Author's Note: Both this chapter and the last come to you with Mickeyboggs' help- though I managed to publish the l;ast chapter without telling you that, which is really not nice of me. Bad, bad Jane!
So, without further ado, (funny word, isn't it?) here it is, Chapter 11.
Chapter 11.
Booth had been feeling restless for the last ten days. There were several reasons for his state of mind and none that he could handle himself. There was the killer on the loose who had not made a move in 10 nights. The CS Unit geeks had not been able to find a single thread for him pull at, not shred of evidence, not even a freaking foot print that he could spend some time analyzing. There was Agent Peyton-busty-blond-Perotta who stopped by his office more often than needed to share information on the case which, he knew, was just nonsense because there was nothing new to be known until the killer attacked again. This also grated at his nerves because he knew two more people would have to die just for the remote possibility that they would have a thread to tug at, a lead to follow. It grated at his nerves because she just made him feel like a man again, instead of a romantic hero in a bad novel of his own creation. Agent Perotta had managed to make him feel like the old Seel who would spot a female and just make a move even if to be rejected, instead of this new Seel who was paralyzed by a pair of blue eyes. And she always gave him that look of adoration that he remembered from high school, when he was a proper alpha male. It made him feel important. Wanted. And he hadn't felt that way in a long, long time, what with Rebecca and Bones in his life.
Then there was that thorn in his thigh, Bones' sad eyes which seemed to be permanent now, even when she tried to be happy and vibrant like she used to be. And failed miserably at it. He wondered briefly that if he found out that someone was messing with her, he'd have to go on a killing spree.
He drank one more glass of milk, the only thing that kept the bile and the acid in his stomach under some semblance of control. Just what he needed: a gastric ulcer. Never a break!
He moved from the self-service bar area into his office, trying to go unnoticed. But he was met by Caroline Julian and Caroline Julian's probing manner and Caroline Julian's none-too-subtle tongue.
"Chér, you look like a dog's breakfast. What's wrong with you? You lost your mojo on me now?" Booth knew there was no point in trying the trademark puppy dog eyes on Ms. Julian- Because she had kids of her own and had seen it all and seen through it, but, mostly, because, on that particular morning, he could not muster it. So he just sighed and drank some more milk against the acid climbing up inside his stomach and successfully making its way towards his mouth in a blaze from hell. What came up was a pained expression and a grunt.
"Oh, Chér... you really need to drag that Dr. Brennan of yours into a dark room and put both of you out of your misery. Look at you, sipping on milk..." Caroline tutted. "This is getting in your way, Chér... if the two of you had been working together you'd have found that twisted son of a spotted cow by now... Get your act together! And look what the cat just dragged in: another one looking like a dog's breakfast..." Booth looked in the same direction as Caroline to find Brennan coming in towards his office, her face composed in a smile that did not make it all the way to her eyes. Caroline tutted again. "Good morning, Chérie. You people get your act together, now you hear, and get me some ass to prosecute. The media is all over this, like jackals at a dead mule. I'll catch up with you later, you hear?" And she gave them one more probing look, making sure both Brennan and Booth knew it was a probing look.
"Well, this is not my case, Ms Julian. The FBI is not... subcontracting on this one. I wish I could help, but..." Caroline moved back a step, put her hand on Brennan's arm and leaned into her, a conspiratorial look on her face.
"I know this is Agent Perotta's case. She is a good agent, sweet girl, gets the job done. Admittedly, not with so much aplomb as you two but still gets it done." She gave the young scientist time to react and was not disappointed. Brennan lowered her eyes and Caroline would swear later that she saw a sharp spark of pain in the young woman's eyes. "But since when are you merely a subcontractor? And since when are you allowing people to push you off cases when you want to be in on them... or people..." She tapped Brennan's hand maternally and walked towards the meeting room where nothing nowhere near as interesting as this was waiting for her genius at sorting the fine messes people got themselves into.
"Are you OK there, Bones?" Booth inhaled her lightly floral perfume and let it soothe his frayed nerves and even dissolve the acid burning in his stomach.
"Yes. You, on the other hand, do not look so good..."
"It's my stomach... never mind that. What can I do for you?"
"Well... I came to get you for lunch..."
"It's 10:30 am, Bones..." Brennan blushed violently.
"I know... but I was bored."
"You were bored..."
"That's what I said"
"What, did the world run out of dead bodies for you study?" Brennan almost got up to leave. But Angela was right. She owed it to herself to try.
"I'm not always working, Booth. I can have fun too. And anyway... I also brought a map that Angela and Hodgins compiled for you." And she gave him a disk in a clear plastic wallet. As Booth took it, their fingers met for a second during which, though no sparks flew, neither of them wanted to break that thin, fragile moment of connection. The warmth was circulating free from one to the other and for that second it was like being back to all their best, most contented moments all condensed in the same second. Booth felt his stomach relax and the acid churning in it back down to a manageable level. Brennan felt the muscles in her face relax to the first real, honest to God smile in 10 days. Booth took the disk and removed it from the plastic wallet without breaking eye contact.
"Let's see what the squint squad came up with then" and he slotted the disk into his computer. The file ran without his prompt and right in front of him a simplified map of Washington DC came on screen. As he dragged his mouse through the map, a sequence of photos of crime scenes popped up and faded as he moved through the map. He stopped on the spot marked with a number one. A sequence of crime scene photos began, a recital of violence, blood and contorted body parts. He located number 2 on the map. The sequence of photos began once again, the horror of impending death clearly shown in each of the photos as they showed the victims literally scattered on the blood stained snow, fear permanently etched into their young faces.
Brennan moved to stand behind Booth, staring at the screen as he revealed the information hidden behind each of the numbers. He recognized numbers 3 and 4 from having been there standing over the bodies when the metallic smell of blood was still fresh. Brennan sat on the arm of his chair and Booth inhaled, once more her delicate perfume.
"Angela says he's probably working clockwise through the parks, see?" and her finger drew a circular line between the 4 spots marked on the map. "He started here and he is moving consistently in the same direction with each attack..."
"Assuming it is the same guy..."
"Yes. Assuming that. But look at the photos: they are always the same type of injuries. Go back to each of the spots on the map. Angela accessed the pathology reports for each of them-"
"Bones, that's not entirely appropriate..."
"So? Just don't tell Caroline. Do you want to solve the murders or not?"
"I want to get this guy. Not just solve a mystery, Bones. But you're right. I'll worry about that later. What with the reports then?"
"Well, they are always blunt force trauma to the head, always congruent with the shape of a baseball bat, though the first two attacks, and in varying degrees, have shown far more injuries than the latest two."
"Varying how?"
"Decreasingly. Each attack is more aim-orientated, I'd say. Like the killer is getting more accurate with each kill." Booth contemplated the screen once more and ran through the dates of the attacks again.
"The dates seem to be random. One in October. One in December. Now two within two nights in February... Is Angela sure she's got all the crimes with the same type of attack?"
"Well, Angela is very thorough, you know... "
"Hum, yes, but there may be cases that did not make it to the press..."
"She did not look only for press clippings, Booth."
"No?"
"No. She says she's no amateur."
"Right... Better not say that to Caroline either. I'll worry about that later too." Brennan shrugged. She did not like these little legal intricacies that mostly, allowed bad people to go free.
"And now?"
"Now, I'd be interested in picking Sweets' brain... get him to give us a profile." Booth got up and slipped on his suit jacket. Brennan remained seated, unsure of what to do at that very instance.
"Well? Are you coming or not?" Brennan's inner smile bloomed at the invite and the inclusion of the we in his train of thought. We was so much better than I.
Sweets looked from Booth to Brennan and back again.
"Agent Booth, Dr Brennan... this is not a party trick! You cannot possibly expect me to give you a profile based on photos of the crime scene and forensic reports. I might as well get my tarot cards."
"If you think you can give us more that way, I'm game, Sweets."
"That means he's not joking."
"Thanks, Dr Brennan... I mean... you guys are unbelievable..."
"Is that good or bad?" Brennan turned to Booth with her question.
"I think it's good, Bones."
"No, not really, not today..." Sweets was still shaking his head in disbelief.
"Than you should be more accurate in you pronouncements, Dr. Sweets." Brennan crossed her arms defensively across her chest.
"Give the guy a break, Bones! Well, Sweets? I'm getting old here!" Sweets sighed deeply, shook his head in negative a few more times- merely for form, he knew, as he could not resist a good puzzle and the how important it made him feel when Booth and Brennan walked in through his door to ask him for a profile. He rose to the occasion.
"Well, from the very, very scarce information we have at this moment, I'd say that there is a pattern in his killing, a method. He has been honing up his craft, gathering knowledge and becoming more and more accurate with each attack. But this is not just a job for him. I think he draws some sort of pleasure from the killing. Maybe even sexual- either a literal pleasure or a surrogate pleasure, but it is pleasurable none the less. The killer is carrying out a job and he is methodical in his approach, though maybe not so much in the time keeping."
"Do you think this is the kind that hears voices telling him what to do?"
"No, Agent Booth, I don't. There is really no way of proving that, but I think it is a conscious thought. Maybe he is a collector..."
"Collector?" Brennan repeated.
"Hum... yes. I think this is some sort of collector. Look, all the victims are different. Older, younger, richer or poorer, blonds, brunettes, and always different locations. There is a method in the killing. But I'm afraid to say that the method is opting for variety."
"Is that bad, Booth?"
"Yes, Dr. Brennan, it is" Sweets spoke before a pensive Booth. "It means that we have no way of predicting anything about his behavior. The dates of the attacks seem to have no logic pattern and the demographics of the victims either. We don't even have anyway of knowing if he studies the victims before the hit or not..."
"I'd bet he doesn't study them. I'd say he looks at them and makes up his mind. Choose on the spot the most attractive prey.."
"Maybe to suit his mood... Yes, it's possible."
"So this is a totally random choice: dates, victims... How are you going to catch him, Booth?" Brennan's question remained unanswered.