8
Chapter Two
"Donald! How are you this evening? We missed you at the Barnett's last week."
"I'm well, thank you Philip; I'm afraid last week work got in the way. However, tonight I'm free, and looking forward to a very good evening."
"I think I can guarantee that Don, we have two new members, which is always good news; the Georgetown Bridge Club needs new blood if we're to survive."
"Indeed, how many tables shall we have?"
"Four; now, let me introduce you." Philip Martin took Ducky's arm and led him toward the spacious lounge.
Ducky had met Philip in a neighbourhood grocery store not long after his move to Georgetown, when a conversation regarding the merits of Blue Stilton over White led to a pot of tea at a nearby coffee shop and the discovery of a shared interest in contract bridge. Keen to make connections in his new neighbourhood Ducky had accepted Philip's invitation to join the bridge club, and from then on, provided work allowed he had been delighted to join his fellow enthusiasts for their weekly Wednesday get together.
Philip pointed to a man and woman standing by the window, a little apart from the others who were enjoying a pre-game drink. "Come along you two, I promise we're a friendly crowd; let me introduce you to one of our best players. Heather Fulton, William Cahill, say hi to Doctor Donald Mallard; he's a wonderful partner, and a formidable opponent."
Ducky shook hands with their new members and smiled. "As ever, Philip exaggerates; welcome to our group. I hope you enjoy your time here as much as I do."
"I hope so Doctor, I'm afraid it's some time since I played so I may be a little rusty."
"Well, that is most certainly not an accent from this side of The Pond." With a warm smile Ducky ushered William Cahill toward the card tables.
"No Doctor..."
"No formalities here please, it's Donald."
"Okay, Donald, you're quite right, I'm very much a visitor here, home is Shrewsbury."
"Ah, Cadfael Country!"
William laughed. "You've been looking at the Shropshire Tourist Board web site."
With a shrug and a wry smile Ducky admitted, "On occasion I do think about planning a trip back to the UK when I retire; dabbling on the world wide web can be very enlightening."
"Hey you two, there'll be time for conversation later, shall we get down to the evening's competition?" Philip put a guiding hand on William's arm and led him away.
Ducky had hoped to be seated at the same table as William Cahill, he would have enjoyed chatting about Blighty, unfortunately Philip had already made the pairings and Ducky was partnered with their other new member. The evening passed pleasantly enough, as it usually did when he was playing bridge and Heather proved to be a more than capable partner. It seemed no time at all before Ducky was heading home, he hadn't managed to speak to William again, but there was always next week.
He waited until the small sports car pulled away before he emerged from the shadows, there was a slight smile on his face. The evening had gone well, he had been welcomed into the club and been introduced to Doctor Mallard; Philip Martin had offered to seat him at the doctor's table but he didn't want to rush things, next week would be soon enough.
It had been an easy decision to use the Medical Examiner as his admission ticket into NCIS, trying to get close to a member of the MCRT could have taken too long, and would have too many risks. Trained investigators were likely to be on their guard more than an elderly man who lived alone and craved social interaction. The good doctor's British background was a bonus he'd been delighted to use to his own advantage.
He'd lied about pretty much everything during the course of the evening, but one thing was true, he was from England, although it seemed as if that part of his life had happened to a stranger...
He'd been raised in Telford, a soulless new town in the heart of England, the town was home to a huge shopping centre, many industrial units and thousands of newly built homes for the men and women working there or in nearby Shrewsbury. His father had worked in a jeweller's in Shrewsbury, but with property prices in the picturesque riverside town prohibitive to a man on his salary; he'd bought a house on the outskirts of Telford, a house he turned into a loving home for his wife and son. The son who became a killer...how had it happened?
His childhood had been untroubled; full of the security that came from knowing his parents loved each other almost as much as they loved him. Then cancer took his mother; a slow, agonising death that had forged the bond between father and son stronger than ever. It had been a bittersweet day when he left home to take up a full scholarship at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Sometimes he felt that was the last day he was truly Jeremy Stanley, afterwards his whole life had been about being someone else. First of all learning the skills required to fulfil his acting ambitions, learning to speak, to walk, to appear as someone other than himself. Sadly, his acting career progressed no further than a single TV commercial and a summer repertory season in the seaside town of Eastbourne.
He had loved his time at RADA and had been convinced his acting career would go from strength to strength, how foolish he had been, how short sighted and egotistical. So many of his fellow students had the same dreams and some of them had real talent; he was a good technician, supremely proficient in make-up and voice work, his ear for languages and accents was second to none. What he lacked was heart, the elusive ability to connect with an audience, and he came to realise he'd never get to the top of his profession, with luck he would make a living, but his name would never be up in lights.
He'd often wondered whether he would have been content with such an existence; maybe he'd have married, had children, given life instead of taking it. He remembered each life he'd taken, but the only one that caused him to wake at night sweating and trembling was the first one, the only death that hadn't been planned...
No time to dwell on the past, he had research to complete before next Wednesday's bridge evening. It was getting late, time to get back to his hotel and get some rest before his visit to George Washington University, he had an early start and didn't want to miss his appointment.
NCIS NCIS
"It's been too long, good to see the old place again." Tony took three more pictures of the area around the body and handed the camera to Tim. "Quick, before Gibbs comes back, take a picture of me."
"Are you serious? We have a dead Petty Officer in case you hadn't noticed."
"I know, isn't it great? No, that came out wrong; I know it's bad, I mean he's dead right? But Tim, it's a dead Petty Officer in Rock Creek Park, do you know how long it is since we've been here, and he was even found in the creek, come on Tim, just one picture."
Tim glanced over his shoulder; Gibbs was still talking with the Park Ranger who had helped drag the body from the water. "Okay, hurry."
Tony struck a pose; Tim took a couple of shots. "Just to be on the safe side, could be a long time before we're out here again." Tony took the camera and got back to work and Tim finished taking measurements.
"Doesn't look as if our victim put up a fight." Tim stooped beside the body, taking note of the lack of visible wounds. "Wish Ducky would get here, then I could check his fingerprints."
"Looks like your wish is our command McEager." Tony pointed to the service road as the ME's truck came to a halt.
Gibbs called out, "Hey Duck, didn't expect you to get lost on your way here."
"We weren't lost, there was an accident, we had to take an unscheduled detour. We're here now and ready to work; Mr Palmer, let's get on."
As soon as Ducky completed his preliminary examination Tim was able to take the victim's fingerprints and confirm his identification. "Petty Officer Alfonso Lyon, got back from a six month tour of duty two weeks ago, due to report to the Navy Yard this morning."
"Duck, cause of death?"
"No obvious wounds, it's possible he drowned, but I don't see any obvious signs of asphyxia. I'm afraid I can't offer a definitive answer until I've completed the autopsy Jethro."
"Okay, call me when you get something. DiNozzo, McGee, bag and tag, we have work to do."
NCIS NCIS
"No, get away! Leave me alone!" He was cold, and he was sweating, it was always like this when the nightmare came. He hurried out of bed and into the bathroom; he knew from past experience that the only way to get warm was to have a hot shower; it had been a long time since that face had invaded his sleep. So young, so foolish...
It had been a windswept, rainy night in Eastbourne when his life changed direction forever; the final curtain had come down on the summer season and having played to a half-full auditorium he was on his way back to his boarding house for the last time. In a few days time the court case would begin, and the man responsible for killing his father would go to prison, ever since the police had told him his father had been killed by a driver running a red light the only thing that had sustained him was the thought of the killer spending years behind bars. It was so unfair, his father had been so proud when Jeremy graduated from RADA, and had been looking forward to spending a week of his holiday at the seaside, and to watching his son on stage, he never got the chance, his life snuffed out because someone had decided they were fit to drive even after four pints and three shots of vodka. Jeremy had struggled to fulfil his contract at the theatre, but what was there for him in Telford, he no longer thought of it as home, and without his father he had no reason to go back. When the case was over he'd sell the house, the money would help when he didn't have work, and as things stood he had nothing, not even a voice over for an audio book.
He was hurrying back, head down against the driving rain when he heard the voice, "Your money, empty your pockets now, give me your money!" The man had come out of the shadows, despite the poor street lighting Jeremy could see the glint of metal, he had a knife. Jeremy stumbled on the wet cobblestones and the mugger grabbed his jacket and leaned in to whisper, "I said, give me your money." Jeremy smelled the alcohol on the man's breath and something snapped inside, he was drunk, just like the bastard who'd killed his father. His anger gave him power and he pushed the man away, "Don't touch me! You want money, go and work for it!"
The man leapt to his feet and came at Jeremy with the knife; without thought, acting only on instinct Jeremy wrestled the knife from his hand and in a moment of white hot rage he turned the knife on his attacker and stabbed him, again and again the blade hit home, once he'd started it felt like he'd never stop. It was only when the bloodied handle became too wet to hold that he stopped, breathless and sick to his stomach he looked down on the man who had threatened him...man, he was barely out of his teens...Jeremy had panicked, pausing only to pick up the knife he ran, through the wet streets he ran barely able to breathe, racing down anonymous streets without a thought for his destination. Eventually, unable to go any further he collapsed on the ground, the knife was still in his hand, but there was no blood, the rain had done its work and washed it away, he studied his trembling hands, they were clean too. What should he do, go to the police, admit what he had done? He shook his head, he couldn't do that, they'd put him away, and he had to be there when his father's killer was brought to justice...if he stayed, even if they believed he'd acted in self-defence, no, they'd never believe that, not with so many wounds...he couldn't do it, he'd go back to collect his clothes, catch the first train home tomorrow, if the police came for him so be it, he'd take his chances, but he couldn't stay...
He'd found out later that his attacker was a homeless drug addict with a long record of muggings and assaults, it didn't stop his face haunting Jeremy, for all his sins the man had looked so young, almost angelic as he drew his last breath. He'd looked up at Jeremy and before the life left his eyes he pleaded to be spared, it was too late, and Jeremy Stanley had killed for the first time.
NCIS NCIS
Petty Officer Lyon had been transported to NCIS then Gibbs and his depleted team settled into their well-drilled routine, a picture emerged of a young man who was dedicated to the US Navy and had recently signed up for a further five years. He had no financial problems, no blemishes on his record, what he did have was a new girlfriend, Alicia North.
As Tony put it two days later when Brett Voges was in custody. "Classic love-triangle murder, Alicia's ex wanted her back, in his twisted mind he figured in he got rid of his rival she'd go running back to him, stupid mistake, she was done with him long before Lyon turned up."
"Lyon seemed like one of the good guys, it was because he tried to be friends with Voges that he agreed to meet him for a drink the night he died." Tim collected his report from the printer. "It was pretty cold, drugging Lyon and ditching him in the creek, poor guy never stood a chance."
Tony nodded sadly, "Voges is going away for the rest of his life, doesn't even things out, but at least he didn't get away with murder. We got justice for Alfonso Lyon Tim, can't ask for more than that."