Chapter 11: By the Light of the Stars

Sitting in the passenger seat of Booth's car, Temperance was looking out of the window and watching the huge houses flash by, with their big gardens and high fences.

She pointed out number 37 to Booth and he pulled into the driveway. An iron gate across the drive barred their way. Spotting an intercom to his left, Booth wound down the window and jabbed the buzzer repeatedly until he heard a voice.

"Can I help you?" It said, clearly annoyed.

"Yes you can. I'm special Agent Booth from the FBI. Would you mind opening the gate?" Booth replied with equal curtness.

"Oh, er just a moment then sir."

Seconds later the gate swung inwards. Glancing across at his partner, Booth found her watching him with her piercing eyes.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"Nothing…it's just, you seem a bit…on edge." She said diplomatically.

He stared out the windscreen as he drove forward, down the pebbled drive. He sighed.

"I guess… it's just hard to think that even with all of this- the big house and the gate and everything- a 6 year old girl can still go missing, and turn up dead…"

Temperance couldn't think what to say. Certainly not anything helpful or comforting. It was a fact. A girl was dead. Instead she chose to take a leaf out of Booth's book. Reaching out, she put a hand on his arm. It's what he did when she felt horrible; physical contact, and it always made her feel at least a little better.

Booth looked at her hand, surprised, but then he looked up and smiled at her. "Thanks Bones." He said, and squeezed her hand.

Booth pulled up in front of the house. She smiled back, then pulled her hand away and got out of the car. She turned in the door to face him.

"Come on. Let's go find the man who did this."

"We're very sorry for your loss Mrs. Jacobson."

Booth and Brennan were sitting on a cream leather settee in the centre of an overly spacious living room. Two of the walls were filled with bi-fold glass doors leading out to the large, elaborate garden. The floors were polished wood with a large cream rug in the centre, edged with the two couches and a glass coffee table in the middle.

The woman opposite them nodded, her lips trembling and her eyes bloodshot, as she tried to hold in her tears.

"Where did you…?"

"In the botanical gardens." Booth told her. "A worker found her this morning. I'm sorry."

She looked up from her clasped hands and turned her red-rimmed eyes on Temperance, as though she could give her all the answers. "What happened?"

Temperance shook her head in sympathy. "We don't know yet, Mrs Jacobson. That's why we're here, to try and figure it out."

Booth's face remained solemn, but on the inside he was very proud of his partner- 2 years ago she would have rambled on about the knife cut to the c7 vertebra and the flesh-eating rat marks, unintentionally causing great distress all around. Now she was being diplomatic, respectful and authoritative all at once, with not a single mention of any grisly injuries. She was truly amazing.

At that moment the thin, teary-eyed blonde woman stood up from the couch. "Oh thank God you're home Andrew!" She exclaimed.

A tall, good looking businessman with dark hair had just entered the room, and he went straight to the distressed woman.

What is it? I came as soon as I got Carl's call. Did they find her?" He questioned her intensely, searching her face with his eyes.

"Oh…oh Andrew." Was all she could say as she clutched his hand to her chest. Booth decided to intervene.

"Uh, Mr Jacobson?" The man switched his fierce gaze onto Booth.

"Yes."

"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth from the FBI, this is Dr. Temperance Brennan. I'm very sorry to have to tell you this sir, but your daughter…Elisabeth, she's…"

Booth could see the man understood. First his eyes widened in shock, then his mouth opened and closed as though he couldn't find the words to express himself. Then he found the words. His face turned red and he yelled.

"What happened?! Who's responsible?! By God if someone did this to my little girl I will hunt them down…!"

Booth stood up facing the raging man. "Sir! I understand this is difficult for you but you have to calm down. We'll need your help if we are going to find the man who did this…"

"You mean someone did do this?!"

"Yes. Yes sir I'm sorry but please…"

"Andrew stop! Please stop." His wife wailed as she tugged on his arm.

The man finally calmed down.

"Mr Jacobson. What has happened is awful, but I promise you we will try our hardest to find out who did this. To do that we will need your help. I'll need you to answer some of my questions."

There was a pause, then, "Alright…what do you need to know?"

Booth led them through some routine questions which didn't help them much, and they recognised neither the picture of Miguel Vasquez nor of their Jane Doe.

"Did you see anyone suspicious or out of place before Elisabeth went missing?" Booth asked.

"No, but I work a lot, so I wouldn't really know." He turned to his wife, who now had tears flowing freely down her face. "Amy?"

She shook her head. "No-one."

He turned back to Booth. "You should ask Carl, our manager. And the others. If anyone saw something it would be them."

"These are your employees? How many are there?"

"There's Carl, and the maid, the cook on week days, and the gardener."

"Are they all here at the moment?"

"I think so."

"Do you think I could talk to them?"

"Uh, yeah I guess so." He paused. "You don't think one of them had something to do with this?"

Booth could see the man's mind working furiously, and decided to put a stop to it quickly before he jumped to conclusions and got angry again.

"Not at all sir." He said complacently. "I just wanted to ask them a few questions, as you suggested."

Mr Jacobson hung his head. "Of course, I'm sorry I just…" He didn't finish the sentence, but Booth understood nonetheless.

Silently he turned and walked out of the room and Booth sat back down next to Temperance, who had opted to stay a silent observer for most of the exchange. The two partners heard voices and movement through the house and soon Mr Jacobson re-entered the room, followed by a solid African American man, a petite brunette and three Hispanic men.

"Agent Booth, this is Carl, our house manager. " Jacobson indicated the large, dark man to his left. "And the rest. I hope they can answer your questions. I… I hope they can help Elisabeth." Booth nodded and thanked him.

Glancing at his wife, who looked ready to drop, he asked plaintively, "Do you need us here? My wife, she…I think she needs to get away…"

"Of course sir." Both replied. "You can go. I think we'll be alright here." He again conveyed his regrets over the situation and the man led his shell-shocked wife from the room.

"Ok men. Lady." Booth addressed the group. "I'm Special Agent Booth from the FBI, this is Dr. Brennan. I'm sure you all know that Elisabeth Jacobson went missing 10 days ago from this home. This morning she was found, but unfortunately she wasn't alive. I'm hoping you will answer our questions so we can find out who and what happened to her. Alright?"

They all nodded.

"Good. First off then…" He asked them the usual questions. None of them had seen anything or anyone unusual, and none of them knew who little Miguel Vasquez or their Jane Doe was.

"Ok, can each of you tell me where you were around the time she went missing…" Booth consulted his file. "…about 6 last Tuesday night."

He went down the line asking each of them. The manager, Carl, had been in his office sorting bills and manning the intercom for the gate. The maid and the twenty-ish Hispanic man who was the gardener's assistant had both gone home, and the thirty-ish gardener had been cleaning up his shed in preparation for going home.

Booth got to the end of the line of employees and stood in front of a portly man who, by the various food stains on his shirt and hands, was obviously the cook.

"And you sir, where were you?" Booth asked, not being accusatory at all.

The man's face was flushed and he puffed out his chest at Booth, looking very affronted. "Why should I tell you? I didn't do nothing. I didn't even know the brat."

Booth glared at the man, but remained calm. "Of course not. Sir we're just asking so we can rule you out. Perhaps you saw something, wherever you were."

"I didn't see nothing and I didn't do nothing, I tell you!"

Temperance, standing at the other end of the line of people, saw Booth start to fume. She felt someone touch her arm and turned to see Carl leaning towards her.

"Miss," he said quietly. "I don't think he knows anything."

She looked at him curiously. "Well then why won't he just tell us where he was? He's making himself look very suspicious if he hasn't done anything."

"Ah well you see, he just doesn't want to tell you what he was really doing 'cause he might get fired."

"Well, what was he doing?"

"Around 6 at night? He was probably down in the kitchen drinking."

"Drinking?" she asked disbelievingly. "Why don't you fire him?"

"Well it never affects his cooking or anything, you see miss. "There's no real harm in it. He's just a bit lonely I think. He mentioned once, a while ago, that his wife died, something about a baby too. The way he said it made me think she mighta died in birthing, and with the baby dying too, you know. I just didn't have the heart to fire him, or tell on him. He's not bad really, just a bit defensive."

Temperance listened to Carl's explanation and nodded. "Thank you. He's still got to tell us where he was though. If he doesn't he just looks guilty anyway." She looked over at Booth arguing with the man. "And if he annoys Booth any more he's going to get arrested. I'll go talk to them." She nodded to Carl and moved to stand next to Booth.

"I'm telling you I didn't do nothing! It's cos I'm Puerto Rican isn't it? You got a thing against Puerto Ricans!"

Booth's fists were clenching and un-clenching at his sides. "Sir, I assure you…"

"You cops think all Puerto Ricans are criminals? You reckon we like killing little kids? And babies? What about them, you reckon it's our fault they die too?!"

Hearing this, Temperance decided to step in. "Sir we don't think any of those things. If you'd just tell us what you were doing. We don't care if you weren't meant to be doing it. We promise we won't tell Mr and Mrs Jacobson, we won't get you fired say, if you were drinking…"

Booth was giving her an odd look, but that expression soon disappeared at the man's next words.

"What are you talking about?! I wasn't drinking! Why would I be fired?! You bitch, are you threatening me?! Why, I'll…"

Before he could finish his sentence Booth had grabbed him by the front of his stained shirt and hauled him against the wall behind him. "Don't you DARE talk to her like that! And stop messing with me! You're impeding a Federal Investigation. If you don't tell us this minute where you were that night I'll arrest you right now you…"

At that point Temperance recovered from her shock and stepped forward. She grabbed his arm. "Booth! Let him go, Booth!" She got in between the now cowering cook and the agent and pushed him in the chest. "Come on Booth, just leave it."

He let her push him backwards, away from the man and the wall.

To one side he heard the assistant gardener mutter, "Looks like Victor got into the alcohol early today."

Temperance remained in front of him, her hands on his chest, making sure he didn't make another lunge for the man. "Just leave it, ok Booth?" He looked down at her and at once half of his anger melted away.

"Sorry Bones, I just…"

She nodded. "I know." Turning away from him she addressed the perplexed man standing against the wall. "Shall I ask again? Were you in the kitchen drinking that night?"

He looked as though he was about to argue again, but he didn't. He nodded his agreement.

"Thank you. And did you see anything unusual around that time?"

"No." he answered. "Nothing and no-one else was down there. Just me."

"Fine." She turned back to Booth. "Is that all we had to ask?"

"Yes."

"Ok then let's go." She addressed the room at large. "If any of you think of anything else Agent Booth's number is on the table there. Thank you for answering our questions."

As the pair left the room they met Mr Jacobson in the doorway. Obviously he had heard the ruckus.

"Is everything ok Agent Booth?" He inquired.

"Yes sir." Booth answered. "Everything's fine. We were just leaving, thank you for your time."

"Of course." He walked them to the front door.

"I'm sorry, again, for your loss Mr Jacobson." Booth said seriously.

The man nodded mutely and the pair left the house.

"You know he deserved it." Booth said in the car on the way back to the Jeffersonian.

"Doesn't mean you should have done it."

"He was being rude, he wasn't answering my questions and he called you…"

"I've been called worse Booth. You can't go round beating up every guy that's rude to me."

'I can try.' Booth thought to himself.

Temperance wasn't really angry at him, in fact she was strangely happy that Booth cared enough to stick up for her like that. However she pretended, for the sake of appearances, that she was offended that he thought she couldn't defend herself.

He watched as she made her way across the huge parking lot. It was late and she was walking quickly, although he doubted it was because it was dark. Stepping out he made his way towards her at an angle, walking quickly so he wouldn't lose her. By the light of the stars he could see her dark brown hair hanging round her shoulders, her bag looped over one arm, and a large folder in the other. Her heels clicked against the concrete and he watched her twist round to get her keys from her bag, as she approached a silver car. He came up close behind her and she stopped. Reaching out, he put one arm round her middle and the other, over her mouth. She moved quickly, but he didn't let go. He got her elbow in his side, but still he didn't let go. She struggled, reaching behind her and scratching his face with her nails, then she dropped hard to her knees on the concrete. Seconds later the rest of her body followed.

The car park was empty other than a few cars and the dark shadows that usually accompanied the night. Beside one of these cars lay a folder, open on the cold concrete, with a pile of papers inside. in the top corner was a photograph, attached with a paperclip. in the photograph was a blonde grey-eyed little girl, frozen smiling up at the dark sky and the stars above.

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