Lethal Fractures: Chapter 12

"What are we looking for again?" McGee complained for the third time as he swung his flashlight around the dim, empty office room. It hadn't taken long after Joe Avila's interrogation to get in touch with the building manager and get access to the construction site in search of any trace of their serial killer, and in typical Gibbs fashioned, he had ordered his three field agents to check it out immediately.

"Anything that suggests a serial killer was here, Probie," DiNozzo replied. "But if all this field work is too hard for you, I'm sure Gibbs can find some more work for you to do with the forensics squad."

"Very funny," McGee muttered. It was getting close to 2200, and they still weren't anywhere near finished searching the building. He knew DiNozzo didn't mind the late night's work—as much—because Ziva was right there with them, but McGee had had plans, plans which had had to be canceled—again. He could tell by the tone in her voice when she told him that she understood that her understanding wasn't going to last forever.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, McGee supposed. At least they were limited to the rooms that had a view of Rodriguez's apartment, a fact that Ziva had pointed out early on in the search, which probably saved them several hours of useless investigating. The former spy had brought along a set of rather impressive binoculars, which she had used on each floor as they ascended, to figure out where they should start looking. It wasn't until they arrived on the fifth floor that she announced she had a good view of Rodriguez's eleventh floor rooms.

Their search of the stairwells, which had been ongoing since they entered the building, revealed nothing of note: there were plenty of tracks of heavy-soled boots, but it was impossible to tell which might have belonged to a pair of combat boots and which might have been construction boots. And when McGee suggested shining a light that he had borrowed from Abby to look for flecks of boot polish, he discovered that there were no fewer than half a dozen construction materials that also reacted to the light. The stairwells glittered like the stars on a clear night.

They were now on the twelfth floor, and although there were only four to ten rooms per floor to search, depending on that particular floor's layout, it was slow going, and McGee was beginning to wonder if they would find anything before the construction crew returned at 0800, if at all. DiNozzo was beginning to look equally drained. It was only the Mossad liaison who continued as if her supply of energy were endless.

"Stop." That simple word came from that same Mossad liaison as she stood just inside a large room—probably a future conference room—her flashlight in her left hand, her right in the air in a halting motion. McGee and DiNozzo both continued to wave their lights around, but neither saw any indication of what had caught Ziva's attention.

"Uh, Ziva—," DiNozzo began.

"The window," she said simply, directing her flashlight about three feet above the floor of the large floor-to-ceiling window. "There is a clean area right there."

"So?" DiNozzo asked. McGee wasn't brave enough to contradict the trained assassin. "Anyone could have done that."

"It is about the right height for someone seated on the floor to look out. There is also a clean area on the floor." The beam of her flashlight moved, and McGee could see the amorphous spot that was cleaner than the rest of the dusty floor. "He would have been sitting here, likely for hours at a time, as he watched Rodriguez." She bent down close to the clear area on the window, careful not to disturb the scene, as she raised her binoculars to her eyes. "It is a clear angle."

Suddenly rejuvenated by the discovery, the three investigators got to work, placing their heavy evidence kits on the far side of the room. McGee set up their portable lights, which while not as good as overhead fluorescent lights would have been (the manager said they won't have electricity for another three or four days), provided more illumination than their three flashlights. They split up the tasks effortlessly and without complaint, the result of years of working together. DiNozzo had grabbed the camera and was shooting the entire scene—and multiple shots of Ziva—as McGee began marking footprints and Ziva reached for the fingerprint powder.

"There must be hundreds of fingerprints," DiNozzo commented as he stopped his photography to watch his partner. "Abby won't be happy with us."

"Probably not," Ziva agreed absently. "But if he was in the military, his fingerprints would be on file."

"Assuming he wasn't wearing gloves."

She didn't say anything for a minute as she captured a clear fingerprint from the window with one of their sticky print cards. "He was in a construction site with essentially no guard and dozens of men coming through every day. He would not have figured anybody would notice a few extra fingerprints. Besides, he was here for hours every night. How long can you stand to wear gloves?"

He glanced down at his own gloved hands before he admitted that she had a point. "Not as long as Avila was absent," he commented.

"Exactly. Do not forget to take pictures of the view of Rodriguez's building."

"I don't need you to tell me how to do my job," he scoffed, but then raised the camera to his eye and shot several of the building down and across the street. "McGrumpy! What've you got from the footprints?"

"Too much," McGee replied glumly. "People walked all over the place. I can make out at least ten distinct patterns."

"Collect them and sketch their paths."

"Tony, a lot of them are smudged and walked over each other's. I'm not sure how good of a path I can get for any of them."

"Do the best you can," DiNozzo said forcefully. "And maybe you should try your light trick that you learned today."

"It didn't work in the stairwell."

"Are you just going to sit there and complain all night, or are you actually going to try to get something done?"

"I hope they give you your own team soon, Tony. You certainly have the barking of orders thing down."

"Ha! You'd like that, wouldn't you?" McGee just rolled his eyes.

"And what are you doing, anyway? Other than telling people what to do?"

"Supervising, Probie. That's what a good senior field agent does. Maybe someday you'll lose your probie-ness and figure that out for yourself."