"Hey Jane, do you know how to muzzle or hogtie a dog?" McGee asked, spotting the junior agent at her desk, as he came into the bullpen.
"What size?" Langston asked.
"Small, mixed breed, yappy as hell," McGee said.
"Ankle biter or bigger? Iffin it's at the knees, I might have a chance. Smaller, nope. Things are like greased pigs when they run, an' vicious little squirmers iffin y' grab 'em wrong. Problem?" Langston asked.
"The house you sent us to? We met Twinky the anklebiter, and Bishop and I are thinking we're going to have to go back, preferably with a muzzle because that was the noisiest, yappiest dog I have ever encountered," McGee said.
"I can probably rig up a catch pole iffin y' give me 'nough warning," Langston said.
"Please and thank you," Bishop said.
"That bad?" Torres asked.
"My ears were ringing for five minutes after we left," Bishop grumbled.
"My ears want to hear a status update," Gibbs said impatiently.
"Okay, the Wentworths, the couple who fostered Petty Officer Scotto during the time Amanda went missing," Torres said, pulling up two DMV photos onto the main plasma. "Meet May and Robert Wentworth. Robert died about three years ago; major heart attack. May is still alive, and tax records say she's living at the house we sent you to."
"That's her," McGee said, pointing to the sour-faced woman on the screen. "Saw her at the house, screaming at Twinky and refusing to talk to us, something about making cops make her kids lie."
"Wow," Langston said.
"Don't know if it helps any, but we were able to determine that she's got alzheimer's, and a live-in caretaker," Torres said.
"Got a name?" Gibbs asked.
"Bridget Everest," Torres said, bringing up another DMV photo.
"And she was also at the house," McGee said.
"What about the car?" Gibbs asked.
"Found, brought in, and clean, way too clean," Bishop said. "It's in our garage now, and Kasie is working on it. We checked for cameras in the surrounding area, and there was one at the bar, where the car was parked, but all it showed was someone matching the description of the person dumping Petty Officer Scotto's body, dropping the car off, and then getting picked up by someone outside of camera range."
"So, our suspect wasn't working alone," Torres concluded.
"Hotel room?" Gibbs asked.
"Clean. No sign of his phone, and the only thing the computer in his room showed were the area of Cedar Street, and the current address for the Wentworths," Torres said. "When we checked with Charlie, it turned out that Cedar Street was where the Wentworths originally lived when they were fostering kids."
"Maybe Petty Officer Scotto couldn't remember the exact address, but he did remember it was on Cedar Street, so it's possible he went house hunting, trying to find the place," Bishop suggested.
"Did you get the exact address?" Gibbs asked.
"We did," Torres said, pulling up the image of a dilapidated old house.
"It's currently owned by a large company in DC, Strathford Corporation," Langston said. "I'm tryna reach out t' the owner, see iffin we can git permission t' check the property out, but I'ma startin' t' wonder iffin I gotta do some door kickin' an' go straight t' the top." She smiled tightly when the others looked at her. "Got th' runaround from th' gatekeeper; I've had more fun chasin' after wild turkeys than tanglin' wit her."
"Bureaucracy; can't live with it, sure wish we could live without it," Bishop said.
"Bring May Wentworth in, find out what she knows," Gibbs said. "Bishop, you and Langston, find that house, and if you have to break a few doors, do so. There was a reason why Petty Officer Scotto was so determined to find that house. Find it."
"What I'm wondering is what if one of those foster kids is our suspect?" Torres asked. "Foster homes, especially the really bad ones, can do some serious physiological damage to the kids. If the Wentworths did kill Amanda, maybe one of the foster kids wanted to keep it covered up."
"Why?" Gibbs asked.
"Guilt, maybe they had a hand in what happened, who knows?" Torres said. "I'm thinking we need to find out who was with the Wentworths during that time and what happened to them afterwards."
"Agreed. Call your contact, get the names," Gibbs said.
The building that housed the Strathford Corporation was made of glass and steel and gleamed in the daylight. A check of the listings showed that the corporation was near the top floor, and all it took was an elevator ride to get there. Once there, however, they ran into trouble, of sorts.
"We need to see Tyler Strathford," Bishop said.
"Do you have an appointment?" the bored-looking secretary asked.
"Don't need one," Langston said.
"Yes, you do," the secretary said, starting to glare at them.
"NCIS," Bishop said, holding up her badge, along with Langston. "We have an all access pass, no appointment needed." She and Langston smiled. "Tyler Strathford. Now."
"He's in a meeting," the woman snapped, glaring at them. "Make an appointment."
Langston spotted something and smiled widely at Bishop. "Y'know, I haven't been a federal agent fer very long, but I used t' do a lotta reading. Plus, tha' tv show, Walker: Texas Ranger? Very popular, 'specially his kicks."
"Oh, I remember that show, especially the spinning back kicks. I gave myself a headache trying to do it once," Bishop admitted.
"Wanna know what my favorite part was?" Langston asked, casually heading for a pair of wooden double doors.
"Do tell."
"Th' part where th' good guy kicks open th' door t' the head muckity-muck," Langston said. "An' in th' show, th' head muckity-muck is always behind a nice set o' doors. Jest. Like. These." She braced herself but before she could follow through, amid the secretary's frantic yelling, a calm voice male cut in.
"As much as I would love to see that, agents, I'm afraid it won't be necessary."
Langston grinned at Bishop. "Don'cha jest love results like that?"
"I want you on my team more often," Bishop said.
The voice belonged to a man in his mid to late twenties, dark brown hair perfectly coiffed, and wearing a suit that probably cost more than what both Bishop and Langston earned in a month.
"And you are?" Bishop asked the newcomer.
"Tyler Strathford. Please, come into my office, and tell me what I can do to help you with," he said. "Sasha, please get these ladies whatever they want to drink."
"I wouldn't say no t' a cuppa coffee, straight up black, an' hot," Langston said.
"Double double for me, please," Bishop said.
Still glaring at them, Sasha the secretary went to do as bid.
"My apologies for Sasha. A lot of the people I deal with are not exactly honest in their dealings, and Sasha can be overly protective of me," Tyler said, opening the double doors and entering his office, Bishop and Langston following. "However, being as you are federal agents, that is a different subject." He gestured to two leather chairs in front of a large desk. "Please."
Once they were seated, Bishop spoke.
"We're investigating the murder of a petty officer, and one of the properties your corporation owns came up in the investigation."
"Which one?" Tyler asked, pulling a keyboard towards him.
"The one on Cedar Street, once owned by Robert and May Wentworth," Bishop said.
Tyler's face went pale as he carefully folded his hands in front of him. "I see. And, just how did this particular house come to your attention?" he asked carefully, as Sasha came in with two coffee cups of steaming hot coffee.
Once she left, Langston eyed her coffee with suspicion. "Iffin I find a rat's tail in this, secretary or not, she's wearin' it."
Unfortunately, Bishop had been about to take a mouthful of coffee, and nearly wore it. She glared at Langston, who just grinned in amusement.
Tyler smiled. "Sasha is a good secretary, but you're right; I wouldn't put it past her. Anyway?"
"Petty Officer Second Class Adam Scotto," Bishop said, showing him a picture of the petty officer. "He was raised in foster care, and one of the fosters were the Wentworths. While he was there, he claims he witnessed the murder of a little girl by the name of Amanda, and that she was buried on the property."
Tyler swallowed hard, and both Langston and Bishop could see his hands flexing.
"We think someone killed him to keep her buried," Bishop said.
"I see," he said. "And am I correct in thinking you want to explore the property, find out if he was telling the truth?"
"Yeah. It may also be our crime scene," Bishop said.
Tyler nodded. He leaned back in his chair, the leather and gears squeaking as he did so. "Do what you need to do. I only have one request."
"Okay?" Bishop said.
"Do to the front door what you," he gestured at Langston, "were threatening to do to my office door. And please, record it for me. The more damage, the better."
Bishop and Langston glanced at each other. "Yeah, sure, we can do that. Mind if I ask why?"
Before Tyler could answer, Langston did it for him.
"Because Amanda and Petty Officer Scotto weren't th' only victims," she said gently. "I can see it in yer eyes. Y' might not remember Petty Officer Scotto's name, but y' remember what happened."
"I was just a kid," he said jerkily.
"I know, I understand, an' I ain't judgin', hon," Langston soothed gently, as if she was talking to an upset child. "But at some point, hon, yer gonna have t' sit down an' talk t' us. Amanda deserves t' be heard. An' if y' can think of any major players, anyone who might've been willing t' kill t' keep this quiet, we need t' know. We're tryna git justice fer both Petty Officer Scotto an' Amanda."
Tyler nodded. "I understand. If you find her, if you find Amanda, please, tell me, and I will personally come to you and tell you whatever you need to know."
"Fair enough," Bishop said. "If we could have your contact information, we'll make sure that video gets to you."
Tyler removed one of his business cards and wrote something on the back. "This is my private email address. Not even Sasha has access to it." He gave the card to Bishop, who gave him hers.
"Thank you," she said.
"If you find Amanda, I'll be thanking you," he said. He then picked up his phone and hit the intercom. "Sasha, cancel and reschedule my remaining appointments for the day."
"Yes sir," came Sasha's voice.
Bishop and Langston left. As they rode the elevator down, Bishop called Gibbs. "We got full access, along with a request to video record Langston kicking down the front door. The more damage, the better, apparently. She threatened to kick in Tyler Strathford's office doors when his secretary wouldn't let us see him. Seems he liked the idea of us doing that to the old Wentworth house, and even gave us his private email address to send the video to." She ended the call and glanced at Langston. "You enjoyed that whole door thing a little too much, didn't you?"
Langston just laughed.
The house was in worse shape than the Google Street photo originally showed, reminding the two women of those houses in horror movies, where something terrifying always lay waiting for victims.
It was starting to get dark, but Langston's truck had two powerful LED tactical flashlights that would provide more than enough light for them; they had been part of a set she'd bought a while back.
"What else is in there?" Bishop asked, seeing the equipment-ladened cargo containers in the back of Langston's truck.
"A multifunctional shovel tha' has like a gazillion things in one, tarps, rope, first aid kit tha' would make Ducky happy, flare guns, fun stuff," Langston said, hoping out of the back of her truck.
"Right. Game warden. Always prepared."
"Yup."
As they were about to approach the house, they noticed a bunch of kids watching them, about five, all within the same early to mid teens age range.
"Hi there," Bishop called.
"Hi," one of the kids called back. "Are you going to go into that house?"
"Yup. What do you know about it?" Bishop asked.
"It's haunted," one of the other kids said.
"Is not!"
"Is too! If it's not haunted, how come you're too scared to go inside?"
"Hey, easy," Langston called. "C'mere an' talk t' us," she said.
"Why should we?"
"Because we're federal agents and we're investigating this place, which is connected to our investigation," Bishop said, holding up her badge, with Langston doing the same.
The group of kids came closer.
"Why do you say this place is haunted?" Langston asked.
"Buncha stories, a little girl in the attic," one of the older kids admitted. "She's always wearing a white dress and always giggling and running away, but nobody really knows who she is, or if she's even really alive."
"Place is creepy beyond creepy," one of the other kids admitted.
"I once saw a pretty lady staring at me from the upstairs windows. She looked sad, but then she vanished."
"My dad said something bad happened here, years ago, an' that it used to be a foster home, a really bad one."
"Do you know how big the property is, or if it backs onto some woods?" Bishop asked.
All the kids nodded. "There's some woods in the back, past the house, and it's way creepy, even creepier than the house."
"That's where the Lady in Green is," one of the kids said.
"Lady in Green?" Langston asked.
"Yup. She's haunting the woods back there, and always wears a green dress," one of the kids said, a teenage girl.
"Okay," Langston said. "Well, we're gonna go bust the door down an' see what we can find."
"Cool," the kids breathed. "Can we watch?" "Yeah!
"We've been asked to video it," Bishop admitted.
As they headed up the pathway to the house, Bishop and Langston spoke quietly.
"What do you think?" Bishop asked.
"I dunno. My great-gram was Choctaw, an' th' family stories go she was a seer, a healer. Gram always said there were things beyond this world th' white man couldn't explain wit all their fancy sciences, an' the Creator would show us, iffin we would jest be quiet an' listen," Langston admitted. "Over th' years, especially when I was in th' woods, I learned t' listen, an' right now my senses are screamin' tha' somethin's mighty dang wrong wit this place. Lotta sorrow, lotta darkness, whole lotta wrong."
"I hear ya," Bishop said. She got out her phone and switched on the camera part. "Ready?"
Langston nodded and lined up, bracing herself. "Honey, I'm home!" she yelled. Then she kicked the old door as hard as she could. The rusted hinges and old deadbolt offered no resistance to the impact, and flew open with a crashing slam, before bouncing off the wall. Langston turned on her flashlight and held it up to shoulder height. "Ready or not, here I come!" she yelled, stepping inside, hearing the yells of excitement from the kids.
"Perfect," Bishop said. She did some fast typing and quickly sent the video off. "And it's sent."
"That was so cool!" one of the kids yelled, amid the laughter and whoops.
Once inside, Langston went quiet, and Bishop let her. Torres had told her about what happened at the warehouse, when she did something similar. She was listening.
"There's no one here, not livin', 'least," Langston finally said. "But I was right; there's a whole lotta wrong 'bout this place. Makes my skin crawl."
Bishop nodded. "Move carefully. I don't trust these floors."
Back at NCIS, Bridget Everest had brought in May Wentworth, and Gibbs was having his hands full with her. She was rude, demanding, and abrupt right from the start, refusing to answer his questions about Petty Officer Scotto.
"I don't know him, I don't want to know him, and if you know what's best for you, young man, you'll mind your own damned business," May yelled.
"Yeah, doesn't work that way," Gibbs said.
"I've slapped mouthier kids than you, and I won't hesitate to do it to you!" May snapped, raising her hand.
"Try it," McGee said, glaring at her.
"You! You're just another mouthy, low-life brat!" May yelled at him, barely being held back by Bridget.
"Mom, enough!" Bridget snapped. "They're just doing their jobs. Look, once we get out of here, why don't we go for some ice cream at that place you like so much, huh?"
"Don't you patronize me, you little whore!" May yelled at her. "You spread your legs for every man, even your father! You're going to burn in hell, the lot of you!"
"Let's step outside," Gibbs said. "You," he said, pointing to May, "can wait here, while we talk to Bridget."
He, McGee, and Bridget shut the door just in time to avoid having something thrown at them.
"What gives?" McGee asked Bridget.
The younger woman sighed tiredly. "She's got alzheimers and she can be really mean. She was my foster mother for a long time, and right now, I'm the only family she's got left that gives a damn, that and my son."
"What about Petty Officer Scotto?" Gibbs asked, holding up a photo of their victim.
"I don't know him," Bridget said. "Why?"
"He was murdered, and we think it's because someone was trying to keep a secret buried, something to do with the disappearance of a little girl by the name of Amanda."
Bridget laughed. "Amanda? That's a story the foster kids were told to scare them. Some of them could get a bit much, so the older kids would scare the younger ones by telling them about the girl who disappeared, making the Wentworths seem like monsters, but they weren't. A lot of the kids were. The Wentworths were good, caring people."
"Sure doesn't look like it now," McGee said.
"Alzheimers is a vicious disease, Agent McGee. It can turn good people into horrifying monsters," Bridget said. "Mom isn't always like that. Most of the time she's a sweet person. A lot of the foster kids, though, they spread some vicious lies about her and Dad, and I hope they rot in hell, wherever they are."
"What about Tommy? We understand he was also at the Wentworths," Gibbs said.
"I don't remember," Bridget said. "There were a lot of kids that went through that house."
Gibbs studied her for a moment, and McGee could see the wheels turning in his boss' head.
"Okay, you and your mother are free to go, for now. But if you can think of anything, let us know," Gibbs said. "An agent will escort you out."
Bridget nodded and reentered the room to get the older woman.
As Gibbs and McGee headed back to their desks, McGee asked Gibbs his opinion.
"She's lying. Don't know about May Wentworth, but Bridget is lying," Gibbs said.
"Yeah. If she's been with the Wentworths for as long as she claims, she would remember Tommy, even a little bit."
Gibbs' phone rang. It was Palmer. "Be right down." He hung up. "Work with Torres, find those kids."
In Autopsy, Palmer had results.
"My findings are the same as they were at the crime scene; blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Based on the angle of the blows, he was hit once, which dropped him, and then once he was down, the killer hit him several more times. No chance to defend himself."
Gibbs nodded. "Anything else?"
"His clothes were pretty dirty. Kasie has them, but it looked like when he fell, the floor was either real dirty, or he was on the ground. Light-colored. It was on his face and hands as well.
He was also dragged," Palmer said, pointing to abrasions on Petty Officer Scotto's knees, shins, and tops of his feet. "Otherwise, he was in fairly good health. The only other interesting thing I found were old, healed breaks in his arms and hands. I was able to get his medical records; there were several instances of 'falls' and 'accidents' during a certain time frame, all when he would have been about seven or eight."
"You're thinking abuse," Gibbs said.
"I am."
Gibbs nodded. "So am I."
"What happened to him when he was a kid? No kid deserves that."
"No, they don't," Gibbs said, walking out.