A/N: Sorry it took so long to update but I've been sick for like the past week... coughing like crazy and so much that I couldn't do much more than simply watch TV and movies (imagine the customers at work when I was trying to help them... listening to me cough every five words or so). I even declined my friend's invitation to go see my favorite singer in concert because I was coughing too much. But I've had enough energy today, in between cough attacks, to write you guys this long chapter. Hope you like it.

Few more things before we start: Goodman is still in the story. As said before, Cam isn't, nor any of the new characters for season 2 (don't want to give away more since most of you don't like spoilers). So, Goodman is still The boss.

Also, the information about Amtrak comes from the official website and Wikipedia. So if I got anything wrong, simply say it (nicely, please!).

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Chapter 6: B Seats

He didn't work well under pressure. He knew it, his colleagues knew it but he thought his boss had known also. Maybe he had and had simply chosen to ignore it but Booth hadn't been able to take it much longer. He had taken his courage in both hands and had gone to talk to him. He had told him that, with Bingham dead, the case had just blown wide open. He had added that this case could now become his top priority and not just something he worked on in his spare time. He paused before saying that, if the case became his top priority, he didn't need unwanted pressure from anyone, that he'd find out what happened to the victims in due time. Taking the hint, his boss had simply stared at him for a few seconds, during which Booth had held his breath. Then, finally, Cullen had agreed to give the new serial killer case a new priority. This had happened two hours ago.

Booth had tried calling his partner to tell her the news but Goodman had simply informed him that she was unavailable at the moment. Booth had thanked the man before hanging up, disapointed. He hadn't seen her all week-end, her being gone to visit her brother, and she hadn't even called on Sunday night like Booth had asked her to. He couldn't be surprised by her behavior but a small part of him couldn't help but be. She hadn't called that morning as well and Booth debated whether or not to go down to the lab to find out what she was up to. Work had won the battle. And now, Booth sat at his desk, reviewing the case file for the thousandth time in hope of finding a link between the victims. So far, he had found none.

Theresa Bingham had been a housewife, her husband, William Bingham, bringing home all the money. Bingham had had a business on the edge of bankruptcy. The couple had had some troubled times, partly because of Bingham's anger management problem. Both of them had died in their homes. No witnesses.

Ian Shelley, second victim to have been found, had been a psychology university student. No enemies as far as his parents or friends knew. Booth had spoken to a few of the friends but none had been able to provide much information other than what the Shelleys had given him. They had gone out at a club the night Ian had come back from Vermont and they hadn't seen or spoken to him after that. Shelley had been found dead in a ditch in a rural area. Nobody knew what the young man had been doing there. No witnesses, not even a single piece of evidence.

Hannah Kennan had been an elementary school teacher in the fourth grade. She had been an amazing teacher and some of her colleagues had been envious of her. None of them, though, had been jealous enough to commit a murder, Booth had soon found out. He hadn't had the time to speak to some of Kennan's colleagues but he definetely thought it was worth pursuing, especially after learning that Hannah Kennan had been stalked before her death. Her body had been found in a dumpster at the back of a shopping mall. Her car had been present also. No witnesses.

There were four victims with no apparent link. Their profession sure wasn't one and their age either. Then what could it be?

Booth leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Serial killers usually had a pattern. He had seen several of them. Patterns that went from being really subtle, like a geometrical form on a map, to being pretty apparent, like known enemies. This one fit in the 'really subtle' category. His gut feeling told him that this killer's pattern went further than simply a geometrical form on a map. But Booth couldn't see another reason.

He had been reading Kennan's case description when the ringing of his phone reached his eyes. Subconsciously, he reached over to the handset and picked it up. Putting it to his ear, he stated his name. The voice that answered him snapped him back to reality.

"I was told I could remain anonymous." The stranger told him.

The statement immediately caught Booth's attention. Shutting the folder, he leaned back in his chair.

"Are you a tipster?"

"You could call me that, yes. I do have some information regarding the case you are currently working on."

Booth frowned. Sure the case had been released to the press in hopes of getting help from the citizens but something weird about the way the caller was presenting his piece of information told Booth the man was no ordinary citizen.

"And what case would that be?" Booth asked.

He heard the stranger chuckle.

"The recent murders, Agent Booth. The Binghams, Ian Shelley, Hannah Kennan, they were all murdered."

"I'm well aware of that, Sir."

The man went on, ignoring Booth's response.

"You're wondering why they were killed and how they were all related. I can help you with that."

Shivers ran down Booth's spine. How the man had known he was nowhere close to finding the links between the victims, he did not know. That kind of information hadn't been released.

"How do you--?"

But he was caught off by the stranger.

"Check out the Amtrak listings for the beginning of September. I'm sure you'll find it quite interesting."

"How do--- Who are you?"

"I was told I could remain anonymous." The man repeated before hanging up.

Booth stared down at the receiver in his hand before, himself, hanging up. He sat there, staring the phone, replaying the whole conversation in his mind. The whole thing had felt so surreal that Booth began to wonder if the call had actually occured. Subconsciously, he checked the caller ID. The name and number had been blocked but a call had been made.

Booth sighed. Although the man had sounded wildly suspicious, Booth had to admit: he had given him information. And though this information might have been phoney, it was still worth investigating. Grabbing his phone, he speed-dialed the Bureau's secretary.

"Yeah, Linda? It's Agent Booth. Could you fetch me the phone number for Amtrak here in Washington?"

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Amtrak, fusion of the words 'american' and 'track', was created May 1st 1971. Its headquarters residing in Washington, D.C., the company serves more than 500 communities throughout the country and some cities, including Montreal and Toronto, in Canada. It was all Booth had time to read before a voice at the other end of the line told him he had reached Union Station.

"Hello, my name is Special Agent Seeley Booth. I work for the FBI and I was wondering if you would kindly answer some questions for me."

"In regards to what?" A tense womanly voice asked him.

"I would need the list of the passengers who took a train around the beginning of September, preferably coming back from the northeast."

Booth frowned, wondering if he had been cleared enough. The Union Station receptionnist's answer confirmed that he hadn't been.

"I'm sorry... what?"

Booth took a deep breath. Something about this woman was irritating and it vaguely reminded him of his girlfriend. He felt his heart squeeze at the thought of his Bones. His Bones that he hadn't seen or heard from in a couple of days.

Focus, Seeley. He told himself.

"Sorry, let me rephrase that. I was wondering if there was a particular route that went up north."

"We have a few lines that serve the northeast part of our country." The receptionnist replied, shifting into professional mode. "There's the Acela Express, the Adirondack, the Amtrak Cascades, the Empire Service, the---"

"Do you have any serving Vermont, for example?" Booth asked, cutting off the pretty-well-recited speech of the receptionnist.

"As a matter of fact we do." The woman said, cheerfully.

Booth feigned being surprised.

"The Vermonter does just that. The line starts here in Washington and cuts through the Maryland, New Jersey, New York City, Connecticut, Massachussets to finish its run in St. Alban's, Vermont."

"Does this train run often?"

"Daily."

"Good. I'd like to have the listings of all the passengers from the runs for the week of August 27th to September 1st."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Sir."

"And why is that?"

"Amtrak policy."

"But I'm sure that for a murder investigation, policy can be ignored."

"I'm afraid that—"

But Booth cut her off.

"... that you're going to send the nice Special Agent his listing like he has kindly asked you to do?"

On the other side of the line, the receptionnist gulped. Thirty minutes later, Booth was holding the faxed listings in his hands.

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His eyes were burning from reading in a dim-lighted room but Booth was too lazy to get up and turn on his office light. The lamp on his desk would have to do.

In front of him laid the listings the kind receptionnist had agreed to send him. Pages and pages of names and travel information had been tacked together.

Who would have known so many people took the train nowadays. Booth had thought to himself once he had reached the fourth sheet of paper for Day 1.

The names had been seperated by compartments but, even after a few minutes of scanning, Booth still hadn't found familiar names. But he had managed to find out that a large Polish family had travelled on the Vermonter on August 28th. Fifteen people of them to be more precise.

Booth looked up at his clock. An impromptu meeting had caused him to delay his reading of the listings and the clock now read 5:30. He knew he should have gone straight home after the meeting but the listings hadn't been able to wait. Oh well. He'd call his girlfriend later to tell him not to wait up for him.

He had reached August 29th when his cellphone rang. He immediately answered, thinking it might have been Temperance calling. He tried to hide his disappointment at the voice of his mother.

"Seeley!" His mother said. "How are you, my boy?"

"I'm fine, Mom." Booth replied, never taking his eyes off the listings.

Olivia Portman, seat A1. Donovan Portman, seat A2. Yuric Krum, seat A3. Martha Lewis, seat A4.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, just going over some information for this new case."

Jenny Lowes, seat A5. Kevin Lowes, seat A6. Laurian Bell, seat A7. Paul Jones, seat A8.

"Are you still at work?"

"Yes."

William Curtis, seat A9. Joel Curtis, seat A10. Rick Curtis, seat A11. Josie Curtis, seat A12.

Booth's mother tsked and he was pretty sure he could feel her shake her head in disapproval.

"You work way too much, Seeley. You should learn to live a little. Have some fun! Be more like me!"

Rena Moore, seat A13. Guy St-Amour, seat A14. Jimmy Darwin, seat A15. Paula Reich, seat A16.

"What do you want, Mom?" Booth asked, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Well... your father and I were wondering if you would like to come up to our cottage this week-end. You could bring your girlfriend if you want."

Ronaldo Mesa, seat B1. Emilia Mesa, seat B2. Hannah Kennan, seat B3. Ian Shelley, seat B4.

Booth's heart stopped beating. And it was unknown if his surprised reaction was caused by the names of the two victims on the same page or by his mother's comment about bringing his girlfriend with him.

"Who told you?" Booth replied, his heart racing madly in his chest.

He tore his eyes away from the paper. Maybe if he looked away for a while and back at the paper, he'd realize he had hallucinated.

"Your aunt Muriel saw you two making out in a restaurant a few weeks ago."

Booth rolled his eyes at his mother's answer.

"Well tell Aunt Muriel that she needs new glasses. Temperance isn't into PDA."

"Of course she isn't." His mother replied. "But you are. And you have such a way with the ladies, you probably just convinced her to do it."

Booth chuckled.

"It shows how much you don't know Bones."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Listen, Mom, I have some more work to do. I'll talk to Temperance about all of this, see if she wants to go up to Vermont this week-end. I'll call you later."

And Booth hung up before his mother could add something more.

As soon as he had set the receiver down, Booth brought his eyes back to the listings. He scanned the first four names once more. He had not imagined things. The name Hannah Kennan was printed right above Ian Shelley's name. He read the two other names. He had not heard of them before.

His heart racing, he scanned the rest of the list.

Jennifer Kellerman, seat B5. Damian Wright, seat B6. Paul Rutherford, seat B8. Vince Baker, seat B10. Theresa Bingham, seat B11. William Bingham, seat B12.

The rest of the compartment had been unoccupied.

A weird feeling immediately spread through Booth's guts. Something told him he had finally found the link between the victims: they had all taken the same train on the same day. Moreover, they had been in the same compartment. Booth shivered as he reread the names. Could his killer be one of the names listed?

A quick search through the FBI database turned out fruitless. Booth's hopes sank. If only it had been that easy.

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes with both hands. The clock now shown six o'clock. Bones was probably still at the lab. Getting up, he stretched his numb limbs before grabbing his coat. Maybe if he was quick enough, he could surprise her at work.

He turned off his lamp before walking out of his office, the listing folded in his pocket. This was definetely something his partner would like to see.