Chapter 01: Dead marine

Pain and despair always precede moments of pure happiness. I once read a Norse legend that showed that perfectly. It started like this:

Once upon a time in the far away land in the North of Europe, there was a King who wedded a beautiful Queen. On their wedding night, there was nothing written on their bed when they went to sleep, but when they woke up there was a terrible prophecy written in it.

There would be no children born from their marriage.

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

"Gear up, dead marine." Gibbs shouted and we all scrambled to obey his call, so in mere seconds we all had our backpacks and were piling inside the elevator.

After good thirty minutes driving north, we arrived at a small park in Silver Spring, not very far from where I live. I took Jethro here several times to run free in the grass and bark at all animals he might spot. I bet the damn dog has peed on all the trees in here marking his territory.

The park is exactly as I remember, except maybe by the police tape connecting a cluster of trees marking the place where our dead body is.

"Ziva, witnesses statements. McGee, pictures. Tony, bag and tag."

Our quiet 'On it, Boss,' muttered by all three of us was completely ignored by Gibbs, who knelt beside the remains of the uniformed marine, checking the mess the killer left behind.

"That's a really awful way to die," said Tony, looking at the corpse for a moment before going back to canvasing the area as he searched for clues.

"Yeah. It is." Gibbs agreed, studying what he has in front of himself.

The man at some time had been on his knees, but now his dead body was laying on its front, the blood and guts pooled in front of him. Whoever had killed him, had gutted him while he was kneeling on the floor. The intestines and internal organs had fallen from the gaping wound while the poor man was still alive, as his bloodied hands were a sure sign that he had desperately tried to literally hold himself together. His misery could have lasted hours if not for the precise (why not say, merciful) cut on his neck, which must have ended his life quite instantaneously.

I kept taking pictures of various angles of the scene and at the same time I tried to ignore the bile burning on my throat. I have to admit that it has been a while since I felt like puking at a crime scene.

Ducky and Palmer approached with their usual delay and I noticed that even Palmer, who always has been kind of creepy to me with his usual okay attitude towards death, paused and cringed at the scene.

"That's something that we don't see everyday." Palmer said as soon as they got close to the body.

"Indeed, Mr. Palmer. It's not common to find a disembowlment killing nowadays. However, it reminds me of the most infamous killer of all times. Who was English by the way. Those sassenachs were very a bloodthirsty lot."

"Who are you talking about, Ducky?"

"I'm talking about the first ever serial killer in modern times, my dear Ziva." Ducky put his gloves on and stuck the liver termomether to check the temp. "Jack the Ripper. The great mystery that stays unsolved, and which movies, books and researchers have yet to decipher." Ducky said, philosophicaly.

"I don't want to know about the English murderer, I want to know about this murderer, Ducky," Gibbs said, always business and unwilling to hear another longwinded tale from Ducky's repertoire.

"These cuts on his abdomen were carefuly made, in order to inflict maximum damage and pain without killing our victim." Ducky examined the bloodied mass, before looking at Gibbs. "If left unattended, our marine would have suffered a long and agonizing death."

"How long, Ducky?"

"Six. Maybe eight hours."

All younger agents cringed at that. Gibbs turned to me, as I had already lifted the print and was looking at it on my palmtop.

"Name?"

"Ah..." I frowned at the screen, covering with my hand to hide it from direct sunlight. "Lieutenant Tristan Carpenter, twenty nine. He was an aide at a local recruitment office here in Virginia, Boss."

"It seems he was recruited for a different mission, uhm?" Tony said, bagging a small cigarret but from the floor.

"Indeed, dear Anthony. But our killer for some reason was in a hurry, so he hastened the meeting of our Lieutenant with his maker." Ducky added, checking the wounds on the neck. "You see these cuts?"

Gibbs leaned closer and examined what Ducky's gloved fingers were pointing. "Yeah."

"These cuts were made with the same cutting weapon from the first ones, but these are much sloppier and unprecise than these."

"Why do you say that?"

"They would have been killing strokes if he hadn't hesitated. It's strange that someone who has disinbowed another living being in the aim of bringing a miserable death hesitates when he has to act on mercy, speeding it up."

"Time of death?"

"I would say four to five hours ago. In the beginning of the morning."

"The park would have been extremely busy," said Tony, pointing to several school buses where children were now being loaded into them several yards away. "It's spring baseball championship. People would be everywhere. Why take such risk and kill someone in a place so visible?"

"Why would he risk so much indeed. Someone must have seen him." Ziva tapped her notebook with her pen.

"Yeah." Gibbs squinted in the sun at the children screaming and playing several yards away, beyond the yellow crime line. He noticed the movement of curious people and the cops securing the scene and he frowned when a black sedan stopped just behind their NCIS van. Two people left the car, a tall blond man in a monkey suit that screamed Fed and a short brunette with reddish curls, in a gray power suit that also identified her as a government employee.

I followed Gibbs' eyes and noticed that the two people showed their badges to the cops, who after a glance, granted them access to our crime scene.

Oh, that can't be good.

The two Feds approached Gibbs, the taller man with a plastic smile on his face, those that he must have practiced in front of a mirror, as no one is that cheerful like that in a crime scene like this. My attention moved to the brunette, who didn't make any effort of smiling or being nice, her attention totally focused on the body at our feet. Her gray suit, despite being cut with sobriety, failed miserably to hide the soft curve of her waist and hips and the nice curves of her breasts, carefully framed by a sky blue silk blouse which made a nice contrast to her pale skin.

Somehow she must have sensed me checking her out as she lifted her eyes briefly and our eyes met. There I was before the most beautify tone of green surrounded by brown just around its pupils. I gulped momentarily speechless as she looked at me without expression on her face, before lowering her gaze again at the corpse.

"Agent Gibbs, Agent Fornell had warned me that I might find you here at the scene."

"Really, unfortunately Fornell had not warned I was having a visit today. I would have used some nice cologne. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Special Supervisory Agent Theodore Thoureau and this is my Junior Agent, Laura Mackenzie."

Gibbs barely glanced at the younger woman, who ignored the two men growling at each other and just stared at the corpse.

"Nice to meet you. Now why the hell are you here?"

SSA Thoureau smiled politely, his cold eyes glaring at Gibbs, "Not mincing your words, uhm? Okay. We're here to take over your crime scene."

"No way. This is my dead marine here. This case is mine."

"Well, this is my serial killer. I take the precedence then."

Oh, oh… I glanced at Tony and Ziva, who cringed at the steam already coming out of Gibbs' ears as he glared at the smooth looking FBI agent.

This really can't end well.