Twinky was being watched by another agent, who had taken to the small dog, and promised to make sure the emotionally-neglected pooch had a little, but constructive, fun.
The defense lawyer for Robbie was a tired young man who wore a rumpled suit, who identified himself as Kevin Shabbe. Robbie's cuffs had been removed, on the condition that he behave himself, but he didn't know about the stop that Langston had made before coming into the room.
"I've spoken to my client, and he claims no knowledge of whatever it is you think he did," Kevin said.
"We have evidence of your client being in our victim's car. We also have evidence that Robbie's mother called him right around the same time our victim died," Gibbs said. "We know he's physically capable of moving our victim, based on the way he attacked one of my agents."
"Why is she here?" Robbie demanded, glaring at Langston, who just smiled at him, leaning casually against the wall behind him, arms folded across her chest. Her cuff case was clearly visible on her belt, and there was an expanding baton in another case, at her back, also just in case, which she had borrowed from a REACT team member who had heard about what had happened earlier. Not trusting Robbie, she had left her knife at her desk for now.
"We have our reasons," Gibbs said.
"Was it because of that putz that was here earlier?" Robbie sneered. "I can handle her easily."
Langston didn't say anything, or even change position, except to give him a long look, the one she gave suspects that were obviously trying to either play her or intimidate her.
"Here's the way it stands, Robbie," Gibbs said. "We have you for obstruction of justice, possible accessory to murder, and driving after nine p.m. at night on a learner's permit. Now that's mild, but the obstruction of justice and accessory to murder thing, especially the whole moving the body thing, that's pretty serious."
"You can't prove that," Robbie snapped.
"I think his hearing needs to be tested, because I'm pretty sure you said we had evidence of him being in our victim's car, so yeah, I think we proved that," Bishop said.
"Fuck you, bitch," Robbie snarled.
"Language!" Gibbs snapped.
"What did I tell you earlier?" Kevin snapped at Robbie. "Be quiet and let me do the talking, or things could get a lot worse." He turned back to Gibbs and Bishop. "Maybe your victim lent my client the car. Did you ever consider that possibility?"
"No," Gibbs said. "Because our victim was dead by the time Robbie got into the car. We also found blood, and our forensic specialist is running it now. In fact, I'm a bit of a betting person. What do you say, Langston? You bet?"
"Mmm, depends who's playin', an' what's in th' kitty," Langston said, waggling her hand. "I kinda like t' know all th' players in th' game 'fore I place my bet, but if it's what I think it is, well, my bet's pretty danged heavily in favor of our forensic specialist finding a match. She's pretty good."
"That she is," Bishop said.
"Who are you betting on?" Kevin asked shrewdly.
"His mother," Gibbs said. "We know Petty Officer Scotto had Bridget Everest's address, which just happens to be the same residence as May Wentworth, who was his former foster parent. We found blood on a wooden post that our medical examiner says was used to beat Petty Officer Scotto to death with, blood that doesn't belong to him, and that same blood was found in Petty Officer Scotto's car. We also know Bridget Everest was very loyal to the Wentworths, loyal to the point she would hold other kids down while the Wentworths beat them." Gibbs laid the three pictures of the three Wentworth house victims down on the table.
Robbie swallowed hard at that.
"May Wentworth killed and buried three kids, two of whom were under the age of five. One was her own daughter, Julia, who had a baby by the age of seventeen. We don't know where he is, except that he was put up for adoption the day he was born," Bishop said.
"That's not my client's problem," Kevin said.
"It could be. Bridget had no problems with hurting other kids, or even killing Petty Officer Scotto. You may be her son, Robbie, but there's nothing to stop her from throwing you under the bus, blaming you for his death. After all, you sure proved you have the strength to do so, and your prints are in his car."
"How did you even get his prints?" Kevin demanded.
"Did you know your client was arrested for solicitation? Cops picked him up in an area known for prostitutes, and according to the fine fellows we talked to, Big Bad Robbie here, he's going after the prostitutes because none of the girls in his school will sleep with him," Gibbs said.
Behind Robbie and Kevin, Langston sniggered quietly, earning her a reproachful glare from Gibbs.
"I'm only sixteen; even if I did do something, I won't get a lot of jail time," Robbie said. "Probation at best."
"True that," Kevin said.
"Maybe, maybe not. If you're convicted of murder, sixteen or not, you're not getting out of jail for quite some time," Gibbs said. "Did you help your mother move Petty Officer Scotto's body?"
"So what?" Robbie said in a bored tone. "Maybe the guy deserved to die, for sticking his nose where it didn't belong."
"Wait a minute," Bishop said, acting as if an idea had just occurred to her. "What if Bridget didn't murder Petty Officer Scotto? What if Robbie did? It would only take a DNA sample, and Agent Langston can do that right now, and get it off to the lab. Knowing our favorite forensic specialist, it wouldn't take more than, say, twenty-four hours."
Gibbs smiled at her, then looked at Kevin and Robbie. "Well? We either get you, or we get your mother, but someone is going to jail for Petty Officer Scotto's murder. I don't care who."
"I'm just a kid!" Robbie protested.
"Old enough to try and get laid, old enough to go to jail," Gibbs said.
"What if the test comes back showing the blood evidence says it's not him?" Kevin asked shrewdly.
"Then he's only facing charges of obstruction of justice and accessory to murder, and maybe, or maybe not, depending on the mood the judge is in, assaulting a federal officer," Gibbs said.
"That fucker provoked me!" Robbie snapped, lunging forward, causing Langston to straighten up from the wall.
"Hey! Simmer down, hoss!" Langston snapped.
"It was that agent's own fucking fault!" Robbie ranted. "He provoked me!"
"What about Petty Officer Scotto?" Gibbs asked. "Was his death his fault too?"
"That's what my mother said, and since she said it, I believe her," Robbie said.
"That's not what she's sayin'," Langston said, holding up her cellphone, having removed it from her back pocket. "According to th' text I jest got, from th' other agents, yer ma is puttin' th' whole thing on y', sonny boy." That wasn't true, but that had been part of the plan, to see what would happen if Robbie thought his mother had turned on him. The result was instantaneous.
"Liar!" Robbie yelled, lunging out of his seat, trying to get at Langston.
It was a fight, but Gibbs, Bishop, Langston, Torres, and McGee, who had heard the yelling, quickly got Robbie cuffed and restrained.
"Now, you listen, and you listen good," Gibbs snarled, getting in Robbie's face. "We want a DNA sample. Now. If we get that, and it proves you didn't beat Petty Officer Scotto to death, then maybe, just maybe, we will forget about this little incident. If it says otherwise, we will add this to the long list of charges you are facing, one of which is murder!" He glanced at Kevin, who was basically cowering in one corner. "You got a problem with that?" Kevin rapidly shook his head. "Langston!"
Langston snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves and opened up the packet containing the buccal swab. She held it up. "You spit at me, an' I will punch y', no word, no warning," she warned Robbie. "Understood?" Glaring at her, Robbie nodded. "Open up," she said. He opened his mouth, and she quickly swabbed the inside of his mouth, where his cheeks were. She then sealed the swab back in the protective pouch and stripped her gloves off. Then, after writing down the necessary information on it, she held it up. "Going straight t' th' lab. Have a nice time waiting." And she left the room.
"Get him out of here," Gibbs snarled. "You fight like that again, at all, and I swear I will call in whatever Marine I can find on base, and have them deal with you, and believe me, several of them owe us some mighty big favors. You got that?"
Robbie nodded sullenly, and he was quickly hauled out of the room by Torres, McGee, and two other agents, who had come running at the noise.
Kevin straightened up. "And my wife asks me why I do this job," he muttered.
"What do you tell her?" Bishop asked.
"Right now, I really don't know. In fact, if this keeps up, I'm seriously considering getting out, and going into some other kind of law, something a little more safer," Kevin said.
"We could always use a hand here," Bishop said. "More fun."
"I'll think about it, but only if I get to use a gun," Kevin said.
Gibbs smirked at that. Once Kevin left, both he and Bishop took a deep, abet shuddering, breath.
"Let's not do that again," Bishop said. "When we deal with Robbie again, I want at least four of the biggest, strongest Marines you can call in."
"I'll make some calls," Gibbs said.
When McGee and Torres got back, they caught the rest of the team up with regards to their conversation with Bridget.
Earlier:
"I'm Special Agent McGee, and this is Special Agent Torres. You've already met Special Agent Gibbs; we're part of the team investigating Petty Officer Scotto's murder," McGee said, placing the file down in front of Bridget, who only glared at them. Her lawyer was a woman in her mid-thirties, wearing a dark blue suit and a no-nonsense look about her.
"Like I told the last agent, I had nothing to do with his murder," Bridget said.
"We know. We also know you claimed he deserved it," McGee said.
"So what? Words are just words, agents, and unless you can prove it in court, they mean nothing," the lawyer said.
"Unfortunately for your client, we can prove it. Just before we came in, we heard from a neighbour who lives on Cedar Street," Torres said. "They had checked their street cameras and got some very pretty pictures of Bridget's car right behind Petty Officer Scotto's. Those same cameras also spotted her son's truck a few minutes later, and then Petty Officer's car driving away, but there was one problem; the driver was not Petty Officer Scotto."
"We have his prints in our victim's car, and since we discovered Petty Officer Scotto was in the trunk of his car, dead, that makes him an accessory to murder," McGee said. "And since he got there after you did, that means you're the one who killed Petty Officer Scotto."
"Prove it," Bridget snapped.
"Gladly," Torres said. "With a DNA sample."
Bridget smirked. "No."
"Get a warrant," the lawyer said.
"Fine, but here's the thing; we also have your son," McGee said. "Now, he's already facing charges of assaulting a federal agent, and accessory to murder, as well as obstruction of justice, and juvenile court or not, he's still looking at some serious time."
"Oh, and there's that whole driving after curfew thing, which is going to impact his driving record," Torres said.
"Ah, yeah, that," McGee said.
"You leave my son alone; he's a good boy," Bridget snarled.
"Not according to the bruises on my neck," Torres snapped. "Or the cops who picked him up in an area known for prostitutes. Did you know he was arrested for solicitation, at sixteen, for pete's sake?"
"So? He likes sex, and none of the whores at his school will sleep with him. They're not good enough for him anyway," Bridget snapped, folding her arms with a huff.
"And as I recall, May Wentworth called you the exact same thing yesterday," McGee said.
"She did?" Torres asked.
"She did, along with a few other choice words," McGee said, nodding sagely. He turned back to Bridget and her lawyer. "Help us out here, and we'll consider dropping the charges against Robbie. You don't, and we'll come down harder on him, and sexual predators like Robbie, they don't do too good in Juvie."
"My son is not a sexual predator! Stop saying that!" Bridget demanded.
"Tell that to the cops," Torres said. "He's headed for trouble, big trouble, and you can stop that, by giving us what we need, or we bring the hammer down."
"You know, we already have his prints. We don't really need her for anything. After all, if we charge him with assaulting a federal agent, we could easily get his DNA, and our forensic specialist is pretty fast, and accurate, and we can hold him for twenty-four hours," McGee said to Torres, casually.
"There is that. Huh. Maybe we don't need a warrant after all," Torres said. "And he's right about one thing; we can hold him for twenty-four hours. We can also hold you. Oh, hands please. Palm up."
"Why?" the lawyer demanded.
"Someone got cut while they beat in Petty Officer Scotto's head," McGee said.
"Go to hell," Bridget said. "Like my lawyer said, get a warrant."
"Okay," McGee said. He gathered up his file and he and Torres left the room, only to hear the yelling coming from the next room.
"Kasie's running Robbie Everest's DNA sample as fast as she can," Langston said, joining them. "She said, an' I quote, if she has t' work through th' night t' git us th' results, she will."
"Good," Gibbs said. "Now we wait."
"Oh, an' Shirley Brax called," Langston said. "She said, an' again I quote, she ain't talkin' witout a lawyer. Said we'd git back t' her."
"Nothing we can really charge her with, except obstruction of justice, because she ignored what was going on at the Wentworths," McGee said. "And any defense lawyer could get her off with either probation or time served, especially given her age."
"Would be kinda fun to make her squirm," Bishop said. "Even just a little. Maybe a little payback for all those kids she let get hurt."
"I could talk to Charlie," Torres offered. "He might have fun with that."
"Talk to the legal department, and run with it, if you can. Otherwise, we wait for Kasie's results," Gibbs said.
The next morning:
"Excuse me?" a polite male voice asked, interrupting Langston's musings, as she read through her emails. The rest of the team was either getting their coffee, Bishop's breakfast burrito (which she promised to bring back one for Langston) or checking in on Kasie.
Langston looked up and her eyes went wide. Standing in front of her were four Marines, all in utility uniforms with their sleeves rolled up, and all built like linebackers. A symbol on their uniform indicated they were MP's, and ranged in rank from Private to Gunnery Sergeant. Then Langston's eyebrows went up even further, and she started grinning in appreciation. One of the Marines stood just over six feet tall, was white, with a healthy suntan, dark brown hair, and had a shoulder width of at least twenty-one inches. He also had a dark brown mustache that was neatly trimmed in accordance with USMC regulations, and that was what had caught Langston's attention.
"Well, good mornin' there, fellers. What can I do fer y'all?" she asked, straightening up in her seat. Twinky was at doggy daycare for now, until they could figure out what was going to happen, but according to the agent he'd been with, he'd had a fantastic time with the agent, who was seriously considering adopting him if things with the Wentworths and the Everests continued the way they were.
"I'm Gunnery Sergeant Hans," the lead Marine said. He was two inches over six feet, dusky skin, dark eyes, and black hair. His arms reminded Langston of huge tree trunks, and she couldn't help but wonder what he ate for breakfast. "Special Agent Gibbs called in a favour, said he needed me, and three other of my guys, to help deal with a problem suspect."
"Ah, yeah, that," Langston said, trying to get her brain to start working again. "I'm Special Agent Jane Langston; Agent Gibbs is my supervisor, an' problem suspect is th' polite version."
She quickly went through her computer files and found the video recording from the conference room yesterday. She threw it on the plasma and the four Marines watched as Robbie first tried attacking Torres and McGee, then Langston, culminating with all five agents struggling to restrain him.
"Who's the punk?" one of the Marines growled. With olive skin and dark hair cut very close, he stood just over five foot eleven, but not quite six feet, and looked as if he could easily throw her over his shoulders, plus Bishop, without even grunting in effort. His name tag identified him as Lopez. The fourth Marine was around five ten, and just as muscular, with his uniform shirt stretching as he folded his arms across his chest. He was black, with curly black hair cut close to his skull.
"Tha' fine feller is Robbie Everest. His ma, Bridget, is suspected of beating Petty Officer Adam Scotto t' death, an' we found his prints in th' victim's car, suggesting he helped Bridget move th' body," Langston said. "We got his prints 'cause the cops busted him fer solicitation. When he was picked up, he was in an area known fer th' ladies of th' night, an' the cops said he was watchin' 'em with predatory eyes. Here's th' real kicker; he's sixteen."
"I want five minutes alone with him," the black Marine said. His name tag identified him as Richmond.
"With no cameras, and a locked door," the mustached Marine said. His name tag said Shane.
"I'll talk t' Gibbs," Langston said easily. "Y'all want some oxygenated bleach wipes fer yer hands? Stuff destroys DNA evidence real good."
"I thought Clorex did that plenty well," Hans said.
"To a point, but iffin y' really wanta git away wit it, use oxygenated bleach, which is basically hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, an' hot water," Langston said.
"How do you even know about this stuff?" Shane asked, curious.
"She hangs around Kasie too much," Gibbs said, coming into the bullpen. "Thanks for coming in, Gunny."
"No problem. Saw the video. Kid's a punk. Give us five minutes and a locked room and we'll straighten him out real good," Hans said.
Gibbs smirked, as the rest of the team joined them, with Bishop handing Langston a foil wrapped burrito.
"Guy didn't have any actual habanero peppers, but he did have Tabasco Habanero sauce, so I had him put that on for you," Bishop said to Langston.
"Much appreciated," Langston said, causing the Marines eyes to go wide.
"You like your spice," Shane said, grinning at her.
"That ain't all I like," Langston shot back, flashing him a teasing grin. She introduced the team to the group of Marines.
"Kasie said Robbie's DNA is a familial match to our blood evidence," Gibbs said. "We got her."
"We also got a warrant for her DNA, just to seal things nice and tight," McGee said.
"An' Johnny said Lance Corporal Jackson will be landing later on today," Langston said.
"How's May Wentworth doing?" Bishop asked.
"Making life hell for the home care nurses," Gibbs said. "Including Mac."
Mackenzie "Mac" Wilbur-Kent was a home care nurse who had been a protected witness in a case of theirs about two years back, and still stayed in touch with the team.
"How bad?" Torres asked.
"She threatened to set her husband on me if I ever did that to her again," Gibbs said easily. "Especially since she's expecting a baby in a couple of months."
"Bet Tom loves that," McGee said, referring to Mac's husband, Lieutenant Tom Kent.
"Ever seen a SEAL faint?" Gibbs asked.
"He did?" McGee asked.
"He did," Gibbs said, grinning, causing the group to chortle.
"So we deal with Robbie, you deal with Bridget?" Hans asked.
"And keep an ear out in case she turns violent," Gibbs said. "She hasn't, yet, but witnesses say she's not above it. Tommy Montenegro?"
"Hospital says he's sober, for now," McGee said. "And he wants to talk to us."
"Bring him in," Gibbs said.
"Oh, and Tyler Strathford? He left a message, sounded very excited 'bout something. Said he found 'im, an' would be by later today t' explain. Also heard from Angela Montenegro, an' she said she's got somethin' fer us," Langston said. "Sounds like we're in fer a busy day."
"Gonna be even busier," a male voice said, causing the group to turn around.
Then Langston was tackling none other than Gunnery Sergeant John Langston, who was dressed in civvies, and had a large duffle bag by his feet.
"Her brother," Bishop said to the other Marines. "Haven't seen each other since they were teens."
"Dang. Now that's what I call a welcome home surprise," Richmond said, grinning.
"And if you play your cards right, you might have a chance with her," Torres whispered to Shane. "She likes guys who have a 'stache like yours."
Shane perked up at that.