Not mineAuthor's Note:
Yes, incredibly short and very delayed. Tbh, I'm having a mild case of writers block with this story. I know the plot and arc, just not how to put it well on paper. I'm probably going to put it to the side – though the Dead Man Walking Series will still happen – I'll essentially write past it, and come back around to this later. No decision has been made officially, though.Dead Man Walking in D.C.
Chapter 4: Baseline Answers
Wesley walked beside Agent Gibbs as they went up the stairs to level where the conference room where Montroy's fiancee awaited them. Without pausing, Wesley asked, “What's the fiancee's name again?”
“I thought the IWC knew everything.” Gibbs said. “You tell me.”
“The IWC knows everything, but I admit I spent more time studying up on the Blood King and you and your team than the specific particulars of your dead marine's life.”
“His name is Lance Corporal Joseph Montroy-”
“He's the victim, Agent Gibbs.” Wesley interrupted cooly. “A case to be solved. Nothing more, nothing less. If you want to think of him as more than that, you're more than welcome to. I'm not interested, however. The fiancee's name?”
“Emily Larson.” Gibbs answered. Wesley could imagine the wheels that were turning in the former marine's head. Wesley didn't really find himself caring, however. His time at Angel Investigations – and after – had proven the folly of attachment to the case in any sense. Gibbs, though, seemed to take every case personally, judging both from his file and his reactions here. Every murder that happened on his watch – a personal affront. Came from his wife and child, he imagined.
“Are you going to let me ask the questions, or are you going to take that part of my job as well?” Gibbs asked once they reached the upper landing.
Wesley made as if pondering the question deeply, only answering once the reached the conference room door. “No. I don't think I'll take that part over. You can take the lead, but I'll probably ask a few questions at some point.”
Gibbs glared at him. “What is this all about? What does the IWC want with this case? And don't give me some fairy tale about ancient Assyrian cults and demons.”
“I've given you all the information that I am inclined to give you, Agent Gibbs.” Wesley replied. “The IWC handles cases that fall under its area of interest, and your government, like most world governments, has seen fit to allow the IWC a free hand to deal with those cases as it sees fit.”
“How exactly does that work, then?” Gibbs demanded. “You just get to waltz in and claim a case – under what exact authority?”
“We don't just waltz in.” Wesley said. “First of all, the waltz is a highly overrated dance, and secondly, its a little more time-intensive than that. I'm not familiar with the specific details, but it is something along the lines of my superiors in the IWC calling a specific liaison within the United States Federal Government, then that person calling the President, then the President calling your boss. And then I arrive to make your life more difficult.”
Gibbs didn't deign to respond to that, and just opened the door.
Wesley had to admire the skull with which Agent Gibbs handled Emily Larson. The woman had just found out that her husband was dead, and now she had to deal with questions...
After a few minutes of careful treading and handling, Gibbs asked. “Do you know what your husband was doing in that alley that night? Or where he was supposed to be?”
Emily shook her head, slowly, voice soft. “I...I don't know...He was supposed to be...he was going out for a few drinks, hang out with an old High School friend of his...”
“Who?” Gibbs asked.
“Richard Dawes...he's studying law at Georgetown. They've known eachother -” she paused, then corrected herself. “They knew...eachother...for...years...” her voice trailed off a moment, and she wiped her eyes as fresh tears formed in them. After a minute, she continued. “Since Joseph was back in the states...and on leave, they decided to get together. Hang out for a bit.”
“Do you know where they were headed? Where they were going to be?”
Nodding, Emily gave the name and address of the bar where they'd planned to meet. Gibbs wrote them down. He'd send his team over to the bar to look into it as soon as he was done in here. Well, Tony and Ziva, anyway, and probably either Wyndam-Pryce or Morgan would decide to come along and interfere there too.
McGee, though, and Abby, were going to be putting their abilities to work finding out more about the IWC, and both people they sent here, on this case. What they really wanted. And if the two of them aren't sleeping together, I'll hand in my badge and gun.
There was nothing obvious about it, he'd grant, but, then, Gibbs wasn't a trained investigator for nothing. They didn't really seem to be actively hiding it, either. Which presumably meant that their superiors in the IWC knew about it, or else they'd be hiding it better out of habit. Which said that the IWC didn't care about such things, or was turning a blind eye to capable operatives sleeping together to avoid losing them. Gibbs didn't have enough to work with the make further inferences about the organization's views on the subject. Or really, much about the organization at all. Ziva had said that the IWC didn't like to use guns, but according to the security people that had found themselves ordered to let them through, both IWC agents had two handguns and...some kind of weird metal thing around their lower right arms. If he was right, looking them over, they were some kind of collapsible swords. Flick your wrist the right way, and there you go, sword in the hand.
Which made absolutely no sense at all....
Gibbs' thoughts were brought to a screeching halt by Wyndam-Pryce asking Emily Larson questions.
“I know these questions are going to see strange, perhaps even offensive. But they needed to be asked.” He pulled a photo of the dead Lance Corporal out of his coat and laid it on the table before the woman. She turned her eyes away. “Miss Larson, I need you to look at this picture.” He didn't, fortunately, have to reach over and force her, physically, to look. He tapped his finger on the marks on Montroy's head. “Have you ever seen anything like these marks. Ever?”
“No.” Emily said firmly. “Never. What kind of sick bastard does that....carves on Joseph's dead body like that?”A fanatic.
He rattled off three words in Assyrian. 'Blood King' – a one word name, in that language and 'Dragon of Assyria'.
“No.” Her voice was louder, just a touch.
“Did your fiance have any interest in the occult? Do you? Do you know anyone with an interest in the occult? Did he?”
“No! No! No! Dammit! No!” She nearly shouted at him, tears in her eyes. “What the hell are you asking for? What does any of this have to do with Joesph’s death!?”
“Everything.” Wesley said. He put the picture in his coat again and left the conference room. “Let's go see this Dawes, Agent Gibbs.”