Chapter 17 – Catching Up
Booth thumped his fist against Hodgin's desk and pulled on his shoes, cursing the day and its events. His heart felt as if someone had dragged it out of his chest and stood on it repeatedly, crushing it into the ground. He suspected that this would be her reaction, and with hindsight, it probably hadn't been a good idea to let their passions get the better of them just yet.
But it had been so soothing and it had felt so good being in her arms and to be able to hold her against him, feeling her skin and finding out how she moved and what it was like to make her call his name.
And now she had gone, ran away, unable to deal with whatever feeling she had for him and about their situation. He tried not to lose heart and to have a little faith in her, and in him. He straightened up Hodgin's desk, recent memories exploding in his head, and began to walk quickly out of the lab. As he approached the exit a boy of about Zack's age came tumbling through, holding a file. He looked dishevelled, as if he had been sent there in a rush.
"I'm looking for Dr. Brennan," he gasped, slightly out of breath.
"She's gone. I'm Agent Booth, can I help?" He looked at the boy with some confusion. If he didn't know better he could have been Zack's brother.
"Yeah, Agent Booth – you're her partner, right?" Booth nodded. "Dr. Brennan sent this over to Dr. Habalov to analyse urgently. I think it pertains to the case that you and Dr. Brennan are on now, so I can give this to you." He handed the file to Booth.
Booth took it and began to look through the pages, none of them making much sense. The kid looked at him, seemingly knowing that he didn't understand what he was reading. "I can explain it," he stood up higher, looking at the file. "Basically Dr. Brennan found a pink fibre on the skeleton of… Patrick? Anyway, we've analysed it. It's a wool-cashmere mix in a colour known as rose blush pink. Dr. Habalov managed to narrow the colour down to one used this season by an outfitters called 'Rushes,' it was their own brand, and they used the material to make sweaters."
Booth closed the file and looked at the boy. "Wheeler had help," he sighed, tiredness washing over him. "Right kid, I'm going to take this file and you can run off to your boss, tell him thank you…"
"It's a her – Dr. Raisa Habalov," he corrected.
"Tell her thank you," he emphasised the "her" raising eyebrows at the messenger. The boy nodded and began to walk off. Booth took a look at the file and racked his brains. Pink, woollen top. A memory pushed itself forward in his mind, a smiling face appearing there. He shook his head, doubting his own eyes, and then realisation smacked him round the face, and another piece of the jigsaw slot into place. A sinking feeling hit him, and he wondered just when his judgement and ability to read people had failed.
He checked his watch and decided that it wasn't too late to pay a visit to the owner of the pink top. He debated calling Bones, but decided to leave it. Booth knew he should have raced after her, but clearly she had wanted to be on her own, and he couldn't chase her every time. She had to sort out what she wanted, and maybe a little absence would make the heart grow fonder.
Booth called Cullen and filled him in on the new evidence letting him know his plans, and where he was off to next. He gave him the address, one he knew from memory, and requested that discreet back up be sent nearby so he could call on them when needed.
"You're bringing her in for questioning?" Cullen asked.
"Yeah, but I thought you could maybe talk to her while I pay another visit to Peter Wheeler," Booth suggested.
"Let's see how it goes first," Cullen answered flatly. "I'll try to get a warrant for the sweater."
Booth had headed off, driving quickly to his destination. He pulled up outside a long drive in a nicer area of town than where he or Bones lived and began to walk up the drive. Only one car sat there, a late 90's sedan, polished so that he was sure it could be used as a mirror.
He rapped hard on the door, hearing the faint sounds of the television through the door. His knock was answered quickly. The woman stood in front of him, wearing the pink sweater that he was sure would match the fibre Bones had found on the skeleton. She also wore a welcoming smile, completely unperturbed by his presence.
"Oh, is Doctor Brennan not with you?" she said. "I thought you were very much the partners-in-crime, or rather, crime solving," she chuckled.
"How long has Peter Wheeler been your classroom support?" he asked directly, in no mood to play games.
"Around four years now," Mrs. Sanderson replied. "I was hoping that you would have dropped him as a suspect by now. Peter would never do anything to harm a child."
Booth looked at her, knowing that she was telling a bare faced lie. "Mrs. Sanderson, you do have something that may help us with our inquiries," he changed the topic.
"And what's that, Agent Booth?" she asked, again with a smile.
"The sweater you have on now," he nodded at the item.
"I think you'll need a warrant to get that," she said, calmly and without flinching.
"There's one on its way," as he spoke he heard the sound of a familiar engine pull up nearby. Another couple of seconds later equally familiar footsteps began to approach.
"The judge was in a good mood," Cullen said once he was level with Booth. "Good evening, Mrs. Sanderson," he nodded at the woman and handed Booth the warrant.
"Here you go, Mrs. Sanderson," Booth showed her the warrant. "Now we need that top, and it would be in your interest to take a trip with Agent Cullen here." The teacher looked aghast.
"Surely you don't believe that I had anything to do with this?" she said. Booth almost laughed.
"Innocent until proven guilty," Booth said, his lips in a wry smile. "How long have you and Mr. Wheeler been lovers for?" he asked.
Mrs. Sanderson's eyes opened wide. She shook her head, short, thick hair moving around. "We are purely colleagues," she defended. Cullen looked at Booth.
"I will let you know the outcome of this interview, Agent Booth," he said. "I imagine you will be looking for Mr. Wheeler now?"
Booth nodded. "You might want to get that squint friend of yours to help you," Cullen suggested, placing a hand on Mrs. Sanderson's back as she stepped out of the house, escorting her firmly to the car.
"Her head may not be in the right place right now," Booth murmured. A glare from Cullen told him that he had heard.
Booth checked that Mrs. Sanderson's house had been secured and left to get into his SUV, debating calling Bones. He decided against it, knowing that he needed to keep his mind on the case and not on what had just gone between them. There would be time enough for that later.
He put his foot down and drove to Wheeler's house. Abandoning his car across the road from it he ran to the front and began to knock heavily on the door. No one answered. A light streamed through the window, coming from what Booth figured was the kitchen. He pressed his face up to the window, thankful that the curtains were not yet drawn. The house seemed empty. He banged hard once more on the door, again to no avail. Booth looked through the window again and sharp eyes noticed that the back door was open. He dropped to his heels and began to run round the back of the house, climbing over a low side gate and around to the garden. The back door swung open. Booth put his head into the kitchen and began to shout Wheeler's name, but no reply came.
He cursed and entered, knowing he was probably breaking all kinds of rules by doing so. He pulled open drawers, finding nothing that was of any interest. He skirted through the living room, tidied immaculately with not a speck of dust to be seen. The stairs were at the front of the house, immediately after the front door. Booth raced up them, taking three at a time. He went into the master bedroom, surprised at an unmade bed. Unwashed clothes had been discarded, including some female items, a bra, panties and a skirt. He made a mental note that they could be used to confirm a relationship between Sanderson and Wheeler.
Booth found his way into a smaller box room, a table placed just under the window. He pulled open one of the desk drawers and found a pad of paper, plain white paper. He debated pulling it out and then thought of the evidence he might contaminate by doing so. He pulled his cell out of his pocket, and pressed speed dial two.
It rang for what seemed like an eternity, making Booth's blood boil further as he pictures all the things that could have happened to her by him not running after her. Eventually a tired voice answered.
"Booth?"
"Bones, I need you and your evidence kit at Wheeler's house now," he said softly, her voice causing his heart to flutter like a rabid butterfly and thoughts to weigh down his head with the possibilities of what had happened in the lab, and how much he wanted to have that time again and not let her go.
"I'm on my way," she answered, then hung up. He stood there, cell phone in one hand, his heart in the other, knowing that if she didn't want it, it was too late to put it back.
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Brennan had found a cab easily and entered her home with an escaped tear trickling down her cheek, rubbing it away angrily and wishing that she could return to thirty minutes ago and fight to feeling of claustrophobia she was impinging on herself and stay with the man who had become her lover.
His scent was still on her, the cologne he wore was stuck to her clothes, her hair, her skin. He was everywhere. She felt a stabbing in her chest as she walked up the stairs to her room, peeling off the clothes and pulling on old, grey pajamas, not even bothering to wash her face or brush her teeth. She didn't care.
She wondered what he was thinking now, after she had left him, yet again. The house felt too silent, its wall closing in on her and she fought the urge to scream, her usual composure evaporating with the heat of her mood. He had felt so good against her, the way he had said her name, the way he had held her afterwards. It was more than just recreation; her body had felt that as well as her mind. He was for longer than just a short affair, and she knew it wouldn't be so bad, she knew it was what she wanted. So why was she running? Reaction? Because it was how she expected herself to react?
She began to drift into a dreamless sleep, her mind needing to calmly process all that had had happened. She was vaguely aware that she had not been there to receive Raisa's analysis, but she imagined it would have found its way to Booth's hands at some point.
A sound from downstairs wakened her. A disruption of the peace that she was experiencing torn by the incessant ringing of the piece of technology sent by the devil himself, had she believed in such a thing. She stumbled out of bed, managing to get downstairs to the phone before it stopped and looked at the caller ID.
His voice had been soft and warming, and she knew he was not mad at her for running; he was too understanding, and she didn't quite know how she deserved to have someone like him hanging around for her. She ended up terminating the call with an amount of resolve in her that she hadn't had before with regards to a relationship.
She dressed quickly, gathering her kit that she had begun to keep at home in case of events like this. She picked up the car keys from the side that Booth would say weren't securely hidden away, and went to her car, realizing that she had locked herself out once she had started the engine.
It was knowledge that would have normally flustered her slightly, and had her cursing her idiocy, but this time Booth had the spare, and she found that knowledge comforting and reassuring. She set off, trying to settle her thoughts on what she was about to find at Peter Wheeler's, and not on the man she knew she was in love with.
Booth was stood next to his SUV when she got there, a dark expression on his face. One hand was in his pocket, the other tapping against the car.
She nodded toward the house. "Has he agreed to let you in?" She asked, apprehension in her voice.
Booth shook his head and began to lead the way into the house. "He's taken off and left the back door open. I've had a look in and found a pad of paper that looks similar to the paper that was used to draw the mouthless man on. I haven't touched it – that's why I wanted you here. Oh, and Cullen's got Mrs. Sanderson in for questioning," he added at the end.
"Mrs. Sanderson?" Brennan frowned.
Booth nodded. "That fibre you found looked like it could have come from the sweater she was wearing today. Cullen got a warrant for the sweater and took her in with him. I figured that her and Wheeler were more involved than colleagues."
She nodded. They weren't they only ones who were now more involved than colleagues. "You think Valerie Sanderson assisted him with the murders?" she asked, half in disbelief. "Booth, she never came across as being…"
"A murderer?" his eyebrows shot up into his forehead. "No, she didn't, but that fibre is telling us otherwise." He pushed open the back door and went into the house, Brennan followed.
"The fibre could have been passed from whatever Wheeler was wearing," she defended the woman.
"Granted. But are you telling me that he was bumping these kids off and she didn't know a thing about it?" Booth asked, an argumentative tone in his voice.
"I don't know," Brennan held out her hands in a surrendering pose. "There have been other men whose wives didn't know about what they were doing. And Wheeler and Valerie weren't living together which would have made it easier for him." Booth began to it up the stairs, Brennan stayed close behind him, curiosity plaguing her.
They went into a room that was a small study. A drawer was open and she saw what Booth had already described. Pulling out latex gloves from her kit and an evidence bag she removed the pad of paper from the drawer. Flicking through the pages, many of which were loose, she found what Booth had hoped for. Pictures that were virtually identical to ones found in David and Thomas' rooms.
She looked at Booth, her blue eyes widening as she saw his expression, a combination of victory and anger.
"We've got him," he said, almost as a hiss.
"We didn't have permission to enter his house – will this evidence still be admissible?" Brennan asked.
"Bones, his door was wide open. For all we know he could have been laying here injured. We didn't need permission – what do you think I am? A vampire?" He retorted. She looked away, a small smile playing at her lips.
"I'm going to get this evidence over to the lab and call in Angela. When you get hold of Peter Wheeler we'll see if she can initially confirm that it was him who did the drawing from a sample of his writing," Brennan said, beginning to bag up the pad.
"There'll be samples of his writing elsewhere – look," he opened another drawer and pulled out a checkbook and a diary containing dates for appointments and addresses. Brennan nodded, bagging them as well.
"I'm going to go and track him down," Booth said as they both began to walk to the stairs. "First stop's the school."
She nodded. "Be careful," he closed the back door behind them. His eyes caught hers for a second and she drew herself closer and moved so that she could place a tentative kiss on his lips. She saw the confusion dwell in his eyes, and hoped it was only temporarily there.
"I'll give you a call when I know more," he said. "I'll phone Cullen and ask him to send me Laherne or someone."
"Okay," she replied, a little hurt that he had not made more of her gesture. He smiled, a little forced, and then left her to get in his car.
She started the engine slowly, thoughts swimming round her head like piranhas, just waiting to eat her. She briefly closed her eyes and willed herself to focus as she drove off, back to the lab.
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Booth started up his car, aware of a burning patch on his lips where she had pressed against them. He wondered how she could flick from being so warm and responsive when they were making love, to being cold and running off and now kissing him again, even if it was briefly. He shook his head, trying to wake himself up from the thought and flicked the CD player on.
Foreigner. I want to know what love is. He turned it off. The world was against him.
The journey to the school didn't take long, especially as he didn't bother to stop at any red lights, driving through them. The roads were almost empty – it was heading toward midnight – and the neighbourhoods he drove through weren't the type to have people up and about late at night anyhow.
The school was a blackened mass, even against the dark night sky. The gates were locked, and the playground was eerily empty of almost anything moving. A single swing rocked in the gentle breeze, giving the sense that a child had just gotten off it, and it hadn't yet become inert. For a brief second Booth wondered if it was somehow Thomas Dyer, returning to enjoy some of the playtimes that had been taken away from him and he felt the anger inside him grow into a giant of fury.
The gates hadn't been entered, and he could see a security guard at one side of the school, now heading over to him.
"Seen anybody?" He asked, flashing his badge.
The guard shook his head. "Nothing," he answered. "You got the bastard yet?"
"Almost," Booth replied. The guard nodded.
Booth backed away, the building was too quiet and too still, and he supposed that Wheeler would have expected someone to have come there for him. Where would he go where no one would think to look?
Then Booth had an epiphany; Valerie Sanderson's house. He would most likely have a key, or at least know where she kept one. Booth sped back to his car and jumped in, putting his foot down and making his way through the desolated neighbourhoods back to the house of the teacher.
The rain had dulled to a mere trickle, but the drops still reflected of his headlights, making it seem as if he was driving into a waterfall of gold. The sound of water rushing could be heard as he drove through small puddles that had collected on the newly resurfaced road; the tarmac used not being particularly adept at draining water. Mrs Sanderson's street was almost intensely dark, the street lamps having not come on. Her light in the living room still shone, so he could not deduce whether Wheeler was actually there of not. He wondered if the clothes of the boys were in her house or elsewhere. They would have more thorough search later, once they had managed to detain Wheeler.
He parked the car a distance away from the house, not wanting to alarm his target with the sound of the engine. He approached quietly, keeping in the shadows, his eyes searching for movement in the house. He could be wrong – Wheeler might not be there at all, he could have had somewhere else to hide out, waiting for his get away. But Booth had the sneaking suspicion that he was in there, somewhere, probably over confident and reckoning that they would never think of looking there, particularly if he had discovered that they had taken Valerie Sanderson on for questioning.
He ducked down, and raced up the driveway, keeping to the shadows at the sides that had been made by the bushes that needed trimming. A small gate separated the front of the property from the back. He judged it and quickly assessed how much effort it would take to vault it silently. It wasn't something he hadn't had to do before.
Clearing it easily, he stayed within the bushes, crouching down and shifting until he had a good view of the back of the house. Whoever was in there – if there was anyone in there –hadn't had the sense to draw the curtains, which made Booth wonder if they were panicking and not thinking clearly. He remained still, barely even blinking. His heart had slowed, practised as it was in these situations when he was stalking someone out, and the only sound was the light fall of the rain and the soft breeze that occasionally rustled through the tree.
Booth waited patiently, setting himself a certain amount of time before he concluded that there was no one there. That time was nearly up before Booth saw the slight movement of a shadow. Becoming alert and wishing desperately for a pair of binoculars he focused his eyes onto the bedroom window where he had seen the distortion and studied. Peter Wheeler's face appeared at the window staring out at him. Booth wished he'd gone through with what he'd told Bones and phoned Cullen for back up, he knew he could not risk phoning now. Wheeler seemed to be scanning the large, landscaped garden, searching for something. Booth felt anxious. He wanted Wheeler to go so he could make his phone call and get some men around here, taking Wheeler in before he could make an escape out of the area.
An owl hooted from the tree behind Booth and Wheeler looked in that direction. The two men made eye contact and Wheeler disappeared from the window.
Booth pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Cullen, informing of what was going on in a few short words. He'd positioned himself between the gate, waiting to see which way Wheeler ran and preparing to follow him. The waiting continued, and no sign of him occurred. Booth began to feel impatiently worried. Either he had missed him, or Wheeler was simply staying put, confident that they didn't have enough to arrest him with.
The sound of several cars roaring down the street broke the silence, followed by a series of footsteps up the driveway. Booth turned his back, looking at the forthcoming melee, and at that moment heard almost soundless footsteps running behind him.
He was wrong sided with the fence, having to leap over it to get back into the garden. He called out to Laherne who he had already seen dashing up the drive and set off after Wheeler, seeing his shadow as he darted across the garden, into the darkness of the shrubbery that had switched its favours from Booth to the wanted man.
Booth attempted to catch him up, reaching the back of the long garden, narrowly avoiding a foot in the pond. There was no sign of him. A fence separated the garden from the one back to back with it, but it would have been no difficulty for a small child to have cleared quickly.
Booth stopped, any more sign of movement or car engines drowned in the race of footsteps behind him.
Cullen looked at him, his expression asking the questions.
"He's gone," Booth said in answer.
Cullen nodded. Booth noticed Bones behind his boss and his attention was automatically drawn to her. She came to his side, looking up at him with big eyes that he wanted to drown in and ignore the rest of the world, and wondered if he's be able to do that later.
"Booth," she called to him, bringing him back to earth. "They've arrested Valerie Sanderson for the murders of the two boys and the kidnapping of David Matthieson," she informed him.
Booth looked at her, his turn for his eyes to grow wide with surprise. "Wheeler?" He asked.
"He's her accomplice, or so she says," Bones informed him. "Laherne was interviewing her – she confessed, then just stopped saying anything."
Booth nodded. "Right, let's go," he said, taking off again across the garden.
"Where to?" Brennan asked, following his closely, her hair bouncing up and down with the breeze and the movement of the fast walk.
"A river, where it all started."
Right people, you know what makes me tick (except for Danny Messer, and thank you to those people who are sending him to me! I can't wait!). REVIEWS! Thank you to everyone who had taken the time to review, may you have sweet dreams containing whoever you'd like to be in them. To all those who haven't sent me a smiley yet - hey! I know you're out there, lurking behind that coffee cup, pretending that you don't have to review!
Us Brits get to see Two Bodies in the Lab tomorrow.So I'll be oozing in the fluff that is Bones and Booth.
Eldred again says hi. He's worked very hard in a short period of time today. It's all those fruit smoothies.
