Chapter 2- Back at Quantico

Back at Quantico the next morning, Gibbs watched his suspect from behind the one-way mirror. He left DiNozzo and Ziva back in New York, as planned, but he came back with McGee and their suspect to question him and let Abby go over the golf-bag. The man had everything from golf clubs to a cricket bat in there. Ducky would like that. Abby certainly did, she squealed like it was Christmas when Gibbs dropped off the evidence.

Gibbs took a sip of his ever present coffee as Director Vance came into observation. Gibbs decided to wait before he said anything, letting Leon decide where this meeting was going.

"So?" the director said after he got a good look at the suspect. The man was snoring loudly as he laid his head on the table; obviously he hadn't slept well in holding.

"Yeah, Leon?" Gibbs said. He didn't have a direction yet.

"Did this guy do it?"

"Maybe."

"But you don't think so."

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow.

"Why did you bring him here?" Vance asked, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"He took a swing at Ziva," Gibbs answered, but decided to cut this game short. "He was found fighting near my crime scene and something tells me he knows something about it."

"Your famous gut again?" Vance sighed. "Fine, just keep me informed. And don't let Tony run up his expense account again."

Gibbs tilted his head in acknowledgement.

After McGee put together a file for him, Gibbs slipped into interrogation. He was quiet, letting the man continue to snore as Gibbs sat down. He waited another minute to observe the man. More of a kid really, couldn't be older than early 20s, but with a chip on his shoulder and a hard up-bringing that made him older than his years. He was muscular, more like he knew the way around a fight then just around the gym, bruises on his arms and chest attested to his preference for violence. He had long hair that rubbed the ex-marine the wrong way but it shaped the kid's face well. Abby wanted pictures. Sleep took a lot of the stress off his face, and Gibbs trusted his gut when it said this kid wasn't his killer. However, this Casey Jones knew something about his case. The man had switched from belligerent rants to sullen silences randomly the whole drive back to D.C. but Gibbs noticed the silences tended to be after someone asked him about the other night or the dead marine. He was hiding something, or protecting someone. Probably protecting someone, that scenario fit better. So, which approach would work better, heavy handed or sympathetic. Hard call for this one, Gibbs thought. He'd have to wait and see.

Gibbs picked up the file and let it drop, inches from Jones' nose. The man came awake with a start and promptly fell out of his chair in an undignified heap.

"Whoa, man," he grumbled. "Why'd you do that? Are you going to let me go now?"

"No," Gibbs smiled. "Not just yet. First, we're going to talk, Mr. Jones."

"'Bout what? I ain't done nothing," Jones griped. He rubbed his head as he got back in his chair. He pointed a finger at Gibbs. "If this is about me taking a swing at the lady, hey, she was waving a gun. I just reacted, you know? Besides, I never hit her." He shrugged. "I don't like to hit women, though if they hit me first, fine. Anyway, I'm all into that bushy-ido code now."

"Bushy-ido?" Gibbs had to ask.

"Yeah, ninja honor and all that. I got some friends who are really into it and they've been teaching me. See, we don't hurt innocents, not that I did before but now it's a code, you know?"

"I know a little bit about having a personal code," Gibbs agreed as he pulled out the dead corporal's service photo. He looked like a smart kid back then. "Do you know this man?"

To give credit where it's due, Jones did study the photo before he answered. "Nope, never seen him."

"How about like this?" Gibbs asked, showing him a picture of the crime scene. It wasn't pretty, but Jones didn't even flinch. That was interesting.

"Sorry, but I've never seen the guy, dead or alive," Jones said with a shrug. "Say, can I get my stuff back? I should get back to New York, Apr… um… I mean my friends'll be worried 'bout me."

"Do you think your friends will know my victim?" Gibbs asked, his eyes narrowing.

Jones started to get nervous, for no apparent reason. Gibbs felt he was onto something. "Um, no? See, they don't get out much, so they don't know many people. And they don't get involved with the authority types you know? Military, cops? Won't even see 'em."

"Who are these friends?"

"The guys?" Jones was really getting nervous. "No bodies. They just my friends, you know."

Gibbs knew like he was onto something now, so he kept pressing. "Names, Jones. I want their names. If they have nothing to do with this, that's fine. I'll clear them as suspects."

"No, dude. I'm not saying another word. Don't I get a lawyer? Or a phone call? Youse ain't getting nothing from me." Jones clammed up, his accent getting thicker as he started to sweat. He even put his hand over his mouth, like a grade-schooler. At least he didn't throw away an imaginary key.

"We'll see about that, Mr. Jones," Gibbs said as he got up. He wasn't done, but he'd let Jones stew for a while, let him cool down maybe. "Get him something to eat. I'm not done with him yet," he ordered the agent standing outside the door.

Gibbs decided to swing by the Bull Pen to get McGee's report before heading to Autopsy and Abby's Lab, with a detour for a Caff-Pow. He walked in as a young women with bright red hair was harassing McGee. She looked like a feisty one and Tim certainly needed a rescue.

"Can I help you, miss?" Gibbs asked, bringing out the charm.

She whirled on him, gracefully, which meant she had either ballet or martial arts training. "Are you Special Agent Gibbs?" she asked tartly.

"Yes," Gibbs asked, strangely intimidated considering she must weigh 100 lbs, soaking wet.

"Your Agent David said you took Casey in for questioning but wouldn't say why. I'm here to get his lazy butt back to New York," she answered. She was looking at the big screen, which had the late corporal's picture on it, but she didn't seem to recognize it. She turned back to Gibbs without batting an eye.

"I'm not done with him yet," Gibbs said as McGee asked, "Why did Ziva tell you?"

"She was asking me if I heard anything the other night since my store is across the street of the alley and my apartment is above it. She has my statement, but she mentioned you had a suspect and talked about a man in a hockey mask. That could only be Casey. What did he do?" She took a deep breath, apparently to calm herself. She took a step forward and casually leaned on McGee's desk. "He's a bone head and has a wicked temper but Casey's a good guy. He'd never kill anyone."
"What is your relationship with Mr. Jones? Gibbs asked, and then continued with the question he hadn't gotten to in interrogation. "Do you know where he was the night before last?"

"He's kinda my boyfriend, I think," she said, suddenly shy. "Look, we haven't really put a label on it. My point is I know him. He didn't kill anyone."

"Kinda?" Gibbs asked, letting an eyebrow raise. "Where was he?"

"I don't know, probably with the guys," she shrugged, as if it didn't matter but then she paled. "Um, I mean he was with me."

"I don't think so," Gibbs smirked, knowing he was on the right track. "McGee, take her to the conference room to wait until we're done with Jones. I'm going to Autopsy." He didn't wait to hear confirmation or complaints. But he saw something green zip down the hallway out of the corner of his eye. When he looked, he couldn't find it again.

"What do you have for me, Ducky?" Gibbs asked as he walked into Autopsy. Ducky was leaning over the body, talking to it; so normal day at the office for Dr. Donald Mallard. The thought made him smile. "He tell you anything yet?"

"Oh, he's said plenty," Ducky said standing up. "I just sent Mr. Palmer to Abby with tissue we found under his finger nails, blood work, and some mysterious metal shavings I found in the stab wounds. I also sent her pictures and molds of his injuries so she can make a 3-D image of the weapon or weapons of his assailants." He sighed and laid a hand on the dead man's shoulder. "He was a fighter, Jethro. He was brutalized but still died on his feet, fighting. He left his mark, that's for sure."

"I'll find who did this, Duck. Don't worry," Gibbs comforted his friend. He turned to leave, but Ducky called him back.

"Did you think I was done?" the older man teased. He gestured to a bruise on the corporal's lower back and side. "I was able to plot a crude time-line of when these injuries occurred. This one was the newest; it wouldn't have even begun to show until after he died. "I'm working with Abby to see if we can get a better idea of what caused this. It looks like something every large slammed into his ribs. Right now, all I can tell you is it was convex in shape, possibly like a shield. It reminds me of injures that I've seen in my school days. One of my friends enjoyed dressing up in medieval armor and fighting with a short sword and shield, and he would…"

"Thanks, Ducky," Gibbs said as he left, leaving Ducky to continue his story to his deceased guest.

Abby's music was blaring, loud enough that Gibbs was able to sneak up behind her and make her squeak. It was cute, but she squealed over the Caff-Pow to. Abby had a range of noises like that.

"Wow, Gibbs. This case is like Christmas, except for the dead corporal. That's sad, but I'm not because I get to play with all this stuff. Do you see this?" she exclaimed as she swept her arms to encompass the wide variety of sports equipment. "I mean look at this. We have baseball bats, golf clubs, hockey sticks, and a cricket bat, (Ducky appreciated that), and all of them covered in evidence."

"Are any of them the murder weapon, Abby?" Gibbs asked before she could go off on a tangent.

"No, and I don't think that any of them were even used on our vic but I'm doing to run the blood samples just to be sure. I found what looks like a dozen individual specimens, and what looks like scales. I don't know what he was using these for but it wasn't sports, at least not a sport outside of a coliseum. But enough about the amazing sports equipment. Evidence from the body: I'm running the DNA found under his nails and Major MassSpec is working on the metal flecks. I've also running some trace evidence that Ziva found, looks like explosive residue."

"Okay, so Jones didn't do it?"

"Not with these, anyway. None of them match the bruises on the body, but like I said I'll run the samples."

"If none of these made the marks, what did?" Gibbs asked impatiently. He loved Abby but she did try his patience.

"See, that's why I love you, Gibbs. You ask the right questions," she turned to her computer and pulled up a program. It showed a human template covered in neon colored marks. "Now, this is interesting. Based on the time line Ducky gave me and my program, I determined that Corporal Barry was attacked two days before his death, that what these yellow marks are from. They look generic and I'm guessing from pipes or a walking stick maybe; something cylindrical and long."
"The gang members I saw fighting Jones had pipes," Gibbs said, thoughtfully.

"Next, are the green marks. They came from right before he died, hours probably. I can't place the weapon but there was a lot of force behind the hits, more than the earlier beating. I'm still running possible weapons. He suffered major damage which probably kept him from getting away from his killer. This purple mark, which we are still trying to identify was probably inflicted right before the killer blow, and could have killed him based on the internal bleeding Ducky found. But that's not the best part."

Gibbs waited for her to finish. She pouted when he wouldn't humor her. "What's the best part, Abbs?" she said in a deep voice. "Okay, Gibbs, since you asked so nice. Our marine was killed by a sword. Like a real sword." She pointed at the screen. "The stab wounds went completely through him, which made them way too long for a knife. Our murder weapon was a… drum roll please…" she drummed on the counter and hit her key board, "a Japanese katana," she finished a picture of a sword lit up her screen. A couple more taps showed the angle of the sword thrusts. There were three at vital points.

"Thanks, Abbs," Gibbs said and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. He checked his watch for the time. Ziva and DiNozzo will be back by now. He'd hear their reports then finish his interrogation of Jones. And maybe talk to the cute redhead again.