August 18, 2006: Here is another chapter. Getting the details of the case sorted out has taken more time than I'd like so my apologies.
As usual, any characters you recognize belong to the NCIS universe and any you don't recognize belong to me. I write for the sheer pleasure of creating, folks - no infringement intended. This story still isn't being Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault.
August 28, 2006: My continued thanks to those who read and those who review my writing. Your comments are greatly appreciated. :)
I have enjoyed doing the other perspectives over the last two chapters so here is the inevitable viewpoint: Gibbs.
Enjoy!
Tin Star
Chapter Nine
By lilmouse
"You're Mrs. Kane, ain't you?"
"Yes."
"You're leaving on the noon train?"
"Yes."
"But your husband ain't?"
"No, why?"
"No reason, but it's mighty interesting. Now, me, I wouldn't leave this town for all the tea in China. No, sir, it's going to be quite a sight to see!"
- Hotel Clerk (Howland Chamberlain) to Amy Fowler Kane (Grace Kelly), 'High Noon', 1952
Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs leans back in his chair, his glasses resting precariously on the end of his nose. He is reviewing the official reports regarding the cause of death for two people: Helen Garvey and her brother, Robert Joseph Garvey. The former was assaulted with fists and knives, the latter with fists and a baseball bat, but the end was the same.
Death takes you, regardless of your method of departure or your willingness to do so.
Anything the victims did or didn't do - from holiday time they hadn't used, to the food they chose not to eat for health reasons, to the telephone calls they neglected to return - will remain choices they cannot alter. No worries now.
He hopes the information will trigger some insight into their deaths: who killed them and why. He can recount the details of how they died without looking, of course, but knows the process of running through the facts repeatedly can sometimes clear the mind of any thoughts that might distract from bringing the perpetrator to justice.
For there is another victim in this case who must deal with the aftermath on a daily basis, coping somehow despite the horrific nature of the crime.
A little girl named Katie Garvey lives in a shattered world of fear and uncertainty. He wishes he could change that for her. His knuckles whiten in frustration as he works on his boat at two in the morning, gripping the sander tighter than necessary as he runs the evidence in his head over and over again. He thinks that maybe if he looks at it long enough, the pieces will resolve into something tangible.
Regardless of the outcome, Helen won't see her daughter grow or experience any of the 'first times' together, and Katie's last memory of her mother will be the sound of her screams as she was slowly killed. These are the facts and he cannot change them. Gibbs would take that pain away if he could, reunite mother and daughter and make it better.
He has no sympathy for Helen's brother, now a corpse shelved in Ducky's Morgue, awaiting the conclusion of this complicated case. An irrational part of him is sorry he wasn't able to personally make the man suffer but there are lines he doesn't cross.
Usually.
He sighs and leans forward, dropping the file folders onto his desk. His glasses follow shortly thereafter. The Powers That Be dictated several years ago that a regular telephone wasn't sufficient to cover taking care of business in this century. He glances at his computer, checks his e-mail and wonders why he bothers dealing with technology at all if it doesn't get him the results he needs any faster. His Inbox is empty. He checks his cell phone for the umpteenth time, ensuring it is fully charged and hasn't managed to swallow any incoming calls.
The silence is killing him.
There are other teams working in the same room, a sprawling assortment of humanity huddled behind little office dividers that offer a mockery of privacy. In fact, busy humans surround him, typing and sipping coffee and talking and tapping their pens, and it is what he imagines it must be like living in a hive. They aren't part of his team, though, and they aren't using his space. He knows how his section of the office should sound, like his ability to determine the speed of a ship by the vibration beneath his feet. There should be a certain level of banter and teasing and brainstorming, all indications that three very different people have formed a team he can rely on - and that they can rely on each other.
Three desks in the bullpen are empty.
Agents DiNozzo and McGee are on their way to Charlestown, West Virginia, to pay a visit to Stacey Burnett, and Agent Todd is -
He looks at the desk to his right. How many mugs of bourbon before the pain goes away? He's never lost one of his agents. Ever.
Well, that record is broken now, isn't it, Marine?
Damn.
Gibbs knows logically that there isn't anything he could have done to prevent Ari from killing Kate, but then logic doesn't always prevail. This is the man who listens to his gut even when the evidence tells a different story.
Wow, I thought I'd die before I ever heard -
He knows Ari is dead but in the long run that gives him very little satisfaction. He's willing to take the credit for putting a bullet into the bastard's forehead, though, and is content that at least he was there to watch it happen.
Well, mostly content.
He hasn't had a secret this important in a while and hopes that Ziva David keeps her mouth shut. It won't benefit either of them if she doesn't. His gut tells him she'll remain silent on the matter.
Thinking about the loss of Kate hurts and he can't drink on the job so he looks back at the files, hoping for something to distract him.
Maybe another coffee -
The clock on the wall matches the time on his watch with military precision. He stands, grabs his cell phone, flips it open and pushes one of the few numbers he had McGee program on speed dial. He has almost reached the elevator when someone answers on the third ring.
"DiNozzo."
"Where the hell are you?"
"Hello, Boss. I'm fine, thanks for asking."
Gibbs wonders what level of physical agony Tony is enduring now. He's been counting the number of pain pills his senior agent has consumed since returning to duty, though he imagines the actual count is higher than that. Gibbs knows Tony has been trying to conceal them and despite what his team might think, he can't be everywhere. He tells himself that he's monitoring DiNozzo as any good leader would. He isn't Tony's father, though he suspects he'd do a better job than the man who officially holds that position. There will be no support from family so Gibbs has appointed himself to fill the void.
He isn't consciously doing so on any level he'll admit to.
He doesn't fully understand why he hasn't sent Tony home, though he suspects it has something to do with watching him crawl the walls at the hospital for the last three weeks or so. They share a similar hate for sterilized environments and obstacles that prevent them from doing their job.
He thinks he must be getting soft in his old age.
"Good to know, DiNozzo, but that's not what I asked you. Where are you?"
"In the car, Boss," comes the cheery reply. "Driving."
Gibbs tries not to clench his jaw in response. Tony has been baiting him since he returned to duty. He steps into the elevator and presses the button for the ground floor. He really should buy shares in Starbucks. "DiNozzo -"
"Almost there. We hit some traffic." Gibbs hears a few expletives and the sound of a horn mooing. The radio is on and he can make out the baseline of some rock 'n' roll song.
"You'd better not 'hit' any traffic. We don't have time for a collision."
"That's funny, Boss. You should do stand-up."
"Drive faster."
"I don't think McGee would agree. Oh, look, he wants to talk to you."
Gibbs can tell by the change in the volume of the music and the stammering protests that the cell has been tossed to Tony's startled passenger. He hears a "Hey!" followed by some muffled objections before McGee clears his throat to deal with the call. "Hi, Boss."
"How close are you to Charlestown, McGee?"
"Uh, I don't know, about five, ten minutes, depending on the traffic." The man gulps and Gibbs can hear another horn. "That is, if Tony doesn't get us killed first."
"What're you talking about, Probie?" Tony protests in the background. "I'm driving like the master!"
The elevator reaches the ground floor and Gibbs steps through the doors, his broad shoulders brushing them, as they don't slide open quite fast enough. He passes another agent - what's his name, Mitchell? - who manages to avoid a collision which would have spilled hot chocolate over both of them. Gibbs frowns. Mitchell's been clumsy a lot lately, reminding him of McGee in his early days with the team. He briefly considers toning down the intimidation factor. Then he's out of the building into the crisp morning air.
He guesses that he is the 'master' Tony is referring to - after all, he smirks, the team is frequently commenting on his skill behind the wheel - but isn't sure if the reference here is intended as a criticism or a compliment.
He opts to refrain from comment and banks a head slap for later.
"You can tell DiNozzo that he has to get Stacey Burnett back here in one piece."
"What about me, Boss?"
"You can't witness the questioning if you're in pieces, McGee," he says, striding along the sidewalk to his destination.
"Uh, no, I meant is there anything in particular that you might like me to do that -"
He can feel the warmth before he opens the second door of the coffee shop proper and various community news postings flutter on the corkboard as he passes. "I know what you meant, McGee. You're Tony's back-up, just in case."
"Right, Boss. Uh, just in case of what?"
"In case the shit hits the fan, McGee."
"Right."
"And you can tell DiNozzo that if he gets you killed while driving, he'll be next in line."
"Right, Boss." Gibbs can hear the sharp squeal of brakes then the engine roars like an angry lion. "Um, w-what if he gets me killed when he isn't driving?"
"That's your own problem."
He flips his phone shut and sticks it in a pocket of his jacket, ending the conversation in his usual abrupt manner. He waits in line for his coffee, trying focus on the Garvey case and not dwell on death.
Wow, I thought I'd die before I ever heard -
He shivers. The aroma of brewed beans isn't calming him this morning and this will be his third cup. It is usually the magic elixir to so many of his problems that he can't envision being without.
Gibbs is well aware that the availability of good coffee at a hospital is about as likely as pigs growing wings and he wants to ensure that there aren't any more life-threatening injuries any time soon. He had enough bad coffee when one of his agents was quarantined with the plague and again when the same man was shot protecting Katie Garvey.
Trouble seems to follow Special Agent Tony DiNozzo with annoying persistence. It lurks around the corner and consistently selects Tony as the target.
Gibbs would have stern words with God about this if he still believed.
He moves forward in the line, not completely oblivious to some of the looks he receives from the regular staff. For the most part, he is polite but brief with them, but they have had the privilege and curse of seeing him almost daily before his first coffee and know there is a foul creature inside that can snarl and snap. They know who he is and where he works but they don't ask him any questions or try to make small talk. He is frequently too preoccupied to think beyond the words 'morning', 'coffee,extra large, black' and 'thanks', resorting to pointing and grunting some days when the sun isn't up yet and his cup has to be filled before the first pot has finished brewing.
He hopes he didn't scare the three young people who were working the morning after Kate was killed. He'd paid for his coffee and hesitated. Then he'd looked each of them in the eye and quietly said, "You make sure your boss takes care of you and gets some security cameras in here. Tell him I'll be checking."
He'd left before any of them could manage a response.
He glances at the two security cameras that were recently installed and wonders what the staff is like when he sends Tony or McGee to get the coffee instead.
The little redhead is on shift, looking bright and perky. He guesses she's not a day over nineteen.
"Good morning, can I take your order?"
She's also fairly new and doesn't know yet that he has the same thing every day.
"Morning. Coffee, extra large, black." Then he digresses from the script and adds, "Whatever's freshest as long as it isn't any of that flavoured crap."
She smiles and moves towards the pots. He sees the nametag on her apron, pinned at an angle, and for a heart-stopping moment he thinks her name is 'Kelly'.
When she turns back with his coffee, he can see her name is 'Kathy' and he remembers to breathe. "Thanks," he says, pays for his coffee and leaves.
Gibbs makes a brief detour to the corner store then returns to the office and descends to the level of the laboratories, using the stairs because the elevator is too slow for him right now.
Forensic Specialist Abby Sciuto is listening to the noise she calls music. He considers it a tool for her to focus on her work, not unlike the Caff-Pow! he places on the counter beside her. She turns from the screen and smiles, bouncing slightly in her thick-soled boots.
"Gibbs! I was about to call you. And I so needed another one of these!" She grabs the cup and starts slurping at the caffeinated beverage. "You are awesome," she declares firmly around her straw.
"Anything further on the Garvey case?"
Her eyes gleam mischievously. "Funny you should ask. Even though it's only been, like, half an hour since Tony left, I've followed up on his hunch about the girlfriend, the hair and the body."
"And?"
"Do you want the exciting details or the short form?"
He levels his gaze at her. In those boots, he doesn't have to look down when she's standing. "What do you think, Abbs?"
She sighs. "Someday, you'll want the exciting details, I just know it -"
"Abby -"
"But for now, I know that Stacey Burnett was definitely with Robert Joseph Garvey when he was killed."
"Because -"
"Her hair was found under the naval costume he was wearing - which was put on him after he died - and it matches one I found in a most unlikely place."
She bounces a bit more until he wonders, not for the first time, if she's deliberately trying to torment him or just wired this way.
"Where?" It emerges as a growl but she doesn't cringe.
Her smile widens. "In the laptop belonging to Petty Officer First Class Federico Rossi."
He raises an eyebrow, silently requesting she elaborate. They have their own sign language outside of ASL.
"It was in the keyboard." Abby presses a button and two slide images appear side by side on the screen of her computer. Gibbs squints at the samples, which are obviously human hair, but he can't make out the analysis beside them.
Need my glasses. Damn.
"Everything gets into your keyboard, Gibbs. You need to use a can of compressed air on them regularly to get out all the bits or you'll have trouble using the keys down the road." They exchange a look and she rolls her eyes. "Okay, so Stacey is, as far as we know, married to Mr. Garvey so finding her hair on his body isn't so unusual, though being under the costume would suggest that she helped put it on the corpse."
"But how did it get into Rossi's keyboard?"
"Exactly. The marriage papers say he was one of the witnesses at their wedding so if he's friends with the couple -"
"Then that isn't unusual -"
"But she used his computer. I compared the fingerprints we got off the pen she used at the interview with the ones on the laptop and aside from Rossi, her fingerprints are all over it -"
"Which suggests something more than just a casual acquaintance -"
"And probably explains the code Rossi uses for his gambling." Gibbs frowns. "He bets on the track, on-line, and uses a code name."
"Which is?"
"'Race Lady Sting'."
Gibbs doesn't even try to figure out the connection. "And this is important because?"
Abby sighs and smiles at him fondly. "Oh, Gibbs. Didn't you ever play anagrams as a kid?"
"No." He doesn't have time for games.
"'Race Lady Sting' is an anagram for 'Darling Stacey'."
Gibbs and Abby share a startled look as they both come to the same conclusion.
"They might have already bolted," he says, referring to Burnett and Rossi.
"And they don't know about Rossi," she adds, referring to DiNozzo and McGee.
Gibbs has located which pocket he'd dropped his phone into earlier and hits the speed dial number once more.
"C'mon," Gibbs mutters. It rings six times and he thinks he's going to get voice mail when someone finally answers.
"DiNozzo."
"Burnett and Rossi are connected," Gibbs barks. "And they might have been involved with Garvey's murder. Watch yourselves when you get to her apartment."
"No need, sir," Tony says, unusually subdued. "It's all under control."
Something crawls across the back of his neck and Gibbs signals to Abby to track Tony's phone. Her eyes widen but she instantly complies. Gibbs figures if they have to use technology, at least it's good for something.
"What about the traffic?" he asks, trying to spin out the call so it sounds natural. He can hear the sound of an engine and realizes they're in a vehicle. If he were a gambler, he'd bet there was someone else listening to the conversation.
And he knows he'd win.
"How long did it take to get there?"
"Not long though the directions were lousy," Tony says, keeping it light and playing along. "McGee sucks as a navigator. He's asleep right now or I'd let you talk to him."
What the hell - "He probably needs his rest," Gibbs manages.
Tony laughs softly and he can hear the slight strain in his voice. "After the day we've had, we're gonna need a vacation."
Perhaps the old saying is right: 'Trouble brings experience, and experience brings wisdom.' In which case, DiNozzo should be a sage by now -
"I'll talk to the Director and see what we can do."
Abby signals that she has the location and Gibbs signs for reinforcements. She nods and reaches for the handset.
"We'd really appreciate that, sir," Tony says. "Well, I gotta go. We'll keep you posted."
"See you soon, Tony." He can only hope that the simple statement and the use of his first name will tell his senior agent that help is on the way. He's trying to think of something else to say when another voice comes across the line. It is clear that they don't realize the line hasn't been disconnected yet.
"Vacation. That's rich, special agent. Let's see how you and your buddy like the water."
Gibbs is running by the time he reaches the stairs to the parking lot.
To Be Continued…
