Sorry for the delay in updating… I had a busy day yesterday, and every time I sat down to write, I was interrupted by some crisis on the home front! I've made up for it with a nice long one for you.
So what about that promo for next week's elevator episode? Holy crap. I'm really trying not to get my hopes up, but wow.
I have to say, that in the midst of writing all this angst, it was really, really good to see B&B interacting like old times. Loved it when he caught up to her and surprised her when she was jogging. Happy to see them flirting a bit with each other. Hated when he told Sweets "it's over." Ugh.
Okay, that is all. Now back to our story.
Chapter 9
The next two weeks were uneventful. Angela set up a fake Facebook profile for Brennan, and Brennan spent time adding friends, causes, and pages that supported the undercover persona she was carefully crafting. The Handmaidens of Mercy was a closed group, but Angela found several of its members through the profiles of the three victims, and Brennan added them and posed as a mutual friend who had a shared interest in right-wing causes. The groundwork they were laying was painstaking, and Brennan was becoming impatient knowing that lives were at stake.
Doggett and Brennan fell into a comfortable rhythm as partners: he would call her every morning to check in and share any new information or insights he had on the case. Around noon each day, he'd pick her up and they'd eat lunch on the go, then spend the afternoons visiting the families, coworkers, and friends of the victims. Brennan found him enjoyable to work with, and his stories he shared of past cases – which sounded like tall tales to her – provided a welcome diversion from the heaviness that plagued her when she went home at night. She discovered that, prior to coming to work for the FBI, his six-year-old son had been kidnapped and murdered. She admired his sensitivity and understanding as he dealt with the victims' families, and noticed how he was able to gently draw out vast amounts of information during their interviews with the families because of his empathy and care.
On Friday afternoon, they were leaving Samantha Metzger's apartment after unsuccessfully trying to track down her roommate, when her parents called. Doggett spoke with them briefly, then ended the call and turned the car towards Alexandria.
"That was Samantha's mother," he told Brennan. "They were going through her old mail and found some correspondence that they think may be of interest to us. She said that it's a few months old, but she thinks that it might help us find the location of the retreat center."
Shannon Metzger met them at the door when they arrived, postcard in hand.
"I just found this in a stack of her old mail. She must have left it here by accident when she came to visit us last – that was over a month ago, and the postmark on this card is from a late January. I don't know if it'll help…"
Doggett took the postcard from her and turned it over. It was a picture postcard, the Washington Monument shown on the front. The back simply contained an address located in Richwood, WV.
"West Virginia again," Doggett mused to Brennan. "Thank you, Mrs. Metzger. We'll check it out and I'll let you know what we come up with."
Brennan and Doggett climbed back into his vehicle and he scribbled down the address on his notepad. "I need to drop this by the Hoover and have my handwriting guy take a look at this. After that, you feel like taking a little weekend trip to West Virginia? I hear it's lovely this time of year," he said, winking at her.
Brennan laughed out loud; that deep, unabashed laughter that often escaped before she realized it was coming. She was thrilled that Doggett was involving her in so much of the case, and nearly giddy that they had an out-of-town lead. The change in scenery was long overdue.
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Doggett dropped Brennan off at the Medico-Legal Lab so that she could retrieve her car and go home to pack. He told her he'd pick her up at seven, so she had some time to kill and decided to check in with Angela.
"Hey, you!" Angela greeted from behind her Mac. "So, guess what? Looks like you've been invited to join the Handmaidens Facebook page. I accepted for you. Looking around, there isn't much in the way of leads, but they've probably deleted anything incriminating and do most of their correspondence via private messages. Anyway, it's a start. At least we have names of some of the girls who are involved. There are about forty members. I'm going to post on the wall for you, introducing yourself to the group."
"Good work, Ange. I hope they will bring me into their confidence."
"That's the plan. What's up with you? How's it going with Agent Blue Eyes?" Angela winked at Brennan.
"Actually, we have found an address in West Virginia that looks promising. We are headed out to take a look in a couple of hours."
Angela's eyebrows arched high in mock surprise. "Really? A weekend getaway in the mountains? So soon?"
"Angela, Agent Doggett merely wants me there for my anthropological insights into the possible crime scene."
"I know, Sweetie. I was just kidding."
Brennan laughed a little too loudly. "Oh, right, because you know that I am actually still in love with Booth, and so you were making a joke about Doggett because it is so unbelievable that we would go out of town for a romantic weekend!"
Angela rolled her eyes. "Once again, you killed it, sweetie. Never mind. Anyway….wait. Did you just use the 'L' word?"
Brennan realized her slip and flushed. "I don't know what that means."
"You did. You totally just said 'love,' Bren. Okay, seriously, I have never seen you like this. Does Booth know this? Because if he does, I swear I am going to murder him. What a prick!"
"I… I haven't exactly told him that part, Ange," Brennan said, her voice thin. There was an awkward pause, and she seemed lost in her thoughts for a moment. Then she shook her head and looked at Angela, eyes steely. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. I have plenty of work to keep myself busy, and you told me not to dwell on it, so I am not. At this point, the chances of things working out the way I want them to are statistically slim."
"Well, I still think he's just running from what he knows is inevitable, sweetie. He'll come around. In the meantime, you're right: you focus on catching this religious asshole – or whatever he is – and save these girls I'm looking at here on this Facebook page."
"That's exactly what I plan to do, Ange."
Brennan hugged her friend, and they promised to stay in touch over the weekend to track any developments in the case.
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Doggett picked Brennan up at exactly seven o'clock, and they grabbed a bite to eat before embarking on the five-hour journey. They chatted easily for the first half of the trip, and then fell into a companionable silence as the evening wore on. Most of the roads were rural, with the last leg taking them through the Monogahela National Forest. It was slow going on some parts of the road where tax dollars were obviously scarce and upkeep of the highway was not a priority.
They arrived in Richwood after midnight, and Doggett found them rooms at the only motel in town, a family-owned motor lodge that was a throwback to the 1960's. They checked into their respective rooms, and Brennan immediately collapsed into bed, where she slept more soundly than she had in weeks.
Doggett knocked on her door at seven the next morning, coffee in hand.
"I hope you like crappy coffee, Dr. Brennan. I went out of my way to find it for you."
Brennan smiled and opened the door wider to let him in. They were both dressed casually, and seeing him in jeans and a t-shirt set her at ease. She sighed unconsciously, turned to the mirror, and pulled her just-dried hair into a high ponytail.
"Everything ok, Dr. Brennan?" Doggett asked.
She turned back to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her. "Oh, yes, sorry. I find you very easy to work with. I feel as if I've known you for a long time. I'm just grateful that you've let me come with you. I… I needed this."
"You're welcome, Dr. Brennan. And, for the record, I'm enjoying partnering up with you, too."
They looked at each other and smiled, sharing a moment of silent but comfortable understanding, then Doggett stood.
"Well, what say we go find some breakfast? I'm sure there's a greasy spoon somewhere in town, and, while I'm not sure they'll have the largest vegetarian menu for you to choose from, it may be a good place to start asking the locals about the Handmaidens group."
She nodded and followed him out. As she closed the motel room door behind her, her phone chirped within her purse. Climbing into the passenger seat of the SUV, she dug her phone out and checked her text messages.
"News from home?" Doggett asked as he pulled the car onto the county road that led into town.
"Yes. Angela says to check my Facebook. Apparently I have a private message from someone in the Handmaidens group."
She used her phone to log onto her fake profile, and there was indeed a message in her inbox from a woman named Serena. The message was titled "Welcome." Brennan read it aloud:
"Hey there, welcome to our group. It looks like you're a like-minded person, and we would like to talk with you about some of our upcoming protests and see if you're interested in getting involved with some of the events we have planned. A couple of us are meeting up for coffee on Sunday night at the Capitol Grounds Coffeehouse. Interested?"
Doggett glanced at Brennan. "Hell yeah, you're interested! We'll be back by then."
Brennan fired off a reply accepting the appointment, then sent a text to Angela to inform her of their plans for the day. Angela texted back:
"Great. I'll keep Cam in the loop. Be careful, Bren!"
When they arrived in town, Doggett steered the car down Main Street in search of a suitable breakfast spot. The town was small, a typical Appalachian hamlet with a population of just over 2,000, according to the welcome sign. Many of the shops along the main drag sat empty, a testament to the depressed economy of the town due to the closing of its coal mines two decades prior. Most local mom-and-pop retail stores had fallen victim to the rise in neighboring towns of the large box store chains, and the run-down residences reflected the near-poverty income level of its inhabitants.
The reached the end of Main Street and spotted a quaint-looking restaurant with cedar siding and a large deck on the back, whose retro sign over the door boasted hot breakfast and icebox pies. Doggett pulled into the small parking lot and grinned.
"Looks like the place! Hungry?"
"Starved. Metaphorically speaking, of course," Brennan answered, opening her door.
"Of course," he laughed.
The diner looked like a smaller, more authentic Cracker Barrel, with plank floors, plain tables neatly flanked by standard, red-cushioned metal chairs, and country-style knickknacks lining the walls. The Saturday breakfast crowd was noisy, consisting of families with multiple children, construction workers, and a few hikers. Brennan and Doggett waited in line at the register to place their order, and Brennan was scanning the menu when Doggett lightly touched her elbow.
"Listen," he said, his voice low. "Let's not show our 'federal agent' cards right away. These little towns tend to be gossip mills, and I'd like to stay inconspicuous for a bit until we figure out who we're dealing with and how involved they are in daily life around here. We're just a couple on vacation this morning, okay?"
Brennan nodded, and they stepped up to place their order.
The woman behind the register was attractive, in her mid-fifties, and greeted them warmly. "Hey there, you two. What'll it be today?"
They gave her their order, paid, and she handed back their change. "So, you guys in town just for the weekend?"
"Yeah, thought we'd check out the hiking scene," Doggett answered, placing his hand on Brennan's back. "We heard the trails are beautiful here."
"Yep. Best trails in the region. You guys camping, too?"
"No, we just thought we'd hike a little, maybe find a place to go horseback riding, go to church on Sunday somewhere. Actually, a friend of ours told us about a retreat center that may have a Bible study or something on Sunday. Do you know where it is?" He pulled the address that Samantha Metzger's mother had given from the postcard and handed it to her. She studied it for a second, then frowned.
"I believe that's Max Davies' place. It's just a farm, though. We don't have any formal retreat centers around here. I think there was a kook group up there a while back holding some sort of religious ritual b.s., but no one here knows anything about them. Anyway, I go to the First Baptist Church here, if you're interested in services Sunday."
"Thanks, ma'am," Doggett said, turning and guiding Brennan towards a table. The man behind them in line nodded as they passed.
After they were seated with their food, the man approached their table. "I heard you askin' Denise about the group that meets at the Davies place," he said, leaning down and placing his hands on the tabletop. His weathered face was cloaked with concern. "You don't want none of them. Bunch of freaks that camp out in the woods like some kind of damn militia." He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, then added, "Last time they were here, they had a hell of a bonfire - Davies said it sounded like they had some wacko ritual ceremony going on. David Heller, guy that owns the hardware store down the way, said they came in looking to buy ammo and other stuff, too. Kinda freaked him out."
Brennan took a bite of oatmeal, and said, "Wow, I don't think that's the sort of thing we were looking for. They sound like a weird bunch. We're definitely not into the whole 'Bible-and-guns' thing, are we, honey?" She beamed at Doggett, proud of her use of colloquial speech.
The man straightened and rocked on his heels. "We ain't like that around here, either. They're from out of town somewhere. Everyone around here is pretty much your average, church-going, flag-waving citizen, and we don't take kindly to rumors of interlopers with crazy-ass beliefs. We thought about calling the cops, but they were gone by the end of the weekend and – weirdest thing – Davies said that he couldn't find any sign that they'd ever been out there after they left. Almost like aliens had taken them." He grinned and offered his hand for Doggett to shake. "Well, I'll let you folks get back to your breakfast. I just didn't want y'all to think we was some sort of kook town. Enjoy your stay."
"We will," Doggett said, throwing his arm around Brennan. "We're looking forward to doing some exploring. Seems like a nice town."
"Well, let me know if you need anything while you're here. I'm Dale, and I'm pretty much a fixture here. Got laid off, so I hang out here most days and keep Denise company. You come find me if you want me to show you around."
They thanked Dale, finished their food, and stood to leave. Denise called after them, "Thanks, folks! Come back and see us! We've got chicken-fried steak on special tonight, and the best damn blueberry pie you've ever tasted!"
Doggett waved in reply as he held the door for Brennan, then followed her out.
"Whatcha say, Dr. Brennan: go visit Davies, and then come back for a big, fat plate of chicken fried steak later?"
She wrinkled her nose. "No, but if you want that pie, I will be happy to come back with you and have a salad."
It was Doggett's turn to show his disgust. "Nah. Not my thing. I don't like my fruit cooked."
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They pulled into the long drive leading to Max Davies' farm. Two nondescript mutts ran alongside the SUV and registered their annoyance at the vehicle's intrusion. When they reached the farmhouse, an elderly woman emerged and waved to them from the front porch, an ill-fitting housedress hanging on her slight frame.
Doggett turned off the engine and watched as he stepped out of the car and walked up the front steps to speak with the woman, whom Brennan assumed to be Max Davies' wife. They conversed briefly, and Brennan could tell by the woman's easy smile that Doggett had won her over. Soon, Doggett clasped the woman's hand gingerly, and she smiled, patted him on the arm, and reentered the house.
Doggett returned to the car and slid behind the wheel. "That's Mrs. Davies," he said, nodding toward the house. "She says that her husband, Max, is in the barn, and that she would call ahead and let him know we're coming down to see him."
"So, are we still undercover, Agent Doggett?" Brennan queried.
"No. From what Mrs. Davies said, it sounds like the Handmaidens group just showed up on the back of their property, and since it borders the national forest, Davies let them use his land, not knowing what they were up to. If this group is from somewhere else, which it sounds like they are, I'm not worried about keeping a cover anymore."
They drove for about two minutes down the gravel drive, then, per Mrs. Davies directions, turned off onto a tractor path that led to the barn. The building loomed ominously ahead, its dilapidated roof and peeling paint betraying the farm's age despite the modern vehicles and implements scattered out front. Doggett parked the SUV next to a large, dual-axle pickup truck, and he and Brennan headed toward the barn.
"Max Davies?" Doggett called as they stepped through the gaping barn door.
"Back here!" came a distant but surprisingly young-sounding voice from the back of the barn. Doggett and Brennan made their way past machinery in various stages of decay, and found Max Davies hunched over a chainsaw, tinkering with its motor. He straightened when he saw them, wiped grease from his hands onto a nearby rag, and held out his hand.
"I'm Max. My wife said you are with the FBI?"
Brennan was surprised. Judging by his wife's appearance, the couple had to be in their seventies, yet Max stood straight and carried himself like a man half his age. His body showed none of the typical markers of a lifetime of farm work.
Doggett shook his hand and responded, "Yes, sir. Special Agent John Doggett. We're here from Washington investigating a group who may have used your property recently."
Max took off his baseball cap and wiped his brow. "Oh lands. I knew they were trouble. At first I thought they were just a bunch of college women looking for a place to camp, so I let them use the back pasture. It wasn't until later that I found out that they were some wing-nut group."
"When were they here?" Doggett inquired.
"Oh, let's see… a month ago or so. I went out to water the cows in that back pasture and saw them setting up camp, right on the treeline. The national forest backs up to our land, so I just figured that they had wandered onto my property accidentally, and I decided to let them stay."
"Did you speak with any of them?"
"Yes, I drove the pickup out to where they were setting up, and two young ladies met me and asked if they were okay to use that spot. They seemed nice enough. There were about thirty of them – all women – and one man. I thought that was odd, but I dismissed it, figuring that they were some sort of college group on a field trip with their professor or something. Anyway, we spoke for a few minutes, and they went back to their group. Next day, when I came back to check on them, it looked like they had set up some sort of religious altar had been set up."
"When you spoke with them, did they say who they were?" Brennan asked.
"No ma'am. They were vague. Just said that they were camping together for the weekend."
Doggett looked puzzled. "Did you see any guns or any other type of weapons? We were told that they might have been inquiring about ammunition in town."
"That's what I heard from Heller at the hardware store," Davies responded, "but I never saw anything like that. But they did have a target range set up in the woods there."
"Someone in town described a bonfire. Did you see that?" Brennan asked.
"Oh, yes, ma'am. That was the most bizarre thing they did. Our bedroom is on the second floor of the house, and we can see the pasture from our window. I woke up in the middle of the night because of the glow of their fire. It was massive. I jumped onto my Gator and went as far as the front fence to check it out. I couldn't believe the noise. They were chanting and singing, and from what little I could hear of the man's voice, I think they were having some sort of sacrifice on that altar of theirs. I never found any animal carcasses, but it sure reeked of burning flesh."
Doggett and Brennan exchanged a look. Doggett said, "Mr. Davies, would you mind taking us to the site of that bonfire?"
"Of course. Let me get my keys. We'll take the pickup."
He led them back outside and went to his ATV to retrieve the keys to the truck.
Brennan walked next to Doggett toward their SUV, her expression serious. "I think we might need to take my evidence kit. If this is where the murders took place, I should be able to find traces of human remains out there."
Doggett nodded and opened the back hatch of the truck, pulling out her bag, a shovel, and a camera.
"Alright, you two ready?" Davies unlocked the truck and opened the door for Brennan, helping her as she stepped up into the cab.
Doggett climbed in beside her. "Mr. Davies, did you find anything in the pasture after they left?"
Davies started the engine and reversed into an opening, then steered the truck down the tractor path. "No. You'll see when we get out there, but I could barely tell there'd been a fire the next morning. I went out there around seven that morning, and they were all gone. There wasn't as much as a pile of ash left. Not sure how they managed that."
When they reached the pasture, Davies showed them the campsite area, and then excused himself, saying that he'd be back in an hour to get them. Doggett set to work taking pictures of the area where Davies had said the campsite was located, and Brennan began to examine the dirt, squatting down intermittently to analyze changes in soil color and taking samples as she worked. She used a small garden claw from her bag to upturn the dirt, carefully searching just below the surface for fragments that might give them insight into the group and their activities.
Doggett was almost to the treeline when he heard Brennan call to him.
"Did you find something?" he asked, jogging towards her. She was holding something up between her gloved thumb and forefinger, her face grim. As he got closer, she palmed the object, stood, and then opened her hand to show him.
"It's a skull fragment," she informed him, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Human or animal?"
"Human."
"You can tell that without DNA or a microscope or anything?" Doggett was amazed. They walked towards the fence at the edge of the pasture and sat down on the edge of a cement water trough.
"Yes. See how the interior is smooth? The interior of an animal skull is rougher and more complex. Also, the curvature of the bone indicates a human skull. We need to get a team out here as soon as possible. This looks like our crime scene."
Doggett nodded, pulling out his phone. "Do you think that this fragment is from one of our three victims?"
"No, all of their skulls were intact. However, we have particulates from two other victims whose remains have not been recovered yet. It's highly likely that we'll be able to match the DNA to one of them."
Doggett's face was grave. "I hope that's the case, and that there aren't more victims out there that we don't know about."
He called in their location, and Brennan called Cam to fill her in. After they ended their calls, Doggett said, "I guess we'll mark it off and wait for the team to arrive. Hacker is sending them in via chopper to expedite things here. Dr. Hodgins and one of your interns are coming as well. As soon as we hand the scene off to them, we can head back home. I know you want to oversee the excavation, but if we're going to hook up with these kooks on Sunday, we'll need to get you back in time to get you ready."
Brennan nodded and they stood and returned to the dirt, eager to uncover what they could while they waited for the field team to arrive.
Okay! There you are! Booth may or may not reappear in the next chapter. He was getting on my nerves, so I had to put him in "time out."
More tomorrow!
