Booth woke up the next morning to hear the phone ringing shrilly. He groggily answered it and heard the voice of the man who had shown them the first body. "Whazzup?" Booth groaned unprofessionally.

"We've identified the body."

"What took you guys so long?"

"Erm…" the man said, surprised at the disrespectful question. "The body had no identification on it anywhere."

"Okay. Great. Who is she?"

"Her name was Sarah Hagan. She lived in Anaheim. I emailed her address to you so you can visit her family when you're more… coherent." With that, he hung up.

Booth was enraged. A man whose name Booth didn't even know was telling him what to do and insulting him! But after a few minutes, the feeling subsided. He grudgingly admitted to himself that the man's suggestion was the best course of action, and made arrangements and the needed preparations to talk to them.

When he arrived at their door, a woman opened it and let him in. She had slightly graying hair, the kind you get from traumatic experiences rather than age. She was happy to see him -- the kind of happy that seems sad but when examined closely, shows hope of closure.

Her husband joined her and they sat down on a couch. Booth was invited to sit down and he respectfully did. Uncomfortable silence ensued until Mr. Hagan cleared his throat.

"So… you found Sarah?" he asked, voice quivering.

"Yes, Mr. Hagan."

"She's dead, isn't she?" Mrs. Hagan said, her tired eyes staring intensely at Booth.

"Yes, Ma'am, I'm afraid so."

She took a shuddering breath and her eyes watered. Her husband held her for a moment.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Booth sympathized. "Is there anything you can tell me that could give us a better idea of how she was doing shortly before her death? That would include people she was close to, any enemies…"

"Well," said Mr. Hagan, "She was doing just fine. Her grades had dropped a little, but she was feeling better about herself. Gym was a tough time for her, but lately, that had been improving. But there was this man… old, unusual, kind of stuffy… and I think he was British. Sarah had been meeting with him for a while, so he could tutor her."

"And then," added Mrs. Hagan, pulling herself together, "there was that time she came home from school late, bruised and bleeding. I asked what had happened, what was wrong, but she just gave me this scared look and said she would fix it. She stopped meeting with her tutor after that."

"Around then," Mr. Hagan continued shakily, "Her grades dropped, and she got several detentions, a couple for yelling at her teachers. It wasn't long before she... ran away. We came home and saw a few things missing and a note with a -- a smiley face on it."

"Thanks," said Booth softly. "I think that'll be all for now."

After continuing to examine the skeletons, Brennan met up with her partner so they could visit another identified victim's family and he could bounce his ideas off her.

"You know, I think that British guy sounds kind of suspicious, don't you?" Booth said after reiterating the conversation he had had with the Hagan family. "Maybe even fishy enough to be a serial killer?"

"Yes, I think so. The events of concern do center on him. Is there any way we could find out more about him?"

"Well, I don't think we'll get anything else out of the Hagans. And we can't exactly go through files of everyone living in the neighborhood, looking for some stooffay, Brleeteeshguy."

"If you're trying to emulate a British accent, that sounds more like Italian."

"Thanks, Bones."

"Anyway, I think you're right-- we can't exactly go by the normal approach. But if the Hagans could tell he was British, he must have lived there long enough to develop an accent, or at least been raised by an English family. Either way, his interests would probably show his heritage. Look for someone who is into soccer, rugby, cricket… You could check attendance lists or things like that."

"You are a genius. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

Brennan opened her mouth to answer and realized Booth's question was a rhetorical compliment. "Thank you," she said serenely.

Booth parked the car next to the house the secondly identified victim, Isabel Wheeler, had lived in. He and Brennan got out and walked up the sidewalk to the house. Booth rang the doorbell and waited. He heard hurried footsteps from inside the house. The door swung outward very quickly. Booth and Brennan made eye contact, each noting that if they had been a few inches closer to the door, they would have both been knocked backwards.

"Er- sorry," someone from inside the house mumbled, turning Booth's and Brennan's heads to him. "I guess I'm still a little jumpy lately."

"It's okay," Booth said, glancing back at Brennan. The man stepped back and ushered them inside.

"Nice… house," Brennan said, looking around at pizza crusts and trash scattered all over the room.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," the man said. "It's just that after my wife died, Isabel was the only reason for me to keep my act together. And even before I got your call, I… stopped caring." Booth noticed that he did not look like he had shaved for a few days, and his thinning hair was a mess.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Brennan said in her best sympathetic voice. "Mr. Wheeler, is there anything you could tell us about her that could help us out?"

"Sure. If it helps. …You see, I try to be the best Dad and Mom I can be… I was never too hard on my Izzy, and even when she cut class that time, I didn't blame her. I've been taking a few too many days off from work, too. She hasn't been doing too great in school. She later told me she wanted to get some help, like a private teacher, and encouraged that; I didn't want misfortune to completely ruin her life. But even after several meetings, her grades didn't improve. She even was caught fighting a couple times! Then, one day, she had this alarmed look on her face and she told me she loved me. I shrugged and went out for groceries." Mr. Wheeler paused, holding back tears. "When I came back, she wasn't there. I called her name and waited, and waited, and waited. She never came. I thought the worst, but always hoped she was okay." Mr. Wheeler finished, and several moments of silence ensued.

"Mr. Wheeler," Booth said. "Did you ever meet this tutor?"

"Erm… no, I never did," replied the man. "But according to Isabel, he was a nice guy. Always professional, but frequently let out a good laugh, and he always sounded smart… and the accent, if anything, helped…"

Booth sat up suddenly when he heard those words. "What-- …what accent would this be?" he asked, trying to hide his anxiousness.

"Hmm… I should remember this… You know, Izzy imitated him a good number of times…" Booth longed to scream and swear at the man, but managed a sympathetic smile. "Oh, yes. It's English."

Booth and Brennan sharply turned to face each other. Maintaining his gaze with his partner, Booth said, "That'll be all, Mr. Wheeler."