JUDGING ELLIE

by Catherine Snodgrass

  and I want you and Vic Brownell to start looking into the specifics of the case. It’ll put a lot on your plate, I know, but this one’s important." Kurt thought Jess looked tired. For all the man’s earlier teasing, his lean face seemed to have developed a score of new lines in the two days since they had met about the Lost Oasis case. The blue eyes that normally snapped and sparked with life were dimmed with worry.

  "Do you know what ketamine is?" Jess leaned back, reached into a battered metal file drawer and brought out a manila folder stuffed with papers.

  "Isn’t it some sort of club drug? Something the kids use at raves to get high?"

  "Yes…and no." Jess opened his folder, checked his notes, and continued. "Ah. Here it is. Ketamine hydrochloride, known on the streets as ‘K,’ Special K, or Vitamin K is a drug used primarily by veterinarians as an anesthetic for small animals"—he waved one hand—"like cats or monkeys. It blocks neuro-receptors in the brain and dulls pain."

  "Like PCP," Kurt suggested.

  "Exactly like. Unfortunately, it’s also become popular with the club crowd because if inhaled, smoked or injected, it produces a fast, comfortable buzz."

  He flipped through the papers, pulled out a yellow page marked with the logo of the DEA and slid it across the desktop to Kurt. "Take a look at this."

  Kurt scanned the DEA memo. It had been distributed to the law enforcement agencies and military installations in Southern California. A large shipment of liquid ketamine, destined for veterinary laboratories in Mexico, had been mysteriously diverted to the United States and tracked as far as the Riverside, California area.

  At that point, the agents had lost track of the shipment, but suspected the bulk of the contraband had made its way up to the high desert area surrounding Twentynine Palms and the Marine Corps base.

  Jess’ chair creaked as he leaned back. "There have been several vials of the ketamine confiscated by recent DEA sting operations in the Palm Springs area. Testing confirms it’s from the original Mexican shipment. Unfortunately, the bulk of the shipment is still unaccounted for."

  "What makes the DEA think local dealers have already hooked into this drug?" Kurt asked. "Why ketamine and not something else, like methamphetamine?"

  "K is easy to make and use." Jess rubbed his eyes, another symptom of how tired he was. "The liquid is cooked down in a microwave and the remaining powder is usually inhaled, smoked, or injected. Not as dangerous as meth, by a long shot." He shrugged his shoulders. "The effects of the ketamine are also much less intense as long as the dosage taken is small. Usually, the user feels relaxed or sleepy, with slurred speech, maybe some minor hallucinations. Then the effects are gone in about a half an hour. Anyone could take this stuff and could get by as just being drunk."

  "The perfect high."

  "Exactly." Jess stifled a yawn. "Excuse me. But it gets worse. It’s cheap to buy—only costs about twenty dollars a hit, around eighty to one hundred dollars for a gram."

  "I don’t think we want any of our Marines handling million-dollar equipment high on ketamine," Kurt said.

  "We don’t, and neither does the government. And that’s where NCIS comes into the picture." Jess flicked his now-decimated toothpick into the metal trash can next to his desk. "My sources confirm that someone has been distributing powdered ketamine in this area, a lot of which is making its way onto the base." He sighed. "That means someone has purchased the liquid, cooked it down, and packaged it for resale. You need to find out who’s selling the stuff and where they got it from."

  "Do you have any suggestions where to start?"

  "DEA is sending one of their regional agents up to meet with me tonight. After that we’ll get started, and I’ll bring you and Vic in to meet whoever they send." Jess squinted at Kurt. "At first, I was a little uneasy about having to work so closely with the DEA, but we don’t have much choice."

  "Why do you say that?" Kurt asked.

  "We think the dealer is a Marine."

  Just saying the words seemed to weigh Jess down more than he already was. Kurt supposed he understood how he felt. After over thirty years in the business, Jess was probably tired of always hearing the military was involved. Retirement was probably looking better and better to him.

  Kurt leaned forward ready to suggest it once more.

  The office door flew open and crashed against the plaster wall before he got the chance. Kurt jumped up, reaching for the pistol under his arm. Streams of dust filtered down from the cracked white ceiling tiles above the desk.

  "What the hell?" Coughing, Jess waved his hand in front of his face and shoved to his feet.

  Kurt frowned when he recognized the intruder.

  Lieutenant Lee Parsons was stocky and built like a boxer. He filled the opening to the hallway as he gripped the doorjamb in a white-knuckled hold that threatened to demolish the wood. The man’s dark eyes were wide and bloodshot, flicking between Jess and Kurt like he didn’t know who to go after first. His body quivered with rage.

  Kurt rose up—a smooth, effortless motion that positioned himself between Parsons and Jess. He balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to intercept any sudden moves from their unannounced visitor. Parsons was big, but Kurt had the martial arts training to bring him down.

  "Ease down, both of you." Jess jerked a finger at Parsons. "You. Sit down." He gestured to a second chair facing his desk. "It’s all right, Kurt." He returned to his seat and pinned a thin smile upon his face.

  Still tensed and anticipating trouble, Kurt lowered himself onto the edge of his chair, keeping one eye on the agitated Marine. He didn’t trust the twitchy bastard.

  "So, Lieutenant…" Jess laced his fingers before him on the desk. "What can we do for you? Are you here to break my door, or provide us with more information related to your case? As I told you last night, Agent Duncan has things well in hand."

  "Hell, yeah, he has things in hand." Parsons’ anger turned his deep voice into a growl. "He’s got that blackmailing bitch’s tittie in his hand is what he’s got. Didn’t look to me like he was doing any investigating, unless it was what she had underneath that skimpy top she was wearing."

  Jess flicked Kurt a narrow glare but continued to placate Parsons. "I assure you, Lieutenant, Agent Duncan is working for your best interests. He needs to gather more information about this woman, perhaps entice her to become more involved with him, in order to thoroughly expose her blackmailing schemes. He’s not taking this lightly. We have to have sufficient evidence to put her in jail for a long, long time. Not just a slap on the wrist and time served for misdemeanor crimes."

  "Just where the hell were you spying on me?" Kurt didn’t bother to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

  Parsons shifted on his chair and twisted his military cover between his paw-like hands. He focused his gaze everywhere but on the men he faced. "Last night. Late. I was sitting in my car in the parking lot. Waiting for her. I’ve been waiting there most Thursday and Friday nights for the past couple of weeks, hoping she’d show up."

  Patches of red spread from his thick neck up to his cheeks. "My wife thinks I’m working late on a special project for the Chief of Staff. I patch my desk phone though to my cell phone so if she calls me at work, I can pick up right away."

  "Clever you." Kurt didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm or his contempt.

  "What did you see last night?" Jess asked.

  Parsons’ jaw clenched. "I saw that whore arrive around 2200 with a man and another woman. I was parked pretty far back in the lot, and by the time I got out of my car and ran up to the door, they’d gone inside."

  Kurt was curious. "Why didn’t you just go in? Confront her in front of everyone?"

  Another flush. Another glance away. "The last time I was in the club searching for her, about a week ago, I caused a little bit of a ruckus, and now that fuckin’ bouncer, Dougie, won’t let me in."

  He pounded one clenched fist against Jess’ metal desk, knocking paperclips from their bowl. "I swear to God, I’m go
ing to kill her. She thinks she has me by the balls because of one quick hop in the sack. Well, I’m not going to let her do it, do you hear me?"

  He whipped around to Kurt. "Then I see you out front later on in the evening, feelin’ her up. Some investigative work."

  "Lieutenant Parsons." Jess’ voice commanded the irate man’s attention. "Has she asked for any more money or tried to contact you in any way?"

  He shook his head.

  "Then, at this point, we have two weeks to come up with the money before she delivers copies of her video to your wife and to your command. That gives us fourteen days to gather enough evidence to solidly convict her in a court of law." He set his jaw. "Between now and then, I suggest you stop lurking around in parking lots and spend more time with your wife and children. It’s almost Christmas, remember?"

  Parsons gave a grudging bob of his buzzed head.

  "Are you sure you can’t remember where it was she took you the night you had sex?" Kurt asked for what had to be the tenth time.

  The lieutenant stared at a spot on the carpet and shook his head. "It was too dark and I was too drunk. Everything was just a blur that night. All the houses and streets in this town look the same." He forced his gaze Kurt’s way. "Believe me, if I could remember where that woman lives, I’d take care of this problem myself."

  Jess stood, gesturing toward the door. "Leave the investigating to us, Lieutenant. We don’t need any screw ups at this point, okay?"

  Parsons glanced from man to man. Faced with Jess’ implacable reserve and Kurt’s glowering stare, he had no choice but to leave the office, albeit more quietly than he had arrived. The door closed softly behind him.

  "Asshole." Kurt slumped loose-limbed into the chair. "So much for happily-ever-after married life. What happened to fidelity? Jerk. I hate men like that. Probably not the first time he screwed around on his wife. Probably won’t be the last."

  Jess rubbed his temples as he resumed his seat. "Be that as it may, he’s the only one who’s brought us information about this woman’s blackmailing schemes. I’m sure there have been other Marines fleeced by her, but no one has come forth. We need more than just his word and a verbal threat from her."

  "More men too embarrassed to admit they’d been screwing around on their wives. Don’t want to risk being brought up on charges of adultery by their commanding officers." He’d bet they were more embarrassed at having been caught.

  "Parsons still maintains he was too drunk to know what he was doing."

  Kurt snorted. "If you believe that, I’ve got some swamp land to sell you here in the desert. This isn’t the type of woman you can keep your hands off of."

  That raised Jess’ eyebrows. "What I am more concerned with right now is your method of information gathering." He nailed Kurt with a glance. "Don’t screw this up by getting too involved with the suspect."

  "Don’t worry, Jess." Kurt stretched and yawned. The late night and early morning were catching up to him. "I’ve got everything well in hand." He grinned. "No pun intended."

  "I’m sure." Looked like Jess wasn’t above a little sarcasm himself.

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  Ellie paused outside of Bakkman’s Boutique. The clothing in the window was fashionable, but not too outrageous. Outfits that real women might actually wear, not the ragged shreds of nylon and leather that waif-like models touted on the covers of grocery store magazines.

  She glanced at her reflection in the store window and sighed. Military cammies had been exchanged for her usual off-duty outfit, a long, comfortable denim skirt paired with a soft, shapeless sweater and her winter coat. Her dark brown curls were pulled back from her face into a pony tail, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

  Ellie sighed again. As she had told Susan the day before, it was time for a change. In fact, Susan was supposed to be meeting her outside the store, but there was no sign of her. Probably delayed at the hospital.

  She checked her watch. There was still time to browse through the clothing before heading over to the bookstore for her shift. Ellie squared her shoulders, stiffened her resolve, and pulled open the glass door. A little bell announced her arrival.

  The shop was small and heavily scented with a cloying floral potpourri. Ellie’s nose twitched, but the need for a new outfit far outweighed her distaste. She breathed through her mouth. Now she knew how the courtroom attendees felt when they got a whiff of her eau de cigarette stink.

  Unbidden, the humor of the whole morning’s episode struck her. A bubble of laughter arose inside. If she really had wanted to get revenge on Yost and Duncan, she wouldn’t have showered at all, just made sure that she sat very, very close to them for the rest of the day. She laughed aloud.

  "May I help you, miss?"

  The regal tones of an older woman standing at her elbow so startled Ellie she spun around and knocked into a rack of forest-green silk blouses. With a tinkle and crash of metal, the display tipped over, scattering the garments over the floor like leaves blown from a tree.

  "Oh, I am so sorry." Ellie stooped to pick up the blouses. "I didn’t see you there. You startled me."

  "Don’t mind those. Stacy will get them." She caught Ellie’s arm and gently urged her to stand. Turning her head toward the back of the tiny store, she called out. "Stacy, I have a job for you. Please come here."

  Seconds later a high school girl rushed out.

  "Tidy up these tops, will you, please?" The woman waved her bony fingers over the pile.

  The girl flashed her boss a pained look and bent to gather up the blouses from the floor.

  "And now for you." She clasped her hands and gave Ellie her full attention. "May I help you find something specific, miss?"

  The woman reminded her of a tiny Margaret Thatcher, complete with blue rinse and just about as intimidating. Ellie longed to make a run for it. She would have if the woman weren’t standing between her and the door.

  "Um, actually, I need a new outfit for a special evening," she somehow managed to say.

  The woman looked her up and down carefully. Her expression indicated she doubted very much that Ellie would be able to find anything in the store similar to her current outfit.

  "What type of occasion are we talking about?"

  Ellie felt herself becoming flushed. "Well, it’s actually a date, not an event, although my getting a date is in and of itself an event." She closed her mouth before her babble got worse.

  The young woman kneeling on the floor made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

  "Hmmm," murmured the woman. "I like a challenge, and you certainly fit that category. What size? Ten on the bottom, twelve up top, if I’m guessing correctly," she said before Ellie could reply. "Stand up straight, young woman, and let me get a look at you. That’s right, shoulders back, chest out. With all this bulky clothing you’ve got on, it’s difficult to see you have a shape at all. But you’re a tall girl, and I think there’s more to you than meets the eye."

  Ellie considered making another dash for the door, but the forceful clothier already had her upper arm in a grip of steel.

  "I think we might have a few items that will do nicely… Stacy, when you’re done with those, please pull out the wine velvet and the charcoal satin suit."

  "Right, Mrs. B." The girl straightened the last blouse, then bounced off toward the display racks to Ellie’s right.

  The formidable Mrs. B guided Ellie to the left where a curtained dressing room awaited. "I’m Mrs. Bakkman, by the way. I own this store. Pay no attention to Stacy. She’s got the attention span of a cocker spaniel puppy, but she does set up nice displays." Her thin mouth twisted upwards into a prim smile. "Take off your clothes and I’ll pass the outfits through."

  Swept along by the overwhelming force of Mrs. B’s will, all she could do was comply. For all of her bossy mannerisms, the little woman seemed very willing to take Ellie on as her pet project.

  As she got down to her underwear and bra, Mrs. B’s hand stabbed throu
gh the curtain with two sets of hangers. Ellie hung them up, each on a separate hook in the dressing room, and examined each outfit with curiosity.

  The first was a velvet cocktail-length dress with a cowl neck and long, fitted sleeves. The color was a wine red that almost could be considered a shade of burgundy. Ellie stroked the soft material, admiring the simple classic lines.

  The second outfit was a black, two-piece suit with tuxedo-style tailoring. The lapels and cuffs were satin, and the jacket’s neckline plunged in a deep "V" that ended at one glittering onyx button. She wasn’t sure this type of tailored look would suit her physique, and searched the hangers for a blouse to go underneath. There was none. Ellie stuck her head outside the curtain and located Stacy rearranging some velour skirts on a nearby rack.

  "Excuse me, Stacy," she said.

  She turned and smiled. "Yes, can I get you something else?"

  "I’m missing the blouse that goes under the satin jacket."

  "There isn’t any. The only thing that goes underneath is you." Stacy wagged a finger over her chest.

  "Oh." Her lack of fashion acumen was definitely noticeable. Ellie ducked back inside and pulled on the burgundy velvet dress. It hugged her curves and accentuated her breasts.

  "Are you doing all right in there?" Mrs. B’s called out. "Once you’ve got one on, step out so I can take a look at you."

  Ellie stepped through the curtain and waited for the woman’s reaction.

  Mrs. Bakkman just stared, one hand cupped to her face, mouth pursed in thought.

  "What do you think?" Ellie asked hesitantly.

  "Take your hair out of that silly pony tail, young lady, and I’ll tell you what I think."

  Ellie lifted the heavy mass of hair and slid the pony tail band off. Her curls sprang forth in a riotous tumble and cascaded halfway down her back; a few errant twists curved around her face. Her mother was always nagging her to get it cut short so it could be more manageable—tidy was the word she used—but Ellie resisted. She liked the thought of long hair. It reminded her of the heroines in her romance novels. And it was a constant thorn in her mother’s side, which was always a plus.