Chapter twelve

“Gibbs, I think I’ve got something.”

Gibbs had waited to hear those words since the first body had appeared, but until now, no one on his team had said the magic words. An hour had passed since he had given out his orders. Tony had vanished again, and McGee and Ziva had both worked studiously.

“Yeah, McGee?” Gibbs said, managing to keep his voice level.

“Well, uh, I was wrong – there is actually a dog registry,” McGee said. “Every dog over the age of six months has to get registered.”

“And?” Gibbs demanded.

“And I got a list of all the Dobermans registered in DC,” McGee said.

“You’d better have more than a list,” Gibbs said.

“Uh, yeah,” McGee said. “I do. I checked the list for all Navy personnel – there were a lot, which isn’t all that strange since—uh, well, never mind. But there were three of them that stood out.”

Gibbs didn’t ask; he let his glare speak for him.

McGee hit a few keys on his computer, and three mug shots came up on the plasma.

“These three were all dishonorably discharged from the Navy in the last five years,” McGee said. “Andrew Thompson, served time for assault, Joseph Monroe, served time for fraud, and James Doherty, also served time for assault.”

All three men stared at Gibbs from their pictures. Thompson and Monroe both looked like unpleasant people, but Gibbs had long since learned that appearances could be deceiving. Doherty had broad shoulders and almost boyish good looks; he did not look like someone who would serve time for assault.

“Are you saying one of these is our killer?” Gibbs asked.

“Um,” McGee said.

Ziva, who’d been working while McGee talked, said, “Thompson is dead. Died eleven months ago in cancer.”

“Well then, uh, that one is out,” McGee said. “I guess the list I’ve got is old.”

“Ya think?” Gibbs snapped.

“Monroe is working at a law firm,” Ziva continued, reading from a piece of paper. “How ironic – he is working on cases to do with fraud.”

“First hand knowledge,” McGee said.

“Indeed,” Ziva said. She smiled, ever so slightly. Gibbs realized that she hadn’t smiled at all since Tony disappeared. Gibbs was not the only one affected by them finally getting somewhere.

“Find out if he has an alibi,” Gibbs snapped. “What about Doherty?”

“I cannot find him,” Ziva said. “He was released from prison two years ago and he seems to have gone out of the radar for at least a year.”

“Off the radar,” McGee corrected.

“Yes,” Ziva said. “That.”

“Find him,” Gibbs said harshly.

His body was buzzing with adrenaline, built from the thrill of the chase, the dread of what they were going to find, and the anticipation of the finally being eye to eye with the madman and perhaps getting a chance to put a bullet between his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if – when – they found the murderer. Killing him almost seemed to easy, too clean a way out. Gibbs wanted the murderer to suffer the same way he had made Gibbs suffer – the same way he had most certainly made Tony suffer.

He headed downstairs to Abby, unable to stay still.

“Do you have anything for me, Abs?” Gibbs asked.

“I was just going to call you,” Abby said. “I think I found the kind of saw the killer used.”

“You think?” Gibbs asked.

“Well, I can’t say exactly which kind,” Abby said. “But it is your garden variety saw, pretty rough. He didn’t want any sharp, clean edges.”

“He wanted to recreate the cannibalism onboard the raft,” Gibbs said.

“Yeah, Ducky told me,” Abby said, making a face. “You’ll catch him, right, Gibbs?” She didn’t leave him time to answer. “I also matched the teeth marks Ducky gave me. They belong to—”

“A Doberman Pinscher,” Gibbs said.

Abby glared at him. “I hate it when you do that.”

“I know.”

“So how did you know?” she asked. “Even you couldn’t have told from the look of the bite.” She paused and smirked. “I know. Tony told you.”

“Yeah,” Gibbs said. “He remembered that there was a Doberman on the night he was kidnapped.”

His words sobered Abby up, her face falling. She looked very young, and Gibbs felt old by her side. “Is he okay?”

“His ghost or—”

“Both,” Abby said. “Please tell me he’s okay.”

“I can’t do that,” Gibbs said softly.

She bit her lip, looking at the floor. For a moment, Gibbs thought she was going to start crying again but then she took a deep breath and seemed to force it down. He was glad; although Abby was the one person he felt comfortable comforting he didn’t want to do it right now. His own emotional state was far too messed up, what with the events in the conference room, the bodies currently residing in autopsy, and the stress and pain of not knowing where Tony was or if he was alive at all.

“I went to the Magic Box,” Abby said after a moment of collecting herself. “Asked about ghosts.”

“And?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

“The owner, Mr. Giles, didn’t seem to think that my description of Tony fit with the definition of a ghost,” she said, voice a bit thick still. “For one thing, it apparently usually takes a lot longer than a week for a ghost to become visible to humans. And when it does manage, it usually can’t chose to just be visible to one person. For another, ghosts are supposed to be bound to a place, not a person.”

Gibbs frowned. He hated this magic stuff – he lived in the real world, not some fantasy where spells worked and ghosts existed. Then again, with Tony’s appearance, he might have to rethink his stance on what was ‘real’ and what was not.

“Then what does Mr. Giles think Tony is?” he asked.

“A spirit,” Abby said. “A soul, separated from his body.”

“How’s that different from a ghost?” He tried to follow, but didn’t.

“Lots of ways, according to Mr. Giles,” Abby said. She swallowed. “But what was important is – it’s possible for a soul to be separated from its body, without the body being dead.”

Gibbs’ breath hitched, his fingers tightening into fists. He could hear the beat of his own heart in his ears. Tony could still be alive? His incorporeal presence wasn’t conclusive proof of him being dead?

He realized that he had held onto the notion of Tony still being alive even as the days passed and the likelihood grew smaller. The pessimistic side of him told him Tony was dead – but a part of him refused to believe it. That part now rejoiced, as though Abby’s words somehow made it more likely that Tony was still alive, even though nothing had really changed.

He had to ask to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood. “He can still be alive?”

She gave a very small nod, eyes watering. “He’d have to be in a coma, or something like it, but—yeah.”

Gibbs pulled her in, molding her body against his own in a crushing hug, and she held on just as tightly, burying her face in her neck.

They stood still, together, both shaking, the world not quite existing around them. Gibbs knew he’d have to pull himself together and he would do it soon, but for now he just wanted to feel what he hadn’t felt in what felt like forever – hope.

He finally pulled back, schooling his face into one that didn’t so openly show his emotions. Abby’s makeup had run down her cheeks again, and she wiped at them.

“I’ll get back to work,” she said thickly.

He nodded. “I’ll send him down if he comes back today.”

She smiled slightly. “Thank you.”

He kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Abby.”

“He is simply gone,” Ziva said, obviously frustrated, pacing back and forth between the desks in the squad room.

“Doherty?” Gibbs asked as he stalked into the room.

“Yes,” Ziva said. “He is nowhere.”

“We checked the last known address – an apartment, but it’s been sold three times since Doherty moved out last year,” McGee said. “He left no forwarding address.”

“We have also tried finding telephone records, emails, bank statements, credit cards – and there is nothing,” Ziva said. “It’s like he doesn’t exist anymore.”

Gibbs almost smiled; it was as though she was taking the man’s disappearance as a personal offense. He stopped the smile before it had even begun to form – it wouldn’t do, not now – but also realized that like Ziva, he hadn’t really smiled in nearly two weeks. It was Tuesday; Tony had been gone twelve days. The thought made any and all positive feelings evaporate.

He stared up at the photo of Doherty on the screen. The boyish looks suddenly turned into something sinister, the dark brown eyes becoming nearly black. In his mind, the photo came to life and he saw Doherty walking down a dark street, street lights illuminating the world in tones of yellow. Before him, Tony walked, speaking on the phone. Doherty was waiting for his chance to strike. A black Doberman Pinscher walked beside him, obedient, ready to play its part.

“What about the dog?” Gibbs asked.

“What about it?” Ziva asked.

McGee frowned. “A dog needs to be walked – or at least have a garden of some kind. Trust me, they’re not happy if they have to stay inside all the time.”

“But what does that give us?” Ziva asked. “The list you received from the dog registry is obviously hardly new – and someone wanting to disappear would not register his dog. People walk dogs everywhere – we can hardly ask if anyone’s seen a man walk with a dog.”

Ziva was right.

Damn it.

“Put out a BOLO,” Gibbs said. “We have his mug shot; let’s see if someone recognizes it.”

“In two years he will have changed his looks,” Ziva said.

“Do you have any other ideas?” Gibbs snapped.

“What about his parents?” she asked, not quite snapping back but definitely not far from it. She met Gibbs’ gaze squarely, not backing down.

McGee’s fingers flew over his keyboard. “Parents are alive, they live in DC. Mother’s a nurse, father’s a dentist. No criminal records, except for a few parking tickets on Mr. Doherty.”

“Go talk to them,” Gibbs said.

“Now?” McGee asked.

“No, let’s wait until tomorrow, I’m sure DiNozzo won’t mind,” Gibbs snapped.

Unlike Ziva, McGee paled visibly at his words, and Gibbs gave himself a mental slap. McGee was stressed out enough as it was – they all were. Ducky was right, they didn’t need more crap from him.

He sighed. “Unless you come up with something vital, you can go home afterwards. Sleep, come back tomorrow morning.”

McGee swallowed, perhaps on the verge of saying something, but then stayed quiet. He and Ziva grabbed their gear and headed out side by side.

Soft footfalls alerted Gibbs to Director Vance, standing right standing behind him, perhaps thinking Gibbs hadn’t heard him come. There were very few people who could get near Gibbs without him knowing it and Vance was not one of them. Only people Gibbs trusted could sneak up on him; Vance would never be one of those select few.

“Got a lead?”

“Maybe,” Gibbs said.

“Care to share?” Vance asked, in a tone that said that it was not a suggestion.

“Found Williams this morning,” Gibbs said. “In two pieces. The upper part had been chewed on by a dog. Abby identified it as a Doberman Pinscher. McGee ran a check on owners of such dogs.”

“Anyone interesting?”

“One man we can’t locate,” Gibbs said.

“Does he have a name?” Vance asked, toothpick hanging from his lip.

“James Doherty,” Gibbs said.

“And Officer David and Agent McGee left just now to—” Vance trailed off in a question.

“Speak to Doherty’s parents,” Gibbs said. “They might know where he is.”

“Do you expect them to tell your agents?” Vance asked.

“I expect my agents to pick up the clues,” Gibbs said. He gave Vance a look that said he didn’t have anything more he wanted to share. Vance met the glare squarely, not backing away. 

“Good,” Vance said. “Something to tell Sec Nav. I was worried I might have to take your team off the case, after Officer David’s—problem.”

Gibbs only barely refrained himself from snarling at Vance. Problem? Was that what Ziva getting beaten up had been? A problem? He wanted to tell Vance where he could shove his toothpicks but made himself stay quiet, because although he normally said exactly what was on his mind, there was the risk of Vance taking him off the case if they got into a pissing contest. Gibbs did not want to be taken off – not now, not when they were finally getting somewhere.

“Are we done?” he asked as politely as he could manage.

“Yes,” Vance said. “For now.”

He left in an air of superiority. Gibbs glared holes into his back.

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