One Less Part 36
by joykatleen
Maybe it was the pills, or maybe Gibbs was just exhausted, but when he dreamed that night, the substance was mostly pleasant. It was Shannon, and Kelly, and it was alright. Several times the dreams tried to turn ugly, but each time the dream faded just as things started to darken. Gibbs woke early, feeling pretty good. Except for the knee. That was killing him.
DiNozzo and David showed up while he was still getting ready. Not only did the crutches make everything more work, it made everything take longer. Besides, not wanting to traverse the stairs more than he had to, he hadn't had any coffee. That always made him drag.
"Hey Boss, no coffee?" DiNozzo said, ducking his head through Gibbs' open bathroom door. Gibbs was balanced on his good leg, the toes of his bad one just resting on the bath mat, leaning on the sink while he brushed his teeth. After using the hand shower to wash everything but his bad leg while sitting on the edge of the tub, he'd managed to get on a t-shirt, a pair of khakis and one boot and sock.
Gibbs grumbled at him and with a grin, DiNozzo bounced downstairs. By the time Gibbs had rinsed his mouth and grabbed a polo shirt, he could smell the coffee brewing. His second was a good man. Drove him nuts more often than not, but a good man nonetheless.
Gibbs took two more of Ducky's pain pills and pulled his polo shirt on over his head. He holstered his Sig, filled his pockets, then took a second to be sure he had everything he needed from the second floor. He stuffed his extra sock into his pocket, grabbed the crutches and the shoe he'd worn yesterday, and headed down.
His agents were waiting with the coffee, and Gibbs sat at the table to drink his first cup. It was barely seven in the morning. He'd wanted to get to the Marine base as early as possible to get going on the interviews. There was a chance, however slight, that they'd find the key to getting Thayer among Fazio and Lewiston's Marine friends. On that hopeful thought, he wanted to get the interviews done before Roosevelt's scheduled shove-off at 1600 hours.
"McGee sent me some information on a sailor named Ramey," DiNozzo said while Gibbs drank. "Said it was for you."
"What'd he find?" Gibbs asked.
"Superficial connections between Ramey and a few of the victims, nothing noteworthy. He was assigned to the Roosevelt in 2003, transferred to Bataan last year. Since then, he's been living off base in Norfolk. Also mentioned he changed his religious preference from Catholic to Protestant in 2006."
"Huh," Gibbs grunted. That was certainly curious. After fighting with the priest over Ortiz's disappearance, he renounced Catholicism. They definitely needed to talk to this guy.
"Who is he, Gibbs?" Ziva asked.
Gibbs explained what O'Sullivan had told him. "We need to talk to him."
"According to McGee," DiNozzo said, "He's on liberty, not scheduled to return to duty until a week from Monday. We've got his personal cell number."
"We'll call him when we're done at the base."
Draining his first mug, Gibbs had DiNozzo fill an extra-large travel mug with more. DiNozzo offered to help with his sock and shoe and Gibbs accepted with as much dignity as he could muster. When that was done, Gibbs had Ziva get his 'go-bag' out of the front closet, just in case they had to spend the night on the road, and they stepped out into the bright morning.
Gibbs hid a smile when he saw the Cadillac Escalade sitting in front of the house.
"Thought it would be better than a sedan," DiNozzo said casually. "Borrowed it from a friend."
Gibbs nodded. It was certainly going to make the 200-mile ride more comfortable. Good man indeed.
They arrived at Camp Allen, a small Marine base on the grounds of Naval Station Norfolk, a little before 10. For the first half hour of the trip, Gibbs had felt every bump in the road echo through his knee. But as the pills kicked in, the pain faded. With DiNozzo driving, Ziva riding shotgun, and Gibbs sitting sideways in the longer third row seat with his leg up, he was able to drift in and out of awareness, floating on the sounds of his team's chatter and the wheels over the highway.
Every time Gibbs opened his eyes, he caught Ziva staring at him in the rearview. Her concern over his injuries – and her guilt in being the cause of them – was clear. When their eyes met, she'd always look away, but it would only be moments before she was staring at him again. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore her.
As promised, the Marine platoon was in residence in the base gymnasium. When the agents walked into the gym, they found row after row of green cots, each one precisely made, a duffle underneath. The Marines themselves were sitting on chairs arranged in front of a portable screen in the corner. A First lieutenant was standing at a podium, giving a lecture on something while referring to slides on the screen. Some of the Marines were taking notes. A few were staring blankly around the room. Those would be the true grunts, Gibbs knew.
The platoon's sergeant noticed them and stepped over. "Can I help you sirs, ma'am?" he asked quietly. They identified themselves and showed their badges. Ziva explained they needed to speak to six Marines and DiNozzo handed him the list. The sergeant glanced at it, then back up at them. "May I ask why you need them?"
"Col. Zavala authorized us to speak with them," DiNozzo said. The sergeant clearly wanted to know more, but he was just as clearly well trained.
"Where would you like them?" he asked. Gibbs had given it some thought on the way. He was familiar with the base gym, having spent some time training here during his early career. He knew the facility had a small office and a weight room that would suit their purpose. They'd take the Marines one at a time into the office, then dismiss the rejects to stand by in the weight room until they were finished with all six. That way, the ones they hadn't interviewed yet would remain clueless as to the subject. After the interviews were complete, the men they determined were not involved would be free to speak with their friends. If the one they were looking for turned out to be none of the Marines, but instead the sailor currently being poked and prodded at Navy Medical, the six Marines could rejoin their platoon in the gym until Gibbs was ready to release them all.
"We'll need them one at a time, in the office. And don't give the rest of the list heads up until their turn," Gibbs said.
"Fair enough." The sergeant moved back to the group and caught the lieutenant's attention. When the officer paused in his lecture, the sergeant called out the first name on the list. That Marine, a lance corporal, raised a hand, then came back to them at the sergeant's instruction. The four of them walked to the office, where Gibbs took the chair behind the empty desk and Ziva offered the Marine one of the chairs in front of it. DiNozzo took the other visitor chair, and Ziva stood beside Gibbs behind the desk. Gibbs placed a digital recorder on the desk. He wasn't in the mood to take notes on at least five interviews that would get them nothing and this way there'd be no questions about how they'd dealt with the suspect, if they found him.
After introducing them and assuring the Marine he was not in any trouble, Gibbs let Tony and Ziva take over. The interview went quickly. The lance corporal had been friends with Lewiston and knew Fazio – the reason he was one of the six – but it didn't take them long to determine that while he'd heard rumors of what had happened to the Captain's Yeoman, he hadn't been involved. He also claimed to not know anyone in his platoon who might have participated in the attack. Twenty-five minutes after they started, DiNozzo showed him into the weight room and told him to stay put until someone came for him.
The next few interviews went virtually the same way. One of the Marines knew there'd been a couple of gay sailors assaulted and subsequently drummed out of the Navy, and knew Major Ortiz had been seriously injured, but he had only heard rumors about who might have been involved. The next had only been with the company for a couple of months. He was friends with their two suspects, but was unaware of their personal mission. He had no suggestions where they might find Lewiston, or where to look for other suspects. The fourth interviewee was completely clueless. He'd been on leave for a month prior to reporting for duty yesterday, and hadn't even heard about Ferrara's death. He, too, knew Major Ortiz had been injured, but hadn't heard any rumors as to why. By listening to him talk, Gibbs knew this was the platoon's loner. Every military unit had one: a guy who pulled his weight, did his job, was a team player on duty, but who preferred his own company when off duty.
Three and a half hours after they started, Gibbs' knee was throbbing and they were all getting tired. It was already well past the lunch hour. DiNozzo looked at him hopefully when they dismissed the fourth, but Gibbs just told him to bring in the fifth.
Which was when they hit paydirt. Corporal Richard Rosario was nervous – more so than anyone they'd interviewed so far, even counting Radkoff – and hesitated before answering even the most basic question, as if examining all possible interpretations before responding. The Marine was big, not as tall as O'Sullivan, but heavier. He had big hands which he kept folded in his lap, and when he spoke, his voice was at the low end of bass. Gibbs recalled the morning he'd met Nicky, when the homeless man had described the men he'd seen attack Ferrara. He'd indicated one of the three men was big and deep voiced. Could this be the Marine he'd seen?
As with the others, they started out asking him about his service. He'd been with First FAST Company for five years, in the Marines for eight. He was a Rifleman, the backbone of FAST Company. Along with his platoon, he'd been all over the world in recent years, acting as a security force to protect whatever the Chief of Naval Operations pointed them at.
Taking turns asking the questions, Tony and Ziva circled the main subject. First, they asked about Major Ortiz. Yes, he'd known him. Known of him, anyway. Served under him for awhile before Ortiz left the Security Force Battalion for the position as Marine Liaison Officer aboard the Roosevelt. That was a full two years before First FAST Company rode that ship home from the Persian Gulf last year. Yes, he'd heard what happened to Ortiz in Dubai. He'd heard the rumors about why it had happened, but had no personal knowledge of it.
DiNozzo asked him about Lewiston next. Of course Rosario knew him. Rosario had been part of the squad that got torn apart by the IED attack, the one that caused Lewiston – their 'Doc' in Marine terms – to suffer PTSD and change rates. He said he wasn't sure where Lewiston went after he left FAST Company. Knew he wasn't a medic anymore, but hadn't spoken to him in awhile.
"Really?" Ziva asked. "Not for awhile?"
"No, ma'am," Rosario confirmed.
"We were told you were with him and a Hospital Corpsman named Fazio in Washington last weekend," DiNozzo said.
There was a long silence. Rosario looked back and forth between the two agents, then glanced at the thus-far silent Gibbs.
"Okay, yeah. I hitched a ride up there with them last weekend. They were going. There was a notice on the travel board, looking for a carpooler to share gas money. I took advantage of it. They dropped me off in D.C. and I haven't seen them since."
"Why'd you lie?" DiNozzo asked, taking the lead.
Rosario sighed. "I heard there was some trouble. I didn't want you to think I had anything to do with it. That's why you're here, right?"
"What kind of trouble?" DiNozzo asked, ignoring his question.
"I don't know. Some kind of fight. I heard someone got hurt."
"What else did you hear?"
Rosario shrugged. "That's it, sir. Lewiston and Fazio got into a fight and someone got hurt."
"One of them?"
"No, some other guy."
"What were you doing in Washington?" Ziva asked. Rosario turned his attention that way.
"I went to a club."
"What club?" DiNozzo asked.
"The Science Club."
"Georgetown?"
"Golden Triangle." DiNozzo nodded. That was right, at least.
"Did you go alone?" Ziva asked.
"I was supposed to meet some friends. They didn't show."
"So you were alone," Ziva repeated.
"No," Rosario said. "I was with people all night."
"Anyone you knew? Who can give you an alibi?" DiNozzo asked.
Rosario shrugged. "No. But I bought drinks on my credit card. All night."
The agents didn't even blink. Distances in the District were short. The attack on Ferrara had taken place less than three miles from there, and they didn't have a firm time of death. Which meant that unless this guy bought drinks every fifteen minutes from dusk to dawn, that alibi was worthless.
"You see Fazio or Lewiston there?"
"No, ma'am. I told you, I never saw them again after they dropped me off."
"And you don't know what the fight they got into was about?" DiNozzo asked.
"No, sir."
"How did you hear about it?" Ziva asked.
"Ma'am?"
"How did you hear about the trouble last weekend. Who told you?"
Rosario shrugged, paused again. "I don't know. I just heard it around. We've been doing equipment checks and training upgrades all week. Marines talk."
"About a fight that took place more than 200 miles away involving two sailors who aren't attached to your unit?" DiNozzo asked.
"Doc's been around," Rosario said defensively. "He'd changed rates and had been assigned to the Roosevelt, but he'd been hanging around during some of our non-classified training sessions. He's thinking of rejoining the Security Force Battalion as an RP. I think." He seemed to realize that contradicted what he'd claimed to know earlier about Lewiston, and tried to fix it.
"He was around some of our training sessions, but he wasn't part of what I was doing. I assume that's why he was here. But I don't know for sure."
"Really," Ziva said with more than a touch of sarcasm.
"Really," Rosario insisted.
"So where is he now?" DiNozzo asked.
"I don't know," Rosario said.
"You do not know," Ziva repeated.
"No, I don't. Why are you looking for him? How badly did the guy get hurt?"
Ziva and DiNozzo looked at one another but didn't reply. There was almost a full minute of silence before Ziva started again. She backtracked a little. Asked about the club Rosario claimed to have been at that night in Washington. About others who might have seen him there. Asked about the entertainment, how many drinks he had, if he bought for others. Solidifying his non-existent alibi. Nothing he told them would preclude him being at the warehouse.
"What do you know about a Master Chief Corpsman named Goetz?" DiNozzo asked next. There was a flicker of recognition there, too.
"He was senior on the Roosevelt when our company rode it home from the Gulf last year," Rosario said.
"Good medic?" DiNozzo asked.
Rosario shrugged. "I suppose. I don't really know."
"You know he was attacked in Greece?"
"I heard."
"Know anything about that?"
"No, sir. Why would I?"
DiNozzo shrugged nonchalantly. "Thought you might. Some friends of yours were involved in that."
Rosario blinked, and cleared his throat before responding. "Who?" His nervousness had spiked a little.
"Tell me about 'One Less'," Gibbs said suddenly, the first words he'd spoken since the interview began. Rosario actually flinched.
"I don't know what that means, sir," Rosario said. He cleared his throat again, looked at DiNozzo, at Ziva, back at Gibbs. Gibbs met DiNozzo's eye and gave a small nod. Take it, Tony.
"Sure you do," DiNozzo said with a cajoling grin, turning in his seat to look at Rosario. "You and Fazio and Lewiston put a note in Petty Officer Ferrara's pocket with that phrase written on it." DiNozzo's expression hardened. "Then you left him in that warehouse to die."
There was another long pause, then Rosario suddenly jumped to his feet and took off out of the office, his chair hitting the floor with a bang.
"He's running?" DiNozzo said incredulously.
"Go get him," Gibbs said, and DiNozzo was after him, Ziva a half step behind.
There was only one way to go out of the office: Through the gym. When DiNozzo and Ziva entered the gym, Rosario was already a quarter of the way across the open space. The Marines were scattered around the large room in small groups, obviously on a break, and they almost as one turned to look at the sound of pounding boots.
"Stop him!" DiNozzo shouted. No one stepped up to help. He kept running, pulling out his badge and holding it high. "NCIS! Stop him!"
That got him something. From the group closest to Rosario, one Marine stood and stepped into his path. Rosario didn't even slow up; hit him like a running back and kept right on going. Rosario was within fifteen feet of the exit door when another Marine reached out and grabbed his arm, hard. Rosario spun toward him and tried to jerk away, but it was all the delay the agents needed. Tony collided with Rosario and they both hit the floor, sliding across the hardwood. DiNozzo ended up on the bottom and fought to hold on to Rosario. Ziva waded into the fray, grabbing Rosario and pulling him far enough away for Tony to get out from under him. DiNozzo jumped to his feet and was grabbed by two Marines. A third Marine tried for Ziva, who managed to hang on to one of Rosario's arms even as she blocked the approaching man and reached for her sidearm. Tony struggled to get free. They were quickly surrounded by Marines, most taking no part in the confrontation, but clearly ready to pick a side once the situation became clearer.
"What the hell is going on?" came a voice of command. DiNozzo looked up to see a Marine Captain striding toward them. Ziva got her Sig clear of its holster and held it up, pointing it at no one.
"Let the agent go!" Another voice of equal command, this one from Gibbs, who had come out of the office on his crutches and was moving across the gym as quickly as he could.
"Stand down, all of you," the Captain ordered the group. He pointed at the Marines holding DiNozzo. "Let him go."
DiNozzo shook loose of the men holding him and slid his handcuffs off his belt. He grabbed Rosario's free arm.
"You're under arrest," he told the Marine.
"You're not cuffing him until I know why," the Captain responded.
"Let him do his job," Gibbs said to the Captain, finally arriving. "You want to talk about it, let my man secure him first."
"What's he under arrest for?" the Captain demanded.
"Not out here, sir," Gibbs replied.
The two men glared at each other for several moments before the Captain nodded.
"Bring him into the office," he said, and turned away. Ziva holstered her weapon and grabbed both of Rosario's arms, twisting one of them up behind his back. She followed the Captain back across the gym toward the office, pushing the bigger man ahead of her. Gibbs and DiNozzo followed at a slower pace.
Once inside, the Captain gestured toward the chair that was still upright. Ziva put Rosario in it. The Captain took the seat behind the desk. When DiNozzo and Gibbs arrived a few moments later, DiNozzo uprighted the other chair and Gibbs sat. Tony and Ziva took positions on both sides of the doorway.
"Care to explain what you want with my Marine?" the Captain said when they were all settled. He was young, maybe 35 years old, with close-cropped blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses that were definitely not military issue. He wasn't a tall man – probably 5'10 in his boots – but he made up for it with a stiff posture and an attitude of command. There was no doubt he was going to get the information he wanted before he let them take Rosario. Gibbs decided to play along, for now.
"I don't believe we've met, sir. Special Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo, Officer David, NCIS."
"Larrivee," the Captain said shortly.
"Corporal Rosario is wanted in connection with the murder of a sailor in Washington last weekend," Gibbs said.
"Corporal?" Larrivee asked.
"I want a lawyer," Rosario said.
"Were you in Washington last weekend?" Larrivee asked, ignoring the man's demand. Since only questioning by or at the direction of law enforcement was illegal after a demand for an attorney, Gibbs let him talk.
"Yes, sir," Rosario said after some hesitation.
"Did you have something to do with a sailor's death?"
Rosario squirmed slightly. Lying to a couple of Navy cops was one thing. Lying to a superior officer was a whole different ball game.
"I didn't kill him," Rosario said.
"Not what I asked, Corporal. Were you there?"
Rosario looked at Gibbs.
"Eyes front, Marine!" Larrivee barked, and Rosario's head jerked toward him. "Were. You. There?" He enunciated each word precisely.
"Yes, sir," Rosario said.
The Captain glanced at Gibbs. "What was the name of the sailor who was killed?"
"Yeoman Second Class Frank Ferrara," Gibbs said.
"The Captain's Yeoman from the Roosevelt," Larrivee said. "I heard about that. Beaten to death, right?"
"That's correct," Gibbs said.
"Is that why you've been interviewing my men all morning?"
"It is," Ziva said. "We had our suspect list narrowed down to a few candidates from this platoon. Our interview with Cpl. Rosario confirmed he is who we are looking for."
"Then he ran," DiNozzo said, "which is about as close to a confession as you can get without opening your mouth."
He turned his attention back to Rosario. "What happened in Washington?"
"I... we..." Rosario swallowed hard. He obviously didn't want to answer, and it was just as obvious that he would, eventually. Gibbs was happy to sit there and let the Captain handle it. He was also happy to note that the digital recorder he'd placed on the desk at the start of the interviews was still dutifully noting everything that was said.
"He shouldn't have been in the Navy in the first place, sir," Rosario suddenly blurted out. "He wouldn't resign. We had a duty to get rid of him."
"Why?" Larrivee said.
"He was a faggot, sir."
Larrivee slammed his hand down on the desktop, making everyone but Gibbs jump. Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs saw DiNozzo adjust his stance, ready to move, and Ziva instinctively shift her hand to rest it atop her sidearm.
"Watch your tongue, Corporal," Larrivee demanded. "I do not tolerate hate in my company, and you know it."
"Sorry, sir. But it's true," Rosario insisted. "He was making moves on his bunkmates. It was sick."
They had no information that Ferrara had been making moves on anyone. Gibbs wondered if that was how the priest had sold it.
"So what did you do?"
Rosario shook his head. "It was nothing. We were just going to teach him how dangerous it was, being a fa... a homosexual in the Navy. Convince him to resign. That's all."
"And what happened?"
"We knew he was going to Washington that night. We drove up there and waited for him at Amtrak. We followed him. He went to a bunch of gay clubs. It was disgusting. Took all night to finally get him alone. We pushed him around a little, told him what he had to do. Told him the Navy was no place for a guy like him. He put up a fight. I swear, we didn't mean for him to die. We just wanted to make the point. That's all."
Larrivee paused, as if considering his next question. Gibbs silently urged him in the right direction.
"Who else was with you?" Larrivee asked. Not where Gibbs wanted him. They already knew the answer to that one.
"They weren't Marines, sir," Rosario said.
"Are you having trouble hearing me, Corporal?" Larrivee asked. His voice wasn't quite drill-sergeant, but he was getting there.
"No, sir," Rosario said. "They were sailors from the Roosevelt. A Doc that used to work with us, named Lewiston, and a buddy of his named Fazio."
"And the three of you just decided all on your own to run this sailor out of the Navy," Larrivee asked. That was the right question.
"It was Doc's idea," Rosario said. "He said it had worked before."
"Before? This wasn't the first man you'd done this to?" Larrivee asked.
"It was the only time for me. But Lewiston said there'd been others."
"What others?" Larrivee demanded. Rosario paused, glanced again at Gibbs.
"Do not make me ask you again, Marine," Larrivee said. Rosario swallowed.
"The last one was a Corpsman, last year while we overseas. Doc was really pissed when he found out he was gay. Said he'd really looked up to the guy. He was a Master Chief. A real mentor to him. They knew that kind of perv shouldn't be allowed rank like that. They convinced him to resign."
Larrivee turned to Gibbs again. "Did you know about that?"
"Yes sir. We're investigating."
"How serious were his injuries?"
"He's still recovering. He can walk again, but not well, and not far."
"Do you have the other two men in custody? This Fazio and Lewiston?"
"We have Fazio. We're looking for Lewiston."
"Well, you can take this one too. I have no use for bigots in my company."
"But Captain!" Rosario objected. "The service doesn't want those people here. We were just getting rid of them."
Larrivee studied him for a moment, then shook his head. "Get him out of here," he said to Gibbs. "Be sure he gets a lawyer. He's going to need a good one." Larrivee stood and rounded the desk. He paused by the door.
"Inform the Master at Arms that he's in a communications blackout. No calls."
"Absolutely," Gibbs said. It was more imperative now than ever that none of these Marines called the Roosevelt.
Larrivee nodded, then seemed to consider something else. "Was this the only one of my Marines you were looking for?"
"He's the only one," Gibbs confirmed.
"Very well." The Marine officer left them.
"You heard him, Rosario. Let's go get you a lawyer," DiNozzo said. He recuffed the still shell-shocked Marine and pushed him toward the door.
to be continued...
Well, that's it, folks. You have now met or been introduced to all the OCs in this epic. (I'm pretty sure). I'll post a second Guide to OCs tomorrow with everyone you need to remember from here to the end. Speaking of the end, we're getting there. I did not intend this novel to be THIS long, but I'm enjoying writing it. If you're enjoying reading it, won't you drop me a line or two and let me know? Reviews keep writers writing... joy