Chapter Twelve
Investigations
"As soon as you finish unpacking the truck," Gibbs told his team when they'd entered the green bungalow set at the top of a small rise off the main road, "Ziva, interview this Dawn Caldwell." He placed McGee's laptop onto the living room table and turned on the light over it. The four maps he set beside it had identical markings showing the locations of all three crime scenes. "Probe everything, especially what Abby hasn't told us."
The woman nodded silently. There had probably been a great deal withheld and she didn't think Abby was going to be the best witness.
"DiNozzo, you take Higgins' place; photos and sketches. Go over it with a fine tooth comb. I want you in and out before State Police know you were there. Then drive to the hospital and interview her. McGee, get on this thing and get me everything there is on all three victims."
For the Nth time he wished he still had the late Caitlin Todd on his team. She was the Profiler and he could certainly use her skills now. Their quarry, whoever he was, grew more bold and violent by the day. Gibbs was certain that, when he struck again, he would leave a bloody trail of dead women.
Presently their jurisdiction extended only to Lt. Christine Martinka. He had to know everything that the State Police knew, and more, preferably without getting their backs up by asking. At the moment, they had the advantage of being on the spot, where the Troopers didn't have the resources to stake out any of three crime scenes and attend to an entire county. They were also more maneuverable than the LEOs. He would take advantage of all that.
"What are you going to do, boss?" DiNozzo asked.
"I'm going back to Martinka's place, walk the grounds again. Despite eye-witnesses, no one runs through the woods at one in the morning on a cloudy night without a flash."
xx
A half hour later Gibbs stood in the yard behind the pale blue structure, digital camera in hand, looking at the trees and branches and shrubbery that tried to encroach upon the tended lawn. It took little more than a few seconds to locate disturbed leaves, and thin pliable branches that did not quite lay exactly as untended nature intended them to. Certain blades of grass were flattened and a single leaf torn by a foot as the runner passed over it.
Snapping picture after picture, he decided he had to give grudging admiration to his quarry. A city dweller, faced with this much obstacle, would have torn a path through the brush that a veritable blind man could read. As it was, no one could make the journey perfectly, but evidence of his passage had certainly been kept to a minimum.
Satisfied he had everything in the camera's memory that he needed from the yard, he stepped in carefully, continuing to photograph as he went. Every few feet he stopped and checked the side of the house to his left, where the witnesses, interrupted in fragrante dilecto, had watched the killer's retreat. When he could no longer see their window for the brush about him he stopped, looked about and smiled.
There, on the ground before him, was the prize.
Some time during the night, hidden yards from the house wherein his unsuspecting victim lived, the perp had paused, crouching low to the ground, waiting for some unknown moment of opportunity. He'd knelt on one knee and pressed the impression of that knee into the leaves. And in this time of preparation and anticipation this so careful rapist, who used latex gloves to hide fingerprints, a condom to withhold DNA samples and a black hood to blind his victims, also steadily drove into the ground the perfect imprint of the sole of his left sneaker.
Snapping picture after picture, Gibbs covered this spot and the entire area. He didn't have to pursue his quarry through the woods. It was very likely that, when he thought he was out of sight, his run had turned to a careful walk, but Gibbs had what he needed.
Starting back to his car, careful not to disturb anything, he put the camera back into his pocket and unlocked his trunk. Very shortly, armed with a bottle of water, a spoon, a mixing bowl and a box of plaster of Paris, he would have his man.
xxx
"I do not want to upset you." Ziva David assured the blonde woman as she sat in a chair pulled up to and facing the couch in the living room, as unthreatening and unintimidating an expression on her face as she could manage. The couch looked toward the television, while behind it a large picture window provided an ample view of the front of the property and the packed dirt road. Ziva tried to ignore the music of Mozart's 'Symphony #40 in G minor', the sharp notes threatening to become distracting. Her hostess had not agreed with her suggestion to turn off the music, her shaken head a passive but firm denial. The young woman had said she was recapturing her music and would never willingly be without it again. It was not going to be the melody reminding her of her rape, it was the essence of her joy in life – and it was hers!
Dawn, wearing a long white dress now because her former clothes had been ruined, had the front buttoned tight to her neck, cuffs buttoned at her wrists and a fan blowing to compensate for the full clothing. She sat on the couch facing her, clasped hands closing spasmodically against one another, over and over. She held them, not on her lap, but close to her stomach. She sat pressed back into the cushions, still unable to prevent her body language from screaming distrust and apprehension. The large window let in plenty of light to shine upon her yet her soul seemed mired in darkness.
Abby sat on the couch beside her, close enough to be reassuring, but not touching her. She held still, not doing anything in word or body to influence her friend in any way. Ziva couldn't help but be stricken by the contradiction between the white clad blonde beauty and the dark Goth woman beside her.
"I know it is going to be difficult, but I need you to tell me, in as much detail as you can, everything you can remember about that morning."
"I've spent the past two days trying to forget." Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, and she could meet Ziva's dark eyes for only a second at a time. "Every time I think of it I can feel his slimy hands on me. Those gloves he wore make my skin crawl. I can't sleep because he comes to me in my dreams and does it again. I can't eat – every time I try it just comes back up. I can't go out because he's out there. I can't stay in because I'm not safe here. The only time I was safe was in Abby's apartment…."
Ziva could not restrain a smile at the thought of anyone considering herself 'safe' in the reputed mausoleum that the dark woman called an apartment. She had heard stories about the place and she had no desire to go there. She watched Abby reach out and touch Dawn's arm with her hand. The younger woman clutched it in what must have been a painfully tight grip, hanging on as though it was her only chance for salvation.
Ziva wished the Goth Princess would leave and let her conduct the … she almost thought 'interrogation', but it was not. It was an interview, and maybe Abby's presence could be in some way beneficial – if the woman had enough sense to keep her mouth shut.
x
Ziva saw Caldwell recoil, press further back into the couch, and realized some of her thoughts must have shown on her face, a hardening of her features. She forced herself to relax, to adopt a calm and non-threatening aspect, to separate what that brutal rapist they hunted had done to this girl from what she would do to Abby when they finally settle their account for that demonstration in the lab.
Tim's appeal, heartfelt though it was and very nearly convincing, had only delayed the settlement of that score. It is not going to cancel it.
x
"I am not going to lie to you," she tells the apprehensive woman. "You are going to have these feelings, and these fears, for a long time to come."
"Thanks so much," Dawn said, trying to manage a smile, but it was gone even before fully born.
"There is one way to fight it and win – and that is to take back your life, to take charge of your life, and to put this bastard into the ground."
"Not behind bars?" Dawn seemed shocked by the bald statement. It was not what she had expected from a Law Enforcement Officer. The woman had identified herself as 'Officer'; not 'Agent', David; so this stand was slightly more confusing.
"If that's what you wish. Personally, I would kill the bastard."
"I'd love to," she said feelingly.
"The best way to do that, to take him out of this life, is to remember, now, everything you can about him. Everything we can use to match up with his other victims, and catch him."
"Yes!" Dawn exclaimed with a burst of passion, almost leaping forward. "I want him caught. I want to get him, to … to …" She looked at Abby for help. "To…" She looked at Ziva, sensing a darker soul, but though she floundered helplessly she could not come up with a word, with a concept, with anything to put thought and intent into the desire.
There was no violence in her heart. She didn't know hatred, nor revenge, not like that. It wasn't a part of her life. She could not remember a time when there had ever been. Now when she really wanted it, she couldn't find any.
xxx
"What a waste." Jimmy Palmer couldn't keep the observation to himself as he looked down through the protective plastic mask he wore at the nude figure upon the Autopsy table. The woman's body was white/grey from the near total loss of blood, save for the dark mottling that spotted her flesh, every mark a testament to pain. "He sure worked her over."
"That he did, Mr. Palmer," Ducky's own voice is slightly muffled by his plastic face shield. "That he did." He turned on the large lamp and light flooded the body. "Worse than the bruises inflicted long enough before her death to be all too apparent are these wounds to her breasts. Note the distinctive shape of the simulated teeth."
"The plastic ones Abby celled us about on the way out."
"Indeed." While he was not sanguine about the woman's use of a cellular conference call on the long trip to Virginia, it had at least brought the entire team up to speed on the case. The marks on the Lieutenant's breasts were deep indentations of mass produced false teeth marketed mostly in novelty stores as 'Vampire-' or 'Werewolf Fangs'. They had been altered to remove the points of the fangs in the upper and lower jaws, so they left deep indentations of round holes in place of dental impressions. "Where the marks on Miss Caldwell had smoothed out by the time the pictures were taken, these were inflicted pre-, peri or post-mortem, very close to the time of death. Therefore the flesh had no opportunity to return to its normal state, as it would have were blood continuing to flow."
"Why do you suppose he did it? Just to torture?"
"I've never been able to understand such things myself, though Lord knows I have seen more than my share." His grim tone grew angry, outrage in every word. "A woman's breasts, Mr. Palmer, are designed for gentle touches and stroking, for loving caresses, kisses and the occasional lick. They are not intended to be bitten into like beefsteak. What was done to this woman is nothing short of monstrous."
x
"Why do you suppose he shot her in the … well, there?"
"We do not know – yet," he said, one finger lifted in emphasis. "But I intend to find out. But first, I want to see what evidence can be obtained from dried perspiration on Lt. Martinka's body. Last night was particularly hot and humid, even in those hills. In the first two assaults, a solution of ammonia and bleach was used to destroy any DNA evidence, but this time he shot her and had to flee immediately. I detect no odor of bleach or ammonia, I think we may get lucky. Get a specimen kit, my boy." As Palmer crossed the room to get the requested materials, Ducky reached for the woman's knees, but then paused, looking up at her white face. "I'm terribly sorry about this, my dear," he said. "I know it's an intrusion, but it's the only way."
"Abby says Dawn Caldwell wasn't beaten," Palmer pointed out from across the room, "though Dorothy Higgins was, enough to put her into the hospital. But I understand she wasn't beaten so badly."
"No," Ducky said, pausing, grateful for the momentary hesitation, if even for so distressing a reason. "Our murderer is becoming more violent, more out of control, with every assault. It happens all too frequently that the perpetrator's personality actually fragments as his self control diminishes and thus his violence increases. My great fear is that he will follow the established pattern and strike again tonight – and may Heaven help that poor woman."
xxx
"All right," Gibbs began as his team assembled in the living room of the rented cottage, "what have we got?"
McGee looked up from the laptop on the table before him. In the middle of that table was a three inch high plaster cast of the sole of a left sneaker. It represented their most direct clue to date.
"Lieutenant Martinka was 43 years old, and has been an Instructor at Annapolis for the past nine years. She specialized in Applied Math; ballistics, navigation, anything having to do with the mathematics of motion. Prior to that, she served on several ships before deteriorating vision barred her from Active service. Since leaving the Yorktown in 1997, she could have taken a Disability Discharge but stayed on, being posted to Annapolis with a Masters, then Ph. D, in Math.
"She was married to an Antony Martinka, no 'h', in 1983. He died in an auto accident in January, 1996.
"She enlisted in 1981; her twenty five years are actually up in three weeks. She was retiring with a full pension. She had submitted her papers prior to going on furlough on Saturday. The time share had been booked to begin then.
"She has already been hired by MIT and, looking over some of her work, I would love to have had her as a Professor. I read her Masters in 'Chaos Theory'. Brilliant; absolutely brilliant." No one mentioned it was also brilliant that, at 43, she could go another 20 years plus at MIT before officially retiring with two pensions.
"What can you tell me about her that has some bearing on this case?" Gibbs demanded, in no mood for divergence. If he wanted that, he'd call Ducky.
"I think I know why she was shot."
Gibbs waited until his patience was exhausted, all of four seconds. "Are you going to make me guess?"
"No, boss; it's just that you usually…." He saw the deadly look in the man's eyes and wisely shut up. "This is not the first time she's been assaulted. Her record shows it happened about fourteen years ago while Lieutenant, then Ensign Martinka, was overseas. Apparently she fought off her attacker after leaving him unsatisfied." Tim made the mistake of pausing just then, and when he met Gibbs' eyes the latter's orbs were like lasers. "It seemed she relaxed completely, internally as well as externally, depriving him of any sensation or gratification. When he grew frustrated and careless, she fought him off."
No one said anything, but each considered that something that had worked in the past would be tried again. Sadly, the conclusion this time was far different.
x
"Can you get Ducky on that thing?" Gibbs asked, remembering the reservations Tim had had earlier about connection speed.
"I've already established a link with Autopsy, but the image will be jumpy. 56k is just not suitable for live stream."
"I'll live with it. Call him up." As Tim worked the controls, the rest of the team gathered behind him. It took a few seconds for a still picture of the Morgue in the lowest level of NCIS Headquarters to appear, courtesy of the camera set in the ceiling. Ducky and Palmer were on either side of a silver table upon which lay the face down body of Christine Martinka. A moment later the image was refreshed, Ducky and Palmer in slightly different positions. Seconds passed and they appear in other positions. Gibbs looked at Tim, who could only shrug.
"Ducky?" At least sound was working. When the image refreshed again, Mallard was looking up at the elevated camera.
"Ah, Jethro, right on time." The still image changed disconcertingly; this time Palmer was also looking up and Ducky had taken a step back. The computer continued to update the picture at two second intervals, the result being like watching a slide show rather than a movie.
"What have you got for me?"
x
The next image had Mallard partially turned to the body, his gloved hand over the supine woman's back. He was pointing to a spot on her lower back, but the image was too distant for them to make out any detail on the white body. "The Cause of Death was a single gunshot, the weapon inserted at least four inches into the vaginal canal." Another change. "The bullet destroyed the cervix, skimmed the uterus, and then broke through the sacrum. Abby will be able to tell us what sort of gun it was when we retrieve the bullet, which we were just about to do. The bullet," the image changed again, Ducky's hand was pointing to a spot slightly higher over the woman's body, "then exited the lumbar region, traveled almost parallel to the floor when her convulsion, doubtless in fear at the realization of what was going to happen to her, raised her upper body off the floor." The image updated, he was standing near her head." It took three slide changes to cover this and Gibbs gives serious consideration to not watching.
"The bullet reentered at the base of her skull, near the foramen magnum, destroyed the medulla oblongata, cerebrum and pierced the cerebellum. X-rays show it's lodged in her skull, near the crown. Death, as I said earlier, was instantaneous."
"Can you tell if there was any contraction of her muscles, or if she held herself limp during the rape?" Now Ducky instantly changed from back to to facing the camera.
"I'll let you know what I find. There is considerable vaginal tearing and bruising, plenty of evidence to display the violence of the attack. Oh, by the way, a test for DNA samples was made; the results are on their way to Abby's lab for when she gets back." When the picture changed, he had turned and his hand was over her torso. "This time, he did not have time to apply any deleterious compounds to her breasts. I also found considerable dried perspiration, mostly his I expect because there is none present except on the front of her body."
"Well done, Ducky. Keep me informed if you find anything else."
Mallard had returned his attention to the body before him. "Will do." McGee broke the disconcerting link, and they were happy to see it go.
x
"DiNozzo, what did you get?"
"Not a whole lot, boss." Tony confessed, hating the perceived failute. "The house was locked up tight, Crime Scene tape everywhere. I could have picked the lock, but the pictures I got from outside the window were good enough. There was a northward facing window and two easterly. I didn't want to overplay my hand." He refrained from alluding to the number of times he'd broken into buildings in the course of an investigation. This time it seemed the better part of valor to be cautious. No point in putting the Troopers' backs up until they absolutely had to – and Gibbs would be the one to make that call.
"I drove into town to the hospital to try to interview the vic; but she's firmly entrenched on that river in Egypt." Gibbs turned his lasers upon DiNozzo. "I tried talking to her, but she didn't want to. She wasn't raped, the bruises are because she slipped and fell getting out of the tub, you know."
"Yeah, Tony, I know," His disgust flooded the room.
"The more I asked, the madder she got, until I figured it was best to save some good will for later and get out of there. Sorry, boss."
"Not your fault." He wished it weren't the same story over and over again. So far, the only one who could, or would, give them any testimony was Caldwell.
x
"What about the records from 'Magnum P.I.'?" Tony asked, watching McGee wince.
Tim bent down and drew a sheaf of computer printouts from the floor. It was the old time yellow and green paper that used to be fed through a dot matrix printer, which had made a hell of a racket when spewing out the pages.
"These are listings of every resident on both lakes."
"What is this?" Gibbs asked, barely credulous. He could hardly believe McGee had limited himself only to the material that had been handed to them. "Couldn't you just find out from their computer?" He refrained from using the word 'hack'. It was illegal without a Search Warrant, though he had looked the other way more times than he could count when Tim pulled some essential and cryptic fact from his magic machine.
"Sorry, boss. That only works when the system is active, and their computer is turned off." He believed that Magnum suspected he might do that very thing, and had kept him out simply but very efficiently. All very justified, of course; it was after 5:00, and 'who left an office computer on all night'? He very wisely refrained from saying this, however.
"Wonderful. Technology strikes again. Well, we'll do it the old fashioned way. What do the printouts tell you?"
"They're just a list, no real breakdowns. They tell names, locations, phone numbers, occupations, not a whole lot more. It's nothing but a database with the most basic fields selected for printing." He suspected they'd need a Warrant for more.
Gibbs looked out the window. It was starting to grow quite dim, and when night fell, it would do so with a crash, like the dropping of a black curtain over everything. "All right, try again in the morning. When they boot up, get everything you think you can use."
"What about a Warrant?"
"Oh, yeah, McGee," he said in an afterthought tone, "get one of those too while you're at it." He checked his watch. "Meantime, that town meeting Magnum called will start in about an hour. I want to be there."
x
He turned to Ziva, conscious that she was restraining her impatience and not a small dose of anger. "What did you find out from Caldwell?"
"She is 'Willie Wanker'!" Ziva exclaimed angrily, glad to finally be able to vent. Tony tried to keep his chortle to himself but it was impossible. Tim hazarded a guess.
"'Wonka'?"
"Yes! Thank you. 'Wonka'. The girl is from Venus. She is the perfect choice for a teacher of kindergarten. To her, this world is all sweetness and light, and this is the first time the cruel dark has invaded her. Abby nicknamed her 'Sunshine', and the name certainly fits."
Gibbs considered her sustained anger. "Are you sure this isn't colored by her association with Abby?"
"No it is not." But then she reconsidered. "Well, maybe. The point is this woman has led an almost sheltered life. You should have seen them together. It was eerie, like watching Glinda and Elphaba. I do not know how those two could be friends."
"Who?"
Ziva is incredulous. "Come on, Gibbs, the Good Witch of the North and the Wicked Witch of the West. Wizard of Oz? Do not tell me there is a cultural reference that I know that you all do not."
"Actually," Tim pointed out helpfully, "Glinda and Elphaba were very good friends in the beginning. The story 'Wizard of Oz' was prequeled in a new book 'Wicked', and then they made a musical play from it."
"It was the other way around, Probie," DiNozzo said.
"I know; I have seen it." Ziva continued, ignoring DiNozzo." That's how I got 'Elphaba'. The point is, I do not see how Caldwell and Sciuto can be friends, but I will say this much: She is the perfect kindergarten teacher; all sweetness and light and patience and kindness and .…" Ziva actually shuddered. "When someone like that gets hit by the big bad world, they get hit hard."
Gibbs scrutinized her closely. "What did you say?"
x
Ziva missed a beat. "I said when someone like that gets –."
"No, you said 'kindergarten teacher'." The look on Gibbs' face clearly showed he wanted to smack himself in the back of the head. "Abby told me too, but I put nothing to it. And Lt. Martinka teaches Math related to Ballistics and Navigation." He turned to Tim. "What does Dorothy Higgins do for a living?" McGee stared at him blankly. "What – does – Dorothy – Higgins – do – for – a – living?" The forceful demand was projected more effectively than a shout, but by the second word McGee was frantically searching through the printout provided by the Administration office.
"She teaches Junior High History!"
"Would anybody care to guess the odds that three women, two single and one a widow but all up here on vacation alone – one for only four days before she's killed – are all teachers?"
"About a billion to one," DiNozzo said; his voice heavy.
"All right, next stop is that town meeting. In the meantime," he turned to McGee and the printout, "find me more teachers."