CHAPTER 3:

'Mr. Finn, when was the last time you saw your son Connor?'

Booth stared at the man opposite him with a professional eye, alert for any signs of suspicious behaviour or words, but the subject of his interrogation seemed genuine, a worried frown on his pale face, a comforting arm round his wife.

It took him a while to answer, but Booth assumed he was just intimidated by the sudden appearance of an FBI officer on his doorstep, asking questions about his missing son. Not to mention the strange look Bones was giving them. She probably thought it looked sympathetic, and he had failed to catch her eye to warn her that it was making them even more uncomfortable.

'Maybe...a week ago.' He finally stammered, glancing at his wife for conformation. 'Yeah, he had gone out to the park with some friends, and...' He came to a halt as his voice cracked, and Booth glanced at Bones, relieved that she met his gaze and he could try and signal with his eyebrows about her expression.

'What?' She said loudly, and he grimaced, shaking his head and turning back to the couple, who were eyeing them, confused.

'Just a few more questions, I'm afraid. Do you have...anything that we could use to match with some...uh...DNA?'

'What?' Connor's mother spoke for the first time. 'What is this about? You shouldn't need DNA if you're only checking up on us.'

Booth shared a worried glance with Bones.

'We...found some bodies, on the other side of town.' Booth said, wincing inwardly. He hadn't wanted to worry them, but they needed to know. 'Don't panic yet.' He added hastily as Mrs. Finn swayed and clutched at her grey-faced husband. 'We haven't identified the bodies yet, there's a chance it isn't your son.'

Great, give them false hope. He scolded himself. 'Uh...but you need to be prepared in case it's bad news.'

They left the house ten minutes later, carrying a toothbrush in a plastic evidence bag. To Booth's relief, and faint surprise, Bones had refrained from saying anything unnerving, but he made a mental note to remind her what 'sympathetic' meant.

'So who's next?' Bones asked him as the SUV rumbled into motion, and they clipped on their seatbelts. He flipped open the folded flyers.

'A Mr. M Jordan.' He read, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the words and not the picture of the cute, brown eyed boy grinning up at him from the photo. Despite himself, a knot of fear was beginning to grow inside him, as he thought about his own son, just a couple of years younger than the missing Chris Jordan.

'Booth?' Her voice snapped him out of his reverie. 'We better get moving, we don't have much time.'

'Yeah, you're right. Let's go.' He said, realising as he said it how right she was; the longer they spent on this investigation, the sooner the four boys, and probably more, would die.

BBBBBBBBBB

It was almost dark by the time they'd finished talking to each family, and Brennan was tired and aching all over. Booth kept giving her warning glances during the questionings, but she had no idea why; she was just looking sympathetic, like he told her to.

Somehow, she managed to persuade him to drop her off at the lab instead of her place, which was strange in itself – he was usually persuading her to work less. And another strange thing was the little line on his forehead that told her he was worried, strange because she didn't usually pick things like that up, and because he usually tried so hard to seem unaffected by the horrors they faced. She remembered seeing his son once, briefly, and wondered if it had something to do with him; he couldn't be much younger than the victims.

They pulled up beside the Jeffersonian, and she hesitated with her hand on the door handle. Should I say something? She decided against it; he didn't look like he was in the mood for talking, and he usually just laughed when she tried to say something psychological.

'See you tomorrow, Booth.' She said at last, ad he gave her a short nod in reply. Brennan swung the door of the SUV shut behind her, almost hesitated, then headed up towards the door.

She turned at the top of the steps, and saw him rub a hand over his face wearily before driving away. Brennan glanced down at the flyers in her hand, hitched her bag onto her shoulder, and entered the lab.