The Rainbow Lake
Chapter 4
Patch took emergency leave and went home right away; and was waiting with Polly and a snuffly, sleepy Lucy when Tony and Tim arrived at Sandybacks with their tired, sad charge. Tim had sat with her in the back of the vehicle so she wouldn't feel isolated, as Tony drove fast up towards Glenelg. Sunny looked at the six week old ruler of the house and was captivated, as everyone was who met her. Tony had hoped this would happen, to give the grieving youngster something else to focus on, and he couldn't think of anybody better to look after her than the Hastings family.
"You delivered her, Tony?" The big agent just smiled; he still found it difficult to find words about that day.
"Right here in this room," Polly told her, and watched her eyes grow round.
"Now her parents don't have to figure out how to make an emergency return from the other side of the country," Patch said, as his wife took capable charge. "She's safe with us until they get back. And no, we won't tell a soul she's here."
"I owe you," Tony told him, handing Lucy back from a very short cuddle.
"No, you don't," the gangly doctor said. "Our pleasure."
The conversation on the drive back started slowly. Neither man had forgotten their talk after Frank Heron's stupidity; and Tim had observed his friend closely as he held his god-daughter. The far-away look was still there, but the pain not so much. As they got into the car, Tony gave him a knowing grin. "I'm fine, McCounsellor. Really."
"That's OK, then. Hey… did you hear the lovely Frank's been transferred off Marchetti's team?"
"Oh… thought I'd not noticed him around. Where'd he go?"
"Couldn't care less…" He opened his cell phone. "I'll get an update… maybe you can do some CORD while you drive."
"CORD? Sounds like some old western film star."
"C-O-R-D. Connecting of random dots. It's your thing."
"Oh. Yeah… I guess it is. I don't know if it made me a good detective, or if being a detective taught me to do it… You do it with computers."
"I do?"
"Well… twenty similar files, hundred sub-divisions each, d'you faff about wondering where to look?"
"Oh, I get it. Yeah, it comes naturally to me… like your cord."
Tony laughed, it felt like for the first time that day. "Stoppit, McGee, you make it sound like I've got some horrible disease. How about FFF for you? That's three fs, by the way."
Sigh. "Any more would be excessive. Go on…"
"Fenomenal File Filtering…"
Tim smiled and hit speed dial 1.
"On our way back, Boss. Anything to update us on?"
He listened for a while, said "Right," and disconnected with a huff. Tony glanced at him.
"Not a lot, then."
"More like not good. Two girls from Legal have stayed on to unload the truck; one of them knows how to handle paintings apparently. Marchetti's checking it all off against the list, so no-one who did the loading is involved with it. Nobody's even begun to study the pictures yet. Abby went over the car; the passenger side had been wiped roughly, so she got mostly smears –"
"Did she look –"
"Under the door handle?"
"Course she did, she's Abby. Sorry. Go on."
Tim went on. "She found a partial, but it's not conclusive. We'd need something to compare it with. Only Jamie Hope's prints on the sketchpad. She found some dirt in a boot print in the foot well; analysis suggests Virginia, Chesapeake Bay area… possibly the area that's old Howakhan territory."
"Ow. Possibly Tam Black's area. His best friend killed him? But why?"
"There's more," Tim said seriously. "Ducky said that the murder definitely happened in the car. Someone climbed in, sat alongside Jamie and stabbed him. No signs of resistance, so the odds are he was taken by surprise, attacked so quickly he never saw it coming –"
"His face was calm, remember?" Tony recalled.
"I do. So he either didn't have time to defend himself, or never knew he had to."
Tony nodded thoughtfully, pulled to the side of the road and put the car in park. He reached behind the passenger seat and pulled out a road atlas. "OK, it's a bit big. Pretend. But I'm sitting here, watching the river and sketching. You get into my car; I'm expecting you. Out of politeness, I stop what I'm doing, and put the pad down. If it were here," he indicated it on his lap, "I'd have bled on it. And there'd have been a void on my clothes." He put the map book down by his seat where the sketchpad had been in the Marine's car, and turned back to Tim.
"Either I'm killed right away, or we talk, and the conversation doesn't go well. In which case –" He blinked. Tim's fist, inside edge of the right hand, was against his heart, and he'd barely seen him move. He let his breath out long and slow. Even being pretend stabbed in the chest felt nasty. "Er… yeah, like that," he muttered as his friend pulled his hand back.
"To do it that fast," Tim said, "I'd have to have had the knife out ready. Or in a sheath on my leg." He tapped his right thigh, just above the knee. "It doesn't have to have been his friend," he went on, as Tony put the atlas away and pulled out from the kerb again. "I hope it isn't, from the way Sunny described the friendship."
"Is there more to it, then? The dirt's only circumstantial… you were telling me about Ducky."
"Yeah… he says the profile and depth of the wound doesn't suggest any knife a marine would use…" He sighed.
Tony almost said, "Well, that's a good thing, then," but a Marine wouldn't carry his kit around with him when he was off duty. A hunter, now… "So, a hunting knife then?"
"Yeah," Tim said heavily. "Bowie shape with serration at the rear of the blade."
"Thousands in the Bay area alone, McGee," Tony said, trying to reassure his friend. He, too, didn't want to go with the idea of the best friend who'd offered to pay the earth for, and been given, a painting that could be worth a fortune one day, killing the giver. "We can't go saying, 'Oh, just what a young Native American would carry on his way to kill his best friend'."
"I know, Tony. But while we've got nothing else…"
"Don't worry. Gibbs'll keep an open mind. Anything else?"
Tim felt a bit reassured by that. Thanks, Tony.
"Ziva's been pulling personal information on both of them; absolutely nothing untoward. Black owns the land legitimately, it wasn't actually left to him as Sunny thought, it was given to him by his father's father before he died. Both mens' financial positions are healthy and above board; Jamie Hope was amassing quite a decent savings account thanks to his work; alone in the world but for Sunny. He still had his parents' place in McLean, it's being renovated; and that's it."
He sighed again. "Everything goes to Sunny, so she can fulfil her dream of becoming a pharmacist. That's why the Navy has her at ESCD for the moment; so she can learn current medicines inside out. Then next October she'll go to college. Tony, don't look like that! You can't believe she killed him?"
"No, I don't. I just don't relish telling the poor kid that she's got motive and needs an alibi. By now, I guess Ziva's moved on to checking her background." He shook his head and concentrated on the road; his shoulders slumping as much as it's possible to do while driving. "This is going to get worse before it gets better," He said darkly. "So… pharmacy. That's why they sent her where Patch was, I guess. Who better to learn from? Anything else?"
"Abby's finished with the car, she was about to start on Jamie's cell phone, and I'm to 'get your butt back here and start on this computer'."
"'And tell DiNozzo I've got work for him too'," Tony took up the mimicry, and put pedal to the metal. Tim smiled inside, even if it was a very small one. He'd actually managed to jiggle the SFA out of a black mood before it set in, without him even noticing.
They arrived back at the Navy Yard in very good time, even without any of Gibbs advanced driving techniques, and heard the upraised voices as they entered the lobby. A young, slightly desperate voice in counterpoint to Adie the guard's much older one.
"Son, I'm not going to call anyone unless you tell me a bit more about what you want."
"My friend was murdered! I only want to talk to the person running the investigation – no-one else!"
"And you are?" Tony stepped up to ask, as if he didn't know. The young man, although not in uniform, was clearly a Marine; he was also about the same age as Jamie Hope, and a Native American. Besides, the SFA had seen that top and those jeans before. The boy glared at Tony, thought better of it, and subsided. "You're the guy who shot Alberta. That was a damn good shot," he said grudgingly.
"You're lucky I didn't shoot you – fortunately, I have this policy of not firing first."
"That's good, because I don't have a gun. But I'd sure like her back some time…"
Tony raised his eyebrows. "Private Black, right now the priority is to decide whether or not to arrest you. Alberta's for later. Anyway, I only shot her back tyre." He turned back to the guard. "It's OK, Adie, we know this guy. We'll take him up."
Adie rolled his eyes, produced a visitor's pass, and instructed the young man on how to go through the metal detector. Once he'd put the few coins and the ignition key that had been in his pocket in the tray, he stepped through the gate without setting it off. No knife.
Nobody spoke until they were in the elevator, and the two agents studied Tam. He came over on the surface as cocky, and in-your-face; but looking more closely they could see that he was holding himself firmly under control; this was a man who'd lost his buddy. His best friend.
"I didn't do anything…" he said finally.
"Maybe you didn't," Tim said. "But wait until you meet the boss, and tell him." They stepped out of the metal box, and crossed to the bull pen. Gibbs looked up as they approached, and raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"This is Supervisory Special Agent Gibbs, Marine. Boss, this is Marine First Class Tam Black, and he wants to talk to you." Tony found the young man a chair, and Gibbs invited him to sit down with a nod.
"So what is it you want to tell me, son?"
The young man squared his shoulders. "It was me that tried to break into Jamie's apartment this morning," he said. "I was trying to get my painting. You'd think I should be curled up in a corner, distraught. I'd just been told my best friend was dead, and next thing I'm trying to break into his place."
"Did you know he'd been murdered?"
Tam's face twisted. "Yes, Sir. My CO came and found me in my quarters… that's something by itself, your CO coming to you, not sending someone to find you. I knew something was up. He was only just holding it together himself… he told me Jamie was dead, I asked was he murdered, and his face said yes before he tried to hedge."
"Why did you ask that?" Tony put in.
"That's what Colonel Moss asked me. It… it's hard to explain… our next posting is to the Adriatic, week after next… Hey, I was beginning to look forward to it because it'd mean the vultures who'd been hounding him wouldn't be able to get at him for a while. Man, it was past a joke. People he didn't want to deal with trying to get a piece of him… offering to be his agent, getting mad when he refused. Jamie Hope didn't need an agent!"
"Was he being threatened?"
"I don't think he was threatened…well, not physically… pressurised, sure – until after he painted The Rainbow Lake. Then things changed." He looked anguished. "It's my fault!"
"How's it your fault?" Gibbs asked.
"I really shouldn't have told anybody… Jamie warned me! I shouldn't have said what I intended for it… did Sunny tell you about the heritage centre? Oh, shit…Sunny! Is she all right?"
"She's safe, son. And yes, she told us. About the land, and your plans. Go on."
Tam nodded. "Please… tell her I'm thinking of her… I'll see her when I can. We're friends…" He took a deep breath and went on again. "Boy, I was so excited… I even took some Elders of the tribe to see the picture… my grandfather's brother, Keshowse was one. He's eighty-six, only five-foot-five, helluva guy…Jamie said I shouldn't tell too many people, and I should keep it safe. He said that when it was properly dry, he'd pack it up right, and I should find a really safe place to store it, like a bank or something, and leave it there until the project was finished. Hey, I was horrified! I said it was too beautiful to be locked away… he said I should be patient. I still didn't believe him… and then he told me about the phone calls… and said I wasn't to tell Sunny and frighten her…"
Nobody said "What phonecalls," they just waited. Tim brought a fresh bottle of water, as Tam fought to find the words. "Thanks…He struggled to tell me; I tell you, man, I'm struggling now… Stuff like, a mongrel had no right to set himself up getting himself noticed alongside good white people – a mongrel with a… a… I'll say darkie, that's bad enough but it wasn't what he said… mistress…Sunny's not like that – she and Jamie loved each other…"
"We know that, son." Gibbs' face was dark, but his voice was level and calm. Ziva sat rigid in her chair, remembering times that she had encountered racism. Tony's jaw was stiff, and Tim found himself holding his breath until the young Marine spoke again.
"The guy said that smearing paint around didn't make a man, how could such a fairy call himself a Marine… What was he doing making pretty pictures for… for… savages who'd escaped being wiped out. If he ever came across any of his stuff he's smash it… and that injun picture had better not ever see the light of day. If he ever finished it, he'd be killed. He should take a knife to it before someone took one to him. And it was already finished… and now Jamie's dead…"
Tears splashed down the young Marine's cheeks, and he wiped them away fiercely with his sleeve. "He was my brother. My brother," he said wearily, suddenly exhausted by grief and the effort it had cost him to tell his story. "He might have been a mongrel, and me a savage… but we had love… "
Ziva sighed. "The person who targeted you both, and Sunny, had none," she said tightly. "We will find him. So, you are saying that the first thing you did after hearing the news was to try to retrieve the painting."
"Yes, ma'am." Ziva didn't comment. "I couldn't just sit and cry. I didn't know it was NCIS in the apartment… I thought it was thieves. I ran because I was afraid I'd be killed too. I don't carry a gun, or even a knife. And then Hawkeye there shot Alberta… and I had to leave her there and run. I went back to quarters and thought, then decided to come to see you."
He leaned forward in his chair, pale, tired and earnest. He bowed his head and spoke to his knees. "I haven't done anything wrong…All I did was to try and get into my friend's home – where I've been hundreds of times. I used to have a spare key, but I gave it to Sunny… I didn't want you thinking because I was there… because I ran – that I… that I killed my friend. And I really…" He passed his hand over his eyes. "My picture's important. To me… to Jamie's memory… to my people… I suppose it's evidence at the moment. I just… I just wanted to ask you to take good care of it."
All four agents sat silently for a moment, looking at the weary, grief-stricken young man, struggling to find the gentlest way to make things even worse for him. In the end, he felt the tension in the air, and raised his head. He looked around them all, his gut going tight with apprehension.
"What?"
AN: The racist phonecall part was hard to write. Such views are worlds apart from my own.