Chapter 3 – Angela
Angela finished inputting the data for the facial reconstruction and waited for the computer to create its first version before she would add in small adjustments based upon other information she had from Brennan, Cam, and Wendell. A part of her missed the days when she would do this part manually; sketching the features in the way she used to dream that her life would have been like before meeting Brennan. She didn't regret her decision to stay with the Jeffersonian, but also appreciated the time when her art could really mean something, like the portraits she did for the slave ship a year or so ago. What she did for the Jeffersonian team was fulfilling, but the portraits, the painting, the occasional sculpting - those fed her soul.
Booth had asked her to just send the file directly to him and not try to ID the victim on her own, but she didn't understand why. He'd given some story about the FBI wanting more control over that part of the process. She sent Booth the file, but she figured that was following protocol and didn't see why she couldn't run the database scan, too, so that they could get a possible jump on their end of the investigation.
The scan didn't take long.
Steven DeGrast. Reported missing almost three weeks ago. Age 26. Computer Programming Specialist with Analytic Data Systems, Inc.
She froze for only a moment before, panic-stricken, she shut down her computer and raced to activate the sequence that would separate backup systems and initiate additional firewalls. In turn, this set off an alarm, which quickly brought Brennan, Hodgins, Wendell, and Cam to her office.
"You found something like we did, didn't you, Ange?" Hodgins was at her side immediately. "Hey," he whispered, looking into her eyes. "You're trembling. It's okay. We're gonna get this guy once and for all."
"Wait. What do you mean? You found something, too? What? What is it?"
Hodgins told her about the number code on the pin from the victim's leg.
"Oh God." She suddenly felt completely and utterly foolish. She broke away from Hodgins and shut down the alarm. Turning to the rest of them, she barely knew what to say. She suddenly realized that she had overreacted. Like overreacted big time.
"You guys. I'm… I'm sorry. I panicked."
"Of course you did, Ange. We're panicking, too."
"No," Brennan interrupted. "Not me."
Angela couldn't help but smile at that. "No, Bren. Not you. Which is good, because that 'code', Hodgins? It's a joke. It's just a joke – and totally not Pelant's style."
"That's because this murder has nothing to do with Pelant," Booth cut in as he and Sweets joined the crowd in Angela's office. "I thought I told you not to identify the victim."
"I sent you the information. I thought that was just a way to cover yourself or something."
"Even if it was – which it wasn't – that doesn't mean you should have still done the search yourself."
"Whoa. Why the hush-hush, G-man? Who is this guy?" Hodgins asked suspiciously.
Booth rolled his eyes and scowled. "He's nobody. There's no conspiracy, okay?"
"Okay, wait," Cam called out loudly and waved her hands in the air. "Everybody just hold up for a second so we can all catch up. Angela," Cam turned to her, "we have an ID?"
"Yes. Steven DeGrast. He was in the missing persons database."
"And this matches up with what you found, Booth?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you want Angela to do the final ID?" Brennan asked.
"Because he knew I'd panic, which I did, and make everyone else panic, which I did." She saw Brennan about to disagree and rushed in, "Except for you, of course. Right."
"What is it about this victim that should make us panic?" Cam asked.
"He's a computer programming specialist," Sweets put in. "Obviously, after recent events, it would be natural to feel on edge and be extra cautious about such things."
Cam nodded. "So… what is this code that has Hodgins ready to burst?"
" is just a network loopback connection," Angela said. "Networks, servers – they all have addresses that follow a certain format. This one is just one that always loops back to whatever computer you are on – your 'home' computer. It means 'home' in the language of computer network specialists."
"There's no place like ." Sweets grinned.
"Maybe that means there's a homing device inside the pin," Hodgins suggested.
"What, because he's a dog?" Booth gave him a withering look.
Angela stifled a smirk. "I can take a look at it to rule the homing device out, but more likely it was just an extension of his tattoo."
"His tattoo?" Brennan asked. "How do you know he had a tattoo? Almost all of his skin had already decomposed."
Angela pointed to her monitor, which reflected the re-booted system. "It's in the database file on him – identifiable markings. A tattoo on his left ankle that says 'Oz'."
"Oz," Wendell said. "As in 'we're off to see the wizard' and 'there's no place like home'?"
Angela chuckled. "I guess."
"It was for a girl," Booth said.
"Or a boy," Sweets added.
Brennan looked at them in confusion. "How do you know?"
"Men don't get tattoos on their ankles. Look, I gotta go talk to his family so I'll take whatever other information you got for me right now. Bones, you coming with me?"
"Yes, Cam and Hodgins are still working with the remains and we've studied what we can with just the X-rays."
They filled Booth in with what little they knew and he wrapped up the party in Angela's office with reassurances. "So we're okay? This isn't Pelant. It's just a regular murder, and we work it like we've worked everything else, right?"
Angela replied much like the others, with reluctant, uncertain agreement. She wanted to believe Booth was right, and most of her knew he was right, but she couldn't control the band that was tightening around her chest again. It was the one that had kept her from breathing easily from the time evidence had been piling up against Brennan all the way until they had finally compiled the right evidence to arrest Pelant and his partner.
Everyone filed out of her office again, and she sank into her couch, resting her head in her hands battling with the flight instinct. As a compromise she decided to go check on Michael Vincent. She needed that certainty that children can magically give you that things are okay. Booth may have seemed confident, but she didn't understand how he could be after everything he went through.
She felt a little guilt for when Booth had been out of earshot that day in their house, before Agent Flynn showed up with the search warrant, that she had whispered to Brennan, "Run." She hadn't thought Brennan would actually do it. Nor did she think she would have left Booth behind. Things had spiraled out of control so quickly, and in spite of Caroline saying that Cam was the hero, Angela still couldn't help but be disgusted with everyone a little bit. Even Booth. Why didn't he make Max take him to Brennan? Why did he have to be so staidly wrapped up in the romantic ideas of justice?
As she arrived at the daycare and swept up her little boy that was getting too big, too fast, she couldn't help but think of her misplaced panic upon ID-ing the victim and remembering with certainty why she had told Brennan to run. She'd do it again in a heartbeat.
