Of Jews and Gentiles (8/12)
Chapter 25
Tony DiNozzo groaned and mumbled something incoherent at the sound of his alarm clock, reaching over to slap at the large snooze button on the top. His hand kept moving over the nightstand without encountering anything, making him realize somewhat belatedly that he wasn't in his bed. His eyes shot open as the memories of the night before hit him all at once.
He turned to his other side at the sudden silence in room to see his partner pull herself in a seated position on the other side of the bed. “It's early,” he moaned, more to fill the silence than to actually say anything. He knew how crucial the next few moments could be; things that happened at night didn't always look the same in the light of the morning-or even the pre-dawn darkness, in this case. A first time could always be explained away by getting caught in the moment, having too much alcohol, feeling too sorry for one's self...the list went on and on. The last thing he wanted for this to be one of those uncomfortable “oh crap, what did we do last night?” moments.
“It is 0500,” Ziva replied, a slight smile on her face as she turned to face him. Well, she didn't look uncomfortable; that was a start. “It is time for my run. You can come with me.”
“I don't have my running clothes,” he replied automatically, as if that were the reason. “You can stay here. We can find some other way to exercise.” He playfully tugged at her arm, encouraged by the warm chuckle that came from her throat.
“I run six miles in the mornings, Tony,” she replied, leaning down to give him a lingering kiss. “No offense, but I do not think any man can match that level of exercise in bed.” She smiled at the pouting expression on his face. “I will be back soon,” she added, somewhat seductively.
“I'll be here waiting,” he replied, giving her another pout to give her time to change her mind before rolling over in the king-sized bed, tugging at the blankets that she had somehow wrapped herself in during the night. He heard her laughter trailing after her as she headed away.
The next thing he was aware of was someone gently tugging at his shoulder. He groaned and rolled over to find Ziva leaning over him, a wide grin on her face. He figured she must have just returned from her run; she was still wearing her bright yellow windbreaker and running shorts, although she had removed her shoes and iPod somewhere else. “Mmm. Morning,” he said with a smile, tilting his head up to kiss her lips. He spotted the clock on her side of the bed: 0548. “Fast run today.”
“I was unusually motivated this morning,” she replied before kissing him again.
In his defense, it was still much earlier than he was accustomed to being awake, and he was further distracted by the beautiful woman all but laying on top of him as he began working at lowering the zipper of that yellow windbreaker--a surprisingly difficult task from the angles they were in--but without realizing he was speaking out loud, he heard himself asking, “No bright orange hat?”
That hat had been a dying gift from one of the few men that Tony had seen Ziva get attached to in her years working at NCIS, and he winced inwardly at the reminder of that, knowing that those four words could have broken the mood easier than most others. To his relief, Ziva only shook her head. “I have not worn that hat in over a year,” she said, pausing before adding, “I do not think I need it anymore.” He grinned at those words and the meaning behind them before kissing her again.
He had just succeeded in getting her out of her running clothes when they heard the familiar buzzing of her cell phone on her night stand. “Ignore it,” he murmured, his lips on her neck, tasting the salt on her skin as he proceeded to kiss his way down.
“It could be Gibbs,” she replied, even as she made no move toward it.
“That's why voicemail was invented,” he concluded. She didn't have anything to say to that, and a couple of minutes later, the cell phone was the furthest thing from either of their minds.
After another round of great sex, DiNozzo was ready to call in sick and spend the entire day in bed-preferably with his partner-but she apparently had other plans. With a groan, she twisted out of his arms and reached for that offending cell phone. “Austin,” she said with a sigh as she read the 'missed calls' display. She didn't bother listening to the voice message before she called him back. “You phoned?” she asked without preamble after he picked up. DiNozzo raised himself onto one elbow and leaned over her, gently pushing aside her mussed hair before again kissing the base of her neck.
“Took you long enough to call back,” Major Brad Austin replied, a smirk in his voice. “Overslept?”
“No,” she replied bluntly. “I was having sex.” She smiled wryly at the chuckle she felt against her skin. “What do you need?”
“Last minute meeting got called. We have to be in at 0730.” She glanced at her clock and sighed. She'd make it, but that wasn't what bothered her. She was supposed to be spending her free time before the class began at 0900 to discuss last night's dinner with McGee and Gibbs. It looked like DiNozzo would have to handle that without her.
“Okay, I will see you then,” she said before snapping the phone closed. She rolled onto her back with another sigh and turned to her partner. “I guess it is time to start the day,” she said ruefully. She decided this was all Tony's fault; she usually had no problem leaving lovers behind in bed in the morning. This reluctance was new to her.
He kissed her softly before murmuring, “We'll save time if we shower together,” adding a wide grin to the words. She snorted and pushed him off her.
“You do not really believe that, do you?” she asked rhetorically as she climbed out of bed for the second time that morning. When she was done with the shower, she gave him another kiss and the vague promise to see him at work after her last lecture as he headed into the bathroom. Even though she was gone from the apartment after he finished his shower, he couldn't stop grinning.
---
Apparently, he was still grinning when he walked into the squad room later that morning, a fact not missed by McGee and Abby. “Well, someone's in a good mood,” McGee commented dryly. After being forced to give up his Sunday evening, as well as the standing orders not to schedule anything for Saturday afternoons, it was no wonder he was feeling snide.
DiNozzo just shrugged at the comment. “It's a nice day,” he said casually. He didn't know if it was something in his tone or something in his expression, but Abby gaped at his words.
“You had sex last night!” she said, almost accusingly. “And maybe this morning.”
Although his first impulse was to grin and confirm it, he went the other way. “Noo,” he said slowly, stretching out the syllable. “Lately, my social life has almost been as lame as McStay-At-Home-In-The-Evenings. Only difference is, mine's because of work, not an inherent inability to get a date.”
“I date, Tony,” McGee replied, annoyed, telling DiNozzo that he succeeded in distracting the younger agent from Abby's words. The forensic scientist herself, though, was not giving up as easily.
“You did too!” she shot back. “It's written all over your face.” She had crossed the bullpen to his desk, pinching both of his cheeks tightly.
“I can't believe you!” McGee exclaimed, instantly back on topic. “You went out an hooked up when you're supposed to acting like Ziva's boyfriend! What if someone had seen you?”
“Relax, Probie,” DiNozzo said. “I didn't 'go out and hook up'.”
“You didn't have to, because Ziva was right there,” Abby said, somewhat smugly. “Oh my God! I can't believe it finally happened!”
“What finally happened, Abby?” Gibbs asked as he rounded the corner. Abby's eyes widened slightly before quickly recovering.
“Tony showed up on time,” she answered quickly, her expression giving away that that wasn't what they were talking about. If Gibbs noticed, though, he hid it well.
“Where's Ziva?” he asked, glancing over at the empty desk before turning to his senior field agent. DiNozzo considered putting on an innocent expression and saying he had no idea, but he figured the truth-well, parts of it-would be more believable.
“She got a call this morning from Major Austin, said he needed her to come in early. Sorry, Boss.”
“Why didn't she call to tell me?” Gibbs demanded.
“Uh, because she called me?” DiNozzo replied. “And she figured I'd tell you. Should we go over the recordings anyway?”
“No,” the supervisory agent replied with a shake of his head. “No use going over it twice. We'll just wait until she gets in this afternoon.” He glanced around and frowned, as if seeing Abby and McGee for the first time. “Don't you people have work you could be doing?”
“On it, Boss,” McGee said quickly, even as he wondered what he was getting on. With the exception of Tony and Ziva's undercover mission, which might go on forever, they weren't working on anything. He waited until Gibbs strode out of earshot before he dared glance up again, to see Abby staring at him intensely. “What?”
“Tony and Ziva,” she said impatiently, as if it was obvious, her voice barely above a whisper to avoid being heard by DiNozzo. McGee shook his head.
“I don't believe it,” he said stubbornly, his voice just as soft. “I told you, Abby, they're professionals.”
“It's Tony and Ziva, McGee. They're not that professional. Just wait until she comes in later. You'll see it.”
“You do realize I can hear you two, right?” DiNozzo interjected, his eyes still down on the folder on his desk. Abby just glanced over at him with an almost embarrassed expression on her face--likely more related to having been heard than at what she had been heard saying--before giving McGee a large wink and turning on the heels of her large platform boots to head to the back elevators. McGee wondered how long she would be wearing that large triumphant grin, and stifled a sigh at what he was sure would be an exponential increase in theories about his partners' extracurricular activities.
Chapter 26
Just as she had done every day since the mission had begun, Officer Ziva David dismissed her last class of the day, spent fifteen minutes straightening things up in the office in preparation for the next day, changed into civilian clothes, and got in her borrowed blue BMW to drive over to NCIS to regain some semblance of her normal life before heading to the luxurious condominium in Georgetown to repeat the exact same pattern the next day. On this particular day, however, she couldn't control the slight feeling of unease as she was waved through the gates of the Navy Yard, which she couldn't quite explain; after all, everything had been completely normal that morning as she said good-bye to Tony and left him in her apartment to get ready for his day.
Maybe that was the strange part, the fact that everything had been so normal. One would have expected a certain...awkwardness, need to talk about what had happened, something. After all, she had just had sex with her partner, her best friend. That should have led to something other than a completely normal morning, something other than the easy familiarity they seemed to have, despite that being their first night together.
No, she decided. It was right that everything had been so comfortable, so normal. It wasn't as if it was something that happened out of the blue, or because someone had had too much to drink that night. It had been leading up that for years and vastly accelerated with their recent increase in time together; maybe Tony had been right the year before when he had spoken of inevitabilities. Putting any thoughts of unease out of her mind, she squared her shoulders and stepped out of her car to walk toward the elevator, a slight smile on her face.
She blinked in surprise as the elevator doors slid open. “Abby,” she greeted with a nod, joining the forensic scientist in the small compartment. She briefly wondered what Abby was doing in the elevator, but just attributed it to Abby coming up to the bullpen from her lab for some reason.
“Ziva,” Abby replied, the corners of her mouth twitching in effort to suppress her grin. “How was your night last night?”
David frowned slightly as she tried to interpret the tone in Abby's voice. Did she know anything? She wouldn't put it past Tony to come into the office bragging about his conquests; it was nothing he hadn't done before. Still, she didn't think he'd be dumb enough to do that when said 'conquest' was a trained Mossad assassin. Even so, DiNozzo was hardly a closed book; she figured Abby suspected something and was fishing for more information. “The dinner went well,” she finally answered as the doors slid open to admit them to the squadroom.
As she headed for her desk, she caught sight of her partner, bent over his desk as he studied some sort of report. As happened more often than not, it was McGee who first registered her presence. “Hi, Ziva,” he greeted.
“McGee,” she replied with a nod. Tony had glanced up and given her a slight smile. She could see the fatigue in his eyes and smirked inwardly; that was probably as much due to their late night together as it was to whatever he was reading. “Which case is that?” she asked, nodding toward the report.
“Gans,” he replied, referring to the arson from four years before. “Metro PD finally dug it out of Cold Cases. Ironically, the reason they couldn't find it before was that they thought the box was in their warehouse that burned down two years ago.”
She brightened slightly at the fact that they finally had the last piece of their puzzle in front of them. “And?” she prompted.
He shook his head. “I can't even find anything about them attending a synagogue of any sort. I don't know if it's related.”
“It is different than the others,” she said thoughtfully. “Both were killed, not just the non-Jewish wife.”
“I tried checking to see if maybe he was supposed to be out of town that night, but it was a Wednesday night, and he was a kindergarten teacher. He would have no reason not to be home at,” he glanced down at the file, “0400.”
“It was the wife's fault,” Agent Gibbs said as he descended the stairs from the director's office. Both Tony and Ziva frowned.
“Boss?” DiNozzo asked.
Gibbs shrugged. “Always seems to be the case. Glad you can join us, David.”
“I was called to a meeting this morning, Gibbs,” she protested.
“So DiNozzo tells us. Next time, you call me, understood?” She gave a single crisp nod and avoided looking at her partner, afraid that something would show in her expression if she did. The last thing she wanted to be saying was, 'I did not call him, Gibbs. He was in my bed and heard most of the conversation himself.' She had a feeling that that would be a violation of the all-important rules. “You ready to go over the videos from last night?”
The next four hours were spent watching and discussing the events of the evening before, with DiNozzo and David explaining various points that weren't clear and giving their impressions of what had happened. At some point, two large pizzas appeared, one with what appeared to be pepperoni and sausage, the other plain cheese. Ziva was about to tease her partner about his food choices, but after seeing the look of longing on his face as he removed a slice, decided it would be best not to come between him and his food.
“What was this about?” Gibbs asked as they watched the footage from the living room, when Ziva and Mrs. Grossman had been discussing the IDF in Hebrew. Ziva paraphrased as the conversation took place.
“She had been a pharmacy assistant when she was with the IDF. That was the early 80's; she had many stories to share of times when they were under attack or on the offensive. She is now telling of a time that the hospital pharmacy was held hostage by a pair of Hamas terrorists.”
“I wasn't aware they took hostages,” DiNozzo commented lightly before taking another slice of pizza.
“If all of their operatives were suicide bombers, they would not last long as an organization,” Ziva pointed out. “There was a handgun under the counter, by the medication bottles. The senior pharmacist used it to kill the terrorists. Now Jerry Xi-the one shaking his head-”
“And the only one who looks like his last name can be 'Xi',” DiNozzo interrupted. Ziva ignored him.
“He is commenting about the instability of a country where even the hospital pharmacies are armed. Rabbi Grossman then said that many pharmacists in the States are likely armed as well, because they are targeted for illegal drug trade supply.”
“Not exactly relevant to the case,” Gibbs commented with a sigh.
“The issue of interrelationships did not come up all night,” Ziva agreed.
“It did in the kitchen,” DiNozzo jumped in, switching the view on the plasma screen to the camera in the kitchen. “Dr. Detert and I talked about Shaw and Sault, and the difficulties she and Shaw had been having in converting. Both of them had asked twice if they could convert and were denied both times. She said rabbis usually deny it three times.”
“That is the tradition,” David agreed with a nod. “I was not aware that many American rabbis held to that, however.”
“Apparently this one does,” DiNozzo pointed out. “She also said that her and Cohen were close to Shaw and Sault. They all started attending classes around the same time, about a year and a half ago.”
“So they might have known Quinn and Silvers,” Ziva said. DiNozzo nodded.
“Should we bring them in for questioning?” Gibbs asked. They could tell he was getting tired with how much this case had been dragging on, but both still shook their heads emphatically.
“I don't think that would be a good idea, Boss,” DiNozzo said. “I don't think Detert and Cohen had anything to do with any of the deaths, and neither was around for the Gans arson or Daltron poisoning. I've established a rapport with Detert; I can try to bring up Quinn and Silvers next time we talk.”
“Do it,” Gibbs ordered. “And continue going over those case files. Maybe you'll see something that Metro PD missed. Run things by Ducky and Abby if you have to. McGee.” He turned to the junior agent and frowned slightly, trying to think of what to have him do. “I want you to take another look at everyone who didn't die. Do a complete background check on them, find out what they were up to before their significant others were killed and what they've been doing since. Ziva, you and Mrs. Grossman got along fairly well last night. See what you can from her about Quinn and Daltron.”
“It will be suspicious if I try to speak to her before Thursday evening,” she pointed out.
“Then speak to her Thursday evening,” he replied. He looked around the room and saw how tired all three of his agents looked and gave a small sigh. “Go home, all of you. Get some sleep. You all look like crap.”
---
McGee, being McGee, had followed Ziva and Tony into the elevator as they left the squad room, leaving them standing in opposite corners, smirking at each other behind McGee's back for the ride down to the parking level. They said their goodnights to the junior agent before stepping into their respective vehicles.
As soon as she closed the door to the embassy car, Ziva felt the vibration of her cell phone in her pocket. She pulled it out and smiled at the name on the display. “That did not take long,” she said as a greeting.
“I was starting to think McGee was going to follow us home,” DiNozzo replied dryly. He paused before asking, “So, your place or mine?” She could hear the humor in his voice, but was able to recognize it as a legitimate question.
“I will still want to go running in the morning,” Ziva answered, “and I did not bring my running clothes. I would prefer my apartment.”
“It's a good thing I thought to swing by my place on my way into work and get a change of clothes, then,” he replied. “I'll see you there.” She snapped the phone clothes as she shifted into gear, wondering, not for the first time since she woke up that morning, what they had gotten themselves into.
Chapter 27
To Ziva David's surprise, Tony DiNozzo not only woke when her alarm went off at 0500 the next morning, he got out of bed and changed into running clothes to join her. Although she usually savored the fifty minutes or so of exercise every morning as her time to herself, she found she enjoyed having a running partner, even if she did have to slow her pace after the fifth mile. Tony was mostly still athletic from his college days, but he didn't make a habit of running six miles a day as she did. She wondered how long it would be before he could keep up, especially on her even longer runs, then scolded herself mentally for the thought. The mission would end eventually; it wasn't as if this was a permanent arrangement.
“Commander Patel is teaching the last two hours of class today,” Ziva commented as she buttoned the shirt of her service uniform later that morning, “so I can leave early to help you go through case files, if that would be helpful.”
“Never hurts to have a second set of eyes,” DiNozzo replied with a shrug. “I was thinking we should go out to dinner with Cohen and Detert at some point, just the four of us. It might be easier to get them to talk away from the rest of the group.”
“That is a good idea. Speaking of going out, it is Commander Patel's birthday today. We were going to go out this evening to celebrate, if you would like to come.”
“Sure,” he agreed. He gave her a grin. “And I promise I won't talk about football to Major Austin.”
She rolled her eyes slightly. “I believe he approves of you. He has stopped hitting me since he discovered that my 'boyfriend' is an Ohio State alum.”
He grinned at her error. “Hitting on,” he corrected. “I'm pretty sure if he were actually hitting you, you would have killed him by now.”
“That is probably true,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “We can leave from NCIS after work.” She glanced down at her watch. “I should be going. I will see you this afternoon, yes?”
“Yeah,” he replied, abandoning his tie for a moment to give her a small kiss good-bye. He waited until the door closed behind her before adding softly, “I'm looking forward to it.”
---
Agent Tim McGee was already at his desk when Tony DiNozzo walked into the squadroom. “Morning, Tony,” he greeted, getting an absent-minded nod in return. The junior agent frowned slightly, thinking about Abby's comments the morning before, and found himself wondering, not for the first time, if there was some truth to them. Figuring that knowing was better than over-analyzing every one of both of his partners' moves, he cleared his throat slightly and began, “So, uh, I know it's none of my business, but Abby seems to think-.” He stopped abruptly at DiNozzo's hand in the air.
“Before you say another word, Probie, ask yourself one thing: do you really want an answer to that question?”
McGee frowned again as he considered that before realizing that the senior field agent was right. Sometimes blissful ignorance was the right answer. “Nevermind,” he muttered instead. He couldn't miss DiNozzo's triumphant grin out of the corner of his eye.
Neither agent said much to each other for the next few hours, as they both concentrated on their tasks assigned by Gibbs the evening before. Tossing one folder aside after deciding its contents were useless to him, DiNozzo picked up another and frowned as he opened it. Autopsy report, he thought to himself, groaning inwardly. He had been avoiding that particular file since he had gotten the Quinn case notes from Metro PD; doctor-speak gave him a headache on the best of days.
He brightened suddenly as he remembered Gibbs instructions to use Abby and Ducky as much as he needed. If ever there was a time to use the old Scottish medical examiner, it was now. “Later, Probie,” he said casually as he headed for the elevator, folder in hand. McGee glanced up, confused, but the elevator doors had closed between him and DiNozzo before he got a chance to say anything.
He stepped out of the elevator on the lowest floor and strode into autopsy. “Hey, Palmer,” he greeted the medical examiner's assistant. “Is Ducky around?”
“I'm right over here, dear boy,” Dr. Mallard replied, stepping out from a side room. “Mr. Palmer and I have had a shortage of visitors lately, so I thought this would be a good time to assure that the storage area is properly supplied. There was this one time when I was serving as a physician with the-”
“Ducky,” DiNozzo interrupted, holding up the file. “Maybe you can tell me about it some other time. I have an autopsy report I can use your help with.”
“Ah, yes,” the medical examiner replied, reaching for the folder. “No doubt related to the case you and Ziva have been working on in your all-too-infrequent off-hours.”
“Right,” DiNozzo said. “This is Dr. Stephanie Quinn. She was shot in her apartment about sixteen months ago. There were some items missing, so Metro PD assumed it to be a burglary gone wrong, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to take a look at the autopsy.”
“A wise thought, Anthony. Not to speak ill of my colleagues in the Metro ME's office, but they do have an excessive workload and often miss things that they should not. Who was the medical examiner in this case?” He frowned as he flipped through the sheets of paper, then shook his head as if frustrated. “A fourth-year medical student,” he said with a heavy sigh. “That is not too unusual, that the assistant medical examiners will have medical students perform the autopsies on so-called 'simple' cases, where the cause of death is not in question, but it is a practice that I find horribly irresponsible. There is much more information that can be obtained from an autopsy than a basic cause of death. Following the path of the bullet, for example, can tell you many things about the shooter, such as his height, his confidence with a sidearm, whether or not he was surprised-.” He stopped abruptly, a frown on his face as he turned a page in the folder. “Hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully.
“Ducky?” DiNozzo prompted.
“You said Metro PD believed this case to be motivated by robbery, did you not?”
“That's right,” the agent replied. “Dr. Quinn's computer and few pieces of jewelry were missing. Dr. Silvers, the boyfriend, confirmed that he had just been to a jewelry store about a week before. They questioned everyone who might have known that, but didn't come up with anything. Why?”
The medical examiner spread the photos of the body from the crime scene and the beginning of the autopsy onto one of the empty stainless-steel tables. He adjusted his glasses before leaning over one of the pictures and pointing. “If all they were after was some valuables, Anthony, can you explain why they would have missed that?” Right under Dr. Mallard's finger on the photo was what appeared to be round aquamarine stone on a silver or white gold chain around Dr. Quinn's neck. “Perhaps that was one of Dr. Silver's recent purchases?”
“How the hell did they miss that?” DiNozzo muttered, inwardly asking himself the same question: how did he miss that? How could you consider the motive of a crime to be robbery when the so-called robbers missed a necklace easily worth a few hundred dollars literally right in front of their faces? “Thanks, Ducky,” he said, straightening to leave the autopsy suite as an idea suddenly came to him. “You were a big help.”
“But I haven't even gone over the autopsy report yet!” Dr. Mallard protested.
“I'll come back to talk to you about it later,” DiNozzo called out over his shoulder as he stepped back into the elevator.
“Probie!” he snapped, stepped out of the elevator even as the doors were opening. McGee looked up in surprise. “What do you have on Silvers?”
“Uh, from the Quinn case?”
“No, McObvious, the other Silvers,” DiNozzo shot back sarcastically. McGee felt his cheeks flush slightly.
“Right. Uh, Dr. Jeremiah Silvers. He was a trauma surgeon at Georgetown-”
“I know that, McGee. What has he done since his girlfriend was murdered?”
“About a month after Dr. Quinn died, he resigned his position at Georgetown and moved to Beer-Sheva. Columbia University has a satellite medical school there--Medical School for International Health. He's now an associate professor of trauma and critical care surgery at their hospital.”
“Israel,” DiNozzo replied dumbly, his mind moving faster than his mouth could process.
“Yes, Tony, that's where Beer-Sheva is.”
“Get me his phone number,” the senior field agent demanded, trying to find where in his notes he had recorded what he was looking for.
“Dr. Silvers' phone number?” McGee echoed.
“I'll let you know when you're allowed to ask stupid questions, Probie. Now is not the time.” He found his notes from the Shaw case on his computer and quickly began scanning. “Ah-ha!” he said triumphantly, just as McGee handed him a sticky note with the long foreign phone number. His eyes went back and forth between the computer screen and the yellow slip of paper. “They're the same,” he said in wonder.
“What's the same?”
“Lt. Sault called the same number in Israel on the first Sunday of every month,” DiNozzo explained. “Apparently, she was calling Dr. Silvers.”
“But why?”
“That's what I'm going to find out,” DiNozzo replied, reaching for his phone. “Any idea what time it is in Israel?”
“You're going to call him?”
“What did I just say about stupid questions, Probie?”
Chapter 28
Dr. Jeremiah Silvers was in the middle of an emergency splenectomy when NCIS Special Agent Tony DiNozzo called, so he left a message with the receptionist or nurse or whoever it was that answered the phone to call him back at Dr. Silvers' earliest convenience, hoping that he was remembering the time zone difference in the right direction. The last thing he needed was a phone call from Israel at 0200 the next morning or something equally ridiculous.
Fortunately, it was about 1300 when Silvers called back. “I got a message that you called,” the trauma surgeon said curtly as a greeting. If DiNozzo had the time zones correctly, it was 2000 there, and if the emergency splenectomy was any indication, Silvers had had a long day. He decided that a little bit of attitude was probably appropriate. “What does NCIS need with me?”
“We're investigating the death of a Lt. Christopher Shaw,” DiNozzo began. Silvers gave a short barking laugh.
“I'm pretty sure I have a good alibi for that,” he stated, “seeing as I was in Israel.”
“You know about Lt. Shaw?”
“Of course I know,” Dr. Silvers replied, sounding as if he were speaking to the dumbest student in the class. “He was living with my cousin.”
“Hannah Sault is your cousin?”
“Well, more like my second cousin,” Silvers admitted. “But we didn't realize that until we had known each other for a few years. Both of our fathers are rabbis, and we were sent to the same summer experiences in Jerusalem when we were teenagers. She's quite a few years younger than me; her first summer was my last. But what does any of this have to do with a car accident?”
“Lt. Shaw was shot, Doctor,” DiNozzo explained.
“I'm pretty sure I didn't do it.”
The NCIS agent have a short chuckle. “Your name come up as part of a related case. Dr. Stephanie Quinn.”
Silvers was silent for a moment. “What does Steph's murder have to do with Chris?” he finally asked.
“There have been at least four murders of people who were dating members of the Jewish community here in DC in the last few years,” DiNozzo explained simply, glossing over any details, “including Dr. Quinn and Lt. Shaw.”
There was another long pause. “That doesn't seem like much to build a pattern on,” Silvers finally said. “I'm sure it's just a coincidence.”
“Well, that's the thing,” DiNozzo replied. “We here at NCIS don't really believe in coincidence.”
“Statistically, it wouldn't be unheard of.”
“We're just looking into all angles.”
Silvers gave a long, annoyed sigh. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Metro PD ruled Dr. Quinn's murder a home invasion,” DiNozzo prompted.
“That's right,” Silvers agreed. “Her laptop and about a thousand dollars worth of jewelry were missing. I still don't see what that has to do with Chris.”
“Well, we're trying to figure that out, too,” DiNozzo replied diplomatically, even as his patience with the surgeon was wearing thin. “But back to the jewelry. You just visited a jewelry store the week before Dr. Quinn was killed, right?”
“Yeah. I got her an early Christmas/Hanukkah/whatever present-an aquamarine on a white gold chain, which I gave her the day I left for New York, so about three days before her death. I also bought an engagement ring, which I was going to give her when we took our post-holidays vacation together-a Caribbean cruise in the middle of January. Never got the chance to do that.”
“I'm sorry,” DiNozzo said, feeling slightly awkward saying so, as Dr. Silvers didn't really seem all that remorseful. Of course, more than a year had gone by. “Metro investigated everyone who knew about the jewelry, right?”
“Yeah, but that seemed like a waste of time. If someone was after the jewelry, why go to her place instead of mine to lift it? And why wait until a week later?”
DiNozzo had to admit that the surgeon had a good point. It seemed like Metro PD was just looking for excuses to stick with the home invasion/robbery theory. “Do you happen to remember the name of the jewelry store you went to?”
“Of course,” Silvers replied. “Same one I went to every time I bought any sort of jewelry or needed my watch repaired while I was living in DC. Steiner's Jewelers.” DiNozzo clicked through the file on his computer until he found Lt. Shaw's credit card receipt, confirming what he thought he remembered: the jewelry store Shaw had frequented was none other than Steiner's Jewelers. Silvers filled in the silence that had fallen over the phone. “Metro investigated them, too, which is ridiculous. Saul Steiner is an eighty-five-year-old Holocaust surviver. I doubt he'd be after a laptop and thousand dollars worth of jewels. If that's what he wanted, he'd rob his own store, not drive out to Chevy Chase to kill Steph. I doubt he can even handle the recoil of a gun.”
“Anyone else working for Steiner?”
“His daughter, Elsa, who must be in her fifties. She does most of the work, and Saul just sticks to the complicated and big orders, like that twenty-eight thousand dollar engagement ring.” DiNozzo whistled silently; must be nice to have a surgeon's salary. “During the holidays and the weeks before Valentine's Day, they hire some extra clerks, but Metro checked them out, too. Everyone was clean.”
DiNozzo changed the subject abruptly. “You and Hannah Sault are pretty close, right?”
“Yeah, fairly,” Silvers agreed. “I helped her find a place when she was moving to DC and helped move Chris' stuff in a year later. We met for dinner or lunch every once in awhile, when we both had time. When she first moved, I suggested places for her to shop and get her dry cleaning done and routine stuff like that.”
“You guys went to the same synagogue?”
“The one in Georgetown,” Silvers confirmed. “And then when her and Chris started having some problems because of the whole Jewish-not Jewish thing, I suggested they go to this adult education class there. The rabbi and his wife teach this series that's focused on mixed couples. Steph and I had been going for quite a few months when Chris and Hannah started coming.”
Ah-ha! DiNozzo thought, even though he had already established that they knew each other through family. “So you helped them out.”
“Yeah,” Dr. Silvers said thoughtfully. “All of their problems, well, Steph and I had been through those already, so we knew what they were going through.” He paused. “That was a long time ago, Agent DiNozzo, and I don't want you to think I'm some cold-hearted bastard, but I've moved on. I'm dating someone else now, an infectious disease physician here at this hospital.” He gave a short barking laugh. “I guess that says something about me, that I can't even leave the hospital to find dates, but that's not really the point. Avi's Jewish, too, and, well, that makes things a lot easier for us. I really did love Steph and would have married her, but I never realized until now that love doesn't have to be a lot of work, do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” DiNozzo said automatically, even though he didn't. His past relationship-relationship? He didn't know how to define what was happening between him and Ziva yet, and he could hardly call anything else a 'relationship'-had just shown him that love was a difficult and painful thing to deal with. He cleared this throat slightly; he didn't really want to talk about Dr. Silvers' relationships, or any other relationships, for that matter. “So, uh, how well did you know Chris Shaw?”
“I just knew him through Hannah, we didn't really hang out without her there. Not exactly the same social circle, you know? Not that there was anything wrong with him, we just had our own friends. The only time I can remember talking to him outside of conversations with Hannah or at the synagogue was when he saw a bracelet I got Steph and asked where I got it. He was looking for a birthday present for Hannah or something and thought some earrings would be nice, so I gave him Saul's name and address.”
DiNozzo processed that information with a raise of his eyebrows, his pen idly sketching the connections between Saul Steiner's jewelery store and Lt. Shaw's death. Despite Dr. Silver's insistence otherwise, he wasn't willing to chalk it up to a coincidence. He drew an arrow between Silvers and Shaw, but there was still a blank spot between Steiner and Silvers. “This may seem like a random question, Doctor, but do you happen to remember who first told you about Saul Steiner?”
“Of course,” Silvers replied automatically. “It was Saul's great-niece. Lena Rosen.”
---
Officer Ziva David entered the squad room at NCIS to find her partner's attention focused on the computer monitor in front of him as he typed away furiously-well, as furiously as he could. She smiled slightly at his continued awkwardness around computers, despite the fact that he used them every day. Her smile turned into a frown at the realization that she found that somehow endearing. I will not turn into one of those women who thinks everything her boyfriend does is 'adorable' or 'sweet', she scolded herself. Instead, she put on a slightly wicked grin and made her way around to the other side of his desk.
“Find anything interesting?” she asked innocently, her mouth only millimeters from his ear. He jumped nearly a foot off the chair at the surprise.
“God, woman!” he scolded. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”
“I have lost count,” she replied lightly. “Hello, McGee,” she greeted as the third agent stepped into view.
“Uh, hi, Ziva,” McGee replied, seeing the Mossad officer all but molded to the senior field agent, her face next to his and her loose hair covering his shoulder. “Do you want me to give you guys some privacy?”
She shrugged. “We are only looking at Tony's computer, but we can do other things, if you prefer.”
“No, thanks,” he said quickly. “Just...continue with whatever you're doing.”
“What are we doing, Tony?”
He swallowed at the memory of the last time she asked that, a few nights before, and the events that immediately followed. Later, he scolded himself. “I found something else Daltron, Quinn, and Shaw had in common: Steiner's Jewelers.” He filled her in on the crime scene photos and conversation with Dr. Silvers. “I called Steiner's, and asked his daughter, Elsa, for their client list to compare to homicide victims, but she didn't take the implication that their business is somehow related to a mysterious DC crime syndicate too well. I'm working on drafting a court order.”
“Can McGee not hack into those records?”
“That's not legal, Ziva,” DiNozzo said as if speaking to a child. “Besides, he already said he couldn't.”
“Their records aren't on any sort of database or list on-line,” McGee explained. “The best I could do is check for people who made credit card purchases at the jewelery store, but I would literally have to search millions of records one-by-one. It would take decades, if not longer.”
“I hope our mission does not take that long.”
“Getting tired of pretending to my girlfriend already, Ziva?” Tony asked with a grin. He didn't see the slight flicker of uncertainty in his partner's eyes at the word 'pretending'. “So as I see it, someone in the family doesn't approve of Rosen and Daltron dating and takes Daltron out of the picture. Then-”
“They expand to all mixed couples?” Ziva interrupted, shaking her head. “That is a stretch, Tony, even for you.”
“What do you mean, even for me? I'm a highly trained criminal investigator-”
“Ziva's right,” McGee put in. “Crimes of passion don't suddenly expand to killing sprees.”
“Maybe whoever it was rationalized the crime as a favor to the Jewish people. Once he started to see it that way, maybe he decided to keep doing favors.”
Ziva considered that for a moment before again shaking her head. “I agree that there appears to be a connection between the jeweler and the murders, but I do not think it is that simple.”
“So what is it?”
“I do not know, Tony, or I would have said something already. Maybe things will be clearer once we get Steiner's records. But I think we should label it a day and get ready for Commander Patel's dinner.”
“Call it a day,” DiNozzo corrected as he began packing up his stuff.
“Same difference,” Ziva replied with a shrug. “It is only semantics.”
“Yes, Ziva, it's semantics. Word choices are what make idioms what they are. What if somebody had used the wrong word when saying that in Hebrew?”
“That is not a Hebrew idiom.” They continued to argue lightly about it as they headed for the elevator to take them to the parking garage, McGee watching them silently. At one point, Tony jokingly grabbed Ziva's shoulders and gave them a squeeze, and the junior agent waited for the retaliatory action which never came; for as much as she did it, Ziva didn't like it when people invaded her personal space, and often reacted violently, but not this time-almost as if she was accustomed to having Tony so close. He frowned and found himself wondering, once again, if Abby was on to something.