Jungle Fever (2/10)
Title: Jungle Fever
Author: Calliatra
Rating: FR15
Category: Gen
Pairing: None
Characters: Tony, the whole team
Genre: Casefile
Words: 1,882 (26,461 total)
Disclaimer: All recognizable NCIS characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: When a Petty Officer’s decapitated body is found it starts an investigation that spirals out of control and places Tony in grave danger.
Written for the Can Anybody Hear Me? Challenge and the Casefile Challenge at NFA and inspired by the Chinese Whisper Challenge.
Chapter Warnings: A decapitated body (though not described in detail)
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine
* * *
Chapter One: A Headless Petty Officer
“All I’m saying is that maybe there’s a reason your date stood you up, Tony. Has she, oh, I don’t know, spoken to you?” It was just another Tuesday morning in the NCIS headquarters and the squad room was filled with the kind of light banter that indicated the beginning of another workday, as the new shift took a moment to settle in before getting down to business. In the case of Gibbs’ team, it was also a good indication of the fact that their boss was nowhere to be seen.
“Very funny, McGiggles. I’ll have you know that she actually gave me her number before I ever had a chance to ask for it.”
“Well maybe she came to her senses.”
“Or maybe something came down and she could not make it?” Ziva offered.
“Up, Ziva, up.”
“Up?”
“Things come up, not down. Well, sometimes something comes down to something, but in this case something came up. Unless it didn’t and it just comes down to her standing me up.”
“Agh, this language is confusing! Why must simple words always change their meanings? How can I ever know if I am supposed to ‘come up’ or ‘go down’?”
“Only ones going down around here better be the dirtbags we take down.” Gibbs strode into the Squad Room, saving Tony from having to formulate a response. “Grab you gear. Dead petty officer found in a warehouse twenty minutes from here.”
*
The warehouse turned out to be part of an old and partially crumbling warehouse complex. The front gate had either been left open in anticipation of their arrival, or because no one saw any point in closing it. The only set of fresh tire tracks on the dirty pavement showed them the way, and soon they were pulling up next to a police car.
“What’ve we got, Detective?”
A heavy-set man in his mid-forties with a noticeably receding hairline tiredly looked up from his notebook as Gibbs approached him, flashing his badge. “Decapitated body. Male, Caucasian, looks to be about thirty, wearing a navy uniform. That’s why we called you guys.” Privately, Detective Reynolds was really hoping the navy cops would take this case off his workload. He already had three homicides with few suspects and even less evidence to deal with.
“Who found the body?”
“Security guard. Was making his rounds and noticed a door open that wasn’t supposed to be. Was pretty clear that guy was dead, so he called us right away. Told him to wait over there,” Detective Reynolds jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the uniformed security guard who was leaning against a wall, smoking, “Figured you folks might want a word with him.”
“Thanks, Detective.” Gibbs started off in the direction of the guard.
“That mean you takin’ this?” Reynolds called after him.
“We’re taking it,” Gibbs confirmed without turning around or breaking his stride. “DiNozzo, shoot and sketch, David, dust for prints, McGee, bag and tag.”
“On it, boss.”
“And what’s taking Ducky so long?”
“Well, you know, not everyone can cut down a half hour drive to fifteen minutes, Boss… not that I’d ever complain about your driving… Right. Shutting up and doing my job.”
Tony let out a breath when he caught sight of the body. “Yeesh. Definitely not how I would want to go.”
“Why not? Decapitation is usually smooth and swift. Just one cut and you are dead.” Trust Ziva to be practical about such things.
“That’s just it! It’s an execution, not a fight. If they can execute you, that means you’ve already lost; having your head cut off is just additional humiliation. No, I want to go down in a hail of bullets and a blaze of glory. Like Gerard Butler in 300, if they’d used bullets instead of arrows. Or Paul Newman and Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Well, except for the part where they’re the bad guys.
“I have never heard of them.”
“You don’t know Robert Redford? Seriously? Come one, The Candidate? Out of Africa?”
“I am not up to date on African politics.”
“They’re movies, Ziva. Really, really famous movies.”
“Well, why did you not just say so? Anyway, we should focus on the Petty Officer. Clearly he was not beheaded here.”
“Yeah, no blood. So this is just a dump site. But if it’s just a dump, why arrange the body so carefully? I mean, it wasn’t just tossed here. Whoever it was carefully put the head where it belongs, but left enough room in between it and the neck to make clear that it’s been cut off. It’s like the killer wanted to send a message.”
“A threat or a warning, perhaps?”
“But then why dump him here, where no one ever looks? If his death was supposed to scare others, shouldn’t he have been dumped where the others, whoever they are, could see him?”
“Maybe they witnessed the actual killing? Or at least the dumping of the body?”
“It’s possible. But in that case our killer must feel really safe, ‘cause he’d have at least one witness to his murder.”
“A gang, maybe, where the killer is high up enough that no one would dare to speak out against him?”
“Beheadings aren’t usually gang MO. No, there’s something definitely hinky about this.”
*
Up close, the security guard looked young, young and shaken. The hand holding his cigarette was trembling. In Gibbs’ estimation, the worst he’d seen on this job up until today was probably a couple of teenagers playing hooky.
“You find the body, Officer…?”
“Lambert, sir. Yes, I did, sir.”
“How?”
“I was doing my rounds just like usual, sir, and I saw that the side door to Warehouse C was slightly open. Everything’s supposed to be locked up tight, so I went and checked. The door looked like it had been jimmied, and when I pushed it open I saw… I saw the body, sir.”
“Did you go in? Touch anything?”
“No, sir, nothing except the door. I mean, the guy was clearly dead. I called the police right away.”
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary on your rounds?”
“No, sir. Everything was like it always is.”
“When was the last time you passed Warehouse C?”
“Yesterday morning. Security’s not very tight here, sir. I come in every morning at seven thirty to check if something happened during the night. I patrol the whole area, that takes me about an hour and a half, and then I leave.”
“There’s no security at all the rest of the time?”
“The gate is locked, sir. And there’s cameras set up, but they don’t work. There’s nothing here anyone would want to steal, mostly just packing materials and stuff.”
“So anyone could have come and gone here undetected anytime after 0900 yesterday.”
“Uh, I guess, sir.”
“Who knows about that? Who makes your schedule?”
“I get my schedule from the security company I work for, sir. It’s been the same for this place ever since I started three years ago. Anyone could know that, it’s not exactly secret. There’s not that many homeless in this area, but the few who are figured out to stay out sight in the mornings pretty quickly. I don’t know who knows about the cameras, though, sir.”
“All right. Call us if you think of something else that might help.”
“Yes, sir.” Gibbs handed him a business card with a curt nod and headed over to Ducky, who had just arrived and was kneeling next to the body.
“We got a name yet, Duck?”
“According to his ID, this young man is Petty Officer Third Class Jeffrey Thorne.”
“Time of death?”
“The body is in full rigor, which indicates that Petty Officer Thorne has likely been dead for eight hours at least, but not more than, say, thirty hours. Probably somewhat closer to the latter, as a cold environment such as this one slows the conversion of glycogen into lactic acid, which is of course what causes rigor mortis. But really, Jethro,” here the Medical Examiner looked up reproachfully, “a little patience could go a long way. If you would at least give me the time to insert the liver probe before asking, I could give you a far more exact estimate, you know.”
Properly chastened, Gibbs waited only slightly impatiently.
“Ah, here we go. Core body temperature is 61.2 degrees Fahrenheit, and with an environmental temperature of 34 degrees, that puts the time of death at… approximately 21 hours ago.”
“Noon yesterday.”
“It would appear so. Of course, that is only an approximation. Our Petty Officer could have died anywhere between 16 and 25 hours ago. Ordinarily one would expect the body to be slightly further along the path of decomposition, but the cold accounts for the slowing of that process as well.”
“Gotcha, Duck. I guess I shouldn’t ask yet if the cause of death is what it looks like?”
“No, I daresay you should know better, Jethro.”
“All right. Let me know as soon as you have something.” Gibbs didn’t wait around for an answer, instead heading off to examine the back of the warehouse for signs of recent disturbance.
“So, Tony,” Ziva started, in a suspiciously casual voice, “What is her name?” They had moved to examine the broken lock on the side door, and were therefore out of their boss’ earshot.
“Whose name? If you mean our petty officer, he’s a guy. Unless you know something that I don’t…”
“Her name. The woman you haven’t stopped thinking about since last night. The one who did not come to your date.”
“What makes you think I haven’t stopped thinking about her? I didn’t even get to know her!”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t even have a chance to start liking her, so I must be deeply upset about her? I think you need to double-check your logic there, Zee-vah.”
“It is not about liking her, it is about you. She stood you up and you don’t understand why she would do that to you.”
“Or maybe I just figure it’s her loss and forget about it. I can get a date with a hot chick any day of the week if I want to.”
“Yes, but going out with a ‘hot chick’ will not help you answer the questions about the one from last night.”
“Oh, come on, do you seriously think-”
“Uh, guys? I think you should take a look at this.” The tone of McGee’s voice had Tony and Ziva at his side in an instant, with Gibbs only a second behind. They were now on the very far side of the windowless warehouse, and the only light was coming through the cracks in the ceiling. Tony crouched next to his partner and squinted into the semi-darkness, trying to see what he was staring at. A large crate stood out as a darker shadow, its top now at his eye level. There seemed to be something on top of it, an odd, small shape… Then McGee shined his flashlight onto the crate, and he suddenly found himself face to face with a dead squirrel. A beheaded dead squirrel.
“Okay, this officially just went from weird to really creepy.”
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Author: Calliatra
Rating: FR15
Category: Gen
Pairing: None
Characters: Tony, the whole team
Genre: Casefile
Words: 1,882 (26,461 total)
Disclaimer: All recognizable NCIS characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: When a Petty Officer’s decapitated body is found it starts an investigation that spirals out of control and places Tony in grave danger.
Written for the Can Anybody Hear Me? Challenge and the Casefile Challenge at NFA and inspired by the Chinese Whisper Challenge.
Chapter Warnings: A decapitated body (though not described in detail)
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine
* * *
Chapter One: A Headless Petty Officer
“All I’m saying is that maybe there’s a reason your date stood you up, Tony. Has she, oh, I don’t know, spoken to you?” It was just another Tuesday morning in the NCIS headquarters and the squad room was filled with the kind of light banter that indicated the beginning of another workday, as the new shift took a moment to settle in before getting down to business. In the case of Gibbs’ team, it was also a good indication of the fact that their boss was nowhere to be seen.
“Very funny, McGiggles. I’ll have you know that she actually gave me her number before I ever had a chance to ask for it.”
“Well maybe she came to her senses.”
“Or maybe something came down and she could not make it?” Ziva offered.
“Up, Ziva, up.”
“Up?”
“Things come up, not down. Well, sometimes something comes down to something, but in this case something came up. Unless it didn’t and it just comes down to her standing me up.”
“Agh, this language is confusing! Why must simple words always change their meanings? How can I ever know if I am supposed to ‘come up’ or ‘go down’?”
“Only ones going down around here better be the dirtbags we take down.” Gibbs strode into the Squad Room, saving Tony from having to formulate a response. “Grab you gear. Dead petty officer found in a warehouse twenty minutes from here.”
*
The warehouse turned out to be part of an old and partially crumbling warehouse complex. The front gate had either been left open in anticipation of their arrival, or because no one saw any point in closing it. The only set of fresh tire tracks on the dirty pavement showed them the way, and soon they were pulling up next to a police car.
“What’ve we got, Detective?”
A heavy-set man in his mid-forties with a noticeably receding hairline tiredly looked up from his notebook as Gibbs approached him, flashing his badge. “Decapitated body. Male, Caucasian, looks to be about thirty, wearing a navy uniform. That’s why we called you guys.” Privately, Detective Reynolds was really hoping the navy cops would take this case off his workload. He already had three homicides with few suspects and even less evidence to deal with.
“Who found the body?”
“Security guard. Was making his rounds and noticed a door open that wasn’t supposed to be. Was pretty clear that guy was dead, so he called us right away. Told him to wait over there,” Detective Reynolds jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the uniformed security guard who was leaning against a wall, smoking, “Figured you folks might want a word with him.”
“Thanks, Detective.” Gibbs started off in the direction of the guard.
“That mean you takin’ this?” Reynolds called after him.
“We’re taking it,” Gibbs confirmed without turning around or breaking his stride. “DiNozzo, shoot and sketch, David, dust for prints, McGee, bag and tag.”
“On it, boss.”
“And what’s taking Ducky so long?”
“Well, you know, not everyone can cut down a half hour drive to fifteen minutes, Boss… not that I’d ever complain about your driving… Right. Shutting up and doing my job.”
Tony let out a breath when he caught sight of the body. “Yeesh. Definitely not how I would want to go.”
“Why not? Decapitation is usually smooth and swift. Just one cut and you are dead.” Trust Ziva to be practical about such things.
“That’s just it! It’s an execution, not a fight. If they can execute you, that means you’ve already lost; having your head cut off is just additional humiliation. No, I want to go down in a hail of bullets and a blaze of glory. Like Gerard Butler in 300, if they’d used bullets instead of arrows. Or Paul Newman and Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Well, except for the part where they’re the bad guys.
“I have never heard of them.”
“You don’t know Robert Redford? Seriously? Come one, The Candidate? Out of Africa?”
“I am not up to date on African politics.”
“They’re movies, Ziva. Really, really famous movies.”
“Well, why did you not just say so? Anyway, we should focus on the Petty Officer. Clearly he was not beheaded here.”
“Yeah, no blood. So this is just a dump site. But if it’s just a dump, why arrange the body so carefully? I mean, it wasn’t just tossed here. Whoever it was carefully put the head where it belongs, but left enough room in between it and the neck to make clear that it’s been cut off. It’s like the killer wanted to send a message.”
“A threat or a warning, perhaps?”
“But then why dump him here, where no one ever looks? If his death was supposed to scare others, shouldn’t he have been dumped where the others, whoever they are, could see him?”
“Maybe they witnessed the actual killing? Or at least the dumping of the body?”
“It’s possible. But in that case our killer must feel really safe, ‘cause he’d have at least one witness to his murder.”
“A gang, maybe, where the killer is high up enough that no one would dare to speak out against him?”
“Beheadings aren’t usually gang MO. No, there’s something definitely hinky about this.”
*
Up close, the security guard looked young, young and shaken. The hand holding his cigarette was trembling. In Gibbs’ estimation, the worst he’d seen on this job up until today was probably a couple of teenagers playing hooky.
“You find the body, Officer…?”
“Lambert, sir. Yes, I did, sir.”
“How?”
“I was doing my rounds just like usual, sir, and I saw that the side door to Warehouse C was slightly open. Everything’s supposed to be locked up tight, so I went and checked. The door looked like it had been jimmied, and when I pushed it open I saw… I saw the body, sir.”
“Did you go in? Touch anything?”
“No, sir, nothing except the door. I mean, the guy was clearly dead. I called the police right away.”
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary on your rounds?”
“No, sir. Everything was like it always is.”
“When was the last time you passed Warehouse C?”
“Yesterday morning. Security’s not very tight here, sir. I come in every morning at seven thirty to check if something happened during the night. I patrol the whole area, that takes me about an hour and a half, and then I leave.”
“There’s no security at all the rest of the time?”
“The gate is locked, sir. And there’s cameras set up, but they don’t work. There’s nothing here anyone would want to steal, mostly just packing materials and stuff.”
“So anyone could have come and gone here undetected anytime after 0900 yesterday.”
“Uh, I guess, sir.”
“Who knows about that? Who makes your schedule?”
“I get my schedule from the security company I work for, sir. It’s been the same for this place ever since I started three years ago. Anyone could know that, it’s not exactly secret. There’s not that many homeless in this area, but the few who are figured out to stay out sight in the mornings pretty quickly. I don’t know who knows about the cameras, though, sir.”
“All right. Call us if you think of something else that might help.”
“Yes, sir.” Gibbs handed him a business card with a curt nod and headed over to Ducky, who had just arrived and was kneeling next to the body.
“We got a name yet, Duck?”
“According to his ID, this young man is Petty Officer Third Class Jeffrey Thorne.”
“Time of death?”
“The body is in full rigor, which indicates that Petty Officer Thorne has likely been dead for eight hours at least, but not more than, say, thirty hours. Probably somewhat closer to the latter, as a cold environment such as this one slows the conversion of glycogen into lactic acid, which is of course what causes rigor mortis. But really, Jethro,” here the Medical Examiner looked up reproachfully, “a little patience could go a long way. If you would at least give me the time to insert the liver probe before asking, I could give you a far more exact estimate, you know.”
Properly chastened, Gibbs waited only slightly impatiently.
“Ah, here we go. Core body temperature is 61.2 degrees Fahrenheit, and with an environmental temperature of 34 degrees, that puts the time of death at… approximately 21 hours ago.”
“Noon yesterday.”
“It would appear so. Of course, that is only an approximation. Our Petty Officer could have died anywhere between 16 and 25 hours ago. Ordinarily one would expect the body to be slightly further along the path of decomposition, but the cold accounts for the slowing of that process as well.”
“Gotcha, Duck. I guess I shouldn’t ask yet if the cause of death is what it looks like?”
“No, I daresay you should know better, Jethro.”
“All right. Let me know as soon as you have something.” Gibbs didn’t wait around for an answer, instead heading off to examine the back of the warehouse for signs of recent disturbance.
“So, Tony,” Ziva started, in a suspiciously casual voice, “What is her name?” They had moved to examine the broken lock on the side door, and were therefore out of their boss’ earshot.
“Whose name? If you mean our petty officer, he’s a guy. Unless you know something that I don’t…”
“Her name. The woman you haven’t stopped thinking about since last night. The one who did not come to your date.”
“What makes you think I haven’t stopped thinking about her? I didn’t even get to know her!”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t even have a chance to start liking her, so I must be deeply upset about her? I think you need to double-check your logic there, Zee-vah.”
“It is not about liking her, it is about you. She stood you up and you don’t understand why she would do that to you.”
“Or maybe I just figure it’s her loss and forget about it. I can get a date with a hot chick any day of the week if I want to.”
“Yes, but going out with a ‘hot chick’ will not help you answer the questions about the one from last night.”
“Oh, come on, do you seriously think-”
“Uh, guys? I think you should take a look at this.” The tone of McGee’s voice had Tony and Ziva at his side in an instant, with Gibbs only a second behind. They were now on the very far side of the windowless warehouse, and the only light was coming through the cracks in the ceiling. Tony crouched next to his partner and squinted into the semi-darkness, trying to see what he was staring at. A large crate stood out as a darker shadow, its top now at his eye level. There seemed to be something on top of it, an odd, small shape… Then McGee shined his flashlight onto the crate, and he suddenly found himself face to face with a dead squirrel. A beheaded dead squirrel.
“Okay, this officially just went from weird to really creepy.”
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