Title: Starving
Disclaimer: Gibbs, Tim, Tony, Abby, Ziva, Ducky and Jimmy are not my characters. counts fingers and thinks The others are mine. No infringement intended.
Pairings: Implied McAbby and the most subtle of hints at Ziva/Jimmy (mostly "Zimmy" flirting, LOL!)
Rating: T
Summary: The team must figure out why a young female Navy Lieutenant has died. Pre-Hiatus, or Post-Hiatus if Gibbs comes back. ;)
Chapter 1 - A Lonely Death
Tony and McGee sat at their desks, glancing up curiously as Gibbs' phone rang. They looked at each other briefly, then shared a look of curiosity with Ziva, who had glanced over at them as she walked into the squad room and towards her desk.
"Gear up, guys. McGee, gas the truck." McGee stood up and reached out in one fluid motion, grabbing the keys from mid-air as he'd done so many times before.
"What have we got, Boss?" Tony asked, as he reached into his desk for his weapon.
"Body, looks like a female Navy Lieutenant. Neighbour reported her missing two days ago, but turns out, she's been home all along."
Ziva said nothing as she holstered her weapon as well, and followed McGee out.
"Oh, Man," Tony muttered, as they stood in Lt. Heidi Stanford's living room. He and McGee had their hands to their faces, wincing from the smell of death that seemed to permeate every inch of every object in the house.
On the couch, clutching a blanket in her death grip, was Lt. Stanford.
"I'm no medical examiner, but I'd say the COD is pretty obvious, wouldn't you Tony?" Tony looked at McGee, merely nodding.
"Her refrigerator has nothing but this," Ziva said, entering from the small doorway leading from the living room, into the kitchen. "Cans and cans of Ensure. Her garbage is very very ripe. With rotten vegetables."
"How can you tell?" Tony said, then immediately winced at his mouth getting ahead of his brain again. "McGee, slap me for that, will ya?"
Tim gave him a wry look. "No thanks. You'll slap back."
The three looked up as Gibbs entered the room with Ducky and Jimmy in tow. "Gentlemen, Ziva, what have we got here?" Ducky asked, strolling into the stifling room.
Jimmy set his bag down and reached inside for his liver temp thermometer. Crouching down next to the couch, he sighed sadly. "I can't imagine dying alone like this," he commented softly. Poking the thermometer into the side of the corpse, he shook his head. "Stone cold dead, Doctor. I don't think we're going to get an accurate TOD like this. She's clearly been dead too long for us to determine this way."
Ziva stood, fanning herself with her NCIS cap. "Is it just me, or is it really, really hot in here?"
Tony was about to say something, but bit back the comment when he caught Gibbs' glare. McGee might hesitate to slap him upside the head upon request, but Gibbs sure as hell wouldn't think twice about it, and he wouldn't need an invitation, either.
"Well, Ziva, I would say, from the state of the body, that before she died, she was very likely feeling chilled most of the time. She probably had her thermostat set higher than normal. Which is another reason why we may have trouble determining an accurate TOD." He glanced at Jimmy, who sighed regretfully, replacing the thermometer back in the bag. "Well, Mr. Palmer, what are your initial observations?"
Jimmy scrutinized the wasted, emaciated woman before them, then one by one, gingerly took her lifeless hands in his, examining her fingernails and wrists, and then moved down to her legs and examined her ankles.
"No signs of restraint or struggle, no apparent defensive wounds. I doubt she was held captive and left to starve at any point." Jimmy glanced up at Ducky, seeking some kind of reaction, receiving only a small approving smile to carry on. He next examined her neck, still under Ducky's watchful eye.
"No obvious signs of strangulation, though it's a bit hard to tell in the state she's in." Next he opened her eyelids one at a time, shining his penlight into them.
"No petechial hemmoraging, so she probably wasn't smothered either." Next, he carefully propped her up, with barely-needed help from Ducky, checking underneath her clothing, at her back.
"Lividity marks are consistent with the cushions on this couch, and the bunched up blankets she was resting on, so she probably died here, in this position."
Ducky nodded, satisfied at his protégé's observations. "Very good, Mr. Palmer. Now, my boy, let's get her home. We know what didn't happen to her, now let's see if she can tell us what did, shall we?"