Disclaimer: Nothing is my, just playing around here.

Note: Wow, thanks for your reviews! Glad to know that you're still with me and still interested. This chapter will hopefully answer many questions. This one was quick, but please don't expect miracles from now on. ;)

Please let me know what you think!

Part 12

"Hey, DiNozzo, you mind telling me why you bailed on the interrogation?" Gibbs shouted across the bullpen.

Several heads turned.

"Boss," Tony scrambled to get to his feet and grabbed the remote for the screen. "I think I know how they did it. I don't have definite proof, but-"

The others filed in, looking back and forth between Gibbs and Tony. He went silent and fidgeted.

"Well? Bring it on!"

"O-on it, boss." Tony started his hastily put together presentation. "I believe it all started with Ronald Jameson's fiancée Miranda Fowler, who left him for another man." The picture of a petty officer first class appeared. "That was nearly a year and half ago, and she is now happily engaged with that other man." Tony showed them the official marine photograph, which showed a woman that bore similar colouring and features to quite a few of the murder victims. When that fact had sunk in, he went on. "I called her and asked her whether she had something special in mind for her wedding to the new man, and now guess what she told me?"

First signs of comprehension showed on the others' faces. He clicked the remote control and a woman in a lavender coloured vintage dress appeared.

"She wants a regency wedding," Vance said, exhaling.

"Which is part of the vintage fashion movement," Tony confirmed. "We didn't think to check for her new relationship because she and Jameson hadn't talked about the wedding before they split up, and she didn't think to alert us because he wasn't harassing her at all. He was completely out of her life for a long time and she has no idea how he heard about their wedding plans. Also, the dresses in the vintage murders weren't from the regency period, which helped him to cover his tracks."

"We never found out his motif." Gibbs scowled. He looked like he wanted to give himself a head slap. "We shouldn't have given up."

"He channelled his rage," McGee said slowly, "and killed other women instead. That's why some victims had freshly dyed hair! Some of them were blond; too different from his ex, even if the new hair colour didn't match Miranda's completely."

"He wasn't stupid. He did to them what he would have liked to do to her, which was clever," Tony agreed. "But he needed help. He obviously had the drive to do harm but not the knowledge about committing such a crime without being found out immediately. And I highly doubt that he has come up with his MO by himself. Even Ducky told us that his profile doesn't really match that of a typical serial killer."

Gibbs stepped forward, scowl easing up a little. "Yeah, he attested that Jameson wasn't quite meticulous enough, compared to the effort his scenes took."

"How did he come to that conclusion?" Vance asked.

"His apartment. It was a typical bachelor pad," Banner offered.

"With which he means that it was neat," Balboa added, "but not too neat."

"Kind of a big hint, in retrospect." Vance waved at the screen. "But please, continue."

Tony clicked forward again and the dress of the first victim appeared. "He knew that we would find him if he bought the dresses somewhere, even if he used cash. That's where Callahan comes into play. Holly, the woman from the label factory, told us that he is very good with a sewing machine and can work with every fabric. When I called her again, she also said that he pays great attention to detail and is kind of a perfectionist."

"But how did Jameson meet Callahan?" Ziva crossed her arms. "How got they talking?"

"That's the beauty of murder mysteries," Tony said and clicked forward yet again. A picture of two people on a train came up. "Thanks to many great authors, there's nothing really new in crime."

"You think it was a Strangers on the Train mystery?" McGee asked. He sounded genuinely surprised, and maybe a little excited.

"But there is no train," Ziva said, confused.

Tony sighed. "Yes, without a train, I know. This is where I'm swimming a little. But I suspect that Jameson was looking into vintage fashion and somehow met Callahan, perhaps as he was loitering around a store. Somehow they began talking to each other. Maybe Callahan picked up on Jameson's frustration and drew him in; the point is that those two found each other and each had something the other wanted."

"Jameson wanted his ex-fiancée tortured and dead, but what did Callahan get out of it?" Vance asked. "The way it looks, Callahan came up with the MO, provided the dresses and maybe even helped with the logistics. Jameson had nothing to offer but money and second-hand satisfaction, and the money was ruled out first thing. His credit cards or withdrawals didn't turn up anything suspicious and I'm almost certain that we won't find anything in Callahan's accounts, either."

"He didn't pay with money," Tony said, a touch giddily. "He paid with, wait for it, inspiration!"

"What?" Ziva scrunched up her nose. "Are you serious?"

"It's the only explanation that I could come up with. Imagine those two meeting up. One is a frustrated ex-boyfriend and the other a frustrated serial killer. I mean, it has to happen sometime, doesn't it? Not every serial killer has a childhood trauma or a fixed idea on how to go about his killings. No, I say one just wanted his ex – or someone who is similar enough to her – dead, preferably in a certain dress - and the other wanted to kill young women. Maybe also in a certain dress. It's close to perfect, so why shouldn't they combine forces? If they weren't seen together, no-one would ever have a reason to go after them both, even if one was found out."

"It makes a scary amount of sense," Balboa rumbled.

"Callahan made only one mistake." Tony ended his presentation. "And that was not stopping the vintage murder tour when we caught Jameson. It must have appealed to him too much to let it go."

Banner nodded thoughtfully. "Narcissism actually is part of the typical serial killer profile. It'd fit."

"I'll have Dr. Mallard look into it," Vance said brusquely. "This scenario is as good as any at this point. Try to crack Callahan, and get Jameson back into interrogation. Gibbs, you'll keep me updated." He levelled a long look at Tony and then strode away.

As soon as he was gone, the tension dissipated. Ziva stepped forward and slapped Tony's arm.

"How did you come up with all this?" she asked, tone bordering on incredulous.

Tony shrugged. "When I talked to Vance, I first thought about the victim-swapping thing of Stranger on the Train. Since there were no wives, I went with the next best thing, which was Jameson's ex-fiancée. I found her picture in the data base and then called her. You saw how similar she looked to most of the victims. Also, Jameson didn't leave his sperm, which means that he knew he would come up in a search for some reason, or he wasn't ready to take that risk, in case we'd take DNA samples. Callahan didn't care, because there were no ties between them."

"Superiority complex," Banner supplied. "Fits right in with the serial killer profile. Man, if all this turns out to be true, I'll buy all your drinks the next time we're going out."

"If his theory holds up, I'll buy his drinks." Gibbs put a hand on Tony's neck and squeezed. "That was good work, Tony."

Inexplicably, Tony's throat closed up. "Thanks, boss."

"Not to be downing you, but we should wait for one of them to crack." Ziva sniffed. "Just because it sounds good doesn't mean it's true."

"Actually it's 'not to be a downer'," McGee mumbled.

Ziva shot him an exasperated look. "Whatever."

"Yeah, you're right," Tony said quickly. "So, who's going to visit Jameson with me?"

Gibbs gave him a tolerant look. "We won't be doing anything today except write our reports. This is your weekend off, it can wait until Monday."

"My team can do the first round of interrogation," Balboa offered.

McGee shifted uncomfortably. "Is that alright with the director?"

"Between the four of us, we have over seven hundred hours of overtime work piled up. What do you think, Tim?"

"Right. Then I'll just ... write." McGee quickly sat down at his desk and booted up his computer.

After a moment, Ziva decided that nothing more worth her while would be happening and followed his example.

"Drinks," Balboa intoned ominously as he readied himself to go. "When Gibbs is through with you, it's our turn."

Tony smiled, relief coursing through him. "God, yes, anytime. Thanks for your help, guys."

Gibbs went to his desk, jotted down a few notes and then grabbed his jacket. "Come on, let's head out. I'm so done with this crap."

"But don't I have to write my report, too?"

"You didn't discover a crime scene in the making. Let's go."

It wasn't by the book, but Tony couldn't care less. Gibbs would take the fall if Vance got pissy; all he wanted was to get his head around the fact that his little bit of snooping had actually cracked the case.

"Go on, you can look smug if you want," Gibbs said as they trooped down the stairs and got out of earshot. "You earned it."

"Maybe later," Tony replied. "When I'm not so confused anymore and can enjoy it."

Gibbs laughed. "Alright."

"You think it's really over now?"

"My gut tells me that you're right. They met somehow and planned all of it. The when's and how's are just details." Gibbs shrugged into his jacket and then held the door for Tony.

"I hope so. Fuck, I don't want to listen to Jameson ever again. Ducky may think he doesn't show all the traits of a serial killer, but that guy is sick as fuck. He just wasn't clever enough."

"Definitely a psychopath," Gibbs agreed. "Where are you heading now?"

Tony stopped on the sidewalk. "I ... I don't know. To be honest, I don't think I want to be alone just yet."

"It's still early. What'ya wanna do?"

"You offering your precious free time?" Tony teased.

Gibbs only shrugged. "The clock in my basement isn't going anywhere."

Suddenly shy, Tony smoothed down his own jacket. "It's nice out, we could take a stroll through the park."

"Okay. Where to?"

They got into Gibbs's car without much discussion. Tony knew that he'd either spend the weekend at his place, or that the man would give him a ride if he needed his own car for some reason or wanted to go home.

A frisson of pleasure trailed over his arms and his gut clenched lightly. It was good, so good, to know that they were close. That he had someone who looked out for him and kept him company when he really needed comfort.

The drive to Tony's favourite park took a little while and they spent it in silence. Tony enjoyed the sunlight and the many people milling around in the humid August weather.

"Looks like it might rain later," Gibbs said. Despite the warning, he didn't seem concerned at all.

"Good thing I ordered Netflix for you a couple months back," Tony smirked. "There's nothing better than a good movie when it's raining cats and dogs outside."

Gibbs shook his head resignedly. "I was going to buy dinner, but now you're cooking."

They both knew that this wasn't a hardship for Tony at all and so he didn't bother showing remorse.

"How about risotto? It's been ages since I used my nonna's recipe. You could have steak with yours."

"I'm at your mercy," Gibbs said, and there was it again, that half-smile that meant the world to Tony because it meant that Gibbs was genuinely feeling content, if not happy.

"Damn right you are, boss."

They set off for their walk, only stopping for a coffee halfway around the circuit. After getting enough sunshine to make up for the weeks cooped up in the office, Tony bought everything he needed for their dinner and stole Gibbs's wallet before he could pay.

"If chivalry is dead, it sure as hell isn't my fault," he grumbled, amused.

"You can carry the bag." Tony paid for the food and discreetly pocketed the phone number the girl at the cashier slipped him.

Back at Gibbs's house he took his time changing into comfortable sweats, washed up, and then put the groceries away. Surprisingly, Gibbs still didn't beat a hasty retreat to the basement, even after having suffered through a couple of hours of Tony's mellow chattering. Instead he leafed through the cook books Tony had brought over time.

"I still don't get how you can live like that."

"Like what? With the eating?"

"Yeah, that. Don't you miss meat?"

"Sometimes something terrible," Tony said easily and shrugged. He measured rice and dried mushrooms and pulled a pan from the cupboard. "But it's only in my head. Brad told me that our sense of smell is directly connected to the part of our brain that stores memories. So when I smell meat and want it, I want it because it reminds me of good times, not because my body craves it. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, I think so." Gibbs put the book down. "Pitt eating like you?"

"It's more that I eat like him. That day I got my fitness results from Ducky, I called him and asked him to check me over and help me. It turned out that he was already eating plant-based. He was and still is a huge help. It also doesn't hurt that he looks like a freaking movie star. Sells the idea, alright."

"You changed a lot. It's good." Gibbs gave Tony one of his infamous once-overs. "You look almost like you did that day you tackled me in Baltimore, only not so scrawny."

Tony laughed. "Man, those were good days. The thrill of the chase and all that. It's not the same these days."

"Oh, I don't know." Gibbs got up from his chair and sauntered over to the stove. "It might be better these days."

He stole a spoonful of peach cubes and Tony wondered when it had gotten so hot in Gibbs's kitchen.

End of part 12