Chapter 4
"Distal phalanx," she ascertained, examining it between her own latex-covered fingers as Booth and Cam stood waiting for her results, "Most likely from the third phalange," she demonstrated which was the third one.
Booth quickly covered her hand with his, then released it and frowned, "Somebody's giving us the finger?"
"Or at least the tip of one yes," she nodded, "Though it would be pure conjecture to say whether or not any hidden meaning was implied. I can tell you that the bone wasn't fully formed."
"Meaning?" Booth's tone was somewhat impatient.
"Meaning whoever it came from, was most likely young," Cam answered.
"No more than ten," Brennan confirmed, maintaining her professional detachment.
"Hey, Brain Trust!" she grimaced as her husband shouted across the lab to Angela, Hodgins, and Wendell, "What've you got for me?"
Three heads snapped up from the monitor that they had been hunched over and to her immense relief they walked up to the platform before presenting their results.
"I'm running the particulates we found embedded in the bone through the mass spec," Hodgins offered, "And checking the envelope seal for DNA."
"And I'll find out how the bone was cleaned," Wendell said, donning gloves and accepting the phalanx as she passed it to him.
"Meanwhile," Angela maneuvered between Booth and Brennan to the computer, "I'm working on the note," she brought up an enlarged version of the note that had been sent to Booth, "The message- 'HELP ME'- is obvious, but I'm trying to track down which magazines each of those words might have come from. It helps that whoever sent it, cut out the entire word instead of going for individual letters. I should be able to reconstruct whatever is on the back of the cut-outs too."
"This is our top priority today, people," Cam spoke up, "Deputy Director Cullen was not happy about this and when he's grumpy he takes me down with him, so get to work."
Angela, Hodgins, and Wendell went in three separate directions, while Brennan peeled off her gloves and headed toward her office with Booth directly on her heels.
"Cullen might not be happy but I'm not exactly dancing for joy either," he complained, dropping himself onto the couch once they reached her office, "It's from him, Bones, I can feel it!"
"If by 'him' you mean the mysterious caller," she said, facing him but preferring to stand, "There's no evidence to support that at this time."
"Come on, Bones," his hands were waving wildly, displaying his agitation, "The caller said to 'check the mail,' the finger came in the mail, and it's from a kid- just like he was talking about; doesn't take a genius to connect the dots."
She scowled, "I'm not saying that it's not an implausible scenario, however, we don't have any facts-"
Her thought was cut off by the sound of Booth's phone. Their eyes met as it rang again. Slowly, he took out the phone, checked the caller ID, and met her eyes again, nodding his head gravely as he answered it.
"Agent Booth," the scrambled voice filled her office as Booth put it on speaker phone, "Did you check your mail this morning?"
"See," Booth mimed to her, then spoke aloud, "Yeah. Nice touch sending the middle one."
"Do I have your attention now?" the caller responded.
"Look, you sick bas-"
"Temper, temper, Agent Booth," the caller chided, "Or should I say, Temperance?" a pregnant pause hug in the air before he continued, "As I said before your wife knows what I mean."
"No I don't," she blurted out, earning a glare from Booth.
"Dr. Brennan," even through the scrambler's distortion it was clear the caller's tone had changed from scorn to respect, "I trust you are well?"
"Yes," she answered, unsure of what else to say and looking to her husband for support.
Booth shrugged as the voice continued, "You now have everything you need to bring about justice. I trust your findings will be published soon."
"I don't know what you mean," she was growing frustrated with the caller's vague references.
"Time is running out," the caller said, "Agent Booth?"
"Still here," Booth's voice was strangled with emotion.
"Think of me as the postman," the voice addressed him, "If I do ring again, you won't like it."
The line went dead.
A part of her mind registered the string of profanities emanating from her husband, but another part was searching for the memory that the caller's last words had evoked. Her legs felt weak underneath of her.
"You okay, Bones?" Booth was suddenly at her side, easing her onto the couch before she could collapse.
"I don't know," she answered honestly, "Something he said triggered a memory in my subconscious but I am unable to pinpoint at this moment."
"Hey," he sat down beside her and gave a wry smile, "Don't think yourself to death, Bones, it'll come."
"Not to mention it is physically impossible to think oneself to death."
"That's my girl!" he clapped her on the back with a wide grin.
She rolled her eyes, then asked, "Why would we not like it if he called a third time."
"What?" Booth looked confused, then seemed to remember, "Oh, that. It's a movie reference, you know The Postman Always Rings Twice? Just means that if he has to call again, we've failed at whatever sick game he's playing."
"Then what happens?" she wondered out loud, her subconscious still screaming that she was missing something obvious.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Booth shrugged.
"I don't guess," she said, rising to her feet, "I gather facts. The caller said that we have all that we need to get justice, so I'm going to examine the evidence once more."
"Justice for who, though?" he asked, "And by the way, he didn't say that we have all of the evidence, he said that you did."
"Because it's in my lab," she nodded.
"But it was sent to my office," Booth pointed out, "So maybe the Postman was trying to tell us something."
"Of course!" she exclaimed, all of the pieces clicking together to form a singular memory.
Leaving a slack-jawed husband in her wake she breezed out of her office, intent on getting to her destination as quickly as possible. Behind her she could hear Booth calling to her to slow down, though she knew he would follow her either way so she saw no reason to.
"What're we doing in Limbo, Bones?" he asked as she tried to remember exactly which box she was looking for.
Closing her eyes, she held up a hand for him to be silent while she tried to recall the box number. It didn't take long and she strode purposefully down the correct aisle.
"These," she said, hefting the cumbersome box from its shelf, "Were sent to me by an individual who identified himself only as 'The Postman.'"
"They were?" he asked, taking the box from her as they moved toward one of the stainless steel exam tables, "Wait- when? Why didn't I know about this?"
"I received one hundred and forty-six bones between May of 1998 to November of that same year," she explained, handing him the enclosed file before she donned a pair of gloves and laid the bones out on the table.
"Somebody mailed you bones for six months in a row and you didn't think that was worth mentioning to me?" he sounded offended, though she wasn't sure why.
"In 1998," she repeated emphatically, "Long before we were partners. It's not as if I've given you a cumulative review of every single case that came to the Jeffersonian before your arrival, and quite some time has passed since then so it was not at the forefront of my mind."
"So that's what you were trying to remember?" he indicated the remains in front of them.
"Yes," she bobbed her head, "But I'm not certain how much it will help as the skeleton is not complete."
"That's weird," he commented, "Why go to all that trouble and not send all of it?"
"I don't know," she frowned, remembering that she didn't think much of it at the time.
"So is this guy missing his middle finger?" Booth asked.
"The guy is a girl," she pointed to the pelvic bone, "And the size of the phalanx is disproportionate to these remains. This girl was well into puberty, where the phalanx definitely belongs to a pre-adolescent."
"Still a young girl, though?" he pressed.
"Relatively, yes, though we won't know until the DNA results come back as to whether the phalanx belonged to a female or not," she warned.
"And you were never able to identify her?"
She thought the answer would have been obvious after all their years of working together, but apparently it was not, "No, Booth, without the skull identification is nearly impossible."
"Oh, yeah," he deflated like a balloon.
She went back to observing the bones to see if there was anything that could help link the two cases together.
"Hey wait," Booth snapped his fingers suddenly, "You said the guy who mailed you these called himself 'The Postman' so I wonder…" his voice trailed off as he searched through the file, "Bingo, baby! It says here that each of the packages came with a note, just like my finger did," he held up the plastic bag containing the letters, "Did Angela analyze these back in '98?"
She shook her head, "No, but we didn't have the imaging and scanning technology that we do now."
"Alright," she could see a plan forming in his mind by the look in his eyes, "You gather these up and take 'em to the platform and I'll get these notes to Angela so that she can compare them with the newest one. Maybe we'll get lucky and be able to make a connection."
The plan seemed reasonable so she began repacking the bones. Booth insisted on carrying the box when she was finished and she reluctantly agreed, taking the opportunity to peruse the file for herself. She had just swiped her card at the steps to the forensic platform when her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that breakfast had been several hours ago.
"We need fuel," Booth stated, setting the box down on one of the tables.
"For the SUV?" she guessed, confused.
He chuckled and she knew she had guessed incorrectly, "No, Bones, fuel for our bodies- you know, food?"
"We could get something from the cafeteria," she suggested, thinking that would be the quicker option rather than going out to the Diner or Wong Fu's.
"Ugh, no," he made a face, "I'm not up for mystery meat today. Besides, it's almost three already and we need to pick up Sadie."
"I need to examine these remains," she insisted.
"They've been here over ten years, I think they'll keep for a few more hours," he pointed out, "Look, just come with me to pick Sadie up and eat and I promise I will bring you back here for as long as you need."
"Fine," she relented, knowing it was pointless to argue with him as her stomach let out another growl, "But be warned it could be a very late night."