The door clicked shut behind the FBI agent as he entered the interrogation room. I sat with my arms and legs crossed, chair pushed away from the table. I'd gone with Special Agent Seeley Booth to the FBI building willingly; but I wasn't happy about it. I hadn't murdered anyone, although I knew why they thought I did. Martin Davis and I had attracted quite a crowd of the backstreet hoodlums a few days ago when he'd provoked me into fighting him. I kicked his ass, naturally. For the last half hour, I'd glared straight at the upper half of the wall on my right, which I knew was actually a one-way mirror.
Booth pulled out the lone chair across from me. He looked at me for a moment, as if inviting me to get anything out in the open. "I want a lawyer," I said immediately.
Booth's eyebrows arched. "Is that a confession?" He asked, leaning forwards. "Because when someone asks for a lawyer, they're usually guilty."
"Or intelligent," I countered, not relaxing my position. "Even if I didn't do anything, if I was framed or there was circumstantial evidence, I could be charged if I don't have any legal protection. Theoretically, it's much less risky to have a legal representative, especially in my circumstances." I narrowed my eyes as Booth sighed. "And don't think you can antagonize me about it. I know my rights. You, slacker, neglected to read the Miranda Rights to me as of yet. As sanctioned by the aforementioned, I will be appointed an unbiased lawyer and given time to counsel privately with she or he before I am required to answer any of your questions or am charged for any accounts."
Booth's eyes widened, but he quickly made his expression one of unsurprised disappointment once more. I guess he hadn't expected me to be able to point that out. "I'd like to ask you a few questions. If you are opposed to answering or feel that they infringe on your rights, you will be appointed a lawyer. If you see them able to be answered, then go ahead and say however much you prefer. If you are still a suspect after these preliminary questions, then a lawyer will be issued."
I nodded, sucking on the inside of my cheek in thought. This seemed fair and was legal, and didn't harass, antagonize, or violate any of my rights as a citizen of America. "Agreed."
Booth took this as a good sign. He straightened up in his seat and set a clipboard on the table. He uncapped a pen and looked down to the paper. "What is your full name?"
"Holly Elena Emily Anya Kirkland."
It took Booth a moment to write it down. I have a lot of middle names. It's unusual, yeah, but I think it had something to do with my adoptive parents being unable to come to a consensus. That makes the most sense, anyway.
"Age?"
"Seventeen."
"And who are your parents?"
Impatiently, I listed off the names of my legal guardians, but then quickly tacked on, "But they've been missing for around a year, so don't bother trying to contact them. Legally my older brother is responsible for me. He's enlisted in the army but I reside at our house." Not completely a lie. He was in the army and I did still live in the house… sort of. Alright, we owned the land, but it wasn't valuable enough to take a mortgage or sell. I had a small place owned by myself, so a lot of my things were kept at the family house. Not that we were much of a family anymore.
Booth leaned forward. His eyes were deep brown and they searched mine for any hint of deceit. "Do you know Martin Davis?"
"Yep," I nodded casually. "Well, I did. He's sort of dead now. Get your verb tenses right, man. He was a real douche."
"Are you aware of why you are a suspect?" Booth asked, watching me in curiosity. I suppose no one acted as flippant as I was right now.
I shrugged. "Can't say for certain, but it's no secret in that neighborhood that Davis and I had a rivalry. We duked it out in an alley a few days ago. I whooped his ass, but I suppose any of his gang wouldn't have told you that, huh?" I smirked. "I assume you have his body in custody. If you look, you'll see the nose has been broken. That would be my handiwork."
Booth seemed mildly disturbed by my contempt for a dead man. "Is there any particular reason you fought, disagreed, or seem proud of your actions?"
"He was a drug dealer," I said, waving it off. "I didn't particularly care for him. Aside from being rude, he was incompetent. He's overdosed many times and drank copious amounts of alcohol. I'm not surprised the idiot ended up dead. Davis and I had lots of disputes because of what his gang did. See, he has this group of followers," I explained, starting to get into it. I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward, straightening my back, and used my hands to gesticulate my words. "They're all pretty stupid, and they all do drugs, too. Most of them have no family or have it rough at home. If they have a home, that is. They're usually between fifteen and twenty. They're pretty much black sheep. No one does anything if they don't think it'll benefit them or Davis in some way. A few months ago, there was this whole rumble. It was an all-out gang war, mostly about territory. One of the groups was from the ghetto part of the city, and they played really dirty. From what I heard, they used knives. Anyway, apparently they got several of Davis' mules to switch to their side. Since then, they've been the laughing stock of my part of town."
Booth nodded, showing that he was following along. "Now, Davis's group got pretty angry about this, as you can imagine. I work regular hours at that bar; more than a few times, I've seen some of the morons harassing others. Not from other gangs, but just people. Youngest I think was fourteen. They usually bribe their desired recruits with drugs; heroin, crack, the works. If that doesn't work, they get nasty and threatening. I've stepped in whenever I see that happening."
"And you don't beforehand?" Booth interrupted, flicking his pen on the clipboard.
I shrugged. "If they choose to do drugs and go nowhere with life, then that's their decision. If they try to make smart decisions, but their safety is threatened by people who have nothing better to do with their lives, then I act, because at that point it's not in their control and they need help. Anyway, his gang doesn't care for me anymore. If they could get away with it, I bet they'd have killed me by now. Davis and I just had a fight not long ago about it, because I was pissed off that he was harassing the community and he was ticked that I wasn't letting him be the king of his world of the damned. I wouldn't be surprised if I was next on their hit list."
"That doesn't worry you?" Booth questioned with a slight frown.
I knocked my head back and forth. "Well, it's not exactly a great feeling, but they'd never be able to pull it off unless they got a worse person to do their work, and I think I'd know if someone like that came around."
Another person came in, cracking the door open slightly. "Agent Booth?" It was a younger officer who seemed fidgety. "Homeland Security did as you asked. They're requesting your presence now."
Booth looked to me indecisively, like he couldn't determine what to do with me while he was going to see what Homeland Security wanted. I leaned back in my chair and raised my eyebrows questioningly, a light smirk in place. "Well, Agent Booth?" I asked, taunting him almost indiscernibly. "You can let me go or take me with you."
Another man stepped in. He had greying hair that was kept in a short crop cut. He had bags under his eyes and his skin was starting to take on an ashen hue. It wouldn't be too long before he could get a discount at the Early Bird Special. His form suggested he used to be muscular, but now I bet I could knock him over with a single punch to the sternum. He had a weapon at his side and wore a grey suit of high class material. He was probably Booth's superior. "Agent Booth, this woman is still a suspect in murder, and if she believes that she may be on a 'to kill' list, then it is our duty as the FBI to treat her as both."
Booth's eyes widened. "Sir, are you saying she's under our protection?"
"Your protection, Booth," the senior agent quickly reiterated. "From this point onwards, until this investigation on Martin Davis's murder is concluded, Miss Holly Kirkland is your charge. Where you go, she goes, or if she is injured it's on you."
I snickered at the look on Booth's face. He looked like he wanted to shoot himself and be done with this. "Wow, Agent Booth," I said innocently, blinking owlishly at the agent, who sent me a helpless look. "I guess I get to see what a real-life FBI officer does now."
Booth shook his head, hitting the heel of his hand to his forehead before standing up. He stood so abruptly his chair screeched as it was shoved backwards against the floor. He didn't bother to shove it back in. I stood up more calmly, sliding from my chair and pushing it in near-silently. Booth wagged a finger at me in warning. "We're going to meet someone," he said brashly. "Just stay calm and stay out of my way!"
"Your kindness warms my heart," I drawled sarcastically. You'd think he could be a bit more polite.
Homeland Security was using an interrogation room across the building which didn't take too long to get to. Then I found who we were there to pick up. A woman was sitting in the chair calmly, a messenger bag on the table in front of her. Three burly agents were surrounding her, but she wasn't intimidated in the least. She had sharp features and bright, clever eyes. Her soft brown hair was voluminous and wavy, the ends of her low ponytail curling up slightly. Her complexion was spotless. She was thin, but not scrawny, and seemed strong enough. She wore dressy slacks and polished shoes that clicked as she impatiently tapped her feet. She wore a dark green shirt with a semi-low neckline and a dark vest with pockets over it. She had simple green earrings dangling above her shoulders.
Her name is Temperance Brennan, PhD. She had a doctorate degree in forensic anthropology and is multilingual. She is quite possibly the most brilliant forensic scientist in the world. She works at the Jeffersonian Institution with her colleagues and several interns. She is forthright and blunt and socially inept. She is also a bestselling author; she happens to be my very favorite author, for that matter. She wrote of the endeavors of forensic anthropologist Kathy Reichs and her tasks of catching serial murderers along with the help of her forensics team and her liaison with the federal bureau. Her most recent novel is called Bred in the Bone.
"Look, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your friends," she was saying in a bit of exasperation. "But next time you should identify yourself before attacking me." She turned to look at Booth, who was next to me in the doorway, her voice very accusatory. "What are you doing here?"
Booth held out his badge to the agent who seemed in charge of Dr. Brennan's interrogation. "FBI. Special Agent Seeley Booth, Major Crime Investigation, D.C.. Bones identifies bodies for us."
"Don't call me Bones," Brennan reprimanded. "And I do more than identify."
I rifled through the belongings in my satchel before removing my copy of Bred in the Bone. "She also writes books," I added cheerfully, holding up the novel.
The agent huffed unhappily. "Fine. She's all yours, Booth," he said, sliding Brennan's messenger bag back across the table to her.
"Great," Booth said without much enthusiasm. "Bones, this is Holly Kirkland. She's under FBI protection due to gang rivalry stirred by a murder. She'll be coming with us." I waved at the anthropologist with a bright smile. She was my role model! Brennan gave me a nod of acknowledgement. "Now, let's grab your skull and vamoose."
"What!" Brennan exclaimed, irked. She whirled back to the Homeland Security agents. "That's it? She's all yours? Why did you stop me?"
"Why does it matter?" Booth intervened, suspiciously quick to speak up. "You're free to go. Let's just grab your bags."
Something seemed to dawn on Brennan. She glared at Booth, her jaw dropping slightly in indignant disbelief. "You set me up!" She accused. She whirled back to the agent again. "You got a hold-for-questioning request from the FBI, didn't you?" The agent seemed lost with the scientists' fury on him, and looked to Booth for directions. Brennan saw this and glared back at the FBI agent, who winced, knowing that he'd been caught red-handed.
"I love your books," I said mildly, to diffuse the sudden tension.
It did break the awkward silence. With the clicking of her heels, Brennan gave me another nod of acknowledgement to my statement and then grabbed her bag. She stalked past Booth defiantly. "Come on," she grumbled, discontented.
"That's the best you can do?" Brennan fumed when we were all in Booth's SUV. I didn't know where, exactly, we were going, but we'd loaded into Booth's vehicle. Booth was driving and I got into the back without complaint due to my respect for Brennan. The city flashed by as we drove along the road.
"What?" Asked Booth, wincing like he knew what was coming.
"Getting Homeland Security to snatch me so that you can stage a fake rescue," Brennan explicated curtly, steam practically coming out of her ears.
"Well, at least I picked you up from the airport." Booth looked away from the road for a moment to award Brennan a charming smile. Brennan wasn't at all amused. She glared at him and crossed her arms. "Hey, come on," Booth tried again to regain her favor. "I went through the appropriate channels, but your assistant there, he stonewalled me!"
Brennan smiled in a satisfied way. "Well, after the last case, I told Zach to never, ever put you through. He's a good assistant." I snorted under my breath. I don't think either of them heard me. What an epic burn! "You can let me out anywhere along here."
"Alright, listen," Booth caved, pressing down a little more on the gas. "A decomposed corpse was found this morning at Arlington National Cemetery."
I raised my eyebrows, as did Brennan, and we both looked to Booth, less than impressed. "Dude, Arlington National Cemetery is full of decomposed corpses," I told him, not entirely sure any more about his competency. "It's… well, it's a cemetery."
"Yeah, but this one is your type of corpse," Booth elaborated, nodding his head forward and keeping his focus on the road. "It wasn't in a casket."
Brennan rolled her eyes, ignoring the FBI agent's words. "If you drive one more block, I'm screaming 'kidnap' out the window," she decided, smiling faintly like she would be highly entertained if she had a reason to do that.
"You know, I'm trying to mend bridges here," Booth scowled.
"Pull over," Brennan said more insistently.
Without a choice, Booth pulled over at the next parking meter. Brennan immediately got out of the vehicle and started walking off down the sidewalk. Booth and I scrambled to get out of the SUV for different reasons. I jogged to catch up with the anthropologist while Booth sped along, trailing slightly behind.
"I'm going home," Brennan announced.
"Great!" Booth started, before his face fell. "Could we just skip this part?"
"I find you very condescending," Brennan informed him neutrally.
"I agree," I nodded, smiling mischievously.
"Me?" Booth repeated, aghast. He walked even faster to keep up. "I'm condescending? I'm not the one who's got to mention that she's got a doctorate every five minutes," he pointed out, enunciating the last few words clearly to show exasperation to go along with the exaggeration.
Brennan turned around to walk backwards, her heels clicking softly on the concrete. I followed suit, crossing my arms and setting a moderate pace to match Brennan's as we marched backwards. "I am the one with the doctorate," Brennan laughed, not seeing why Booth was upset.
"Well, you know what?" Booth demanded, not giving her a chance to reply. "I'm the one with the badge and the gun. You know, you're not the only forensic anthropologist in town."
Brennan giggled and spread her arms in a cocky manner. "Yes, I am! The next nearest is in Montreal."
We turned around to walk facing forward. Laughing, I called over my shoulder, "Parlez-vous Francais?" Do you speak French? To Booth, who followed, a well-defined frown on his face. He didn't seem to like that not only was Brennan not giving him what he wanted, but that I was taking the scientist's side.
Booth stopped walking and threw his arms in the air, frustrated. "What's it going to take?"
Brennan stopped dead and spun on her heel to face Booth, done with laughing and completely serious. "Full participation in the case," she deadpanned.
"Fine," Booth willingly agreed quickly.
"Not just lab work, everything," Brennan explicated again.
"What?" Booth said, raising his eyebrows at her skeptical expression. "Do you want me to spit in my hand? We're Scully and Mulder."
Brennan frowned lightly. "I don't know what that means."
"It's a movie reference," I told her helpfully.
"It's an olive branch," Booth sighed. "Just get back in the car."
I'd only ever been to Arlington National Cemetery once before, and that was to pay my respects to a man I knew that had been killed by a gang. It was on a large, gentle slope that went down towards a large pond. The vegetation was fertile and the forest-green grass healthy. The rows of headstones were organized and spaced around seven feet apart from each other, giving space for caskets. Booth was leading us down to the pond, with Brennan at his heels. I observed the crime scene markings while walking behind them more leisurely. If I had grown up differently, been in a good foster home, then I would have actually gone to college to get a degree in science, crime, law enforcement, whatever, instead of being forced to cultivate my knowledge via library books and science and law websites. Admittedly, my level of intelligence was still credible, although I didn't have the credentials I'd like.
"What's the context of the find?" Brennan asked, getting down to business quickly. Yellow crime scene tape marked off nearly the entire cemetery. A few crime scene crew vans were parked outside the cemetery gates and the workers were scattered around the scene.
"Routine landscaping dropped a load in the local pond," Booth said, his eyes scanning over a clipboard. "One of the workmen thought he saw something."
A van door with the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab seal closed firmly. Brennan's assistant from the Jeffersonian speed-walked up to her. "Hi, Zach," Brennan greeted distantly, more focused on the case than her coworker.
"This eco-warrior look works for you," Zach complimented. He had on a light blue lab coat on, but he didn't look too professional. His dark brown eyes practically screamed 'puppy dog', and his floppy hair wasn't very tame. He seemed young for someone of his profession, and he didn't have the same masculine build that Booth had. He seemed to radiate peaceful vibes, although he spoke very professionally, so I wondered if he was doing that on purpose.
"Thanks," Brennan replied.
"Very action-oriented," Zach added.
"Agent Booth, Miss Kirkland, my assistant Zach Addy," Brennan introduced quickly.
"Hi!" I chirped with a cheery smile. I was thoroughly enjoying my day. Aside from the interrogation, I got to skip most of my work shift, got to meet my favorite author, and now I get to observe a real federal case. It was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of opportunity for someone like me.
"Oh, yeah," Booth grumbled, obviously not in Zach's favor.
Zach ignored Booth. "How was Guatemala?" He asked his boss. "Dig up lots of massacred victims? Learn a thing or two about machete strikes?"
"That sounds awesome!" I exclaimed, but no one paid any attention to me, so what does it matter?
"Zach, I need water samples and temperature readings from the pond," Brennan stated mildly.
Zach stopped short and nodded. "Right away, Dr. Brennan," he said amiably before turning and heading to a crime scene unit to get the tools.
Booth rubbed the back of his neck as the slope leveled out when we got closer to the shore of the water. "He's got no sense of discretion, that kid," he complained rudely. "Typical squint."
"I don't know what that means," Brennan said without much care about it either way. She pulled on some white latex gloves as we got closer to a little boat armed with sonar equipment. Her steps slowed only slightly.
"When cops get stuck, we bring in people like you," Booth explained impatiently. "You know? Squints. You know, because you squint at things."
I scoffed, miffed at the comment. Even if I wasn't qualified, I was still rather intelligent, and if, by some miracle, I could actually ever begin getting credentials for a career, I'd love to do what Dr. Brennan and her interns do. "Oh, so you mean people with high IQs and basic reasoning skills."
Booth looked chastened and he didn't like the feeling, so he looked away from Brennan, who was glaring at him, and myself, who wasn't doing much better. "Yeah," he mumbled.
When we were a few feet away from the boat, Booth stopped in his tracks and turned to me. "Alright, Miss Kirkland," he started.
"Holly," I corrected. I didn't like being called by my last name. 'Kirkland' was just a reminder that I didn't have a real family, because before that it was Williams, before that it was McIntosh, and so on and so on.
Booth took the opportunity to inhale deeply, but he rolled with it. "Holly," he repeated. "You stay here on the shore." I opened my mouth to protest, but he beat me to it. "The boat's got expensive equipment and you're… well." I raised an eyebrow challengingly. He was judging me based on where I lived? How shallow! "And this is a crime scene."
"Actually, I decide that," Brennan interrupted. "And I hardly think that her social status makes her a threat to security or the stability of this operation. She has proven so far that she can behave herself."
Normally, I'd be irked at being spoken about in her clipped manner, but it was Brennan, and she was socially awkward. I'd seen her on TV, so I knew she always spoke that way, whether or not she meant to be insulting. Brennan continued. "However, Holly, I do think it beneficial for you to stay on the shore. There is no way of telling what we may encounter and it may be a case where we need to call in other officers, and unless you know forensics, then you will not prove beneficial to us in that instance." I chose to bite my tongue and pretend I didn't study forensics in my free time. "Given that you are under the protection of Booth, I propose you stay within sight of us, but I see no reason for you to be unable to roam the cemetery."
Because cemeteries are so scenic.
But I just nodded out of respect for her and waved as the boat set out more towards the middle of the pond. After they were dissolved into conversation with each other (seemed intense), I turned on my heel and loitered around. At first I stayed by the shore, hopping on the larger rocks squaring off the vegetation from the mud, but after a few minutes I got bored with that when my boots slipped and I fell over. Pouting, I got back up to my feet, brushed myself off with whatever dignity I still had in the eyes of anyone that had seen, and mulled over what I could do.
I could bother people or go read the names of the gravestones. Bother people, read. Bother people, read. Ah, decisions, decisions. Usually I prefer to be a nuisance than to read gravestones. Gravestones mark the deaths of people who were loved by others, and to read and walk by them without a connection to the deceased seemed almost incriminating. But on the other hand, I didn't know anyone here and I had nothing to do. Booth had made me leave my bag (which had my copy of Brennan's novel) in his SUV. I preferred to lone it. In my experience, people were worse than objects. Objects did as told and didn't talk back. They couldn't break promises. Then again, they couldn't exactly make them, either. They didn't disappoint. People, on the other hand, were full of flaws and dishonesty. I'd never met anyone who I could actually trust before, probably due to my abusive families, rebellious nature, and bad girl reputation when I was still in school.
I'd just rather bother someone that I knew, because that way I sort of had an idea of their behavior. I only knew the names and a bit of the personalities of three people; and even though I didn't know much, it was better than nothing. Brennan and Booth were sort of in the middle of a pond, and that left Brennan's intern.
I located him kneeling by the shoreline by his recognizable hair. Most of the other people here were either female with their hair up in ponytails or male, who had their hair cut short. Zach was the only person with longer hair that wasn't tied up. After a moment of hesitation, I strolled over to him with a confident gait and kneeled by him, balancing on my knees and rocking backwards to stay upright. It wasn't the most comfortable, but I was used to not being cozy.
"Hi!" I greeted brightly, trying to come off as optimistic. Booth's judgment of me through my social class was offensive and had made me realize how much I was acting like a stereotypical inhabitant of the ghetto. I wore dark clothes, little or no jewelry, boots, and was pessimistic. My body language practically screamed GET AWAY, I'M DANGEROUS. Even though that was just coincidence and I usually really did act like that, for some reason I was determined not to let him be proved correct. "You're Zach Addy, right?" I questioned, even though I knew for sure that was his name.
"Yes," Zach answered, opening a vial and sterilizing his tools to take a water sample. "And you're Agent Booth's charge, Miss Kirkland."
"Please call me Holly," I invited. "Or Elena. Or Emily. Or Anya. Or some derivative of any of those. I don't really care for being called by my surname. See, mine's pretty interchangeable." I smiled, watching him work acutely.
"Is there something you need, Holly?" Zach asked. To the point. Okay then. Was he trying to get me to leave, or did he genuinely think I sought him out for assistance?
"I just wanted some way to occupy myself while Booth's taking a ride on the pond," I said with a shrug.
"Ah, I see. You were bored."
"Yeah, that sums it up nicely."
"I understand," Zach said with a nod while he sealed the vial shut and set it in a secure, sterile container to prevent bacteria from worming its way through and into the sample.
I stayed there for another moment, waiting for Zach to say something with more finality. The vibes he was giving off suggested he wanted me to leave. He wasn't being very friendly, but he wasn't being aggressive or inhospitable, either. While nothing he did suggested he wanted me to leave, nothing he did suggested he wanted me to stay, either.
Despite my usual habit of shying away from people, I found myself mentally scrambling for something to say to dissipate the uncomfortable quiet. I didn't usually mind quiet, but Zach didn't give the nonverbal hints into his mood that most people did. "Is it reasonable to assume you're a graduate student?" I finally decided on asking. He worked as an intern and seemed quite intelligent, so he didn't have his doctorate yet, but he seemed well on the way.
Zach sealed another water sample before zipping up the containment chest. "You would be correct if you did. I am a grad student working towards my first doctorate in forensic anthropology under Dr. Brennan's guidance."
I caught the unspoken implication of a second study. "And what's the other doctorate on?" I prodded.
"My second doctorate is half complete and in the study of applied engineering," Zach answered without a hassle after the prompt. I nodded to myself. So he was just socially awkward, but to more of an extent than I was. His lack of social cues wasn't on purpose. He didn't mind that I was there, and as far as I was concerned, he was being friendly. I smiled slightly to myself. I decided Zach was a good guy.
"Dr. Zach Addy," I mused aloud for his benefit. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Zach recorded the water temperature on a spreadsheet. "It does sound pleasing to hear, however that is likely more because I aspire to achieve that title than because of the specific vibrational pattern."
I grinned. I liked the way he spoke. It was refreshing and different than most people's speech patterns. It was pretty interesting.
"Holly!" Booth shouted my name and beckoned me over as the boat pulled back up to the shore. Brennan was stepping out of the boat and talking to one of the technicians who had set up the sonar equipment, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. I flashed Booth the universal 'one minute' sign. "I guess that's my cue to go," I sighed, mildly disappointed. I'd been enjoying talking to the grad student. "It was great meeting you, Dr. Addy!" I said with an uncharacteristically bright smile to make sure he knew I was teasing him.
"I find I hope to see you again, as well," Zach replied with a nod of affirmation.
I grinned as I languidly sauntered back to Booth. "I made a new friend," I announced proudly, mostly just to annoy him.
"Yeah, good for you," Booth said sarcastically.
