Chapter 4: Identification

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love." Washington Irving.

Their female victim had been pretty in a wholesome, innocent way. Angela had drawn her with long straight hair and an expression that was both happy and hopeful. Brennan had long since given up trying to work out how her best friend did what was essentially guess so accurately the details skin depths and bone structures couldn't convey. She just knew that somehow Angela could ... that the artist gave the lost ones their faces back just as much as Temperance provided the means for them to reclaim their identities.

"Wendell did all the x-rays and photos as soon as the skeletons arrived," Angela sat on the couch across from Booth and Brennan in her own office, holding close to her chest the sketch pad she'd already shown them. "The bones were just so ...," Angela trailed off with a grimace.

"Clean?" Booth suggested.

"Yes, and I know this is insane because I'm usually the one complaining about barf making monstrosities, but this is just sick on a whole other level," Angela admitted. "Because everything about these remains is so clean it took Wendell next to no time to extract the inner skull and then clear them both for me to begin reconstruction. The rest of it's going to take him much longer to unravel." She shrugged. "Jack was working on testing the samples you sent with the bodies anyway so I decided I might as well work too."

Brennan appreciated her friend's uncharacteristically verbose explanation on how she'd been able to do a reconstruction so quickly because normally her best friend didn't begin that task until after the bones had been examined fully. "You did well Angela," she stated. "I certainly didn't expect you to have completed a reconstruction before our return."

Angela looked down at her drawing. "So far I haven't been able to match her but with so little to go on I had to use wider search parameters than usual ... that large a search through all the usual databases could take a few hours to complete. I don't think Jack's found anything yet either," she smiled slightly – her husband was renowned for his 'king of the lab' routine and Brennan was sure they'd all know it as soon as he did find something.

"One of my FBI contacts gave us details on an outstanding missing persons report for a Clarissa Harper – details match our victim pretty closely," Booth told Angela. "Could you ...,"

"Search for any records on her specifically - sure," Angela moved over to her computer. "Okay, let's see if we can find you," she murmured, typing in their suspected victim's name. The scanned image of her sketch occupied half the display screen, hanging there alone until a file photo of a young woman snapped into position beside it. The image was similar to the sketch but there were differences too, in hair style and expression. "Clarissa Harper, last known location Las Vegas Nevada. Reported missing 15th February 2010 by her mother," Angela read the details for all of them. "It's an eighty five percent match – that's pretty high."

"Does it mention another individual also missing at the same time as the victim?" Brennan asked.

"Ah ...," Angela tapped another command, "yes. Doctor Nathan Evans, same date, also reported missing by Denise Harper. Here ...," she displayed the image of a studious looking man. "This is him."

"Can you do a reconstruction of the second victim; see if it matches Doctor Evans?" Brennan requested.

"Of course," Angela agreed. She hesitated a moment and then sighed. "I don't know why but this all strikes me as particularly sad," she shared. "Reminds me of The Earthly Garden of Delights – macabre skeletons contorted to fit the artist's purposes – not that I'm suggesting whoever did this is in any way an artist," she grimaced at the thought. "I wonder what they were doing, before they were taken."

"They disappeared from Vegas near Valentine's Day," Booth said that like it should mean something. Brennan didn't understand what until Angela reacted.

"Oh, elopement!" her friend concluded. "How romantic ... and God, how sad."

"I don't understand how sneaking away to get married can be described as romantic," Brennan protested. "The very fact that the couple apparently doesn't want anyone who knows them to witness the event suggests a level of disbelief in the entire process, either that or shame in their choice of partner. In either case it hardly bodes well for the continuing viability of the resulting legal union."

"Bones," Booth waited until she looked at him and then nodded meaningfully towards Angela.

Temperance shot a quick glance towards her best friend and realised abruptly what she'd said. "Except for you and Doctor Hodgins," she added somewhat lamely. "I'm sure that getting married in jail was a very romantic event that will stand the test of time."

"It's all right Bren," Angela shared an amused smile with Booth. "I know what you meant."

"So we know who they are but not why they were killed -," Booth stopped when Hodgins strode into the room.

"I've completed my preliminary assessment of the rock scrapings and soil samples," he began without preamble, "and you're not gonna like it."

"You didn't find anything." Usually Hodgins found something on first inspection, even if no one understood what it was or what it meant. Brennan looked at Booth, knowing he was aware of what she was thinking. The perfect crime – could this really be the perfect crime?

"Look again," Booth practically ordered Hodgins, his attention on his partner's troubled expression. "You keep looking until you find something."

"Of course," Hodgins looked confused, exchanging a glance with his wife and getting a shrug in return. "You know me man, I'm like a bloodhound. There are still plenty of tests I can run. Nothing gets past Doctor Jack Hodgins."

"Good man," Booth stood up abruptly, grabbing Brennan's hand before she could protest and pulling her up too.

"Angela said Mr Bray has already begun attempting to separate the skeletons," she told Hodgins, ignoring Booth's obvious signals for them to get moving. "As soon as he's successful, have him collect scrapings of the top layer of bone and test for anything that would explain how the killer cleaned them."

"You think that will lead us to whoever did this," Hodgins nodded at that sound conclusion.

"How many people do you know capable of doing what was done to those two people?" Booth answered for his partner.

"What, excluding the people in this room?" Jack's sarcastic tone quickly illuminated the flaw in that question - from a knowledge point of view anyway. Even Booth had been around the Jeffersonian long enough to know the various ways the professionals had for de-fleshing a skeleton.

"Just do what Bones asked," Booth shot back impatiently. "We're gonna go talk to Denise Harper," he ignored Bones' narrow eyed gaze at his continuing domineering manner. "Call us if you find anything."

"Will do," Hodgins called to their retreating backs. Closing the distance between the door and the couch he dropped down beside Angela. "What was that all about?"

"I have no idea," Angela admitted, "but what else is new?"

"You'd think after twelve months apart they'd be able to get their act together," Jack replied.

"They have ... a little," she snuggled closer, resting her head beside her husband's for a few moments reprieve from work. "Booth has anyway ... I don't know what that means but he's more resolved that he was before he left. Brennan is ... Brennan."

Jack laughed, wrapping his arm around his wife and squeezing her affectionately. "Have I told you lately how truly glad I am we got our act together?" he asked, looking at her fondly.

"Not in the last few hours," Angela smiled back at him.

"I am very lucky to have you Mrs Hodgins," he said teasingly.

"As am I you Mr Montenegro," she teased back.

"Amen to that," Jack kissed her firmly, pulled back and then decided one kiss wasn't quite enough.

"Hmm mmm," Cam's voice broke them apart regretfully. "Don't you two have work to do?" she asked pointedly.

"We're on it," Hodgins jumped up, leaning down to kiss his wife one more time before jauntily striding off.

"Where's Doctor Brennan?" Cam asked.

"She and Booth went to question the mother of a missing girl who could be one of our victims," Angela revealed.

"Oh," Cam looked troubled for a moment. "I do not envy them that," she said feelingly.

"Me either," Angela agreed.


"Mrs Denise Harper?" Booth stood at the open front door of an apartment in a building across town.

"Yes, can I help you?" Denise frowned, looking both curious and concerned at the appearance of strangers at her doorstep.

"FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth," he held up his badge for her inspection. "This is my partner, Doctor Temperance Brennan."

"You have news about Clarissa?" Denise asked hopefully.

"May we come inside?" Booth asked gently.

"Of course, come in," Denise led the way, talking as she went. "I only checked in with the police two days ago about Clarissa's case. They said they hadn't found anything but I suspected it was because they'd stopped looking. I can't tell you how relieved I am to be proven wrong." She gestured to the kitchen table. "Please, have a seat."

"I have a sketch I'd like you to look at," Booth began. He'd decided to take that approach, to get an independent identification of the victim's identity. "It might not be entirely accurate but if you could tell us if you recognise the person ...," he trailed off, handing her the folded sheet of sketch paper.

He watched as the older woman hesitated a moment before opening the paper and smoothing it out. As soon as she did Denise gave a small gasp, one hand going to her mouth while the other reached out, trembling, to touch the paper.

"Is this your daughter?" Brennan asked with that brisk manner she always had during interrogations.

"Is she dead?" Denise didn't answer the question directly.

"I'm afraid so," Booth replied, still in the same gentle voice he reserved for the families of their victims.

"Her remains were found yesterday at the Joshua Tree National Park in Arizona. Their condition suggests they were exposed to the elements for approximately two years," Brennan offered, feeling the need to give details. If it were her, she'd want to have details, lots and lots of details.

"Is that Clarissa, Mrs Harper?" Booth asked again.

"It could be," Denise admitted hesitantly. "Clarissa wore her hair short but ...," tears shimmered and fell to splash on the table as she continued to look at the sketch. "I don't know if I'm unsure because I hope it isn't her or seeing something that isn't there because I hope it is. Not knowing has been ... difficult."

"Just take your time Mrs Harper," Booth put a hand over hers, getting a grateful look in return.

"We can do a mitochondrial DNA profile and compare it to your own DNA to confirm identity," Bones offered. "It's how the National Missing Person DNA Database Program works," she said in an aside to Booth. "mtDNA is persistent in skeletal remains for millennia. Families of missing persons give samples which are then used for matching when unidentified remains are found."

"What my partner means is that we'll be able to get you confirmation of a positive identification if you need it," Booth countered with a pointed look to Bones that said 'too much information'.

"I ...," Denise took a deep breath, making an obvious effort at emotional control. "I don't need it Agent Booth. Yes ... yes, this is my Clarissa." Her voice broke on the last part of that statement, sobs rising from deep inside her.

"We're very sorry for your loss," Booth said respectfully. "Do you have a photo of your daughter we could take with us?" They didn't really need it but ... well, it gave the grieving mother as much time as he could allow to begin the process of accepting that her daughter wasn't coming home.

"I'll get you one," Denise stood quickly, obviously grateful for the reprieve.

"Can you not keep referring to her daughter as 'the remains' Bones?" Booth instructed pointedly as soon as they were alone. "She's a grieving mother – she doesn't need all the squinty details."

"Why not?" Brennan took up her side of a common argument between them. "I'd be happy to receive that same level of explanation, were I in a similar position."

"But most people aren't like you Bones," Booth returned. "They're not remains to her – we're talking about her daughter, her family. Listen, I know it upsets you but we have to put a personal face on these people, build a rapport – a connection – with the families. It we don't it'll take that much longer to catch the killer."

"I'm not upset," Brennan returned insistently.

"Right and I was never a sniper," Booth shot back, exasperated at her continuing stubbornness in denying she had empathy for people like Denise Harper.

"But you were a sniper," Brenan frowned. "Unless you're suggesting that wasn't the truth which hardly seems likely since I'm sure it's a matter of documented record, if not publicly then in your own FBI file. I don't think I understand your original reference Booth."

"Forget it," Booth ground his teeth in frustration.

"Will this do?" Denise returned with an A5 sized portrait of her daughter.

"That's great," Booth said approvingly, taking the photo and glancing at it quickly before turning his attention back to Denise. "Can we ask you a few questions?"

"Of course," Denise sat down again, putting her hand over the one Booth was using to hold the photo. She leaned forward, her expression one he'd seen too many times in the past. The one that called for justice, revenge, anything to make the pain go away. "Will you ...?" she couldn't go on, turning away and giving in to a couple of rapid sobs that caught in her throat.

"We'll catch whoever did this," Booth promised.

"Special Agent Booth and I have an almost perfect arrest record," Bones offered somewhat academically. Where before her comments had Denise frowning this time they actually raised a slight smile.

"Then I believe you'll catch my daughter's murderer." Denise gasped suddenly. "Oh my god. Nathan. How could I have forgotten? Did you find him?"

"Nathan?" Booth queried, again letting Denise give him the details rather than supplying them.

"Yes, Doctor Nathan Evans. He and Clarissa were as close as any two people I've ever seen in love," Denise smile trembled but it was clear that she'd approved the match. "They went missing together." She sighed wistfully. "I don't know why but that often comforted me, that my baby wasn't alone."

"We haven't made a positive identification but a second victim was found with your daughter," Booth revealed.

"It will be Nathan," Denise said with certainty. "No way that boy would have left Clarissa, you mark my words." Jumping up suddenly she disappeared from the kitchen only to return moments later with another photo clutched in her hands. "Here they are ... my Clarissa and Nathan," she announced, putting the photo on the table so that they could all see it.

"They look happy," Brennan offered, her eyes cataloguing a host of details apparent from the photo's composition. The same man Angela had shown them earlier, standing behind Clarissa with his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, protectively but the expression on his face said the closeness was as much for him as it was for her. Their smiles proclaimed to anyone who saw the photo how much they delighted in being with each other.

"They were happy," Denise chuckled. "Nathan is ... was a history lecturer while Clarissa painted. Oh, it was opposites attracting right from the start. Clarissa dragged him outside the academic world ... my baby was so bright and enthusiastic; she had an energy she applied to everything she did. Swept that boy right off his feet their first meeting, but he went willingly. Never looked back." The reminiscing had obviously pleased her but saddened her as well and it was the second that took over as the tears rose again. "He had no family ... we became that for him, Clarissa and I. It all happened so fast for them but I knew ... he would have been my son-in-law one day, the father of my grandchildren ... I was sure of it. And now ...," she bent her head over the photo, sobbing quietly.

"We're sorry," Booth said again, exchanging troubled glances with his partner. "Mrs Harper, did anyone have any reason to want to hurt your daughter?"

"Of course not," Denise replied immediately, wiping her eyes. "Everybody liked her, Nathan too."

"No disagreements over anything?"

"No," Denise looked at Seeley intently. "Whoever killed my baby, it wasn't through anything she did Agent Booth."

"No jealous ex-boyfriends?" Booth had to ask.

"Clarissa dated a little but there was no one serious ... until she met Nathan."

"Admirers then? Did she ever mention anyone taking too much interest?"

"Not that she told me about and we were close enough that she would have," Denise replied. "Do you think someone who knew Clarissa did this?"

"Statistics show that a larger than random proportion of murder victims know their murderer," Brennan stated factually.

"It's routine to ask these kinds of questions Mrs Harper," Seeley added smoothly.

Denise nodded wordlessly, her eyes drawn once more to the photo of her daughter.

"The Joshua Tree National Park is a long way from Las Vegas," Brennan continued. "Do you know what they would have been doing in that area?"

"I don't know that specific park," Denise admitted. "Clarissa told me they were going gambling in Las Vegas. She was laughing when he came to pick her up, said she was corrupting a fine upstanding history professor. They rang from the hotel as soon as they arrived, told me they'd checked in. That was the last I heard from either of them."

"Do you recall the name of the hotel?" Booth queried.

"The Bellagio," Denise smiled sadly. "Nathan was good with money ... he looked after my Clarissa like a true gentleman." Her fingers traced over the profiles of the couple in the photo sadly.

"Thank you Mrs Harper," Booth stood, waiting for Brennan to do the same.

"I knew," Denise whispered, "after so long, I knew they were gone ... Clarissa wouldn't have left without word ... not willingly. I just ... I hoped ..."

"Is there someone we can call?" Temperance asked, putting a hand over the other woman's. "Someone to come and sit with you?"

"My sister," Denise's voice was so low it was barely audible.

"If you give me the number I can call her for you," Brennan offered, taking the mobile phone proffered and pressing the speed dial number Denise gave her.


Booth listened to Bones reveal the news in plain and simple terms that still offered comfort to the listener, amazed as always at his partner's capacity for compassion. Not that he thought she didn't have that because she did, in spades. No, it was the fact that Bones didn't think she could be empathic that both amazed and frustrated him. She continually put herself in the shoes of victim and family; continually let it get to her. She'd deny it but it was that capacity that made Temperance so good at what she did.

Brennan insisted on waiting until the sister, who thankfully worked close by, arrived. After promising to keep them appraised of developments Booth put a hand to Brennan's back and escorted her away.

"I don't understand why that woman found it comforting that her daughter didn't die alone," Brennan said as soon as they were out the door.

"What, you wouldn't want me there if you found yourself in that position?" Booth joked. The way he aligned himself to her as the other half of a hypothetical 'victim couple' would have been telling to anyone who'd been there to observe it.

"Of course not!" Brennan gave him a sharp look. "I'd prefer you to be alive Booth, to find my killer and then continue doing the same for others for as long as possible."

"There is no way in hell I'd be able to just carry on as usual," Booth said, suddenly angry, "and if you don't mind I'd prefer it if you didn't talk about your own death so casually."

"Everyone dies Booth," Brennan said simply.

"I know - you don't need to keep reminding me," he complained, frowning. There was a quality in her voice that had Booth looking at her closely. He almost heard it; the way she could just as easily have substituted the word 'leaves' for dies - because that was part of it for her. She had a deep-seated fear of being abandoned, for obvious reasons, and didn't see that the way she acted to protect herself had the dual effect of driving people away. Not him though, he wasn't leaving - not without a direct order from the president and even then he'd seriously consider saying no. Twelve months apart had been more than enough, good cause or not.

Brennan said nothing, lapsing into silence as they walked back to the car. Booth waited until they were both sitting inside before turning to her. "You okay?" he asked gently.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Bones clicked herself in and folded her hands on her lap. When Booth just sat looking at her, she frowned. "I'd like to get back to the Jeffersonian – Mr Bray should have made sufficient progress on separating the two victims for us to proceed with a detailed examination."

"You did okay back there Bones," Booth acknowledged, giving in and turning the ignition. He drove purposefully, letting the silence stand because he knew that's what Bones needed.

"No matter what we say it's never enough," she said abruptly just as he pulled into his usual parking space at the Jeffersonian. "She was so sad Booth. Nothing will ever be the same for her ... never again."

"I know Bones," he said quietly, "I know."

Authors Note:

More coming although I probably won't get to post over the weekend. This chapter didn't seem to flow for me like the last ones (forgive the POV shifts!) - I'd appreciate any feedback you feel inspired to leave me. Thanks for reading.