A/N: I'm by no means an expert in forensic science. I've tried to keep it very basic, and whatever techie stuff is in here I got from Mr. Google, so he's the one to blame if it's inaccurate. Many thanks again to all my loyal readers, and especially to those of you who care enough to leave a review once in awhile. I love you all!
Rating: T for 'mature subject matter,' as they say.
Spoilers: Nothing significant in this chapter.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd be a wealthy woman. I am not. Ergo...
Sunday, May 31, 2010 2:46 p.m.
By the time Tony and Ziva arrived at Jake Halden's apartment in Glen Burnie, MD, (stopping by the Navy Yard along the way to pick up the MCRT van), Doctor Mallard and Jimmy Palmer were already on the scene and examining the body. Halden lay face-up in nothing but his boxers, eyes still open, in front of a tatty couch. A pool of blood had soaked into the tan carpet and extended nearly a foot on either side of him.
"No sign of forced entry," DiNozzo observed as he snapped on a pair of gloves, "meaning -"
"- he likely knew his attacker," Ziva interjected, studying the room for signs of struggle, but observing none.
"Yes, there are no obvious defensive wounds, which would seem to corroborate that theory," Ducky mused, studying Halden's wrists and semi-curled fingers. "Poor devil probably invited him in for a drink," he continued, noting the open bottle of Carmel Cabernet Sauvignon and the two wine glasses on the coffee table.
"Or her," Ziva added, noting a faint lipstick mark on one of the glasses.
"Time of death, Ducky?"
The ME studied his thermometer intently, doing the mental math. "No more than 7 hours ago, Jethro. He's still in the very early stages of rigor mortis. Help me turn him, Mr. Palmer." They rolled the body away from them, onto its side, examining the exit wound in Halden's lower back. "Through and through."
"No casings. Our killer policed his brass," Gibbs remarked. He barked out the assignments for his team. "McGee, snap and sketch. Ziva, bag and tag. DiNozzo, dust for prints. And -"
"Find that bullet. On it, boss."
They set to work, and Gibbs stepped outside to call Vance with an update.
3:12 p.m.
"Got it!" Tony exclaimed triumphantly, holding up the bullet he'd extracted from underneath the back sofa cushion. He examined it from various angles. "Looks like a .357 Sig. We're probably looking for a Glock. Ziva, keep your eyes peeled." She nodded, and continued carefully combing the room for the gun, collecting the wine bottle and glasses, as well as any other useful tidbits which might help tell the story of what had happened here.
About 5 minutes later: "Voila!" she exclaimed, holding up a chestnut-coloured curl of hair in her tweezers, retrieved from the carpet next to a leg of the sofa. She quickly bagged it, and proceeded to collect three more of these in various places about the room, including next to the telephone and in the front hallway. There was also, strangely, one solitary, short blonde strand.
McGee completed his sketching of the living room, and gave the ok for Jimmy and Ducky to move the body. They headed back to the Navy Yard in order to begin the autopsy. Gibbs would be demanding answers quickly on this one. Was there ever a time when Gibbs didn't demand quick answers? Jimmy wondered. Tim made his way into what was most likely a second bedroom, which had been converted into an office. "Uh, Tony? Ziva? You might want to come have a look at this." They exchanged curious glances, and went to see what McGee had found.
Tony's jaw dropped as he entered the doorway to the tiny bedroom. What he saw could best be described as a shrine. Every wall was plastered with photos. Photos of Louisa Penachetti.
Louisa at her workstation (obviously a photo taken surreptitiously with a cell phone). Louisa at the Marine Corps Birthday Ball, on the arm of her father. Louisa, sans bathing suit, on some foreign beach. Yowza! He abruptly caught himself at that reflexive reaction. Any other time, Tony would not have missed a beat in commenting on this particular photo, if only to get a rise out of Ziva. But this was Pete's sister, exposed and shamed. If it had not been a crime scene, he would have yanked the photo off the wall to protect her modesty. His face flushed, and he turned away, hoping his partner hadn't noticed his uncharacteristic embarrassment.
As McGee snapped furiously with the camera (the irony of this not being lost on him), Ziva and Tony worked the room. A block of yellow notepaper caught Tony's eye, and he wandered over to the corner desk to get a closer look. The sheets were square, about 4" x 4"; when folded, they would be 1" square. Exactly the size of the notes he'd spied on Louisa's desk. Noticing her partner's interest in the pad, Ziva held out an evidence bag, and he plopped it in. Abby might be able to get an imprint from the top sheet that would tell them what had been written on it.
When Tony had finished dusting the makeshift office for prints, McGee disassembled the Petty Officer's home computer, bagged the components and deposited them downstairs in the van. Once back in Abby's lab, he would scour the CPU for any clue as to what motive might have precipitated this crime. It seemed to him likely that there was some connection between the murder and the illicit transmission, and he was determined to prove it. It was secretly eating away at him that he'd been forced to turn the sniffer trace over to Cyber Crimes rather than solving the mystery himself.
DiNozzo, meanwhile, was fighting an internal battle against an alternative theory that was forming in the recesses of his mind.
There was no sign of the murder weapon, but Tony managed to lift plenty of fingerprints from various surfaces, including the coffee table, the telephone, and the window sill in the adjoining dining room, which faced the back of the apartment. He stuck his head out the window, (which had been open when Gibbs and McGee had arrived), and spied a fire escape ladder extending down all six floors of the building. He deduced this was most likely the point of egress. He climbed outside carefully and lifted several prints from the ladder for good measure.
Four hours after they'd arrived on the scene, they packed up their gear and headed back to NCIS Headquarters. Now, it was Abby's turn to work her special brand of magic.
8:32 p.m.
As the basement elevator doors opened, the strains of Gothtronica could be heard blasting all the way from Abby's lab. McGee had been down here ever since they'd returned from the crime scene, reassembling Jake Halden's computer and trying to eke something useful out of it. Tony and Ziva waltzed in nonchalantly, seeking an update.
McGee fiddled with the keyboard for several minutes, ignoring the new arrivals, then declared, "Hard drive's been wiped." There was absolutely no surprise, or concern, in his voice. He'd fully expected it to be just so.
"Wagers on how long it'll take McGeek to find something?" Tony pulled out a dollar bill and held out his hand.
Ziva slapped another $1 into his palm. "20 minutes."
"10 minutes." Abby upped the ante with a $5.
"30 seconds." Gibbs had crept up silently behind Tony in that annoying way of his, and as DiNozzo turned with a start, he threw another $5 onto the pile.
"30 seconds, Boss?"
"Got it!" exclaimed McGee, as a rush of images suddenly appeared on the plasma.
"How does he do that?" Ziva asked. The question was purely rhetorical, for she knew there was no answer. It was simply part of the Gibbs mystique.
"Thanks, everyone." Gibbs scooped the $12 and shoved it into his pocket, handing a fresh Caf-Pow to Abby and then breezing past her to examine the 21" screen connected to Halden's computer. Abby drew deeply on the big straw, and followed Gibbs to stand directly behind McGee's chair. She squinted and peered over his shoulder at the screen, and as she did so, Tim caught a whiff of her unique scent. He closed his eyes for just one second, savouring the memory of a once-sweet romance.
More photos. Of women. Hundreds of them. They ranged from the suggestive to the lewd, but that was pretty much it. No incriminating evidence of communications with Israeli officials. No suspicious e-mails. Nothing to suggest he would be likely to be disloyal to his country or even risk a Naval disciplinary hearing. None of these photos involved minors, so he hadn't even broken Maryland pornography laws. Tony turned his eyes heavenward and thanked whatever god might be up there that none of these were of Louisa. McGee also noted that Halden appeared to have enjoyed online gambling, based on the web browser history he'd been able to recover.
He was disappointed not to have found a link to their initial investigation - it had been a good theory, and it would have wrapped things up very nicely. It would also have scored McGee some major brownie points with Gibbs.
Their attention now turned to Abby, who had moved over to the plasma screen and was running the fingerprints that Tony had lifted. "I was able to isolate two distinct sets of prints. One of them was Halden's, obviously. I'm running the other set through the Navy's personnel database right now."
"Why not AFIS, Abs?"
"Ah, patience, Gibbs, patience! All will be revealed," she teased, spreading out her hands in a 'wait a moment' gesture. "I ran the hairs Ziva found through the DNA sequencer. I didn't find any match in the system for the blonde hair, but the brown ones belong to..." she typed a few keystrokes into the computer, and a Navy personnel file flashed up onto the plasma. Tony audibly sucked in air. "Petty Officer First Class, Louisa Penachetti," she concluded triumphantly.
"One of our six finalists," Gibbs observed. "What about ballistics?"
"The bullet Tony found was a .357 sig. You're looking for a Glock; either a G33, 32 or 31, all three models can take that caliber."
Just then, Abby's other computer beeped an alert, announcing a fingerprint match.
"Bingo! Petty Officer Penachetti definitely opened that window and climbed down the fire escape. I also found her prints on one of the wine glasses. And, on Halden's computer keyboard."
"She's the one who wiped the hard drive..." McGee reasoned. He began typing furiously on another computer in the lab, his mind racing as he fit the pieces together. After a few moments: "Look at this." Several computer windows opened up simultaneously on the large plasma screen. "She's a card-carrying NRA member. Holds a Concealed Weapon Permit. And she's the registered owner of a G32 .357 Magnum."
"Tony. Ziva. Bring her in for questioning. And get a warrant - for her apartment, her workstation and her locker at NSA. Find that gun." Gibbs paused, as Tony stood frozen in place, staring agape at the plasma screen. "Today, DiNozzo!"
He shot a pathetic look at his superior, before muttering, "Leaving now, Boss." Ziva threw him an almost sympathetic glance, tugging gently on his arm and leading him out to the elevator.
"That's good work, Abs. You too, McGee." Abby and Tim smiled broadly at one another and did a celebratory fist-bump. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs breezed out of the lab. Next stop: autopsy.