty quiet lately," the owner, Charlie Veker, admitted. "And here we go." He froze the camera screen and pointed to someone coming into view. The time said just after 0100.
"Looks like a male in a dark jacket with the hood up," Bishop said. "Can't make anything else out, but he's walking away from the direction of the car, which means he's just dropped it off."
"There," McGee said, seeing headlights flashing. "Someone picked him up. He may have dumped the car and the body, but I don't think he was alone."
"Can we get a copy of this, please?" Bishop asked.
Charlie nodded.
As he did so, something caught Bishop's attention. "Something smells good. Potatoes, bacon, cheese?"
Charlie grinned. "That's a new thing we're trying. Thick cut potato wedges with real bacon and cheese, with a side of sour cream and an option of fresh chives. You can order it to go, or we deliver. People seem to like bar-style potato wedges, and any kind of bar food, like potato skins or onion rings, and it's what's keeping us going right now."
"I know I do," Bishop said. "You got a menu? Oh, and I'll start with a large order of those wedges."
McGee just chuckled and shook his head in amusement.
Across town, Langston and Torres searched Petty Officer Scotto's hotel room, which was paid for up to four days. Housekeeping hadn't touched it yet, but it was still fairly clean.
"No uniform, just a few days worth of street clothes. No notes, nothing," Torres said, looking through the victim's travel bag. "If he did anything, whoever killed him either took it, or it was on his phone or in cyberspace."
"Okay, hotel computer says he was checkin' out some addresses here, one fer a house on James Street." She pulled up Google Maps and checked out the street view. "Not a bad litt' house, but nothin' fancy."
"Who owns it?" Torres asked.
Langston glared at him. "Y' do realize I'm still new t' this whole file diggin' thing, right? Especially wit computers?"
Torres grinned at her. "What were the other addresses?"
"One's not so much as an address, as an area," Langston said, pulling it up. "Cedar Street, an' tha' runs several blocks long. Looks like it backs onta some woods or somethin'."
"Bishop did say Petty Officer Scotto bought some stuff from a hardware store," Torres said. "If he had to go into the woods, stuff from a hardware store would help."
"If this Amanada was buried, an' he was gonna dig her up, a shovel would be a big help," Langston said. "What if he was tryna find th' house he was fostered in, th' one wit Amanda, but couldn't remember th' exact address?"
"Possible. CPS records would have the address," Torres said.
"Then let's go catch yer contact and find it," Langston said. "Don' think there's much else we can do here."
"Agreed. We'll take his gear with us, back to NCIS," Torres said. "If Bish and McGee are done with the car, they can check out the house address. And if they're not, it's ours."
"Fair 'nuff."
Torres' CPS contact was a gentleman by the name of Charlie Dover, who's face lit up when he saw Langston.
"Not every day I get to see a pretty cowgirl in DC," he said, grinning at her. She smiled politely, tilting her head.
"Torres says yer th' feller t' go t' fer information 'bout previous foster kids," Langston said.
"Well, I can try and find them, if I've got a name and year," Charlie said, cracking his knuckles as he sat back down at his desk.
"Adam Scotto, about twenty-oh-three," Torres said. "He was placed with the Wentworths during that time."
"Okay, let's see what we got," Charlie said, typing. "Okay, found him. Yeah, he was definitely with the Wentworth couple, Robert and May Wentworth, for about six months, before he was moved to another foster home."
"Address?" Torres asked, seeing Langston take out her notebook and pen, and flip it open.
Charlie gave them the address, and it happened to be on Cedar Street.
"What do you know about the Wentworths?" Torres asked.
"Myself, nothing. But their file, just from what I'm seeing, says they fostered over dozens of kids over forty years," Charlie said.
"We need their file, an' the names of the kids they fostered 'round the same time Scotto was there," Langston said, reading over Charlie's shoulder as she wrote down the Wentworth's full names and Social Security Numbers.
"Sure, but I think most of those files still aren't digitalized," Charlie said.
"That's fine," Torres said. "Nothing we haven't dealt with before."
"It's going to take some digging, but I can get them," Charlie said.
"Where are they kept?" Langston asked.
Charlie told them; Torres recognized the building, as it was a major warehouse area that stored a lot of federal records.
"Hope those aren't your favorite jeans," he told Lanston. "You could get pretty dirty."
"Talk t' me about gittin' dirty when it's cattle brandin' season," Langston said absently.
"Right, seen it all, done it all," Torres said.
"An' got the ripped jeans t' prove it," Langston said.
"Probably looked pretty good in them," Charlie said, smiling.
"I wouldn't know; never had time t' look in a mirror," Langston said, still writing in her notebook. "Don' think it's a coincidence Petty Officer Scotto was lookin' fer the old Wentworth house," she said to Torres.
"I agree," Torres said.
"Did they ever take care of a little girl wit Downs Syndrome?" Langston asked Charlie.
"Their file wouldn't show that," Charlie admitted. "But if I can get a name, maybe I can find her. Age?"
"About five, name was Amanda. Don't know about a last name yet," Torres said. "According to what we're being told, she disappeared while staying with the Wentworths."
"Kids run away all the time in foster care," Charlie admitted.
"She didn't," Torres said. "We have a witness that says she never left the Wentworths house alive."
Charlie sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hand. "Okay, let's see who their caseworker was," he said, scrolling through the file. "Shirley Brax. Okay, her I know. She retired last year, might still be living in DC, or she may have moved to Maryland; she was talking about it at her retirement party."
"We'll find her," Torres said.
"What was she like, Shirley?" Langston asked.
"From what I understand, not popular. Some of the other case workers called her Battle Axe Brax because she could be pretty harsh with the foster kids, especially the teens, and they usually responded by pushing back any way they could," Charlie admitted. "We're overworked, understaffed, and way underpaid for a lot of the crap we're expected to deal with, and some of us, like Shirley, we get hard and mean."
"So if a kid like Amanda disappeared, she might not look too closely?" Torres asked.
"I hate to say this, but yeah," Charlie admitted. "Hey, you called Adam Scotto Petty Officer; was he in the Navy?"
"Yeah, Petty Officer Second Class," Torres said.
"Good, good for him," Charlie said. "Not all foster kids get out of the system in one piece."
"He did, until he didn't," Torres admitted. "We're investigating his murder, and just before he was killed, he wrote a letter admitting to witnessing Amanda's death while he was with the Wentworths."
"Jeeze," Charlie said, sitting back and rubbing his face.
"I want t' check out the Wentworth place," Langston said. "Find out who owns it now an' see if we can git permission t' search it."
"And if we can't?" Torres asked.
"Then we search it anyway; it's part of a murder investigation," Langston said.
Torres smiled. "You're learning."
Before they left, Charlie gave Langston his card, which he wrote his personal cell phone number on the back of.
"You do know he was trying to flirt with you, right?" Torres asked, as they left the building and headed back to the car.
"Yeah, so? He ain't my type," Langston said.
"Really? What is your type?"
She glared at him. "Like I don' get enough teasing from y' as it is?" she demanded.
"Oh, come on, I'm not that bad," he protested, grinning.
"Yer not that good either!"
"If I promise not to tease you, and feed you, will you tell me what your type is? You know, just so I know who'll get your attention?" Torres offered.
"Y' already promised me a burger fer helpin' you search that room! What's next, a steak dinner?"
"If that's what it takes," he said, smiling widely. "In fact, I know a really good place that does steaks half an inch thick, and they're sirloin."
Langston glared at him. "This keeps up, an' it ain't gonna be a sirloin; it's gonna be a ribeye, an' that's gonna cost ya." Torres gulped. "Fine, I'll tell ya, but iffin you start teasin' me 'bout it, I swear I'll talk to Bishop an' git some oh yer secrets, th' kind only a girl knows 'bout a guy."
"You don't play fair."
"Y' 'spect me to?"
"Right. Okay, I give you my word I won't tease you about what gets your attention with guys," Torres said, crossing his fingers behind his back. "Why wasn't Charlie your type?"
"He didn't have a mustache," Langston said.
Torres stared at her. "You're serious." Langston nodded. "Are we talking Tom Selleck mustache or something thinner?"
"Tom Selleck, Sam Elliot, Alan Jackson, Kix Brooks, an' even Chris Hadfield," Langston said, grinning. "I dated this cop for over a year, an' he had a mustache about an inch thick, I swear. Only reason th' relationship ended was 'cause he got offered a higher position outta town."
"Okay, who?" Torres asked, confused.
"Who what?"
"Who are the guys you just named, aside from Tom Selleck?"
Langston groaned. "Look 'em up, ya goof."
Across town, McGee and Bishop looked up at the house that Torres sent them to. It was an older house, one that looked like it could be a nice house, if it was taken care of. As it was, the shutters and outside walls needed painting, the yard could do with a trimming, and the front porch looked like it could use a visit from a reputable contractor.
"Umm, okay. Any idea who owns this place?" Bishop asked.
"Not seeing any names," McGee said. "Knock and talk?"
"And claim the address came up during an investigation but don't name names," Bishop said.
They knocked and were promptly greeted by the sounds of very loud barking and yelling.
"Hold on a minute, damn it!" a loud female voice yelled. "Shut up, you stupid dog! Shut up!" The barking dog didn't shut up, but someone, a heavy-set woman with greying brown hair pulled back in a braid, wearing a threadbare shirt and jeans that looked like they had seen better days, eventually opened the door, leaving the screen door shut.
"Can I help you?" the woman demanded.
"NCIS, Agents McGee and Bishop," McGee said, holding up his badge. "This address came up during an investigation, and we're trying to find out who lives here, and how it may be connected with our investigation."
"What investigation is that?" the woman asked shrewdly, while trying to keep a small, yapping dog of mixed breed away from the door.
"It's on-going, so we can't really say at the moment," Bishop said. "Who lives here?"
"Just me and my mother, May," the woman said.
"Okay, and you are?" McGee asked.
"Bridget Everest," the woman said.
Just then, a woman with white hair, in a very loose floral dress and robe, came around the corner inside the house.
"Twinky, shut up, you noisy mutt, shut up! Shut up!" the second woman yelled at the dog, who whined and slunk off, causing McGee and Bishop to raise their eyebrows at each other. "Who are you?" she demanded to the two agents.
"They're NCIS agents, whatever that means," Bridget said. "Some kind of investigation."
Before either agent could say anything, the second woman snapped, "Well, get rid of them! Don't need no nosy cops snooping around my house, makin' my kids tell lies!"
"Umm, well, thank you for your time," McGee said, smiling politely.
He and Bishop quickly headed for the car and left the area. "Okay, my ears are still ringing from that dog," he groaned.
"Twinky. It's name was Twinky," Bishop said. "And if we have to go into that house to deal with those occupants, I want a muzzle."
"And a can of treacle," McGee muttered. "The thicker, the better."
"I'll buy it, and the peanut butter."
"Deal. Or we can always ask Langston how to hogtie a dog," McGee said.
"Don't know if that's a good idea. She might reach for her rifle instead."
"Yeah, good point. Okay, let's head back and see what we can find out about this place," McGee said. "Hopefully Torres and Langston got some more answers."