Chapter Seven
Aventine Inquiry
Tony, driving the black NCIS-issue Dodge Stratus and regretting it's not his prized Cadillac CTS, parks the utterly indistinct cookie cutter on the street off line from the short driveway. The low blue with white topped structure's most prominent feature is a garage that takes up 2/3 of the building. A white ambulance centers the bay and four white shirted men and women labor on various parts of it.
The three agents approach at an angle that allows them to see the side of the large vehicle while keeping the four EMTs in view. The gold, white and red emblem on the truck matches the patches at the upper arms of the white shirts, a curve sided shield with white field, the upper portion of the curved top is a gold band in which 'Aventine' is printed in red, and the white field bears a red Caduceus, while within the left and right white curves of the shield are the red words 'Ambulance' and 'Service'.
DiNozzo leads Ziva and Chris LaSalle to the bay, bypassing the door at their left. With the thermometer threatening to skip 100 he wonders at the prospect of getting some cold packs. Friday afternoon heat waves should be made illegal in this city. They legislate everything else.
"Excuse me," he says to attract the attentions of the four. "Sorry to interrupt."
"Coming in on Tune-up day isn't an interruption," the tall Lieutenant says, wiping his hand and then forehead on a cloth, "it's a relief." The breeze, such as it is, blows laterally across the front of the building and as soon as the agents step inside they feel the loss of relief. "What can we do for you?"
LaSalle sees that the brunette in the rear of the ambulance seems to have some ideas as she quietly appraises him, but he keeps his focus. He's only up north for a visit. "We're looking for information on one of your former employees."
"Oh, we have no Employees here. This is a Volunteer service."
"Still, she was with you twenty one years ago."
"Wow. Predates me." He doesn't even glance at the other three. "Captain may know. He's in his office."
"Captain's right here," a voice comes from the right side door and they look to the tall, thin man who steps down the single step from the office and approaches. The man's short black hair tends to gray at the temples while the two receding areas over his eyes define a widow's peak, but much of his physique makes Tony put him at 70 approaching 62.
"Captain?" He makes the introductions of his team, who display their credentials.
"Good to meet you. The name's Gage. John Gage."
x
"Captain, we'd like to speak to you about one of your former members."
"He in trouble?"
"She. Is there some place we can talk?"
"Right this way."
The office on their right is faux wood paneled and its most prominent features, beyond the foot high replica of their shield, are the dozens of Certificates and Awards for the Aventine Ambulance Service which fill the walls. A glance at several of them is enough to show that this organization, more than thirty years old, is the beneficiary of a grateful community and such recognition is displayed with well warranted pride. In the corner to their left is a rectangles filled white board on an easel, days across the top, many names comprising the left column and a complex of assignments marked.
There are two chairs before the desk but Gage steps out, turns right to another room toward the rear and returns with a third chair which he places between the other two, this a well padded one that he offers to Ziva. He then steps around his desk to face the seated trio.
"So, what can I do for you?"
"We're looking into an incident involving one of your former members, Annette Saunders."
Gage looks back into the past. "Saunders... Saunders... Sorry, I–."
"She went missing twenty one years ago."
"Twenty one years? I know things get backlogged, but this has to be a record. Well, that predates me, I'm here for four. Twenty one years ago..." again that backward look, "I was Chief of Battalion 14, LA Fire Department."
"Retired?" It isn't much of a question.
Gage grins. "I was, but it's too much work doing nothing so I gave it up. But these days I leave the Rescues to the kids; I just hold the reins and teach."
"How many people do you have?"
"We have a crew of thirty two, but since we're a volunteer organization most of us, other than me, do this one or two days per week, usually three to four of us on twelve hour shifts. Most of our income comes from the Community and Grants," with a wave of his hand he indicates the framed certificates behind him and to each side as he stands up, "so everything goes to equipment and supplies.
"We get a pittance," he says, stepping to their left and opening a file cabinet in the corner, "but it's way less than minimum wage. We're mostly Paramedics, which is what I started as over forty years ago in LA, and we have a few Nurses and EMTs. I collect a good pension from the Department, and the others get a small stipend – very small, unfortunately – but we make up a lot in taxes for Volunteering. Here it is. Annette Saunders."
He brings a folder back to the desk and opens it. Whatever pleasure had been in his face fades as he reads the words presented. "This says she was with us for seven years, from twenty eight ago, and that one day she was just gone. Police, Naval Investigative Service," he looks up, "I presume that's you."
"Our old name. In fact, two of our bosses were on that original team."
"So now they hold the reins and teach?"
"Not exactly."
x
"Your agents interviewed my predecessor, that's two back by the way, but there's no final record. They thought she went AWOL, came here three times... nothing since." He looks the question.
"She was a Missing Person," Tony tells him. "She's been found."
"Dead."
It's not much of a stretch. Were she alive, they would not be here asking questions. "Yeah."
"I'm sorry." He closes the file. "What can we do? I imagine you – or rather those NIS Agents – have a lot more detail than I do."
"We were hoping to track down some of the people who worked with your group back then."
"To ask what the others didn't back then?" He shrugs. "This place has a small turnaround for the number of people we do have. Some people might stay on for ten, even fifteen years, but over twenty? No. Even those with us then, our contact information only applied to when they were on, and I figure you probably have that already. After they leave for one reason or another, we don't keep those records."
"Can we get a record of those who were on before those days?" It's a stretch that a former member might know anything, or have done anything, but he'll take what he can get. McGee can do his magic with the rest from the Archived files.
Gage considers. "I'd like to help. I really would. But I'd feel more comfortable if you had a Warrant. You bring me one and I'll give you Carte Blanche to all our records, for what good they might do."
xxx
Gibbs and Pride step up to the Receptionist in the basement Management Office of the Braddock Mall. The Mall itself is a sprawling complex consisting of more stores than any customer needs and anything not devoted to consumerism is tucked out of sight below ground. Everything from Receiving and Delivery to Storage for dozens of shops crowds the lower levels and Management is tucked between the Porters' Locker Room and Security, itself a seemingly insufficient amount of space for the numbers of people needed to protect this monument to rampant commercialism.
The last time Gibbs had been here his focus had been on the roof, first to rescue Lt. Cmdr. Amanda Wilkinson from suffocation in Ross Logan's car trunk where he had imprisoned her in a misguided attempt to 'teach her a lesson' in business practices; then to arrest Logan. He considers that this visit is not going to be as worthwhile.
"May I help you gentlemen?" the small and somewhat parched woman inquires. They display their credentials and Gibbs tells her that "We're here to speak to Jerome Devlin, your Food Court Assistant Manager."
Fortuitously, the door behind her opens and a gentleman steps out.
"Oh, Mr. Burns? These two Agents, NCIS," she specifies though they expect the man can read their regulation caps, "would like to speak to Mr. Devlin."
"May I ask what this is in reference to?" he asks Gibbs.
"No."
x
He's always wanted to do this and the current situation is an excellent opportunity. He and Pride have decided this time to use Franks' Method Five, also known as 'Good Cop, Bad Cop'. In this instance so he feels no need to wait to begin his role.
"Now Gibbs, more flies with honey than vinegar."
"I don't like flies."
Pride makes a subtle show of ignoring his irascible partner. "We'd like to speak to Mr. Devlin, who was a Material Witness in a case a little while ago. There have been some developments since we interviewed him and we'd like to see what additional information he may have. Is there some place we may meet with him?"
Burns considers very briefly. "This is somewhat short notice, gentlemen." He checks his watch, an unnecessary gesture. "It's gearing up for the dinner hour and Fridays are our busiest. Things are very busy upstairs."
"It won't take long."
He evidently gives up, knows he won't change a thing. "All right. I'm on my way upstairs. I'll take you to him and you can meet in his office."
"That will be fine."
xx
The Food Court is on the fourth floor - in fact it is the fourth floor, and consists of thirty three fast food choices from Arby's through Tong Wey Chinese that line the walls and surround several hundred table and four chair sets. Enough of those tables are occupied with early diners to satisfy the various crews that surround the room, but the agents know there is no such thing as satisfaction where sales are concerned.
Nonetheless, they're glad of the escort and follow him down a short corridor between a KFC and a Dairy Queen and through a set of doors into a shorter corridor with three doors on each side. Burns goes to the second door on their left and raps on it before opening it, not waiting for an answer.
"Jerry, some people to see you," he says by way of introduction.
The office is small and crowded, testimony to the priorities of the Mall. The desk and chair are immediately opposite the door. Cabinets, a computer on the desk and printer against the right wall opposite a Xerox machine, some varied accessories complete the inventory other than two uncomfortable looking white plastic chairs. Burns makes himself scarce immediately.
Devlin, seated before them, is tall and thin, graying with a hard expression and, to judge by that expression, doesn't seem to expect company. The years have not been kind to the man they'd interviewed several times two decades ago. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"
"Do you remember a woman by the name of Annette Saunders?" Pride asks.
"Annnnn... Wow, that's a blast from the past. Yeah. We dated, what, had to be something like twenty years ago. She disappeared one day. Went away, I thought, but never came back. Police questioned everyone in town. Navy agents too. She was in the Navy."
"They questioned you," Gibbs pushes. He remembers the then 25 year old but doubts he recognizes them. He won't push on that. Whether Devlin does or does not may mean quite a bit.
"I was in town."
"You ever hear anything about her after that?" Pride asks.
"No, but I have a feeling I'm going to. What is this?"
"She turned up yesterday."
Mild surprise, no fear - yet. "Where was she?"
"Walled up in her home," Gibbs says. He's a devotee of the 'sledgehammer between the eyes' method, but Devlin gives them surprise.
"No shit."
"And you're the last one to have seen her."
x
He thinks about this for a few moments. "That's not how I remember it. I remember not even seeing her the day she disappeared. When your partners from the Navy asked me, it'd been a few days."
"You got your dates wrong," Pride counters, quite content to have the man refer to Gibbs and himself in the third person. "According to the records, you met her at work and gave her a ride home."
This stops Devlin and he thinks again, longer. "No, that's not right. No, I hadn't seen her. What the hell is this? You trying to frame me for something?"
"You've had a couple of run ins with the law in the past few years," Gibbs reminds him. "ADW, Possession, Vehicular Violations." He won't mention the Domestic Abuse suspicion right now. Since Devlin's neighbors had made complaints that the wife didn't uphold and no evidence was available, no police action had been taken beyond logging the Complaints and determining them to be 'Unfounded'.
"Minor stuff. Well, the ADW wasn't minor, I'll give you, but I paid my time. I have nothing to do with what happened to Annette. I don't even know what happened to her."
"We paid a visit to your home to look for you, spoke to your wife."
It's interesting how quickly someone can go from fair faced to red. "You had no right to do that! Leave her out of this!"
"She was surprised to hear that Saunders was dead."
"Of course we're surprised! Neither of us had anything to do with that!"
Of that Gibbs has no doubt, at least as far as the wife. The woman had been four years old when Saunders went missing. "You have a bit of a temper, Jerry," he observes.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Before Annette Saunders was walled up in her home, someone worked her over pretty well." This isn't true, but Gibbs doesn't mind a little misdirection if it can shake loose truth.
"That has nothing to do with me. I didn't do a thing to her!"
"She was tortured, for a long time. Our M.E. is still counting the wounds."
"What does that have to do with me? Nothing!"
Pride shakes his head "There are complaints from your neighbors against you with Metro. Domestic abuse, I understand. What would we find if we subpoenaed your wife's medical records?"
Devlin is on his feet. "GET OUT!" I didn't do anything! You think otherwise, you damn well PROVE it but do it from out there! GET OUT before I call Security and have you THROWN out!"
xx
Gibbs and Pride leave Braddock Mall, feeling quite satisfied. Truly they have nothing to hold Devlin on; he has only one actual charge involving violence in his history and he did pay for that offense; but if this encounter undermines him, Jerry Devlin may well make a mistake – and they'll be watching.
Having received a report from McGee, Palmer and Brody on the voice mail of his till now turned off cell phone that they had learned less at the Norfolk 'Sewells Point Branch Medical Clinic' than Tony and his team had at the Aventine Ambulance Service, Gibbs returns the call to direct the agents to return, that they're done for the day. Of course, in today's traffic, they'll reach DC in about three hours.
"What did you get, McGee?"
/No joy, boss. Sewells Point started the AWOL Process after she was unaccounted for and notified NIS. There's a DA-4187, DD 553, 458, the whole works. She was never located. Only two people from those days are still on staff, they say they remember nothing./
"Keep looking. Palmer, get some Warrants for Debbie Devlin's Medical Records from her GP and the local Hospitals as well as from her Insurance carrier. You should be able to do all this from the car; otherwise you'll be putting in some overtime."
/Sir,/ her voice comes through tinny over the speaker phone, /I'm going to run into HIPPA restraints left and right even if I could send them Ducky's Death Certificate. I'm not even sure I can get around them for Saunders' stuff./
"Then you're definitely putting in overtime."
He snaps the phone closed but ten seconds later, as they head to the Hemi, anxious to get out of the heat, Pride's phone rings. He doesn't have to check the Caller ID nor guess at the purpose. It allows him to answer with "I've booked us in 'Transient Officers' at the Navy Yard."
/Six hours on my butt, you'd better have made them good./
xxx
Debbie Devlin has paced the house for hours, alternating late evening dinner preparations with trying to watch the late News programs, anxiously awaiting some news about Jerry. He hasn't called, she dares not leave the house lest he come home – is he coming home? – to find her not there.
When she hears the key turn in the lock her heart jumps. He's home. He's safe. Those damned Agents didn't do anything to him. When the door opens and she sees him step in her heart leaps. "Honey!" She rushes across the room but would skid on the carpet if it were possible when she sees his eyes. She's halted two feet from him, looking up into his hard eyes and tries to brazen it out. "How was your day?"
It sounds lame to her ears but nothing else will pass her lips. He shuts the door with exaggerated care and she wants to back away but her legs won't work.
"The Police came to me today," he tells her, his voice empty of all inflection. "Not the Police, Federal Agents."
"I..." She feels her blood rush to her head, her heart pounds so hard she thinks her chest must burst.
"They wanted to know about an old girlfriend." He takes a step toward her and now she can back away, but only a step to his. "She's dead." Another step, another back away on unsteady legs. "I found out they were here and talked to you."
"I di – didn't say anything." Her voice trembles despite her best efforts.
"No. You didn't." He steps closer, this time closing the distance. "You didn't even say anything to me." His hand moves faster than a striking snake. His fingers clench about her hair and he pulls her to him, the force bringing her off her feet with a sharp yelp. She must look up at him, knees bent, hands on his hips, looking up as he tilts her head. "They came to my office, and it was a big surprise."
"Darling, please..."
"But I forgive you," he says, his face close to hers, holding her still by the tight grip on her hair. "I forgive you."
"Darling–"
"In fact," he says, his face inches from hers, "I'm going to give you a present."
"What?"
xx
Across the driveway the separates the Devlin home from the Willis', Mindy is preparing for bed when a horrendous shriek fills the room, then another and another.
Her right hand flashes to her forehead, stomach and each shoulder as scream follows scream. Mindy covers her mouth as the shrieks tear at her soul.
She wants to cover her ears to shut out the shrill cacophony of agony. She looks to the phone on the night table but she doesn't go to it, knowing anything she could do is useless as the screams rise in pitch.