AN: Thanks AWall who wasn't logged in; I appreciate the kind review.

N.C.I.S.G.T.

by scousemuz1k

chapter 2

Tony's knuckles were neatly bandaged; most of the pizza was gone. N.C.I.S.G.T. sat side by side using lap tops to find out everything they could about Gilbert Mosedale Collingwood, MD. He had retired from his prestigious position as a senior hospital administrator in Boise, Idaho four years ago, and moved to DC, where he was now chairman of the board of several local charities, and a pillar of his church, bridge and golf clubs. All more than above board.

Look closer. Tony knew that idea came from outside, since he already knew what he'd do next. Reading between the lines was something he'd been doing for years. Reading what was left out was also something he excelled at. "Stuff cryptic," hegrumbled. "Either butt out, or tell us what to look for."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "You're still mad at him."

Tony sighed. "Yeah, Abs, you bet I am. I'mthe one left feeling guilty here."

She reached for his hand, and inspected the knuckles she'd bandaged. "Flex it for me," she commanded. Tony obliged; his hand moved okay, and he didn't let his face give away the fact that it hurt. "So you should be," she said severely, deliberately misunderstanding. "Distraction by pain, you big klutz. It would have hurt less if you'd just let me slap you." Except of course, that she wasn't at all sure she would have done. Well, at least it made him smile. "What would you have done if you couldn't use your gun tomorrow? And what will God think of you punching his chapel?"

They both giggled and bumped foreheads, back on their double even keel. (Hey, we're a catamaran, Tony thought.) And neither one of them knew how much the other was wishing they could break rule twelve.

"He worked in Boise for three years," Tony said after a while. "Before that, eight years in Oklahoma City. Trenton before that, nine years... Only jobs in the Capital are good enough for our Gilbert. Oh, look, before that it was Atlanta."

"He gets around a lot. And each job he moves to… he's doing more and more admin, and less and less medicine. Maybe he's not competent. Maybe he killed our ghost!" She frowned. "Tony?"

The big man was wincing and pressing his temples with his fingertips, the dressings white on the fingers of his right hand. "It's not simple. But he knows you're smarter than me…"

The goth leapt to her feet, (she never simply stood up, he'd noticed earlier... she sort of Abbylaunched... his human abbylaunch... would that be a good name for a catamaran... get a grip!) glaring. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked hard at him. "Tony, he can carry the frat-boy thing way too far. We're seriously going to stop trying to help if he keeps on dissing you like this! If he doesn't stop it, he can get right out of your head, because it's not going to do him any good staying in there!"

Tony beamed. "Aw, my Abs! Ssshhh... I love it when you go on the warpath. I really think he was only teasing… the way I do. But I've no idea what he means by not simple. Yet," he added sharply in case the invader in his head had anything else to say about it. "Let's run the good doctor's name through criminal records in those cities, see if there's anything."

Abby nodded, and sat down again. "I'm on Boise."

After a few moments, Tony said thoughtfully, "Conviction here for drunk driving, back home in Pittsburgh when he was twenty-two. Dad spoke up for him, bigwig at a local hospital, said he'd been celebrating with his buddies, about passing a very important exam. Dad said he'd been a little foolish, would take him in hand, was going to make a fine young doctor, blah blah blah… judge lapped it up, let him off with a warning. Six years later, walks away from wrapping his car round a tree. Claims concussion made him leave the scene; by the time they catch up with him, blood alcohol level can't prove a thing."

"Do we perceive a pattern here, Holmes?" Abby asked, wrinkling her forehead. She rose to her feet and began to pace, hands clasped behind her. "Years later, the gentleman has acquired the florid complexion of the habitual imbiber."

"Well observed, my dear Watson; you will no doubt have detected the aroma of single malt Scotch Whisky in the air…" Tony joined her, holding up an index finger – a mannerism that always made Abby chuckle. They paced in opposite directions, pivoting at the same time and passing each other mid-distance. He was struck by a feeling of irritation, and thought back, 'Tough. You were the one who wanted me to have patience'. He plummily continued the game as a matter of principle. No ghost was going to tell him what to do. "It would seem that a fondness for the cup that cheers was putting the doctor too oft in his cups for him to be a good practitioner of his craft."

"Ooooh, Sherlock, I like it!" They stopped and high-fived, giggling happily, the tension eased, at least for the moment.

A pattern did emerge. Dr. Collingwood had had several brushes with the law, all connected with drink, but nothing ever proved. The respite hadn't lasted long; having been a cop in the same situation more times than he cared to remember, Tony was beginning to feel irritated on behalf of the investigators. There were always good reasons, insufficient evidence frequently being one. The statements of the arresting officers were not considered sufficient cause for prosecuting a pillar of society, which was ridiculous, and Tony's feeling of irritation was building into anger. He began to pace again, in earnest. Abby looked up from her machine enquiringly; he told her what was on his mind, and she frowned. She sat him down again and took his hands.

"I understand, Tony. You're getting angry because you can see that strings have been pulled… friends in high places, evidence disappearing… undermining of the people on the front line; it wouldn't be the first time we've seen it. And our visitor's getting angry too, because this affects him in some way."

Tony thought for a moment, his eyes screwing up. He was developing an uncomfortable thump behind his temples. "We don't know if it's recent, or happened a long time ago."

"Yes, we do, Supersleuth. If the visitor can get into someone's head, he'd have done it long ago, if he'd been killed long ago, that is."

Her friend nodded his acceptance of the point, then his eyes widened. "There goes that 'not simple' feeling again. He wasn't killed. Every time one of us says killed, it's his way of saying no."

"But something bad happened. Because of Collingwood's drinking. To him? To a friend? If it was a friend, why does he need you? Why can't he fix it himself?"

"So… to him, then, recently. Here in DC. Because Collingwood's here, and so am I. Here. Recently. Not killed."

His staccato speech alarmed her slightly, as did the lines of pain growing around his eyes and mouth. She seized his hands again. "Tony… he needs to go easy on you… you can't think straight if he's giving you a blinding headache. He is, isn't he…"

"Don't think he can help it, Abs… gotta think. Gotta think. If not killed, what?"

Abby almost shrieked – "Coma!" This time she leapt up so quickly her chair fell over with a crash, and she stood swaying.

Tony stood up to steady her, and looked at her closely and anxiously as his own pain subsided a little. Her eyes were wide, and her hand pressed over her mouth. "Abs… that was him?" He picked her chair up and sat her carefully down again.

She nodded, thunderstruck. "OMG, Tony… how d'you cope with this? I want him out of here. Now!"

Tony reached across and drew her into an awkward hug, not easy with them both perched on office chairs. Outwardly he was calm as he stroked her back and soothed her. Inside he was raging. 'You want me to help, you leave her alone. Stay out of her head or you can haunt me forever and you'll still get nothing from me.' Once again the apologetic backing off thought came that he'd had earlier, and he got the clearest single idea yet, that the visitor had been trying to stop hurting him. 'Well don't do it by hurting her. We're getting there. Be patient,' he thought again, 'like I said, it's what you've been telling me.'

"He's gone," Abby said. "I am so sorry, Tony… I'm the one who's supposed to understand this sort of thing… and I had noidea how horrible it feels to have someone else inside your head! It… it's like mental molestation! I'm so sorry! I am going to help you get rid of him!" she finished resolutely.

"What did you feel?"

"A thought… just like you said! It wasn't a bad thought, just kind of 'not dead, not alive' – it was just that it was there…"

"Ssh… it won't bother you again…"

He hugged her once more for luck, and they both swung back to their computers. In less than a minute, they'd found it; Tony from ambulance records, and Abby from the first hospital she hacked into.

"Rex Christopher Meier, aged twenty," she read. "Studying medicine at George Washington University. Four nights ago… struck by a hit and run driver on Ohio Drive South whilst out running. Suffered severe injuries to head and body, is now on life support in the trauma unit at Washington Hospital Centre..." She bit her lip and sighed as she read on. "Oh... Not expected to recover. Just twenty..." She looked at Tony. "It's him, isn't it?"

The big agent simply nodded. He'd known, from the feeling of relief and the ebbing away of pressure, before Abby even said the young man's name. He got into GWU's files, and brought up a picture. They both sat staring at it for a while, and the sense of loss and bewilderment that hung in Tony's mind was almost palpable. It's me, the SFA thought, I was him… A good looking (and knew it) young man smiled, no, laughedback out at them; tawny brown hair on the long side, bright, intelligent blue eyes, perfectteeth, and an expression that said, the world is my oyster, and hey, I love oysters.

And now, Rex Christopher Meier couldn't understand why it had all been taken away.

"How does he know who did it? Is he sure?"

Tony waited, but there was nothing from Rex but the heaviness. "I don't know, Abs. I don't know. But we've got the crime, the victim and the perpetrator. How do we prove it?"

"It's not even our crime, and we'll get a short answer from Metro if we say we got our information from a ghost. Oh, and by the way, the person isn't actually dead."

Tony smiled fondly at her. "Very succinct. Weird, but definitely succinct."

He rang Metro anyway, and in spite of the hour, found someone he knew, who knew about the case. He sounded apologetic but sincere as he spun his contact a yarn, when he and the officer both knew that all Metro would actually care about in the end would be the possibility of their workload being reduced by one case. He could understand that. The upshot was that all the information Metro had was sent to them immediately, including footage from the nearest camera, with a promise not to tell anyone else about it. The last thing Tony wanted was hard evidence that he might have to explain to Gibbs, of what he was up to.

They both watched, stunned, as the grainy, far too distant image showed the runner vainly trying to avoid the erratically driven car. He was flung into the air, and landed on the sidewalk; one moment an athletic young man, the next, nothing more than a ruined, rag-doll tangle of limbs and fabric. The present vitality and the future promise... gone.

The car reversed; (it was a late model, large Pontiac, same model that Collingwood drove;) two figures got out and looked at the injured man; the passenger took a step towards him, but was dragged back by the driver, who shoved him, or possibly her, back into the car, which then turned and drove away from the camera. They'd have to clean the image up, but Abby was sure she could get an ID on the driver from it; the build was certainly Collingwood's.

After a while, she spoke almost tearfully. "The report says he wasn't found until almost an hour later, by which time there'd been severe intra-cranial bleeding. If he'd been hospitalised earlier, he'd have stood a very good chance of recovery. Oh, Tony… I take back all the cross things I said! I can't blame him wanting justice. Maybe, he can't actually die and get on with eternity until he gets it! Maybe he's stuck here unless we help!"

Four days ago, Tony would have bitten his tongue so's not to tell her she was being fanciful. Now, he had to think differently. "He saw the bastard, Abs. He saw him stand over him and do nothing. Maybe the witness said his name… Right. Let's see if Collingwood's credit card can tell us where he was drinking four nights ago… we might be able to find out who he was with."

That drew a blank, however. "Not really surprised," Tony said mordantly. "It was a long shot, seeing that the doctor is a married man. He wouldn't like his wife to see his credit card statement and learn where and who with he does his drinking – or anything else."

"But maybe that washis – I'm being naïve, aren't I."

Tony punched the top of her arm lightly. "When you remember how he looked at you? Yup."

The forensic ace ran the film again, and they watched carefully. The gait, even at a distance, suggested teetering high heels, and a wiggle. "'Yup' it is, Tony… I think the doctor's been cradle-snatching. Hmm…Would you say his body-language suggests intimidation?"

"You think, whoever she is, he's frightened her into keeping quiet."

"He must have… unless she's besotted with him – yeucch, what am I saying? – Or he's bought her off; or she'd have gone to the police."

"Or she's an 'escort'," Tony added. "A young lady in that profession wouldn't want to talk to the law."

Abby thought a bit more, and smiled. "Still, there's no way thisevidence will be able to disappear… he doesn't know we've got a copy. What… Tony, what have I said?"

"Abs!" Tony's face had drained of all colour. He held up a hand – wait – as he pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed. The staccato speech was back. "Making evidence disappear. Ducky. Gone straight to voice mail."

"But how could Ducky make –"

"He can't. And he wouldn't if he could. But Collingwood doesn't know that. He's so used to calling in the old boy network, and having people make things go away... he'd just assume the usual rules apply. But have you ever met a more principled man than Ducky? Abs… the guy's a new bridge partner… What if he'd arranged to be Ducky's new partner just to get alongside him, to persuade him…"

"He's not been caught yet…" Abby bent over her keyboard again muttering in an urgent undertone. "But he's afraid the evidence will lead to him in the end .Where did Ducky say the bridge club was… the Marriot, that's it…" She brought the hotel's number up, called and asked for the appropriate extension. No, they were afraid Dr. Mallard wasn't there. They'd been expecting him, and his partner, but they hadn't arrived. So sorry.

As Abby was listening, she was bringing up the location of Ducky's cell phone. "To the north," she said anxiously, going back through the info they'd pulled on Collingwood, to find his cell number. "Out near Indiana Avenue." After a few moments when Tony sat mutely hoping it wouldn't be so, "And he'swith him. Tony, Indy Avenue -"

"I know, sweetheart. Metro PD headquarters." He was on his feet, heading for the door. "Call them. And call Gibbs."

Abby snatched up her laptop and simply followed him. "From my cell, Tony. I'm coming with you."

Tony paused for a moment, turning back to face her. "Abby," he said firmly, "Gibbs'll gut me with a K-bar if I take you into danger. And I don't have time to argue."

"I know." She was matter-of-fact. "And I'm not leaving you. I'll stay in the car and wait for Gibbs. Don't worry, I promise, Tony! In the mean time, you drive, I'll track."

Sigh… "Come on, then. My guess is they're headed for the evidence garage… got to get to them before they get there. It's just about as irrational a scheme as I might expect a habitual drunk to scrape together. He doesn't even know if thereisany physical evidence!"

That was true; there was very little, only photographs of Rex Meier's injuries, more photos and measurements of the tyre marks, and a few paint flecks from the victim's clothes. They were with Tony's contact, ready to be sent over to the Navy yard as soon as possible.

"When Collingwood finds Ducky can't talk his way in, Lord knows what he'll do. He's already been drinking tonight, and he's already killed, or near as damn…"

They didn't bother to collect an agency car, but raced to Tony's Mustang. Ducky was wise, wily and resourceful, Tony told himself as they ran down to the parking lot. He could certainly look after himself... Not a chance he was prepared to take; the classic hot car took off with a squeal.

TBC