Gibbs' own crime scene sketches had always been sparse and functional, transposing only necessities. It had never been one of his talents. Given the choice, he had assigned the duty to his field agents. He would watch DiNozzo alternate between the pad and the camera, and would wonder if it meant anything that DiNozzo completed them at the scene and that his were almost unbearably lush, with each drop of blood clinging to the pavement lingering in graphite on the paper. His eyes never moved from the body, as if he could only look at it once without losing his mind and had to get everything in one shot so he never had to return to the mangled flesh, to the broken bone, to the cloyingly copper scent of blood. Stan Burley drew from memory, each detail unwinding from the tip of his pencil as he sat at his desk, eyes narrowed in concentration.
He found Burley already in the office, leaning back in DiNozzo's chair and shielded in aviator sunglasses that bounced all of the room's fluorescent light onto the files sprawled at his feet on the desk. When Burley tossed the file of sketches at him, Gibbs picked them out of the air with a studied grace, catching the spine in the palm of his hand. Burley didn't have the time to admire it.
"DiNozzo will kill you if he finds you sitting there."
"Let him try." Burley didn't budge. Not even the aviators were removed.
Gibbs took a seat behind his desk. "Burke. Information. Now."
Burley still didn't move. "Lieutenant Harrison Burke. Thirty-four. Born New York, New York. Dropped out of Columbia University in his freshman year to join the U.S. Marine Corps. Still on active service. Has served in Afghanistan, Haiti, Iran, Iraq. Deployed most recently to Iraq last August, returned three months ago. Has been awarded a Purple Heart, Marine Corps Expeditionary Medal and a Navy Expert Pistol Medal. Father, David Burke. U.S. Senator and President of Osiris Publishing Corporation. Mother, Ashleigh Burke. Teacher, student counsellor. Harrison was Vice President and signatory to Osiris."
He had that tone again. Like reading from a textbook.
"Anyone can pull up a record, Stan. That's not why you're here."
Burley kicked his feet off his desk, finally slid off those ridiculous sunglasses and uncapped his cup of coffee. He inhaled deeply and looked toward Gibbs. "Good son. Good brother. Loyal to his father, to the business, to the Navy. No steady girlfriends as far as I'm aware, although I hadn't spoken much to him since he got back from Iraq." He paused. "Burke was a good marine. That should tell you enough, Gibbs. He kept himself out of trouble. Kept those around him out of trouble. Always had coffee on hand."
Gibbs smiled. "That's better. Now tell me what he was doing behind the Neon."
"He's a thirty-four year old single marine just back from Iraq, Gibbs. A good night out would've been one where he didn't end up in his own bed. Neon's a good place for an easy hook-up."
Impossibly sly grin. "Is that right?"
Burley rolled his eyes. "Bouncer said he remembered Harry coming in around one a.m.. Remembered him ‘cause of the shirt. Doesn't remember him leaving, though, which would make sense seeing as he was found out the back. Two exits he could've left through. One's through the kitchen, so highly unlikely. No one else saw him leave. No one saw him in the alley. Only witness we have is the dog walker who found him. It'll be impossible to round up witnesses from inside the club that night."
"Drunk idiots desperately trying to get their clothes off aren't the only ones who were in the club that night."
"I'll go see what I can get from the bartenders . . . " Burley trailed, picking up his sunglasses and backpack again and heading toward the elevator.
- - - -
"Did you flirt with her?"
"No, Abby," McGee sighed, "I did not flirt with Jessica." He pulled an evidence bag from the box and began untaping it. "And I didn't speak Hargon with her or smile too much or do a strip-tease or exercise any of my other powers, so please stop asking."
Abby smiled. "I hate to tell you this McGee, but you don't have any super-special-flirting ‘powers'. Particularly at a Recon 1940 convention."
He frowned blankly at her for a moment, before a small, cheeky grin spread across his lips, "Well, you always said that my - - "
"So, I dusted the broken beer bottle for fingerprints," Abby said, suddenly turning back to the screen. McGee smiled broadly. "I only found one set and they belonged to the vic."
"And the bullet?" McGee asked.
"Running it through the database now. If it was a mugging or a gang kill, we'll probably get a hit."
"No other DNA on the vic's clothing?"
"Ducky sent all of it up and the only blood belonged to Lieutenant Burke."
"No other fluids? Sweat?"
"No sweat. Although I did find residue of isovaleraldehyde, isoamyl alcohol, damascenone, phenylethanol, lupulone, humulene . . . "
"Beer and tequila."
Abby smiled. "Burke was having himself one hell of a night when he was killed. I haven't gotten the blood results back yet, so I couldn't tell you his own alcohol levels, but by the looks of everyone who was spilling their drinks on him, they'd be pretty high."
"Gibbs wants you to send off for a tox screen too. Apparently the Neon is a hotspot for spiking."
A screen behind Abby suddenly began beeping.
"We've got a hit on the bullet," Abby said, clicking the mouse.
Abby's bottom lip dropped as she stared at the screen in shock.
"What it is it?" McGee asked.
"Are you sure you didn't find any other bullets at the scene, McGee?"
"Yes. I'm positive. Why?"
Abby straightened to look at him.
"The bullet you found was fired from the Lieutenant's own gun."
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