Brennan burst into Booth's office and slammed an item down on his desk.

"What's this, Bones?" he asked, picking up the tool to twirl it in his hands. "I don't need one of these. We use computers to draw the circles on maps now."

"You might," she said, "but high schools still use them frequently." Her eyes sparkled with excitement at finally solving the mystery. "However, this time it was used for something other than its intended purpose."

"This," Booth said, pinching it between two fingers and holding it between them, "is the murder weapon?" The sun glinted off the metal compass as he held it in front of him.

"I don't make mistakes, Booth. I had Angela run several scenarios before I came to see you."

Disbelief was clear on Booth's face. "This little thing is what killed our victim?"

Brennan took it back from him, opening it wide and gripping it in a closed fist. "The first strike caused the smaller of the two wounds. One to the neck and one to the jaw. That is why Hodgins found particulates from a pencil in the bone. And why neither wound was that serious. The second strike was also in the neck, but the assailant put more force behind the strike and continued to drag the point down the neck. In doing so, the artery was cut, causing our victim to bleed out. A needle most likely would have broken in that scenario, but this tool would have stayed in one piece."

"What are the chances of there being DNA trapped in one of these?" He would never look at school supplies the same way again.

She smiled. "Probably pretty good if we manage to find the right compass. I'm guessing our killer didn't take the time to clean it that well considering the mess the body was in. If we can find where it's or all of the compasses are stored, we might have a lead."

"One of our lunch companions is a math teacher," he reminded her.

"I know that. I figured it would be a good place to start when we return to school tomorrow."

"You know what, Bones," he said, jumping to his feet. Reaching behind him, he grabbed his coat and shrugged it over his shoulders. "Why wait? Let's get a warrant for the tool and I'll send an agent out there to get them. In the meantime, we'll have Abby Johnson brought in. I think we need to have a little chat with her."

BBBBBBBBBB

"So, Abby," Booth said, sliding into a chair across from her. Brennan had returned to the Jeffersonian to look for additional evidence to assist him. "Tell me about your relationship with Jamie Stanton."

"Did you have to bring me here?" Abby asked, glancing around the room. "You could have talked to me at the school."

"You're a suspect, Abby," Booth said. "Your husband freely admits he should be a suspect. Maybe he's covering for you."

Abby looked down at the tissue she was shredding. She hadn't stopped crying since the officers had appeared at the school. "I didn't kill Jamie Stanton. And neither did my husband," she argued, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Your husband was going to be moved. You wouldn't be working in the same building. I'm guessing that made you unhappy. When was the last time you saw the victim?"

Sniffing, Booth watched Abby weigh her options and knew the exact moment she decided to be honest. "At 3:30. The day he was murdered."

"So you saw him the afternoon he was murdered? Within hours of his death?"

She nodded, but didn't speak again.

"Where did you see him?" Booth finally asked. It was apparent she was going to be honest, but wasn't going to offer anything unless directly asked.

"In my room," she admitted with a whisper.

"Were you in there alone?"

She shook her head. "Gabe was waiting for me to pack up so we could go home for the weekend."

Booth leaned forward. Now he was getting somewhere. "You and Gabe were with Mr. Stanton right before he was murdered. What did you discuss?"

A long pause followed, before Abby answered with a shrug. "I didn't discuss anything with him. I grabbed my bag, glared at him and walked out the door."

"And Gabe?" Booth asked.

"I thought," Abby began, before a fresh round of crying forced her to pause. "I thought Gabe was right behind me, but he didn't come out for quite a long time."

Narrowing his gaze, Booth studied her. "You didn't go back in to look for him?"

"I didn't," she cried. "I just waited in the car for him. Gabe had been so moody lately. I didn't want to do anything to make him angry right before the weekend started, so I just waited outside for him."

Convenient, thought Booth, not sure if he believed her or not.

"When Gabe finally came out to the car, he was shaking. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn't talk to me. We drove home and he stayed in the basement all weekend."

"And you never went back in the school to find him?" Booth asked again.

"No, but I wish I would have," she admitted. "Now I find myself wondering if I'm living with a murderer. If I'd gone back in, at least I'd know one way or the other."

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

"So Abby admitted to being with the victim near the time of death?" Brennan asked. They were in Booth's SUV, headed back to the school. With a lead on both a weapon and a possible crime scene Booth had a feeling the case was just about solved.

"Yeah, both her and her husband. Officers are bringing him to interrogation. He'll be there when we get back."

"Do you think Abby's room is the crime scene? It is near the locker where the body was found." Mentally, Brennan catalogued the supplies in the back of the SUV, making sure everything she needed was there.

"I do." He glanced at Brennan. "Do you have the little flashlight that makes blood glow?"

"Little flashlight?" she echoed, trying not to smile. "I know you are aware of its proper name."

He shrugged, refusing to confirm or deny her accusation. "I like little flashlight better. It doesn't make me sound like a squint."

She didn't have the heart to tell him he'd been a squint for years. She studied bones, Hodgins bugs and particulates, Cam flesh. They all had their specialties.

Booth studied people. An area that wasn't quantifiable or clearly measurable.

Brennan might tell him someday she thought he was the most talented of all of them.

"What?" he asked suddenly, confused by the look on her face. He'd say she had a secret, but Bones was so bad at keeping them from him.

"Ask me again, someday," she said with a smile. "I might tell you after we retire."

Shaking his head, Booth focused on the road in front of him. Comments he didn't understand were nothing new, so he filed it away to think about another time. "Do you think the murder was committed by one person?" he asked instead. "Or would two have been required?"

Shocked he let the previous topic drop, Brennan refocused on the case. "The victim was small so one person conceivably could have done all of the work with a bit of luck."

"Luck?"

"Yes, Booth. Luck. It would have taken a bit of time to stuff the body in the locker and clean up the blood. The fact that the killer managed it without another teacher or a custodian walking in on them required a little bit of luck."

They rode in silence after that, each lost in thoughts about the case and each other.

"Grab your gear," Booth said as they pulled into the parking lot. There were already two police cars there. "If we've got some of that luck you were talking about, maybe they've located a box full of murder weapons."

Slinging a bag over her shoulder, Brennan ignored the comment. Luck wasn't something she necessarily believed in, even if she did wonder at times how she was lucky enough to end up with Booth and three wonderful children. But she didn't plan on admitting to that one either.

"I have everything I need, Booth," she reassured him.

The classroom was empty when they entered it and Brennan directed him to pull the shades so the room was darker. Turning on her UV light, Brennan quickly scanned the room.

"Christmas tree was right," Booth said with a whistle.

"There is a significant amount of what is probably blood on the floor and the wall of this classroom." Putting down the light, Brennan retrieved a screwdriver and began to remove a metal plate from the wall. "Blood," she pointed out, placing the cover next to her. "We can bag this and take it back to the lab to confirm it's the victim's blood."

"So we have our crime scene."

"Without further testing, I cannot confirm that," Brennan began, "but I would be comfortable saying that is probably correct." Putting her gear back in the bag, Brennan walked slowly around the room, picking up items before putting them down again.

"What are you looking for Bones?"

"A second weapon. Or something that could be used to smash the victim's face in." A stapler was tested and returned to the desk. A similar move was followed with a tape dispenser and a metal pencil holder. "None of these items are heavy enough to do the damage."

"A chair?" Booth suggested. "There are certainly enough of them in the room."

Brennan shook her head. "The weapon was more rounded than a chair leg. And bigger."

While Brennan continued to search the room, Booth walked to the rear of the classroom and opened the door to a closet. "What about a baseball bat?"

"That is certainly plausible," Brennan said without looking at him. "We could check the gym or where they store the sporting equipment."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Bones." When she finally looked up at him, Booth stepped back to give her a clear view of the closet. "Conveniently, one was left right here for us."

She shook her head. "Do you really think someone made it that easy?"

"Job security, Bones. Sloppy murderers are job security."

BBBBBBBBBB

Cindy looked up, glee apparent on her face, when the partners walked into the office. "How's the case going?" she asked.

Booth was surprised she didn't rub her hands together. "It's progressing," he said vaguely. "Is Mr. Carter available?"

If she was disappointed with his response, she hid it well. "He's in his office. Let me take you back."

"That won't be necessary," Booth said, brushing past her. "Come on, Bones."

With a quick glance to make sure she was behind him, Booth led them down the short hall toward the offices.

"You don't like her, do you?" Brennan asked.

Shaking his head, Booth knocked on the closed office door. "I don't trust her. Anything we say will be used in whatever gossip she spreads around the building. Better not to say anything at all."

Without waiting for permission, Booth entered the office, Brennan close behind him.

Ending a call, Mac looked expectantly at both. "What can I do for you?"

"We need a compass. The kind used in math class," Brennan said.

Mac nodded. "I sent several boxes of them back with your officers." Getting up from the desk, Mac closed the door behind them. "Do you have a suspect?" he asked softly.

"We have several," Booth admitted, refusing to be more specific. "You aren't one of them."

Relieved, Mac nodded. "The sooner this is taken care of, the better. Cindy is in her glory, talking about the same information over and over again. I may have to take a leave of absence just to get away from her."

"We are going to be taping off Abby Johnson's classroom and sending technicians into the room," Booth informed him.

"Abby's classroom?" Mac repeated. He rubbed his closed eyes with one hand, the other he moved to brace himself against his desk. "Stanton was killed in Abby's classroom?"

"It appears so," Brennan said. "There is a significant amount of blood remaining in the classroom, despite someone's efforts to clean it."

"At this time of year, the custodians usually only empty the garbages in the rooms. No sense in mopping since all of the rooms will be stripped during the summer and new wax applied. Now that students are gone, they work during the day and quit by three. More than likely, they would have been gone when Stanton was killed." Mac shook his head. "Are you sure about Abby?"
"We are sure about the blood. We don't have enough proof to say Abby was the killer," Booth said.

Brennan feared Mac would faint if he turned any paler. "How long?" he managed to mutter. "How long until I find out one of my teachers is a killer?"

"Probably not long," Booth responded grimly. "Probably not long at all."

BBBBBBBBBBBB

Three boxes of metal compasses sat on the platform when Brennan returned to the Jeffersonian. "Are these all of them Mr. Bray?" she asked, pulling on another pair of gloves. There were days she wondered why she bothered taking them off at all.

"Yes, Dr. B. I was just getting ready to lay them out on the table for further examination."

"Allow me to assist you. It will go faster with two of us." They worked in a comfortable silence, until three rows of metal tools were ready in front of them.

"UV light, Mr. Bray," she directed.

Slowly he ran the light down the first row, and the second with no results. It wasn't until the final row that one compass began to glow.

"There, Dr. Brennan," Wendell said with a small smile. "The one in the bottom row, third from the left, had a significant amount of evidence on it."

"Good work. Swab for DNA and see what you can find out. Make sure you take it apart and look for areas that weren't wiped down as well. I'll notify Booth that it appears we have the weapon when we are finished here. Now, what can you tell me about the bat?"

Wendell moved to a second table and used his gloved finger to roll the bat. "This was also positive for blood. The shape matches the wounds on the skull. This was most likely used to bash the skull in after the victim was stabbed."

"Please do the same with the bat. You might want to check for fingerprints along with the blood. Either one, the fingerprints or DNA, will lead us to the killer."

BBBBBBBBBB

"You were in the room with Stanton the afternoon he was killed. We found the murder weapon in a box and a baseball bat in your closet. It's only a matter of time before we have the evidence to arrest you."

Gabe Johnson looked up at Booth. "I didn't kill the guy. And why did you have to take the bat? That was supposed to be a gift."

Sighing, Booth pulled out a chair and straddled it. Couldn't Gabe just confess so Booth could wrap up this case and be home in time for dinner. Why did the man feel the need to make him work for it?

"That isn't the tune you were singing at the luncheon. You were practically ready to sign a confession right there."

Looking away, Gabe shook his head. "Yes, I was with him the afternoon he was killed. Yes, we had a rather heated discussion. But I didn't kill him, no matter how much I would have liked to. The man was very much alive when I walked out of that classroom."

"What was your heated discussion about?" Booth asked.

When Gabe's eyes returned to Booth, the exhaustion in them was clear. "Same thing we'd been talking about for weeks. My observation, being moved to another classroom. I'm not a bad teacher, Agent Booth," he explained.

Wondering who he was trying to convince, Booth nodded at the man to continue.

"I always had great observations until Stanton came along. And my test results were still good. Most parents liked me. Stanton chose someone to go after this year and I was the unlucky guy."

"And that's what you discussed Friday night. Your wife said it took you a long time to follow her to the parking lot."

Gabe snorted. "Abby would think ten minutes was a long time. She never did have patience for anything. I told Stanton if he was going to move me to go ahead and try. I'd fight him all summer. He made some other empty threats while I grabbed my bag and brushed past him. But I swear to you, he was very much alive as I walked out the door."

Resting his arms on top of the chair, Booth wondered whether or not to believe the guy. "I need a DNA sample," he said.

"You can have whatever you need," Stanton offered. "Despite what I said in anger at the luncheon, I am not responsible for this mess and neither is my wife. You need to find yourself another suspect."

BBBBBBBBBB

"Do we have another suspect?" Booth asked Brennan when he returned to the Jeffersonian. "Nothing is making sense here. Both Abby and Gabe say they didn't do it and the other two we talked to have alibis."

Grabbing a paper from her desk, Brennan held it out to her partner. "Gabe appears to be telling the truth. We found blood on the compass that didn't match the victim. But it didn't match Gabe or his wife either."

Looking at the paper in his hand, Booth pretended to understand everything that was written there. "Male or female?"

"Female," Brennan said. "Our murderer is female."

"So who was there after hours, had access to all the classrooms, and would have known enough to know where to hide a body?"

The two pondered the question for several moments until, as if someone had snapped their fingers, they looked at each other with a smile.

"I know who did it," they said simultaneously.