One Less Part Six

by joykatleen

They stopped in at the NCIS office on board the Roosevelt first. Fredrick, it turned out, was a smallish black man with close-cropped hair and dark toffee-colored skin. He stood four inches shorter than Gibbs, though he was broader through the chest and shoulders. Probably from too much time spent in the shipboard weight room. Fredrick tried again to rationalize his failure to file the missing persons report, but Gibbs wasn't interested. He had little to say to the agent he felt had failed a sailor so badly. He let McGee do the talking while they gathered the files they needed, then headed for the executive level where they were to meet with Petty Officer Ferrara's older brother. Agent Fredrick showed them into the Captain's conference room, then left with a glare after Gibbs declined his offer to sit in on the interview.

Less than a minute after they sat, the door opened again and a young female Airman Apprentice ushered in Petty Officer First Class Michael Ferrara. He stopped just inside the door and stood at attention, his eyes at middle distance.

"At ease, Petty Officer Ferrara," Gibbs said, and the man fell into a not-quite-casual at ease stance. The Airman closed the door softly as she withdrew.

Looking at Michael Ferrara, Gibbs knew there was only one word that would adequately describe him: Average. Average height, average build, bland face, short dark hair cut identically to every other sailor aboard ship, dull brown eyes. He was wearing work blues that weren't exactly dirty, but had clearly seen a day's work. His boots had probably been shined this morning, but were now covered with scuffs. The only thing that stood out about him was the look on his face. He was trying hard to seem impassive, but there was grief etched deeply there.

"Have a seat," McGee invited. Ferrara took the chair closest to the door, folded his hands on the table in front of him, and again let his eyes settle on nothing.

"Special Agents McGee and Gibbs, NCIS," McGee began. Gibbs had decided to let him take the lead, at least initially. The kid needed some practice dealing with victims' family.

"I understand CACO spoke to you this afternoon?"

"The Captain did, sir," Ferrara answered. In those few words, the agents heard sorrow, anger, and just the slightest hint of mistrust.

"You have our sympathies," McGee said. Ferrara nodded once, sharply, but said nothing.

"We're running the investigation into your brother's death. What can you tell us about him?" McGee asked.

"He was a good brother, sir. And a good sailor." He fell silent. They waited, but Ferrara offered nothing more.

"Did he have many friends in his unit?" McGee asked.

"He got along pretty good with everyone."

"Anyone in particular he liked to hang out with that he might have mentioned?" McGee tried again.

"No," Ferrara said. Gibbs made a small motion with his head that McGee correctly interpreted as an instruction to stop talking. They sat in silence for almost a full minute.

"Have we done something to offend you, Petty Officer?" Gibbs asked.

"No, sir," Ferrara replied.

"Do you want your brother's killers caught?" Gibbs said.

"Yes, sir."

"So why the uncooperative attitude?"

"I'm answering all your questions, sir," Ferrara said. His eyes flickered to meet Gibbs' momentarily, and slid away. He was hiding something. He wasn't a suspect, but he was being intentionally uncooperative. There was only one thing Gibbs could think of that would cause that. The nightmare thing. He had to get through that wall first.

"Your brother's SRB shows he was an above average sailor, good at his job, liked by his peers and his superiors," Gibbs said. "On Saturday, someone beat him to death. Based on his appearance and where we know he spent his last night, we have an idea why it happened. But even if we're right, it will not make a difference in how hard we work to find who did it." Gibbs stopped and let that sink in before continuing.

"It will not make a difference," he repeated. "Your brother was a credit to his county. We will find out who killed him with or without your help. But it might go faster if you tell us what you know."

Ferrara's gaze finally met and held Gibbs'.

"What was he wearing, sir? When you found him?" Ferrara asked. His voice was softer, lower.

"Nothing he'd want his shipmates to see him in," Gibbs answered.

Ferrara took a breath and held it for a moment before slowly letting it out. His shoulders dropped slightly and his face fell from the stoic mask he'd been trying to hold.

"I have – my family has – a house in Portsmouth. Frank keeps some clothes there, to change into when he goes out. "

"Do you know who he went out with on Saturday?" McGee asked.

"No one, sir." When Gibbs let a frustrated look appear, Ferrara raised a hand. "When he goes cruising, he goes alone."

"How often did he go cruising?" Gibbs asked. Ferrara's eyes narrowed, looking for hidden meanings, and Gibbs was silent while he looked. He'd find nothing.

"Not often," Ferrara said. "It wasn't easy for him, to get away. He sent me an email Friday, asking if Connie and the kids were going to be home, if he could go visit. It was kind of our code, to let me know he was going out."

"Connie's your wife?" McGee clarified.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know where he liked to go when he went out?" McGee asked.

"He stayed out of Norfolk. Too much chance he'd be seen by someone he knew. On a short night, he liked to go out to Virginia Beach, or to Chesapeake. If he had the time, he'd go into D.C. and spend the night. He really liked the atmosphere."

"That's where he was found," McGee said. "Less than two miles from Dupont."

Ferrara nodded. "There were a few after-hours clubs he liked there."

"Can you tell us which ones?" McGee asked. Ferrara's eyes shifted to Gibbs.

"Does this have to get out, sir? I mean, I'm not ashamed of my brother, but…"

"It's no one's business," Gibbs said. "If we can keep it out of the reports, we will. We may not have a choice, but you have my word we'll try."

Again, Ferrara seemed to examine Gibbs, then he nodded again.

"Thank-you, sir. The only ones I know about are JR's Café, and The Fireplace." McGee wrote down the names.

"Do you know if anyone in his unit knew about his orientation?" Gibbs asked.

"They shouldn't have. He went out with the guys and hit on women often enough to keep up appearances."

"Anyone been giving him any trouble?"

"Nothing related to that. Just the usual stuff. He was Captain's Yeoman, so he took a lot of shit for that. Excuse me." His gaze shifted to McGee, who smiled slightly. "He lived a bit of a separate life because of it. But he took it in stride. He loved his job, sir, and he loved working for Capt. McNally. The Captain was a big part of why he was able to stay in the Navy."

"So as far as you know, no one on board knew he was gay?" McGee asked. Ferrara flinched a little at that, hearing the word spoken aloud.

"Far as I know. He kept it quiet. He knew what would happen if he didn't." Gibbs nodded and gave that a moment before continuing.

"You have any theories on what might have happened?" Gibbs asked.

"I assume it was a mugging. Or some homophobe found him alone," Ferrara said, and they could all hear the bitterness in his voice.

"His wallet and ID were gone, but he had cash in his pocket," McGee said.

"They're at the house," Ferrara said. Gibbs gave him a quizzical look and he explained. "His wallet and ID. He usually only carried his debit card and some cash. Didn't want to risk losing his wallet in the wrong place, or accidentally flashing his military ID to the wrong person."

"So why did he leave his dog tags on?" McGee asked, genuinely curious.

"In case he got killed," Ferrara said matter-of-factly. "He knew it was dangerous, being who he was. He tried, he really tried, to be normal. But you can't change what you are. He almost didn't join the Navy because of it. But I convinced him to try." Michael Ferrara's voice broke at that. Gibbs and McGee sat in silence, letting him collect himself.

"When was the last time he had a serious relationship?" McGee asked when Michael seemed ready to continue.

"He met someone while he was in rehab from his accident. They were pretty tight for awhile, but Frank stopped talking about him a couple of months ago."

"His name?" McGee asked.

"Ben. I don't know his last name. He was another sailor, wounded by an IED in Iraq. They were both at Bethesda. They exchanged letters for awhile after Frank came back to full duties. There might be some still in his rack."

"Could someone have found the letters, read something they shouldn't have?" McGee asked.

"No. Ben was discharged due to his injury, so he wasn't in as much danger from being outed, but he wouldn't have put anything in writing that might have been traced back to him. Or that could have hurt Frank."

"Do you know why they broke up?"

"No. But it wasn't anything dramatic. Frank talked about him less and less, and then I just didn't hear about him anymore. Besides, he lives in Los Angeles."

"I understand," McGee said. "We're just covering our bases. Maybe something he told Ben might help us."

"No one since he stopped seeing Ben?" Gibbs asked.

"Not that I know of. We hadn't had a lot of time to talk. It's a big ship, and we have different duties. We're scheduled to deploy in a few days, and there's a lot to be done. We didn't even talk in person that often. Mostly by email and text message."

"Can I get his cell number and email?" McGee asked. Ferrara recited them.

"Any chance your wife might know what his plans for Saturday night were?" Gibbs asked.

"Connie called me on Sunday afternoon. Frank told her he was going into D.C., he'd be back on the morning train. He would have had to stop by the house to change back into his civvies before returning to the ship. When he didn't show up or call, and she couldn't reach him on his cell, she called me. We talked about where he might have been going. But he didn't mention anything specific. He just told her he was going to the city, he'd be back in the morning."

"Did he usually carry his cell phone?" McGee asked.

"Usually," Ferrara answered. "Didn't he have it with him?"

"It wasn't found with him."

"Well he didn't leave it at the house."

"We'll see if we can track it," McGee said said.

"Is there anything else you can think of that might help us?" Gibbs asked, wrapping the meeting up.

Ferrara shook his head. "No, sir."

"Alright. We'll stay in touch. You think of anything, call me." Gibbs handed him one of his cards.

"I will," Ferrara said, and stood to go. He paused, resting a hand on the back of his chair.

"The agent on board didn't seem to be taking it very seriously, when he talked to me on Sunday after Capt. McNally reported that Frank was missing. There's no way he should've known, about Frank's life, but it felt like he did."

"Did your brother ever deal with him before?" McGee asked.

"Not that I know of. It was just a feeling I got."

"We'll look into it," Gibbs promised. With a nod of thanks, Ferrara left. McGee put away his PDA and Gibbs flipped his notebook shut.

On a hunch, Gibbs decided to visit the ship's Chaplain. They found Cmdr. Father Andrew Thayer in the ship's tiny chapel. After introducing them and ensuring that the priest knew that Ferrara had been killed, Gibbs asked about Ferrara's religious practices.

"He was very devout," Father Andrew offered readily. "As devout as a military man can be, at least. He attended Mass and confession regularly, and was a very knowledgeable Bible scholar. Could have easily become a Religious Programs Specialist, or even a Chaplain, had he wanted to."

"Did he ever talk to you about personal issues? Outside of confession," Gibbs clarified when he saw the priest getting ready to object.

"Occasionally. He had been troubled by something for some time, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. We often discussed forgiveness for mortal sins."

"Mortal sins?" McGee asked. As a way of getting the priest to open up, it was a good question and Gibbs silently approved.

"The Catholic Church recognizes many common human failures as mortal sins. Anger, envy, jealousy, greed, disrespecting your parents, even 'carousing' is one of the biggies. But considering the Navy and the young men and women we attract, I doubt those were the types of sins that were weighing on his mind."

"So what type would have been?" McGee continued.

"I don't know precisely. He never said. Not even in confession, Agent Gibbs," he said, and smiled. Gibbs gave him a small one back. "But consider one of the highest of the mortal sins: Murder. The US Navy has been directly or by proxy killing people on a regular basis since the country was born. As members of the Navy, that sin belongs to all of us."

"But that wasn't what was troubling him," McGee confirmed.

"It wouldn't appear so. Mostly, we talked about New Testament wisdom versus Old Testament constraints. He would often ask about the modern application of both Old and New Church law. Something I must admit, I am no expert in. I, like most Catholic priests in America, tend to preach Christ's message of tolerance and acceptance over rigid rules of religion. While the Holy Father might not approve, it gets us through the days."

"Did he ever talk about anyone giving him trouble?" Gibbs asked.

"It took him awhile, after he returned from his injury and became Captain's Yeoman, to return to the level of comfort he'd had with his shipmates in his prior rating. He was seen by many of the enlisted sailors as a sell-out to the officer corps. Many of those who'd worked with him before the accident rode him about that. More than once he talked about the wisdom of his decision to return to the Navy. But the truth was, he loved it here. And after awhile, his shipmates relaxed and he was able to settle."

"Anything more recent?" McGee asked.

Father Andrew shook his head. "Not that I know of. Like I said, he was troubled, but it wasn't anything as simple as personnel issues. I made sure he knew I was ready to listen, and kept hoping he would open up to me." He sighed. "I hope he's finally found his peace."

to be continued...

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