AUTHOR'S NOTE: It seems like the site is acting all wonky again. I hope everyone who put Strappado on Story Alert got an alert and that the GO-button at the bottom of the page works properly. If not, too bad. I'm sending this chapter out anyway because I am just too anal about my posting schedule!

That being said, I believe it is time for another round of thank you's. Thank you whoever put Strappado on Story Alert. Thank you whoever put me on Author Alert. Thank you whoever put me or Strappado on their Favourites List. And thank you all of those lovely people who took the time to let me know what they thought about chapter 9.

And last but far from being least, thank you Faux Maven. We literally pieced this chapter together. Thanks for using your superior "Copy and Paste Techniques" on the two chapter drafts I sent you. If I had been in a really lousy mood, I would have shoved the very first draft into your inbox as well. lol Seriously, I rather enjoyed working on this chapter. Mostly because of the research we did to find an appropriate chapter title (the original one was kind of a bold title...it would have been more a political statement than a chapter title) and especially because of that small mind melding moment we had when we came across the same information. So thank you, for being around whenever I need you, for entertaining me during my lunch break (which is breakfast time for you), and for putting as much effort into this as me.

- X -

-- THE MALLEUS MALEFICARUM --

The Malleus Maleficarum is one of the most famous medieval manuals on how to hunt and punish witches. Translated the title means "The Hammer of Witches" or "Hexenhammer" in German. It was written by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger in 1486. The Malleus was submitted to the University of Cologne's Faculty of Theology in 1487. The Faculty condemned the book, as did the Catholic Church who banned the book in 1490 and placed it on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum ("The List of Prohibited Books").

The Malleus remained in use for over three hundred years. It was the Bible of the witch-hunters, providing them with the necessary information about how to detect a witch, persecute her, gather evidence to prove her guilt, and punish her accordingly. Hundreds of people, mostly women, were branded as witch because of this book and were tortured and murdered in the name of the law. And all because the Malleus confirmed that the happenstance of having a strange birthmark on a place the Devil loved, the cultivation of medicinal herbs, mental illness or as insubstantial as false accusations was "hard evidence" of the victims being witches.

TheInquisitors made much use of the Malleus during their intense witch-hunts. They made good use of its advice to deceive a suspect in order to discover the truth. In this chapter Booth brings in a suspect. With the kidnapping of Zach in the back of his mind, he tries to lure the suspect into answering his questions and hopefully finding out something useful. He poses questions in a cunning way, just like the Inquisition did, in the hope the suspect talks himself into a corner and reveals all. And of course, Booth's questioning mainly serves to catch Madman, in this case the equivalent of a witch.

Friday November 30 - FBI headquarters - 12:08

Back and forth. Back and forth. Shoulders squared, muscles tensed, brow creased, and eyes fixed on the object trapped below his index finger, Booth hardly blinked as he pushed and pulled his poker chip across his desk. In the past twenty minutes, he had hardly moved as he listened intently to the hard plastic scraping the wooden surface. The muffled sounds of ringing phones, the clicking of heels and the squeaking of dress shoes, and the unnerving bleeping of Xerox machines spitting out dozens of copies per minute vaguely resounded through the closed door of Booth's office. They drowned in the nagging scrape of plastic on wood.

He wasn't going to tell her. There was absolutely no way in hell that Booth was going to fill Brennan in on Zach's whereabouts -- or rather the lack of knowledge of his location. It would thrust Brennan right out of the somewhat peaceful state of mind she had achieved the night before. It would shake her more than she would let on. Booth had already seen her cool exterior nearly crack and shatter when Angela had been attacked. He had no desire whatsoever to be the bearer of bad news again. Brennan might not intentionally shoot him for being the messenger boy, but until he had even the tiniest slice of good news to go along with the truckload of bad Booth would keep his mouth shut. That strong was his desire to keep Brennan safe.

Zach had been taken. As the words popped into Booth's mind, he almost groaned in response. Abruptly he threw himself back against the back of his chair, crossed his arms, and gave his poker chip a pensive, bordering on brooding, stare. More than three hours ago Hodgins had spilled the news in a tight voice over the phone. Booth had been about to inform Hodgins he was bringing in a potential suspect possibly related to all their cases when the entomologist had abruptly cut in and had voiced words that had turned Booth's blood cold. In less than thirty seconds Hodgins had managed to raise every hair on the agent's body and had stirred the mix of anger and embarrassment already threatening to overwhelm Booth.

Zach had been kidnapped from right under their noses. And not by just anybody. Though they hadn't yet found any substantial evidence linking Zach's disappearance to the man they were after, both Hodgins and Booth were certain they were dealing with the same guy. It was just too much of a coincidence, an undeniable fact that played a significant part in any serious conspiracy and murder investigation and therefore right up Hodgins' and Booth's alley. It was only a matter of time before they found the red thread that connected all three cases. But that was of less importance at the moment. First they had to track down Zach and bring him home, preferably safe and in one piece.

As he crossed his arms, Booth's mind turned to the matter he was just as concerned about as Zach's disappearance. The young genius had been taken and Booth was going to lie about it to Brennan. A shiver of disgust ran down his spine and his scowl turned sour. That was exactly what he was going to do. He was going to lie to his partner, straight-faced. He was going to defile their mutual trust and obscure the truth and he didn't even feel as guilty as he should. Booth shifted around in his seat, uncomfortable with the realization. Of course he was aware that he didn't feel too guilty because he believed it was best for Brennan if she didn't find out about Zach's situation before he was found, but still...

Perhaps it would help if he didn't think of it as lying, but rather as forgetting to mention an important fact. Booth cringed. In the end, when Brennan found out, the distinction wouldn't matter because she would be contemptuous of him anyway, but for the moment it eased his conscience a bit. At least enough to allow him to compose himself and appear genuine and truthful. Pushing out a deep sigh, Booth tried to control the frustration building inside of him. He was disgusted with himself because he was going to lie to Brennan. He was angry because he was forced to lie by some unknown stranger who was wreaking havoc on him and his team.

The thought made Booth involuntarily reach up to softly touch the bump on the back of his head, suppressing a wince as his fingers made contact. Like a rookie he had let his defenses down and had been punished accordingly with a mind numbing blow to the skull. It wasn't so much the actual blow and the sore bump that annoyed him as the embarrassment it entailed. That combined with his having to willfully deceive Brennan was enough to spark severe irritation and make him wish he could do some serious damage, preferably to the poor excuse of a killer who had turned their lives into an ongoing hell the second he had pulled the trigger two weeks ago.

Surprisingly, their predicament was starting to make sense to Booth. Zach's disappearance confirmed the theory he began to develop right after he had found the package of disposable nipples at Angela's crime scene. It definitely was no coincidence that Zach had been taken. Hodgins had hit the proverbial nail on the head. He had kidnapped Zach. He was crossing off squints marked on his "To Torture List". Angela and Zach were victims; Booth was certain they were on the murderer's list. How John fit into the picture, Booth wasn't so sure. The man had been only three months in Brennan's life -- too short to be of actual meaning to Brennan and too long to be ignored.

Booth shook his head, trying to gain perspective. The question wasn't why John was murdered. What bothered Booth was that he wasn't sure if the killer had wanted to punish Brennan by killing John or if Brennan was still on the list and would be harmed at some unknown point in the future. Booth's anger tinged with distress and flared at the thought of his partner suffering in the hands of an unknown lunatic. But his frustration was shoved to the background when he suddenly realized the nature of his thoughts.

He suspected the killer to be punishing Brennan Somehow, subconsciously, he had defined all the attacks as acts of punishment. There was no proof to support his theory; it was all based on what his gut was telling him. Booth ruefully smiled as tried to relax his muscles, picked up his poker chip, and flipped it in the air. The very idea of his gut talking to him on some subconscious level...

"Bones is going to love that one," he muttered.

"I'm going to love what?"

The question took him by surprise. He needed all of his willpower to maintain his nonchalant air and indifference instead of jumping like a five year old caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Because of his brooding, Booth had lost track of time and had forgotten he was supposed to meet Brennan at their usual interrogation room around 12:00. Booth plastered on a smile and slid his poker chip in his pocket. "Hey Bones."

---&---

Friday November 30 - Hoover Building, on the way to the interrogation room - 12:17

"So when are you going to tell me why you had me come down here?"

Booth glanced at her from the side as they moved down the hallway. The sounds that had been muffled by Booth's closed office door before now washed over them in all their ferocity. "As if you mind being here..."

"Seriously, Booth," Brennan said trying to sound stern but the upward curling of the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement. "I haven't even stopped by the lab yet today. I was at the FBI forensics lab earlier and I was planning on heading to the Jeffersonian when you called."

"And what exactly were you doing at the FBI lab?" Booth took a left turn and halfway down the hallway he pushed a door on his right open. It led to the separate room connected to the interrogation room. He strode in without paying attention to the three monitors against the left wall and the table placed underneath them, the usual sparse furnishing easy to ignore. "Probably making the FBI squints wish they had taken the day off," he answered his own question.

"Booth, I was just-" Brennan abruptly stopped talking, dropping her reply as soon as she caught sight of the man sitting at the other side of the window. "Who's that?" she asked as she came to stand beside Booth in front of the glass pane. She crossed her arms and leaned closer to the two-way mirror to take a better look at him. Hair black as tar gelled back into place, unusually bright blue eyes, and features that could have belonged to one of those male models Brennan often found staring at her from the cover of popular magazines. His tight fitting T-shirt hinted at toned muscles and enhanced the broadness of his shoulders. Barely finished with her cursory examination, Brennan suddenly pinched her lips and a look of venom entered her eyes. "Is this-"

"No," Booth swiftly cut in. "It's not him. The guy I chased yesterday was at least three inches shorter and built differently, more athletic, leaner." Booth shook his head. "This guy here is pure muscle. He trains strength, not endurance, and the man we're looking for can easily run a mile without losing his breath."

"How do you know?"

"I ran after him, remember? Plus, he hunted Angela all over Town Square Plaza."

Brennan nodded. She wasn't about to put Angela's traumatic attack and Booth's experience in the hotel's next door alley into question. "Then who is he?"

"Meet Albert Miller," Booth muttered without taking his eyes off the man.

"Should I know him?"

"Yes, you should." Booth tilted his head and arched an eyebrow at her. "He's been one of the Jeffersonian's security guards for about six years now. He usually patrols the parking lot. You must've run into him at least once." Brennan gave him a blank look which resulted in Booth lifting his other eyebrow. "But then again, you don't exactly make a point of remembering people's faces, let alone their names."

Brennan, somewhat peeved by Booth's reproach, returned, "It's not like I have to work with him, Booth. His name is irrelevant to me." A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, similar to what she saw on Booth's face, when she stressed his name.

"Always the kind one, Bones," he mumbled.

"Kindness is overrated." Brennan dismissed the topic as she kept her gaze steady on Miller who was fidgeting nervously in his seat. It was interesting to see such a huge man who oozed dominance and brutal strength turn into a mess of nerves and doubt. "Why did you bring him in?"

"Because of this." Booth reached to his left to pick up a video tape from the table against the wall. Brennan questioningly quirked an eyebrow. "You'll see," Booth said. "Just listen carefully and promise me you won't interrupt."

"Why would I do that?"

Booth sighed. "Just promise me, Bones. No unexpected barging in, no shouting through the intercom, no tapping the window. You got that?"

"Sure, because I have a habit of doing those things," Brennan dryly retorted, but her reply was lost on Booth since he was already moving out of the room and on his way to the other side.

Just before he pushed the door open, Booth took a moment to roll his head in order to loosen his neck muscles and collect his thoughts. A glance at the tape in his hand and the folder he had grabbed before leaving nearly broke his control again, but he managed to center himself. Calling his fake smile back to life, Booth reached for the door knob and casually stalked into the interrogation room. Let's try nice and gentle for a change, he thought as he rounded the table.

"Good morning Mister Miller," he greeted the bodybuilder look-a-like.

"And who the hell might you be?" Booth's smile, together with his attempt at a friendly approach, vanished upon hearing Miller's threatening tone. Even stuck in an interrogation room, barely concealing his quivering nerves, the man had the guts to challenge Booth. So much for being nice...

"I'd watch your words if I were you, pal. I'm asking the questions here." Booth roughly pulled a chair back and lowered himself on it. Keeping firm eye-contact with the man across the table, he folded his hands and narrowed his eyes. "Let's skip the formalities, Albert. I have something that belongs to you." Booth placed his hand flat on the tape and slid it to the center of the table. "Do you recognize this?"

Miller leaned back, stretching his legs and setting one elbow on the back of the chair, seemingly adopting a relaxed stance. "I have never seen that tape before."

"Don't lie to me, Miller. We found it at your work station." Booth leaned forward, his gaze menacing and dark. "Better yet, we've got a witness who claims you were watching it." With interest Booth noted how Miller suddenly tensed. Got you there, buddy, he thought satisfied. "Care to tell me what you were watching, Miller?" Miller gave him a blank look. "You don't remember?" A negative shake of his head. Booth quietly snorted. Typical response.

"Well, let me help you and your awfully short memory then. You were watching a tape of Dr. Brennan. No, not just watching it, you were playing itin slow motion." A shudder raced down Booth's spine as he nearly felt Brennan's shock ripple through the room, but he refused to give it another thought. He couldn't interrupt the interrogation now to go check on his partner. Not when he was on a roll and was slowly forcing Miller into a corner. Booth leaned across the table, accurately aware of how he was invading the other man's personal space. "You have no idea how dangerous I get when jerks like you stalk my partner," he said in a low voice before straightening again.

"Now that we have jogged your memory, why don't you tell me why you collected footage of Dr. Brennan and sold the tapes to whoever wanted them? And don't try to convince me this is the only tape you've got. I have evidence to prove you've sold more than one copy." Booth briefly flipped open the folder in front of him, pretending to study a piece of paper that contained the tape sales information. "Three tapes last week alone, to be precise." He lifted his head to look at Miller again. "What's the matter, big guy? Cat got your tongue?"

During the course of Booth's monologue, Miller's entire body had gone rigid. Utter disbelief, shock, horror, uneasiness, guilt...They each played over his face in turn. He opened his mouth, about to say something, when the shrill chirp of Booth's phone echoed through the room.

Booth stiffened. "Hold that thought." Flipping his phone open, not bothering to check caller ID this time, he planned on giving whoever was calling him a piece of his mind. But before he had a chance, a familiar male voice filled his ear with the good news he had been hoping for.

"It's alright, Booth. We've got him."

Six words, two sentences. It was unfathomable how much relief they caused to flood through Booth's body. Inwardly he sagged in gratefulness, but outwardly he remained stern and every bit hard-ass interrogator. He settled back in his chair as he responded in a neutral tone, "That's good.

"He's not making any sense, though," Hodgins continued. "He keeps saying 'Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth...suffer'." Booth remained poker-faced and made a non-committal sound, not willing to make Miller part of their conversation in any way. Hodgins took this as a sign to go on. "This means I was right, doesn't it? Zach was kidnapped by the same guy that attacked Angela. Why else would he combine your names with 'suffer'? The guy probably muttered it as he was moving Zach, assuming nobody could hear him."

Booth nodded, even though Hodgins couldn't see him. Zach had given them a clue as to who had taken him. You had to like the kid. "We'll discuss this later," Booth said. "Thanks for letting me know."

After that curt reply, Booth flipped his phone shut, thereby ending the call. He set his phone down on the table, staring intently at Miller, before getting to his feet and turning towards the two-way mirror. As a plan of action began to form in his head, Booth looked his reflection straight in the eye, fully aware Brennan was on the other side not missing a word he said. Though the tension in his shoulders had eased considerably the moment Hodgins had announced Zach was with them again, Booth was still unsettled. Miller wasn't exactly being cooperative and since Booth had neither the time, nor the desire to lose his temper and run the risk of being removed from the case, he had to find a different method to lure Miller into a confession. At the moment Booth could think of only one way effective enough to get the information he needed...and it wouldn't go down well with Brennan. He hoped that for once she would read him like an open book and would catch on to the apology he was trying to convey with a pleading look in her direction. Because of what he was about to do...Booth cleared his throat as he smoothed his tie. She's going to kick my ass, flashed through his mind.

Pivoting on his heel, Booth slid his hands in his pockets and addressed Miller, "Do you have a girlfriend, Albert?"

Judging how Miller's eyebrows shot toward the ceiling and the several seconds it took him to reply, Booth's question obviously surprised him. "What does that have to do with this?" he said, gesturing at the tape still lying in the middle of the table.

"Just answer the question." Booth strolled over to Miller's side of the table. "Humor me, alright?"

"In that case, yeah, I have a girlfriend."

"Is she pretty?" Miller nodded. "Beautiful even?" Again Miller nodded. By now Booth had reached Miller's side. "Do you know who Angela Montenegro is?" Thanks to the two-way mirror, Booth could clearly see Miller's confusion.

"What has she got to do with my girl...with any of this?"

"So you know her?" Shaking his head and with his hands still in his pockets, Booth rocked back and forth on his heels. "I shouldn't be so surprised. I'm sure you've got her on tape as well, together with Dr. Brennan." Time for some shock therapy.

Without any warning, Booth right hand shot out, grabbed the folder lying on the table next to the tape, and whipped it open. Another quick move and picture after picture was slammed down in front of Miller. Each snapshot showed some of Angela's bruises and wounds. Even though Booth had seen the content of the vanilla colored folder more times than he could count, the still-frames of bloody scratches, a cut lip, and numerous dark bruised still twisted his stomach. He drew in a deep breath, grabbed hold of the back of Miller's chair, and used it as support as he hovered next to the man's right ear.

"You take a good look at these. This is what could happen to your girlfriend. Your buddy could do this to her."

"My buddy?" Miller echoed.

"Give it up, Albie." Way to go. Shorten his name and piss him off. That should do the trick. "We've done a total background check on you, talked to your colleagues, searched your work station...and guess what we found out? Eight months ago your security badge "mysteriously" went missing. The strange thing is that it has been used regularly ever since." Booth let go of the chair and strolled back to his side of the table. "As was the case yesterday afternoon, when Dr. Brennan and I were at the Jeffersonian." He lifted his eyebrows high and stared at Miller as he continued, in a quiet voice, "You better start talking, pal, because I'm not fooling around here. You allowed access to the Jeffersonian to an unauthorized person. There's a lot more than your job on the line here."

Cocking his head, Booth watched all color drain from Miller's face. He nodded satisfied. It seemed like he was finally getting through to the few brain cells the big hunk of muscle possessed. "Let's start from the top, Albie. These," he gestured at the line of jarring photographs still lying on display, "are pictures of the injuries inflicted on Miss Montenegro. She was brutally attacked and nearly molested in the middle of a public square across the state line, in Maryland. We found evidence on the scene that ties her attack to the cold blooded murder on John Percy." He tossed a few shots of John's corpse in Albert's direction. "His brains were blown all over Dr. Brennan's patio by a sniper."

Miller gulped. Booth narrowed his eyes and felt adrenaline push through his veins. He was getting closer to a confession -- a very useful confession, he was sure of it. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, it dawned on him that once he went all the way and exposed the truth, he would have to act fast in order to avoid Brennan's wrath. Though very much aware of the hell he would have to pay, Booth didn't want to mess up this chance. It could very well be their best lead to the crazed psycho who was after him and his team. He drew in a deep breath and went in for the kill.

"And now he's got one of my squints."

Brennan's shock was so palpable Booth swore he felt it crashing into the back of his head like a freight train. I'm dead...

Next time on Strappado...and you're going to love this one...some B&B time! Can I get a "Woo hoo"?