One Less - Part 28
by joykatleen
Gibbs woke just before 8:30 to the smell of coffee. It took a second to remember where he was, and another minute to realize both his headache and the buzzing in his ears were gone. He was lying flat on his back – the position he'd fallen asleep in – but it surprised him nonetheless. He was supposed to have been moved at least once for the MRI and thought he should have woken for that at least. Opening his eyes, he saw an IV port with nothing attached to it in his left hand and a blood pressure cuff around his right bicep. Stiff spots on his chest told of the presence of a heart monitor. He looked over his head and found the monitor, tracking his heart beat and respirations, and showing his last blood pressure. Reading it upside down, Gibbs thought it looked normal. He actually felt really good.
"Morning, Boss," came a voice. Gibbs turned his head to see McGee sitting in the visitor's chair, sipping coffee from a travel mug. He was dressed for work.
"You bring some of that for me, McGee?" he asked, his voice rough. He swallowed a couple of times to moisten this throat. McGee leaned down and picked a small thermos and another travel mug off the floor under his chair.
"Sure did," McGee said with a smile that made Gibbs think of Tony in 'show-up' mode. "I wasn't sure when you'd wake up, so I put it in a thermos. It's not a lot, but it'll get you started. Can you sit up?"
Gibbs grabbed the rails on both sides of the bed and hauled himself upright. He felt a twinge in his back from where he'd landed on his Sig. Not serious, just present. He was still in the hospital gown, but there was a new addition: a white Velcro and canvas knee brace that covered his leg from mid-thigh to just above his ankle. It kept his leg straight, his knee locked.
"Here you go," McGee said, and handed the mug to Gibbs, who tentatively sipped at it.
"Not bad. Where'd you buy it?" Gibbs asked.
"I made it. At my house."
Gibbs nodded his approval. "You been here long?"
"Not long. I called in for messages before I left my house."
Gibbs had left a message on McGee's office voicemail after accepting Gelfand's deal last night. He'd told his junior agent what was happening, and asked McGee to pick him up after he got in. Gibbs nodded and drank more of the coffee.
"Abby called me," McGee said. "She worked most of the night, and said she won't be in until late, unless you need her."
"She give you any results?"
"She said there's a partial palm print on the flash-bang canister. She can't use it to find a match in the database, but when we get a suspect, it'll be useful. The other prints on the flyers didn't match any other Navy personnel. The DNA isn't back yet."
Gibbs gave a sigh of disappointment. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. "She find anything else in the journal?" he asked.
"She finished reading it. There was nothing to say who he'd been talking to, or who he'd become interested in. But she said to tell you he started getting sad in May of 2008."
Gibbs frowned. That was right after Goetz's attack.
"She say if it had any connection to Master Chief Goetz?"
McGee nodded. "She said he mentioned it in passing, but he didn't say anything about Goetz being gay, or why he was attacked. He talks about them like they were friends."
Gibbs gave that some thought. Goetz had said they'd known one another casually, mostly through Goetz's role as corpsman, and that they'd chatted occasionally. So it was reasonable Ferrara could have considered them friends, within the limitations of two men so far apart in rank. Goetz was 10 months gone before Ferrara went looking for someone to talk to, but if they'd been anything more than casual acquaintances, maybe Goetz had an idea of who Ferrara might have found. Still, if that was the case, why hadn't Goetz mentioned that when Gibbs interviewed him?
In mid-sip, Gibbs suddenly stopped. Ferrara was in trouble. He needed someone to talk to. Goetz had said that he and his partner had been having some problems, but he'd talked to an old friend and gotten some advice on how to work it out. When Ziva asked Hutchinson if his partner knew he'd been clubbing, he'd said he'd originally kept it a secret until a friend of his convinced him to tell.
"They're all talking to the same damn person," Gibbs said aloud.
"Uh, Boss?" McGee said. Gibbs turned to him.
"Get the doctor in here. It's time to go."
McGee nodded and quickly stepped out.
Why the hell had it taken him so long to make that connection? Both Goetz and Hutchinson had said they hadn't told anyone they were gay. Yet both had also said they'd been discussing their problems with friends. He supposed he'd dismissed it, assuming each was talking to a gay friend. But Gibbs' gut was telling him he'd finally found the key to the whole thing. There were any number of people they all could have been talking to, but only one that made sense.
Gibbs looked around for his clothes. He didn't see them. He felt around for the catch to release the bed rails and couldn't find that either. Screw it. He pushed himself down the bed to the end and gently slid off. He stood on his left leg, balancing with the aid of the bed rail. He tentatively shifted his weight to his right leg. Pain made itself known, but it held.
Hitching a hip on the end of the bed, Gibbs undid the blood pressure cuff from his arm and tossed it in the general direction of the hook it was supposed to hang on. It missed. With a mental shrug he unsnapped the leads for the heart monitor. It began to alarm. Gibbs knew that would probably bring a nurse in fairly short order, but that would be fine. He bent over to look under the gurney he'd been sleeping on. His clothes and boots were there. He snagged the strings on the plastic bag holding his clothes and dragged it out. Moving cautiously and keeping as much weight off his right leg as he could, Gibbs moved to the chair McGee had vacated. He dropped carefully into it and started dressing.
He'd managed to get both legs into his jeans and the jeans as high as the widest part of the knee brace when the door opened. But instead of a nurse, Capt. Gelfand came in, McGee on his heels.
"Good morning, Agent Gibbs. Eager to leave are we?" He silenced the monitor alarm.
"Got work to do," Gibbs said.
"How do you feel?" Gelfand asked him.
"Very well. Can you give me some of that stuff to take home?" Gibbs pulled on his left sock, then tried to reach down for his right. His arms weren't long enough to get to his foot.
"Not a good idea. Without proper medical supervision, it'd just as likely kill you as give you a good night's sleep." Gelfand paused while Gibbs struggled to work the denim up over the brace.
"It's not going to work, Gunny. I'll bring you some scrubs as soon as Dr. McNeil is done with you."
"How long?" Gibbs asked, straightening and giving up on the jeans. He kicked them off.
"He's in the hospital somewhere. I'll have him paged."
Gibbs nodded. "Is Master Chief Goetz on duty yet?"
Gelfand frowned. "From the medical school?" he asked. Gibbs nodded again. "I can find out."
"I need to talk to him. In person, as soon as possible."
The curiosity was clear on Gelfand's face, but he didn't ask. "I'll see if I can find him. McNeil should be here shortly."
The doctor left and McGee moved closer. "What're you thinking, Boss?" he asked.
"Goetz and Hutchinson both said they were having trouble with their partners and talked to someone about it."
McGee looked at him, trying to understand. "So even though they said they didn't tell anyone about their orientation, they had to have told at least one person each," McGee said. When Gibbs agreed, he continued. "And according to his journal, Ferrara was talking to someone about his orientation specifically." Gibbs cocked his head, waiting. They had a little time. He knew McGee was a smart kid, and Gibbs enjoyed watching the young agent's mind work. When they had the time.
"According to Radkoff, and the DNA we've got," McGee went on, "those three attacks involved at least five or six different people. It's not likely that each of the victims talked directly to someone who later independently talked to someone else who then attacked him. So they probably all talked to the person running the conspiracy, or to someone who knows who's running it and passed the information along. Taking that into consideration, odds are they all talked to the same person."
Gibbs nodded again. "And who would that be?"
"For that kind of subject, it would have to be someone they really thought they could trust. Probably an officer, because Lt. Hutchinson wouldn't have talked to an enlisted man about something so personal. It wouldn't have been just any officer, though. It'd have to be someone who'd be willing to sit and listen." McGee thought it through, then his eyes widened. "The victims are all Catholic," he said.
"Uh huh," Gibbs said. The realization had come to him only a few seconds after he sent McGee to find the doctor. The one person most likely to have spoken to all three men – and the rest of victims – about issues of the heart. And soul.
"It's the priest," McGee said.
"Uh huh," Gibbs repeated.
"But that doesn't make any sense," McGee said. "A priest is sworn to keep secrets like that. Even outside confession. That's why people talk so freely to them. Because they don't tell. They take an oath."
"A covenant between man and God," Gibbs said, quoting Col. Hatton.
"So why would he do this?" McGee asked.
"Who the hell knows why the bastards do anything they do?" Gibbs asked in response.
"We don't know he's doing it," McGee countered. "Maybe he's talking to someone he's supposed to be talking to, and that person is doing it."
Gibbs considered that. Who do priests tell their secrets to? Other priests, he supposed. But there was only one aboard the Roosevelt. There were other ministers of other faiths, but it wasn't likely a Catholic priest would break the seal of confessional to talk to a Rabbi or an Imam.
"It's one too many persons removed," Gibbs said. "What're the chances they all talked to the priest, and he talked to someone else who happened to have a burr in his butt about gays?"
"The victims might have been talking to someone else. Doesn't the medical staff on a carrier include therapists, mental health counselors, people like that?" McGee asked. Gibbs looked at him strangely.
"You Catholic, McGee?" Gibbs asked. He was certain he would have known that. But the way McGee was trying to dissuade him, Gibbs thought maybe McGee had something vested in it not being the priest.
"No," McGee said. "It's just wrong. If a priest is learning things like this, in confession or not, then using the information against the men... it's just wrong."
"Yeah, it is," Gibbs agreed. "But my gut tells me that's what we've been missing."
"But we asked Goetz and Hutchinson if they'd talked to anyone. Why didn't they mention the priest?" Before Gibbs could speak, McGee answered his own question. "Because telling the priest probably never even crossed their minds as significant. They'd never imagine he'd be involved in this."
Gibbs nodded again and McGee fell silent for a minute. "So what now? He won't talk to us. He can just claim priest penitent privilege and keep his mouth shut and we won't be able to touch him. We need independent corroboration."
"Master Chief Goetz will give it to us," Gibbs said confidently.
"Then what?" McGee pushed.
"Well I don't know, McGee. Maybe you should tell me what's next. Are Abby and I the only ones doing any work around here?"
McGee's eyes widened. He stuttered for a second, then found something. "Fazio's roommate. Ziva left a message too. She couldn't find anything last night. Daniel Lewis is too common a name. There's no record of a Daniel Lewis with that year of birth currently serving in the Navy, and there's couple hundred civilians with that name in the tri-state. If Fazio lied about his roommate's name, I should see if I can find out who's really paying the other half of the rent on his house."
"You should. Soon as you run me home so I can change," Gibbs said. He paused. "How long was Ziva there last night?"
"She left the message at 1:30 this morning, right before she left to go sit on Fazio's house with Norfolk PD," McGee said. "The search warrant was approved, but for daytime entry only. She wanted to be sure no one slipped in and out before we could serve it." Gibbs sighed. Abby and Ziva had worked all night, McGee was with him most of it. DiNozzo slept like crap on a carrier, even if he hadn't spent the night working the case. Gibbs was the only one of his team who'd had a good night's sleep, and he was among the walking wounded. Barely walking. It was going to be a hell of a day.
"Have you heard from her this morning?"
"Not yet."
Gibbs checked his watch. In the state of Virginia, daylight warrant service hours began at 8 a.m. If Ziva had gone ahead with the search as soon as legally allowed, it would be well underway by now.
"Call her. Find out if they've gone in yet."
McGee nodded and slipped out. Gibbs sat in the silence, thinking through their next moves. Search Fazio's house, ID his roommate, confirm if he was the other guy from the warehouse. Take Fazio's picture to the guy at the sporting goods store, see if he could pick him out. Confirm that Goetz talked to the priest. Hutchinson, too. Match Fazio's DNA to what Ducky had found under Ferrara's nails. Hopefully. Which reminded him: Anacostia would have examined Fazio for pre-existing injuries when they booked him in. He'd have to call them to see if Fazio had any that could have come from the fight Ferrara put up. And another thing: The boot prints in the warehouse, from the night Ferrara was killed and from the night someone came looking for Nicky. They'd have to look for matching boots in Fazio's house. Or on his feet, for that matter. Damn it. They should have collected the boots he was wearing last night. Gibbs had definitely needed a good night's sleep.
McGee returned. "They went in half an hour ago. Ziva's supervising the search. The roommate's name is actually Sheldon Daniel Lewiston. Goes by Danny. She had NPD run him, with his correct birth date. He's Navy, a Petty Officer Second assigned to the Roosevelt. Hasn't reported aboard yet. I told the deck officer to alert us when he shows up."
"If he shows up," Gibbs said. He figured a desertion charge would be the least of Lewiston's worries at this point, assuming he was involved with Ferrara. They both turned as Dr. McNeil pushed through the door, a set of crutches over his shoulder.
"No," Gibbs said as soon as he saw them.
"It's only until we can get you in for surgery," McNeil said.
"What?" Gibbs and McGee said simultaneously.
"You want the babysitter to step out?" McNeil asked, glancing at McGee.
"He's fine. Surgery?" Gibbs said.
"Capt. Gelfand told me you're in a bit of a hurry to get out of here," McNeil said as he took a seat and leaned the crutches against the wall. "So I'm not going to bother with my famous bedside manner, work you up to it slowly, hit you with all the positives in glowing language before slipping in the negative. Your ACL, MCL and lateral meniscus are all torn to some degree. They're going to need to be surgically repaired, the sooner the better."
"She did all that with one kick?" McGee asked. Gibbs threw him a look.
"No, she didn't," he said.
"No, she didn't," McNeil agreed. "The prior damage, a couple of bone spurs, and a long history of chrondomalacia significantly weakened the knee. The kick shoved the whole joint off kilter, then I'm guessing you either fell on it or knelt on it."
Gibbs nodded. "Both. She was trying to cut my throat. I wasn't too worried about my knee."
"I heard, and I'm not saying it wasn't necessary," McNeil said. "In any event, the pressure you put on the joint while it was out of alignment did the rest of the damage. If you want it fixed here, I could do it on Monday. If you've got your own doctor, give me his name and I'll send over the films. Meanwhile, you've got to stay off it. There's still more damage you could do, and I'm assuming you don't want to retire yet."
"Hell no," Gibbs said.
"I didn't think so. You're not there yet, but if you keep damaging it, you're going to need a total knee replacement. After which, running, jumping, anything high impact will be out of the question permanently. Which I'm pretty sure will mean an office job, or retirement."
Gibbs took a breath. "And I can avoid all that by using the crutches now," he said. Behind McNeil, Capt. Gelfand came in with a set of scrubs in hand. He let the door close behind himself and leaned on it. The room was crowded with the four of them in it.
"You can avoid all that by having the surgery as soon as possible, then precisely following a recovery plan until it heals. And until you have the surgery, the crutches."
"It's no wonder I hate coming here," Gibbs muttered.
"Yeah, like it's our fault," Gelfand spoke up. "You live dangerously, Gunny. It's your choice, you love it, and sometimes this is the consequence."
"Alright. What about the brace?" Gibbs asked, tapping gently on it.
"It'll keep your knee completely immobile, and if you absolutely need to, you can walk on it. But every ounce of weight you put on it will bring you closer to failure. Keep the brace on 24/7 until surgery. You can take it off to use ice and heat if it swells, but do not – do not – put any weight on the leg without the brace. Don't get it wet, you won't like the smell. Absolutely no running even if you think you can. No driving. Don't get into any situations where a quick exit is required."
"Right," Gibbs agreed with a touch of sarcasm. McNeil looked at him and shook his head. There was a clear expression of exasperation on his face. He glanced at Gelfand, who smiled almost fondly.
"You can do whatever you want, but those're my instructions. I've put a lot of sailor's knees back together. Most of them return to duty of some kind. Do what I'm telling you and you'll have a good chance at getting back to your life. Don't, and you won't. Anything else?"
"Nope," Gibbs said.
"You're going to need some pain management," McNeil said, and took a prescription pad out of his pocket. He started writing, still talking. "I'm going to keep it light, because frankly at this point, a little pain is a good thing. It shouldn't be more than an ache if you're staying off it, and OTC analgesics will take care of that. If you start walking on it, it's going to hurt worse. That'll be your clue to stop." He ripped off the sheet and held it out to Gibbs, who took it without looking. "Take these if you can't handle it anymore. They'll also help you sleep. Take 400 of ibuprofen every six hours for swelling. Let me know if you want me to do the surgery. I'll need a little notice to work my schedule."
Gibbs sighed. "As soon as this case wraps. Couple days. A week at most."
"Excellent. Call the orthopedics office. They'll set it up. Meanwhile, let's get you out of here."
"Here's the scrubs," Gelfand said and handed them to Gibbs. "Master Chief Goetz is teaching. His class breaks at 9:45. He'll meet you in his office."
Gibbs nodded his thanks to both. Gelfand took his leave, and McNeil went to work. He first helped Gibbs pull on the scrub pants and put on his socks and one boot while Gibbs took off the gown and put on the scrub shirt. McNeil adjusted the crutches based on Gibbs' height, then had him stand, leaning on McGee for support.
"I'm assuming you've used these before?" McNeil asked when he was done with the fit.
"It's been awhile," Gibbs admitted.
"You'll want to wear a boot or shoe on your good foot as much as possible, and keep the other one bare or with something thinner. With the knee locked straight, you're likely to trip if both legs are the same length."
Gibbs nodded his understanding. McNeil gave him one boot to put on, had him take a few steps to show he could, then pronounced him ready to leave.
"If you're going across to the medical school, you're probably going to want a wheelchair," McNeil said.
"No thanks. The babysitter will drive me around," Gibbs said. McNeil sighed, and nodded.
"Call me," he said, and left them.
to be continued...
I'm appreciating the feedback I'm getting on this story, more than you know. Special thanks to the newcomers who've chimed in. If you're reading, why not offer your two cents? Talk really is cheap! :o)