NCIS

Light's still on.

You cut the alarm?

I cut the phone lines.

Detectors won't signal the cops. It's cool.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. You heard that?

Somebody's up there.

Hey, you're cool, right?

No problem.

Hey, what the hell did you do, man?

That guy came out of nowhere!

Come on, man, we got to go.

Come on, man, move!

- We got to go! - Oh, my God.

== sync, corrected by elderman ==

- Morning. - Good morning, Tony.

Why are you so preppy?

Well, probably because I went to boarding school.

But I think you mean "peppy."

And that's because it's...

L.E.S. day!

Les?

Leave and Earnings Statements.

- Oh, you mean payday. - That's another way of putting it.

Wait a second.

This isn't right.

This isn't my L.E.S.

It's McMoneybag's.

Somehow he makes more money than me?

Maybe they pay people what they're actually worth.

Morning, Ziva, Tony.

How much do you make, Tim?

What are you doing with my L.E.S.?

It was on my desk. It's addressed

to me-- it's a Federal offense.

Well, you know what I find offensive

and more than a little strange, is that somehow

you make $253 a week more than me.

- It's all about withholding. - Yeah.

What exactly

are you withholding?

Yeah, you're withholding something, all right.

You're too smart to hack into the system

and try and give yourself a little weekly bump, aren't you?

Or should I call

Fred Seymour in Accounting and find out?

Hang up, DiNozzo.

Time's money.

We've got a dead Navy reservist in Arlington.

Boss, did you know that McGee

makes more money than Ziva and me?

Keep me out of this. I know.

he gives a lot to charity, and you should, too.

The DiNozzos are great humanitarians. You know that.

We got a dead hu-man. Let's go.

Was that a pun?

Hey, why are we being arrested?

- Breaking and entering. - But we didn't steal anything.

You shot

the victim twice. One missed,

and the other just... grazed him.

Besides, he was already dead.

You sure about that?

He off'd himself, man. Come on.

We just happened to be here, man.

Wrong place, wrong time.

Look, we could've taken some of this stuff

on our way out, but we didn't, man.

Was there anybody else in the house?

I don't think so.

Get 'em out.

Man! Next time,

I'm picking the place we hit.

Interesting.

Doc. Hanging or the gunshot?

The math.

For centuries, hangings used a standard dead drop,

but then in 1872,

an Englishman named William Marwood

calculated a formula using a man's height,

weight and the distance dropped

to ensure a cleanly snapped neck.

So who is our well-versed victim?

McGee.

Dr. Robert Banks,

psychologist and Navy reservist on active duty.

High-level security clearance at the Pentagon.

Dr. Banks here clearly used

Marwood's formula and a double knot, thus ensuring

the "hangman's fracture."

Yeah, hoping for instantaneous death.

His goal was to fracture the third and fourth vertebrae.

Judging by the angle of the neck

and the petechial hemorrhaging in his eyes,

his efforts were successful.

But who shot him?

Robbers.

Well, then we'll have to see

which killed him first,

the bullet or the rope.

Boss, local LEOs say there's a woman outside

claims to be the victim's doctor.

Let her in.

Dr. Kate's sister.

Are you his doc, Doc?

Yeah, and his friend.

My condolences, Dr. Cranston.

Gibbs, found Banks's cell phone-- you're not gonna believe

who called him four times last night.

Dr. Cranston.

He... hanged himself, huh?

- Looks that way. - Well, whatever it looks like,

Gibbs, you look deeper.

Robert was one of the strongest people I knew.

He wouldn't do this; couldn't.

I know someone killed him.

So, you spoke to him last night, Doc?

Several times.

About what?

I'm afraid the rules of confidentiality

prevent me from giving you any details.

Doc, guy's dead.

Robert was a brilliant psychologist.

We went to school together.

What about since then?

We were close colleagues.

His wife filed for divorce a few months ago.

He was having a difficult time prior to that as well.

At work? He have enemies?

He was consulting on a special project for the Pentagon.

What kind of project?

The kind that gets you killed, apparently.

M.I.S.O.--

Military Information Support Operations.

I'm old-school, Doc.

Psy-ops'll do.

Yeah, well, then you know they use mind games

to confuse and manipulate the enemy.

I know that.

Credit card statements over the past few months

show that he was writing prescriptions for himself.

Oh, not true. That's the kind

of background fabrication psy-ops excels at.

Really? And you know this because...?

Because Banks invented it.

That what you and Banks talked about?

We talked about his divorce.

He wanted me to start seeing his daughter

to help her get through it.

Turns out he was having just as much trouble as she was.

He was getting increasingly anxious,

but whenever I brought up his daughter,

his panic would subside.

He lived for his little girl.

She was his hope, his whole reason for living.

People who have any hope at all, Gibbs,

they don't take their own life,

they embrace it.

Banks didn't kill himself.

Forgive me if I'm having a little trouble with this.

Bobby had been so unpredictable lately.

He just...

he just wanted Amber to be happy.

It's all because they broke up.

He still loved her.

You made this happen.

Tell me about your relationship, Mrs. Banks.

Why does any couple split after so many years?

We grew apart.

He'd become... different.

He had become moody.

He wasn't the man that I married.

And... he started

to take it out on both of us.

Mom... You know

he wasn't the same, Amber.

Life insurance

has you as the sole beneficiary.

Yeah.

His, um, university and naval death benefits.

He had an additional policy, too.

$4 million for both of you.

But...

wouldn't the suicide change that?

No, no,

not in this case-- he had a policy

that had an exclusion clause.

You sure you didn't know about the money?

Hey, finally. You work

with Fred Seymour in Accounting, right?

Uh, you need an accountant?

You bet I do.

I got a salary dispute.

Oh. Are you feeling overvalued or undervalued?

That's an interesting question.

It's not me, actually, it's McGee.

Who's McGee?

My coworker. The tall, pasty guy

who wanders around sort of...

You know, he spends way too much time indoors. Needs light.

Shouldn't I be talking to him?