Comments: Being a native to Alabama and currently living in Tennessee, I have not been afforded the opportunity to travel to the Cap. city and venture out into the state for exploring. So, this means that anything I write in this about Parks, Clubs, etc, I've had to research because I do not have a CLUE what any of these places look like, the traffic, the living situations. It's all guess work and Google for me.

Dedicated: Janie for the wonderful challenge(Halloween Challenge @NFA) that sparked this idea and to Barb the ever wonderful Beta! Hope it doesn't disappoint.


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Chapter One: Stage
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Tony DiNozzo liked to think of himself as a 'Man of Taste' when it came to the finer things in life. Women, wine, food, and clothing; all these he figured he had a handle on. He'd been surrounded with a combination of the four since he was a boy. His mother wore only the finest of clothing from places like Paris, Prague, Italy; places he'd never been, but dreamed when his mother's arms wrapped around him in a loose hug, whispering those empty platitudes of love and affection. Cigars from Cuba and the best damned Scotch money could buy were what he associated most with his father. There was always a box of expensive-cut stogies lined all in a row at the corner of the dark mahogany desk, but a Nicaragua cut burning in the ashtray - His father liked the best of the best, but smoked better. And the Scotch. How could he forget the pungent amber liquid glittering in a crystal glass always curled in DiNozzo Senior's hand?

Glittering amber and beautiful women, and it made him think of home. It actually made him nostalgic, those bloodstained shoes he was bending over with camera in hand. Rose-gilded and seemed to mold perfectly to every contour of the petite size six. Perfectly painted toes in pale pink peeked from the open-toes, not a chip or crack. If it weren't for the blood sluggishly trickling through the holes, Tony would have entertained a mid-day fantasy of those beautifully pale extremities arching between his hands. He never was one for blood sports.

"DiNozzo!" The sound was muffled by distance but it didn't take full force stereo to know that frustrated growl. Tony shook himself and straightened, turning his head to the left to watch Gibbs stride purposefully towards him. If he hadn't have worked with the man these last three years, the ex-cop might have been frightened by the stark anger swimming behind the blue-ice glare. He was just happy that it wasn't actually directed at him.

"Finishing up the photos now, Boss," he snapped out quickly. It was mostly true. He'd gotten half a dozen photos of the woman's hands alone. The rest of her got equal treatment from all angles, and then he'd started on close-ups to be thorough. He didn't want to miss anything. "McGee's got the sketches and Kate's interviewing the witness that found the body."

Senior Field Agent or not, he wasn't about to waste Gibbs' time with unnecessary information when he didn't really have anything to report other than the obvious. The scene was eerily familiar to the one they worked two weeks ago at Randall Playground; now this one, here at Folger Park. "The perp likes the outdoors."

The hand was swift and firm, grazing the back of DiNozzo's head and knocking the black NCIS hat up an inch with the force. "You got anything to support that theory of yours, DiNozzo, or are you just flapping your jowls because you're bored? Are you bored?"

"No, Boss!"

"Then you got something to tell me?" Gibbs barked, coming to stand to the side of the corpse dangling perversely from one of the oaks that littered the landscape around the park. He didn't wait for an answer. "You finish taking those pictures, then you and McGee walk the perimeter, and one of you track a Ranger down and find out how the hell this girl could have gotten trussed up without anyone hearing or seeing anything."

Tony didn't need to be told twice. Another round of pictures and he was off like a flash to collect McGee with a barely restrained yell of "Probie", passing Ducky and Palmer without more than a nod of acknowledgement as they headed toward the scene. Dr. Mallard took a moment to watch the hasty retreat before turning back on course. Jimmy was two steps ahead and beginning to draw out the necessary instruments, laying them on a clear sheet of plastic that was produced from the large case he carried with him, a foot from the right side base of the tree.

"Oh dear, you poor girl," a quiet exclamation sounded in soft British tones. "Mr. Palmer, let us work quickly, but concisely, so we may get this young soul back home and off display, yes?"

"Of course, Dr. Mallard."

"Jethro, I'm afraid I can already see similarities to the unfortunate young woman we pulled from the fence out at Randall," he shared an expressive grimace with his friend before taking up the offered thermometer from his assistant. "Both in costume, elaborate makeup, and clearly out of place. Yet they seem to fit into the scene if one suspends the logical side of one's brain. Not to mention the ritualistic manner in which they have both been - for lack of a better phrase - left on display."

He didn't want to hear that; didn't need to. He knew. It looked like the same M.O., even if the two victims didn't look a thing alike. Gibbs didn't need Kate to tell him that the profile she worked up, though probably accurate to a point, just changed dramatically. There was no foolproof format on mapping a killer's patterns, but most serials targeted a certain type. The first girl was white, tall with long blonde curls, and bright blue eyes. This one was shorter than the first, brunette, and definitely of an ethnic decent. They both, however, were killed in near ritualistic fashion - eyes missing, mouth slashed on either side to give them both a Cheshire grin, hands and ankles bound in duck tape and staked through with railroad ties - and both left in out doors in public places. All these things he knew. What he didn't know was what the hell any of it had to do with the victims themselves, or the motivation the perp had for doing any of this.

Jethro blew out a frustrated breath, watching the medical examiner extract the thermometer. "T.O.D?"

"Given the relative temperature, lividity, and the elevated position in which our young victim has been left, Jethro, I would estimate between eight to ten hours." The elder physician straightened with a half groan and handed the contaminated instrument back to his assistant. "And before you ask, No. I do not know, exactly, what killed her. Though, from the bleeding around the eyes and mouth, I do believe she was alive when those injuries were inflicted, but it doesn't appear to be the case for when she was, for lack of a better word, mounted on the tree. Neither wound appears to have bled excessively, which would indicate that she was dead before being placed on display. But really, Jethro, I won't know for sure until we get her back home and I've a chance to examine her properly."

"Any ID?" It was a tentative question; hopeful.

"Mr. Palmer, if you would please check inside the lady's side bag?" No sooner were the words out of the ME's mouth, than his young assistant was handing him a small card that he'd fished out as instructed. "Ah, yes, thank you Mr. Palmer. Hmm, I'm sorry Jethro, but it seems that there is significant damage to the photograph on this ID. I'm afraid it will have to be left up to Abby." Ducky turned back towards Jimmy, who had an evidence bag already open and waiting, and dropped the mangled piece of plastic into the waiting bag.

"Thanks, Duck. If you find anything else, let me know."

"Yes, yes. I always do, my friend." They shared a sad, weary smile, and then parted ways. Dr. Mallard returned his attention to the woman to direct the extraction of the spikes and transport of the body back to his van. Gibbs veritably spun on heel to track down the local LEOs that were called in. He doubted they had anything else to offer than what they'd already provided, but that had been over the phone. There was nothing like a little face-to-face motivation to help jog a memory.

"There's only so much a man can take before he explodes, Probie." The statement was quiet, almost whispered, while he walked alongside the slightly husky agent. If he hadn't been studying the ground around the marked perimeter, Tim might actually have thought something was wrong.

"Gibbs is just frustrated. We all are, Tony."

"You don't have to remind me, McGee." It came out heated and worn around the edges. Frustration lent the ill humor, but there was enough faint camaraderie lingering in the inflection to dull the sting. Yeah, they were all anxious, tired, and half a dozen other things that slowly ate at them from the inside out. "Two weeks and no leads, suspects that all have alibis, and a new body."

A subtle shift and an evidence marker were placed around a discarded soda can. The movements of an investigation were muted and felt a little meaningless. It wasn't, of course, but this crime scene, this new body, was an aching reminder that they had gotten nowhere; that they were too late.

"Hey McGee, did you ever watch the movie Kiss the Girls?"

"Yes. And no I don't want to hear your comparisons of this crime scene to the one in the movie. They're not the same, just some parts are similar." Tim winced at the whine he could clearly hear in his voice. Tony didn't deserve that. He just didn't want the senior agent to make light of what they were doing, even if it would have made him feel better. Tim knew he couldn't afford to worry about his own comfort when there was a killer out there. He didn't want to think about another victim.

A carefully sculpted eyebrow rose fractionally. "They're both outdoor crime scenes, the vics are both left to the elements, and both happen to be bound to a tree."

"And we're walking the perimeter trying to find some shred of evidence that might help us identify the killer. Tony, I hate to break it to you, but Morgan Freeman didn't have any better luck with that crime scene then we are with this one."

"Oh I don't know about that, Probie." Two quick flashes then a third. "I think we've got us a clue."

McGee came to attention; all pretense of joking slid away and left him with a pinched look of anxious enthusiasm. Tony couldn't - wouldn't - blame him for that, since he wore an almost identical look. Quickly he pulled the pad open to a fresh page and began to draw quick, efficient lines that soon started to take the shape of a small envelope with a broken wax seal the color of dried blood, while DiNozzo moved around him to search for more evidence.

"Boss! I think we've got something!"

The ex-Marine moved quickly across the short distance, coming to rest at the youngest field agent's shoulder as he bent low to capture the details on and around the envelope. Blue eyes scanned and registered the evidence both his agents hovered around. He noted DiNozzo had moved off and looked to the side, watching his progress for a moment. The Senior was walking a circular path five feet by five feet around them; the dark envelope the epicenter.

Gibbs turned his attention back to McGee. "You through?" When Tim nodded, Jethro crouched down and carefully took up the envelope. Turning it over in his hands he studied it. It wasn't really remarkable. Seemed to be just another run of the mill envelope to him except that it was black and - he'd tipped it gently to the side to look underneath the hanging flap - didn't appear to have any adhesive. The wax was what held it closed. The crimson residue clung to both sections; the clump of wax on the tip fitting perfectly into the mold left on the envelope below.

It wasn't much but it was more than they had.

"Bag it."