The moment they arrived at headquarters, McGee raced for the observation room. He managed to collect a few bruises as he ricocheted off the corridor walls on his way but, all things considered, he made pretty good time. Ziva and Tony looked up as he ploughed through the door but he ignored them and went straight to the window. Gibbs was already in full swing.
"And you two worked together?" Gibbs was asking.
"Yes," she looked down sadly.
McGee turned to Tony and Ziva, "What's going on?"
"One of her co-workers turned up dead last year," Tony explained.
"And Gibbs thinks she did it?" He directed the question to Ziva in the interest of equality but she seemed to be staring distractedly in the general direction of his groin. He frowned, puzzled.
"No," Tony answered, drawing his gaze away from Ziva, "Petty Officer Dorgon was the last one to see her alive."
McGee's eyebrows rose and he turned his attention back to the window.
"Look check the records," she challenged, "See how many of our girls die each year from drugs? I know almost every girl working the sailor haunts, of course I am going to know her. Did you check the last person to see the other dead girls? No! I probably know them too. I didn't kill them now, did I?"
McGee took a deep breath to steady himself. It seemed impossible to hear those words coming out of her mouth.
"May I look at your handbag?" Gibbs held out his hand.
"No!" the response was instantaneous and reflexive. She tucked the bag under her arm.
"I could get a warrant," Gibbs offered keeping his voice even, his hand still out expectantly.
She melted apologetically and placed the handbag gently in Gibbs' outstretched hand. He tucked it against his chest and folded his arms across it.
"Sorry, it's just…a woman's handbag. It's so, ah, personal, you know."
McGee's saw a little glimpse of the old Jen, the one that wasn't possessed.
"I know, I've been married a few times. All women love their handbags."
McGee shot Ziva a questioning look but turned away quickly when he met her steely glare.
"Do you ever put it down?"
"No never."
"What about to ride the roller coaster?"
Her eyes flitted away for a moment before she dragged them back to his face.
"You got him to put it on his lap, didn't you?"
She looked down, mortified, "I asked him to tuck it under his T-shirt", she admitted quietly.
"And the bar wouldn't lock?" Gibbs concluded sitting back in his chair and watching her reactions intently.
"But I never thought this would happen," she pleaded with him to believe her.
They engaged in a staring match for a moment until Gibbs broke contact. He placed the handbag on the desk and picked up a file.
"According to your statement," he read out, "You had your eyes shut the whole time." He snapped the folder shut and looked at her over the top of his glasses, "Is THAT part true?"
"Oh yes!" she assured him.
McGee frowned a little. Something wasn't quite right. His brain, although better, was still on some sort of time delay.
"McGee," Gibbs called out without taking his eyes off her, "take this to Abby."
It took a moment before McGee realised he was supposed to be center stage. He had been labouring under the assumption that Gibbs didn't know he was there. Now he knew how the fly on the wall felt when it was about to be swatted. He took his cue and dashed out of the observation room appearing at Gibbs' side moments later. She looked up at him sweetly and it sent shudders down his spine.
"McGee!"
He jumped, startled, his eyes jerking to Gibbs
"On it Boss."
Abby was waiting at the door of the garage with her hand outstretched like an impatient relay runner. McGee passed her the bag and she raced to a bench and dumped the contents. She looked up at McGee.
"I have a theory," she said seriously. "Sit down in the carriage, McGee."
He sat as requested.
"And hold this in your lap," she instructed, handing him the bag.
She lowered the bar slowly, staring intently at his lap.
"You're downgrading the notebook size, aren't you?" He queried.
A distracted smile flitted over her lips but her eyes stayed glued to the spot. "No Timmy," she said finally, "I'm trying to work out if you could inject someone by putting a syringe in a bag on their lap and then squashing a bar down onto it."
The bar stayed stubbornly above the locking position and she gave it a sudden thump to punch it all the way down. McGee hunched forward and grunted with the force.
"So how did he get out?" Abby pondered, ignoring McGee's strangled breathing.
McGee looked down at the bag on his lap and the image of scratched fingernails materialised over the top.
"She pulled it off his lap," he said quietly, that's how she scratched the nail polish off onto the bar.
Abby tugged hard and the bag came out. Together they inspected the gap its absence had left. Abby asked the question with her eyebrows and McGee responded, carefully threading his legs out from under the bar then hoisting one leg over the side of the carriage, then the other.
Abby let out a whoosh of air. "So it can be done."
"But why would you climb out of a moving roller coaster?"
"Never under estimate what people will do when drugged. It just needs mere suggestion. She might have told him the ride was over and the bar was stuck."
McGee frowned at her, "I don't think people would…would they?"
"Hey," she reminded him, "you're the one who's been hypnotised. Would you have climbed out a window if you were asked to?"
"No!"
"What if she convinced you it was safe?"
She tossed the bag lightly in the air, "Let's see what the mass spec says."