05x17 - About Face

You see what Carolyn was wearing today, man?

Damn, she's hot.

Today's the day, man.

I'm gonna ask her out.

Just got to figure out how to get a few minutes alone with her.

Know what I'm saying?

Hey, Richie, you forgot to sign your timecard.

Sorry about that, Carolyn. I'll be right down.

Dude, what are you doing?

The bro rule!

I called dibs.

Survival of the fittest, my man.

You ain't got a shot.

What the...?

Hey, come on, Mike.

I just want one date, come on.

NCIS Season 5 Episode 17 About Face

Well, I'm not exactly sure how it works.

Yeah, that's why I'm not in charge of that.

What's going on here?

Did I get off on the wrong floor? I thought this was an office.

Officer David and I are engaged in a linguistic developmental exercise intended to bolster her English vocabulary.

That's good. You think Gibbs will buy it?

It is not my vocabulary that needs bolsterment, McGee.

Not a word... hence the scoreboard.

No.

50-point cushion for the professor, and there's only one tile left to play.

Gonna be kind of tough to play that "Q" without a "U".

You peeked.

Did not.

Process of elimination. I counted the tiles on the board.

You suck the fun out of everything, McCheat.

Give it up, Ziva.

"Kwee"?

I don't think so.

"Chi", as in the life energy that flows through all things.

You should've seen that one coming, Probie Wan-Kenobi.

No.

62 points!

Jedi wins.

I'm challenging.

You all are. Grab your gear. Playtime's over.

That was a... a language exercise, boss.

We weren't actually playing.

So McGee didn't actually lose.

Correct.

So he's not actually humiliated.

"Kwee".

Did you know him?

Wasn't one of our guys.

Had the same crew on here since the beginning.

- What's the job?

Retrofitting.

Building's only ten years old.

Yeah, well, they don't make them like they used to.

Security guard?

Not on weekends.

Who knew that?

Who didn't? - Are these... these guys gonna be here a while?

Yeah.

Spatter over here.

Looks like this is where it started.

And that's where it ended.

Right, okay, so... We got the altercation starting here.

Fight, fight, fight.

Scuffle, scuffle, scuffle.

And they end up here.

Man falls over the edge, lands on the roof of the cage, which was three stories down, and then he rides the elevator all the way back up.

To the crime scene.

Yeah, it's funny till someone plunges to their death.

Come on, still with the height thing?

You got to get over that, man.

You don't just get over irrational fears, Tony.

They're irrational.

So, we got a struggle and a dead guy.

Struggle over what?

Over the edge.

All right, here's the cell phone.

I'm heading back down.

Dead, just like its owner.

Need a hand, Dr. Mallard?

The best way to renew the mind and body, Mr. Palmer, is exercise.

The more, the merrier when it comes to stairs.

I didn't mean...

My cardio is fine.

Unlike this poor fellow.

Use the thermometer.

That is one nasty contusion.

He struck something hard, or else something hard struck him.

Yeah, we're still looking.

Rick Baxter, 34 years of age, Virginia driver's license.

We won't be able to tell you much more until we get him back to autopsy.

Got to figure out what he was doing here.

And with whom he was doing it.

Doing what with?

Whatever it was he was doing when he was undone.

Done... what?

Done.

In, my dear fellow.

Done in.

Don't you understand the Queen's English?

Not this queen.

Time of death.

Approximately 4:00 A.M.

Okay, thanks.

He's an early riser.

Early demiser.

Please, Mr. Palmer.

Dr. Mallard.

Aren't we forgetting something?

No, I'm gonna get the gurney.

I should do that.

No, I shall use the elevator, so you get the body off the roof to down here.

And then...

And then we can move the body back into the cage.

Good thinking, Mr. Palmer.

Mr. Palmer!

Nice job of parking.

Sorry.

It's all clear up there?

All clear, Doctor.

Good.

McGee?

Did you take that passport, McGee?

Tony?

Ziva, is that you?

Who's there?

Hey, hey! Stop!

Mr. Palmer?

Stop!

Jimmy?

Jimmy?

Jimmy!

Are you all right?

So, we got no shooter, we got no shell casings, we got nothing.

This guy gonna be useful to us at all?

He's a witness, not a suspect.

He's an assistant to the medical examiner.

He's paid to observe things.

He's not a field agent.

He's a member of your team.

No. He works for Ducky.

Ducky works for you.

Something bugging you, Leon?

Yeah.

Director's back end of the week.

I want to go home.

I miss my kids. I miss San Diego.

Missed my damn flight because of this case.

I just want it solved, so I can leave.

Works for me.

Like I said...

I got him.

Luck.

I saw some of these guys at the Navy Annex garage, but... none of them look like the guy who shot at me.

What about the photo on the passport?

Definitely the dead guy.

Positive.

Name on the passport?

It wasn't the name on the driver's license, which was...

Baxter?

Right.

I think the name on the passport started with...

S-U-S or an S-A-S.

Country?

The lettering wasn't in English. It was like...

Hieroglyphics.

Design, then.

Blue cover.

Might have been like a...

an eagle or a star, stylized.

You know, like... like a swirl.

Sort of.

Swirly?

So you saw a man with a gun and you decided to chase after him?

No, I chased after him, and then I saw the gun.

I can't tell if you're dumb or brave.

Not brave enough.

The gun...

What about it?

Automatic, revolver?

Nickel-plated, black? Dull, shiny, big, small?

Big.

The barrel!

Yes, the barrel.

You want to take a minute?

No, no, I... I'm good.

I'm good.

All right.

Height?

Average.

Can you be more specific?

It all happened so fast.

But you got a really good look at him?

Yeah, a very good look...

Beady eyes. Okay?

Reptilian.

So we're looking for a beady-eyed reptile with a big gun?

How close were you to the shooter?

How close?

Feet, yards, inches... how close?

Okay.

What are you doing?

Pythagorean theorem.

By calculating two fixed points,

then factoring in the shooter as a third fixed object, I think I can estimate how far...

Okay, that's enough for tonight.

Go down to Sciuto's lab first thing in the morning, draw a sketch.

I want to put a BOLO out.

Sir...

I'm so sorry that I couldn't...

Remember?

Catch him.

It's okay.

We'll catch him.

Rick Baxter, 34.

Single, born in Denver, no known relatives.

According to the DMV, he's lived at the same address in Virginia for the past 11 years.

And?

The address has been a strip mall for the past two years.

Baxter's condo was demolished.

No record of a current address. Renewed his license by mail.

Fake?

No, it's real.

Hologram, strip mag, everything checks out.

Only fake part is the address.

Passport?

Baxter's never applied for one in his life.

He's never left the country.

So, real driver's license, phony address and a fake passport. It's like Jason Bourne.

Should we put out a BOLO for Matt Damon?

Or not.

Prints.

Baxter's not in any system anywhere.

He's never been arrested, never served in the military...

So there is no way to know who Baxter really is or is not.

He didn't take the license, he took the passport. That's the key.

Maybe Mini-Mallard made a mistake and it wasn't a passport.

It was.

Baxter hasn't filed a tax return in ten years.

No applications for unemployment.

Bank records?

Dormant account.

Defaulted to the state five years ago.

Phone.

Baxter's cell was a burn phone, boss.

Purchased at a convenience store with cash ten days ago.

So there's no address to trace.

From the phone's SIM card we know that a call was placed from his cell at 4:03 this morning.

Around the time of death.

Trace.

That's going to be a bit of a problem, boss.

The phone he called was also a burn phone.

So even going off cell towers, we can't really get a fix.

Maybe I can...

maybe I can track all transmissions from both phones, see if I can find a common number that links both to a land line.

Yeah, do that. Passport.

Shooter. Dead guy.

Connect the dots.

Yeah. Gibbs.

Be right there.

- Duck.

Jethro.

The wound to Mr. Baxter's

left temporal lobe did not kill him.

I found evidence of blood in his lungs, indicating that he lived some time after the initial blow.

Enough time to make a phone call? - Yeah.

911 would have been advisable.

He had something to hide. Death?

Exsanguination.

Shattered spleen and a crushed liver and other assorted abdominal injuries.

Not to mention all the fractures.

The fall.

With catastrophic results.

I surmise the blow to the head made him lose his balance, and that caused him to fall to his untimely death.

I don't know how it fits into your puzzle, but it is on his upper extremities,

and throughout his respiratory system.

He was breathing it.

It seems so.

What is it?

Abby is running tests.

Thanks, Duck.

How is Mr. Palmer?

I really miss his assistance.

You never fully appreciate someone until they're not here.

He'll be all right.

Jimmy may not have had a good look at the shooter, but I fear the shooter may have had a good look at him.

Duck.

You let me worry about the shooter.

My soup is simmering.

Now back to my masterpiece.

Now flare the nostrils.

Split the difference.

What about the ears?

Bigger?

Well, not that big.

Yeah, like that. Now, reduce the density of the orbicularis oris area.

The what?

The space between the nose and the upper lip.

We call that a Cupid's Bow.

One time I got my lip stuck in a vacuum cleaner display at the department store.

I lost, like, a quart of saliva before my cousin pulled the plug

I still have nightmares about it. Can't be alone with a HEPA filter.

How old were you?

Twenty-two.

It was, like, Fat Tuesday

- or Arbor Day.

That's him!

That is the guy.

That's the guy?

That's the guy that picked up the passport?

Yeah. Why, what's wrong?

So you got shot at by Dr. Jekyll?

I think you're referring to Mr. Hyde.

Dr. Jekyll's the one who invented the potion, but look, yeah, you have captured his essence perfectly.

His anger.

His intent.

His bloodlust.

His likeness?

It's his likeness.

That's kind of the point here.

You know what? Let's start over.

Okay. He was a white guy, right?

I couldn't catch him, now I can't even identify him.

I'm sure Gibbs thinks I'm completely useless.

No.

Jimmy!

You chased a crazy guy with a gun.

You're a stud muffin.

You're an iron fist with a velvet glove.

You're Baby Gibbs.

Really?

Now make the bridge of the nose flatter.

McGee.

Done, boss. Common calls from both burn phones were made to a single residence two days ago.

Address.

A mobile home park in Alexandria.

I hope there's no tornados.

You know about tornadoes and trailer homes.

Gear. Go. Get back.

Wow, should've seen that coming.

Looks like we missed the twister.

It was Baxter's house but it disappeared in the middle of the night.

No one heard or saw it leave.

Put a BOLO out on the plates, nothing yet.

His neighbor's positively identified Baxter from our driver's license photograph.

Manager said Baxter had been there for a year, paid through the end of the month. Gave no notice of leaving.

Someone is going to great lengths to clean up after him.

The question is why?

I took that picture.

Notice anything odd about it?

A little underexposed.

Five-gallon drum. Abby ran the contents: hydrofluoric acid.

That's important because...

They don't use it in construction.

I knew that. That's why I took the picture.

I'm really trying here, McGee.

Jimmy, I know.

Passport.

Okay... blue.

Dark blue. I'm pretty sure it was dark blue.

Yes, you have narrowed it down to the most popular color in the world.

I'm sorry, McGee.

It's all right, don't worry.

Again, these represent every dark blue passport in the world from Argentina to Zimbabwe.

There's so many.

Seventy-two.

With each country averaging ten percent of the population with passports, we're looking at approximately 200 million suspects.

Give or take a few million.

I took a wilderness survival course.

Spent two weeks alone.

I even encountered a bear.

But a ten-second encounter with a bad guy, and I go blank.

I do not understand.

Well, was that bear in the woods packing heat?

No.

There you go.

Guess you never know, do you?

What?

How you'll respond.

In a moment of crisis, you have a split second to make a decision.

Jimmy, someone was pointing a gun at you.

In that split second, you chose to duck.

I think you passed with flying colors.

It's like it fried my brain circuitry.

We're going to fix that.

Okay?

You mind if I ask you a personal question?

Yeah.

How did you handle getting shot at the first time?

Well, you know, I'm a highly trained federal agent.

It's not really a fair comparison. Anything on these passports?

I'm not a lot of help, am I?


All right.

There is something else that we could try.

Your eyes are getting heavy.

All information is recorded in the subconscious mind.

I'm going to count down from three.

As I'm counting down, you are going to go into a deeper state of relaxation.

Three.

You're getting calm and relaxed.

Two, you're going into a deeper state of comfort.

One.

You're in a deep sleep.

You're at peace.

You have the ability to retrieve any information at will.

You have total recall.

If at anytime you feel a block to your memory, take a deep breath...

... and the block will melt away.

Understand?

Okay.

I'm going to take you back to yesterday.

You're at the crime scene.

You find a passport.

Passport?

Yeah.

Do you see it?

It's vinyl. Dark blue.

Vinyl? - Yes.

Dark blue?

Yes.

Pick it up.

No, I'm going to get hurt.

You're safe, Jimmy.

No one's going to hurt you.

Deep breath.

Good.

Okay.

You're at the crime scene.

You look down and what do you see?

Leather.

Light brown.

What?

Okay, pick it up.

And look at it.

Are you doing it?

Okay, what does it say?

Cole Haan,

low boot, size seven and a half.

Sounds like a woman's boot.

Jimmy, put Ziva's boot down.

Can you hear me? It's Abby.

Abby.

Black. High platforms. Dementia.

Size ten.

Jimmy!

What?

What did I say?

Did we catch him?

Did we learn anything about this guy?

No, but we certainly learned something about you.

Whatever it is,

it's not what you think.

If the shoe fits...

Wait, wait. Where are you going?

These boots were made for walking.

Wait. You can't just give up.

We're not giving up, Jimmy.

We're moving on.

No, no, no. I. I have to do this. Please. Please!

Try again?

Balding, short-cropped rim of dark hair.

Squinty eyes, but set deep in its sockets.

Full face.

Small scar on the right jaw line.

His details are amazing.

Right down to the scar.

Sideburns about two inches lower than the ears.

Small gold ring in his left earlobe.

Razor stubble.

Pale complexion.

He's got every feature.

This is good enough for a BOLO.

Okay, Jimmy, I'm going to count backwards from four.

When I get to one, you're going to open your eyes.

Four, three, two,

one.

How'd I do?

Great.

Like, greater than great.

I didn't mention anything about the sleep out at Camp Winnamonka, did I?

Okay, are you ready?

That's the guy.

The guy who took a shot at you, right?

Two shots.

Of espresso.

That's the guy I get my coffee from every morning.

Jimmy!

Wait. What happened at Camp Winnamonka?

Leaving.

Hey.

I got the results on that white powder found on Baxter.

Any luck jogging Palmer's memory?

Working on it.

Sounds like he's got a serious case of brain freeze.

Well, freeze can always thaw, Leon.

Agent Gibbs!

I've got Abby's results from that white residue found on Baxter.

It was efflorescence.

Abby says that efflorescence forms from water and calcium carbonate, seep through concrete.

Subgrade concrete.

That's why the naval building was being retrofitted.

I saw it on the cement, not in the air.

What would cause him to breathe in a good amount?

Drilling.

Why would he be drilling into concrete?

I guess that you're going to find out.

Hey, grab your gear. We're going back.

Move it down slowly.

Keep going.

Converting to a three-dimensional image.

And we get... rebar.

Maybe he did not know or forgot where he was supposed to be drilling.

Well, maybe he was drilling to place explosives.

First time they hit the World Trade Center, they aimed at the garage.

Navy annex building's next door.

Keep looking.

Here is another hole.

I thought that drill belonged to one of my guys.

No. Dead guy's prints are all over it.

Okay, Tony.

Keep moving it down.

Keep going.

Stop right there.

Stop.

Converting.

Boss?

It will take a very long time to get fingerprints off that unfortunate soul.

How long, Mr. Harris?

We're ready to cut out the section, but we have to wait for the structural engineer. He's on his way.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Yeah, well, my... "cooperation" just put us in the red on this job.

If you'll back away, please.

All right, jack it up short.

Hey, get ready.

We're making progress, Boss.

We had one dead guy with two identities, and now we got another dead guy with no identity.

There has to be a connection.

The body must have been dumped into the column form before the concrete was poured.

What was Mr. Baxter doing here in the middle of the night?

Without a jackhammer, he couldn't get those bones out.

He didn't have to, Duck.

Because he had hydrofluoric acid.

Hydrofluoric acid is highly corrosive.

If he had managed to pour in that acid, it would have destroyed all organic material.

That would make DNA and dental identification virtually impossible.

Doesn't explain who killed Baxter.

It's probably the same guy who shot at me.

Yes, well, I think we've done here.

Foreman said it'd take a couple hours to cut out that section of column.

Gibbs wants me to stay behind and maintain the chain of evidence.

Yes, well, Mr. Palmer and I have to go pick up some unconventional tools, don't we, Mr. Palmer?

Mr. Palmer?

Do you see him?

Who?

It's him.

He's right behind that truck.

He's been watching me.

Stay here.

Hi, Gibbs.

Impressive.

Well, I learned from the master. That would be you, the master.

And I would be the apprentice. The master's apprentice.

The apprentice to the master.

Okay, I said "Hi Gibbs" every ten seconds since I called you down here five minutes ago.

To tell me what?

I took a photo of Baxter's head wound,

using an oblique-angled light source.

It makes the impression from the blunt-forced weapon even clearer.

Weapon of choice?

Bolt cutters.

Watch.

Perfect fit.

Lot of those on a construction site.

You bring them to me, and I will tell you exactly which one.

And that's not all.

Ducky found a microscopic piece of metal in the victim's wound. It's 99 percent pure copper.

0.4 phosphorous.

I matched it to an electric cable.

Do you know what the spot price is for copper, Gibbs?

I know our killer does.

Thanks, Abs.

Yeah, there was a time when I thought I would be an archeologist.

Really? - Yes.

I was in the upper sixth at school.

Summer holidays. I volunteered for a dig in Tanzania.

What happened? Why did you decide to go to medical school?

Well, although archeology carried a certain romantic appeal, I soon realized it wasn't in my bones, so to speak.

You have to decide what's in your bones, Mr. Palmer.

Not a spine. - Nonsense. You just have a... a well-developed sense of self-preservation.

You're training to be a medical examiner, not an NCIS field agent.

I have no doubt that you have it in you to die a hero's death.

But for the time being, I'd appreciate it if you could stay alive to help me examine the dead.

Ducky, sorry to interrupt. Need to borrow Palmer here.

What's happening?

We have a suspect.

A suspect? What did you find?

Sometimes I worry about that young man.

Now, let's have a look.

Your bolt cutters, Enis.

We got a blood match. You should have used bleach.

How did you know Rick Baxter?

I didn't. - Right.

You met him at the construction site when you went to go steal something in the middle of the night?

With bolt cutters.

What does copper sell for these days, Enis?

About four dollars a pound.

Worth killing for?

It was self-defense, man.

This guy was trying to kill me!

There was some copper wire I wanted up on the third floor.

South side, and I went up there.

And I saw him. He was drilling a hole in the support column.

You know, he spotted me, he went nuts.

I ran, he came after me, and... I thought he was gonna kill me.

I had my cutters.

I took a swing, I got lucky. Caught him in the side of the head, and he staggered back.

Just fell right off of the edge.

I swear, that's it. If I didn't do it, he would have killed me.

Watley just confessed to killing Baxter.

Claims it was self-defense.

No more looking over your shoulder.

You got the wrong guy.

He just confessed.

He may have confessed to killing Baxter, but that is definitely not the guy who tried to kill me.

Look at the bright side, at least we solved Baxter's murder.

Self-defense, not murder.

So says our copper thief.

And Abby.

She analyzed footprints and blood spatter we lifted from the garage: matches Watley's story.

I'm more concerned with Palmer.

He said Watley is not the guy who took a shot at him.

Or stole Baxter's passport.

And we still don't know who did.

You already knew that.

Call every Baxter in the phone book.

- See if I can find a relative.

Help Tony.

Re-check for a financial trail. Got it.

Short leash.

Them or me?

No ID on the mummy yet?

Abby's working on it.

Then I'm sure you'll have one soon.

How's Palmer?

I'll let you know.

Sorry.

Never say that. You writing a letter?

E-mail to my mom.

I'm trying to figure out how to describe what happened.

How do you do it?

Block out fear?

You don't.

It's what you do with it.

What I'm doing with it is nothing to write home about.

The look in someone's eyes can tell you a lot.

What do mine tell?

Hold off on that.

You'll have something to tell them.

Pull up a chair... We just got to the East Coast felons.

It's always my favorite part.

Facial recognition.

Yep.

- Where'd you get the face?

When we found John Doe, there was nothing left, except a shrunken, dried-up mummy.

But then I realized,

when he was first buried, he must've had some kind of face.

When the concrete was poured...

It left an imprint.

Exactly.

I scanned the pieces of concrete that were surrounding his face,

and then I had the computer look for pieces that matched a template.

Then I converted the grid into a 3-D imprint.

I scanned the imprint, added flesh tones and estimated a brow line, and I made a photo likeness.

VoilĂ !

You got a match.

Not yet.

But I'm searching every database I can, and the software is crunching...

You got a match.

It didn't ding!

My dinger didn't ding! My dinger must be broken again.

I got a match.

A personal injury case from 1998.

And the winner is...

Rick Baxter.

The real Rick Baxter.

However, the real Rick Baxter had his identity stolen by this man.

Elevator guy.

He didn't just steal Rick Baxter's identity, he actually became Baxter.

And got rid of the original.

Stuffed the body in concrete, and had to go back and get rid of it before the retrofitters found it.

Why Baxter?

Green.

Baxter was injured at a construction site in California.

Won a big settlement, 12 years ago.

Two-point-one million, to be paid over 20 years.

So Mr. Elevator Shaft Guy killed Baxter, and then stole his identity.

You need to keep him alive to keep receiving the payments.

It's kind of ironic.

Get injured one day at a construction site and then the next day you're part of one.

It still doesn't tell us who took a shot at Palmer.

He had a partner, McGee. Check settlement payments.

They've all been cashed at the same currency exchange.

I'll go there and see what I can dig up.

Dr. Mallard, aren't we forgetting something?

I shall use the elevator, so...

You get the body off the roof.

And then we can move the body back into the cage.

It's all clear up there?

Stop!

I've been thinking and I... Well, you're obviously the one to ask.

Obvious in which way to ask what?

What I should have done.

Done?

If I had actually caught the guy?

The shooter guy. What should I have done?

To protect yourself?

Yeah, I guess so.

This is a gun. I am you. You are the shooter.

Shoot me.

You try.

Well, perhaps it is best that you did not catch him.

- M.I.

M.I.?

M.I.

The first two letters in his first name were M.I.

Ziva, you can let go now.

All right. First name started with an "M" and an "I".

Last name started with an S-U-S.

And the next letter was a...

The next letter was...

Republic of Yugoslavia. - That's it!

That is the passport!

Half of the settlement payments were converted to Serbian dinars.

80% of Serbian names end with an I-C.

I-C... M-I... S-U-S... I-C.

There are also a lot of Cs and Ks.

M-I...

Milos Suskavich! Milos Saca... Whatever!

I can spell it!

S-U-S-K-A-V-C-E-V-I-C!

We heard it the first three times, P-A-L-M-E-R.

Milos Suskavcevic. A native of central Serbia.

Emigrated to the U.S. in 1998.

Two years after Baxter was awarded his settlement.

He come alone?

He came with his brother, Tesla.

Run him.

Is that the guy?

I don't know. He didn't have a beard when I saw him.

I'd have to see him in person.

Worked out well for you last time, didn't it, Palmer?

Find him, McGee.

I need to access Homeland Security database for Tesla Susk...

How it's spelled.

The only address listed for Tesla is another P.O. box.

Checking the cell-phone records.

He's got a Blackberry.

Trace it.

Already on it.

Junction of 95 and Arlington Highway. It's another trailer park.

Hiding in plain sight.

No. You stay.

I can identify him.

You will, when we bring him back.

Clear!

- Just missed him.

He'll be back.

Belgrade, Serbia.

First Class.

Traveling on Baxter's dime.

Or dinar.

McGee, check the park.

DiNozzo! - Boss!

Check the manager's office. Ziva, stay here.

What are you doing?

I thought I could help.

What don't you understand about the word "stay".

Stay! Palmer, you stay in the car.

Boy...

Drop the gun!

Put the gun down!

Get on the ground! Now!

Hands behind your back.

What the hell were you thinking?!

I did not get out of the car.

Don't ever do it again.

Now you got something to write home about, Palmer.