Chapter 2
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Abby looks at Gibbs, disturbed. The idea of one person killing another is repugnant to her.
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They were not supposed to be on duty this weekend, but Gibbs was not one to give up a case to another team, willingly, once his team had started it. So it was that the rafting Group Gibbs transformed back into the MCRT and arrived back at Headquarters as evening approached. After notifying Kinsky's CO of the young sailor's death, Gibbs said to his team, "Let's see how much we can get done on this tonight. Maybe I can let you all have tomorrow off." It was small comfort, winding up with one day out of seven off, but they were used to it. Maybe next weekend would be all theirs.
His clothes (now dry) still feeling uncomfortably steeped in river organic-ness, Tim nonetheless got on his computer and dug for about 20 minutes before routing his findings to the team's plasma screen. "Seaman Apprentice Robert Ambrose Kinsky; age 20," Tim announced as they all looked at the images. "Hometown, Peekskill, New York. Stationed at Norfolk. Enlisted in January 2010 after dropping out of community college. Track star in high school. Not married. No close relatives; parents both deceased, A few minor commendations on his military record; no blemishes."
"No blemishes? How did he get through his teens without acne?" Tony commented, earning a glare from the others.
"How did he get from Norfolk to the river in West Virginia?" Gibbs asked. "Ziva—"
"I will trace his leave request and transportation off base," she said, reaching for her desk phone.
"Tony—"
"Digging up other businesses in the area; see if anyone's seen him."
"McGee—"
"I'll check phone records and credit card records, boss."
"I want results by the time I get back!" Gibbs ordered, heading for the elevator.
They were a little surprised at his ferocity. "Wow. Someone must be missing a quiet, intimate evening with a woodworking project," Tony murmured.
"What can you tell me, Duck?" Gibbs' words preceded him into Autopsy.
"That I will need more time to give you an answer that will satisfy you, Jethro." Ducky looked up from the table on which the seaman's body rested. "Young Kinsky died likely about 28-32 hours ago; sometime Friday afternoon. Drowning was not the cause of death. The absence of water in his lungs tells us that."
"So he was dead before he was put in the water."
"Yes. I haven't ruled out natural causes yet."
Gibbs looked surprised. "So it might not have been a homicide?"
"It's possible. So far we have not found any wounds or abrasions. Abby is doing toxicology tests."
"Nothing yet, O Captain, my Captain of the inflated river-going vessel," Abby said in response to him, while staring at a screen. "I'm running tests on minute elements that might be on Seaman Kinsky's skin and hair, as well as in his tissues, but so far…nothing out of the ordinary."
"You've screened out whatever's in the river water?"
"I did. I thought to bring back a sample of the river water. I figured the river could spare a vialful, so I borrowed a vial from the MCRT truck. I've tested for normal river-ish behavior in the Mid-Atlantic states." She indicated a chart of lines and dots on another computer screen. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Ducky says he was dead before he went in the water."
"Oh, so? So it wasn't anything in the river that killed him. I guess that just happened to be a convenient place to dispose of the body," Abby shivered. She might like skeletons and such, but the idea of one person killing another was repugnant to her.
"Don't know yet that it was a homicide."
"Then why would this man travel all the way from…wherever he was stationed… to West Virginia to die, along a stretch of the Potomac River?"
Gibbs couldn't answer that.
"I want my answers," Gibbs said, entering the squad room with a fresh coffee in hand, and hot drinks for his team as well.
Tony spoke up first. "Unfortunately, it's Saturday night in the boondocks and the locals have rolled up the hiking trails, and just about everything else in the area is locked up tight. I did reach the four bars within a five-mile radius…that's really wilderness, with a capital 'Wild', you know. In Baltimore, four bars would be the number on one block (two sides of the street). One not-very-long block, at that."
"DiNozzo…"
"Anyway, none had seen a man fitting his description in the last few days. You want me to drive out there and canvas the area?" Something in Tony's tone showed that he hoped Gibbs would say 'no'.
"Maybe Monday. Ziver?"
"It is very curious. There have been no abandoned vehicles found in that area, leading me to believe that Kinsky did not drive himself there. No outfitters have rented hiking and camping gear to anyone matching Kinsky's description recently. Public transportation—there is none for miles; not even a bus or a taxi."
"Someone gave him a ride," Gibbs nodded. "Was he still alive at the time; that's another question."
"He didn't die elsewhere, say, in Norfolk, only to be transported to West Virginia," Ducky said soon thereafter when Gibbs revisited Autopsy. "That would be apparent in the type of decomposition."
"So someone brought him to West Virginia and killed him there?" asked Jimmy, who then, under Gibbs' stern look, shrank back to his own work.
"Did he go there willingly, or what?" Gibbs wondered. "That may be the most important question."
"What would be in it for him to visit that bucolic, albeit off-the-beaten-path location?" Ducky mused. "Answer that, and the rest may start to fall into place."
"Boss, I've traced Kinsky's cellphone records and debit and credit card," Tim announced when Gibbs returned to the squad room. "He was too young to have a significant credit history. Just a gas station credit card, last used two months ago; a MasterCard with a $750 credit limit—all paid off except for a $39.26 balance, but not used since January; and his bank ATM card."
"Anything unusual there?"
"You might say so." He magnified the transactions on the screen. There were cash deposits of $500; 31 of them in the last 90 days.
"When you're only 20, that must seem like a fortune," Tony remarked.
"Particularly on an E2's pay," Gibbs grunted. "Those were cash deposits?"
"Yep. Cash, not checks. I can try to trace the exact bills if you want, but we may need a warrant for that…"
"Don't bother. The bills will have vanished into circulation, and I doubt the serial numbers are consecutive, so they wouldn't tell us where they came from. Withdrawals?"
"Nothing significant; small amounts here and there. The balance in his account is $21,795.18. That was the only account belonging to him that turned up. The last transaction was two days ago, in Norfolk. He withdrew $120."
Ziva said, "He was last seen on base yesterday morning. He had a pass for weekend leave, and left base at 10:35 a.m."
"You asked about phone records, boss," said Tim. "Abby's got the cell phone drying out now. What we know about the calls he made were that they were pretty mundane."
"No calls home to the family, or a girl?"
"Still tracing those…Nothing recent, anyway."
"A dull life for a dull boy," Tony said.
"A wealthy one," Ziva put in.
"Twenty-one grand is not what I call 'wealth', although it's nice to have. Unless he has more salted away in gold bricks or the like."
"If he was involved in something illegal, he was being taken advantage of," Gibbs stared at the plasma screen. "$500 is a small amount for a payoff for almost anything—even if regular."
"Crooks have to start somewhere, too."
"I want to go to Norfolk, and talk to the people he worked with," said Ziva. "Tomorrow I shall go."
Gibbs turned to her. "I was going to give you all tomorrow off. We've had a long week as it is."
"Thank you, but I would rather go before the trail gets cold. McGee, would you like to come with me?" she smiled.
Tim spread his hands. "I would, Ziva, but I have…something…I have plans."
She looked disappointed for a second. "All right. Tony?"
"I, uh, have plans, too. Better ones than he has, I'm sure," Tony said, and didn't miss Tim's cold look.
"Okay. Go if you wish, Ziva. You can take comp time another day. Keep in touch with me. Let's call it a night; it's almost 10. Tony, Tim—have a good day off. I'll see you all back here on Monday."
"G'night, everyone," Tim said, tossing his empty coffee cup in the trash. Now I can check out my suspicions on Sunday, with no one else around…
Tim had things to do at home, first, before he could put his Sunday plans into action. A half hour's searching on the web brought him was he was looking for, and he called the phone number provided. To his delight, it was the cell phone number of the small company proprietor, who answered readily. Yes, he had the stuff Tim desired. No, he didn't mind getting Tim set up on a Sunday morning.
A meeting time agreed upon, Tim set the alarm for a very early hour and went to bed. This time, he'd do his leg work and have evidence before he voiced his suspicions. Even so, a soft, high-pitched voice in his mind pleaded, Don't do this…
If I listened to every warning voice that popped into my head, I'd never get anywhere, Tim thought recklessly as he turned out the light.
In his dream, he was on a train…one rushing headlong into a cloud of colors. "Boss! Ziva! Tony! Look out!" he screamed. But no one seemed to hear him.
Slowly their heads turned to him, and they started to laugh. They were laughing at him. Embarrassed and feeling small, he regretted having said anything. It would have been better to wait for proof.
And still the train hurtled toward oblivion.