So much credit is due to Angel-of-the-silence! Without her, I probably would have given up on this story already—not because it's tough, but because I'm lazy and also unsure of myself.
Please, if you read, take a moment to review. Tell me what you liked the most about this chapter, and what you liked the least. The more I improve, the better chapters you get!
"She looks scared, Angela." Brennan was holding the Angela's finished sketch. It had been an incredibly tough task, but she'd thought she'd done an adequate job. Angela took the paper back, biting back what would most likely have been an overly-sensitive remark. "I thought you were supposed to draw a neutral expression to maximize the possible hits from the database. In most photographs, people are smiling...why did you draw her like this?"
Angela's hackles rose, and she straightened her back, squared her shoulders. "Sweetie, she's a little girl who was raped and murdered. I'm sorry if I couldn't stop myself from making her look a little scared." She turned to her computer screens and pulled up the real reason she'd called everyone to her office. "Anyway, it obviously didn't matter whether she looked scared or not, because I got a hit. Olivia Briggs, age thirteen, went missing last June. Dental records would probably confirm this, in case you think my drawing somehow skewed the results."
Brennan gave her a strange look, but Angela ignored her, and after several moments, the woman left—probably to go check the dental records and compare them with the girl's. Behind her, she could feel Cam hesitating, most likely sharing a Look with Hodgins. Finally, though, she left—Angela assumed it was to review her findings in the autopsy, maybe just to get away from Angela. Either reason would be fantastic. Hodgins followed her wordlessly, leaving Angela alone, once again, with a photograph of a fierce-looking (not scared) little thirteen-year-old.
***
"Are you sure it's our Olivia?" Mrs. Briggs, instead of looking saddened or frightened, looked somewhat shocked. "Can we see her?"
Booth heard Bones draw in a breath and realized that, whatever she was about to say, it wasn't going to be the best thing at the moment. He spoke quickly, hoping to soften the blow that needed to be dealt to these parents. "We have confirmed your daughter's identity using dental records...there's really no question. It's probably best that you don't see her." He grimaced apologetically at them, then studied the floor for a moment. "We do have a few questions for you, though. We have reason to suspect foul play, so we need to know if your daughter had any enemies: anyone who might have posed a threat to her just before her disappearance."
Briggs snorted—a strangely un-fatherly sound from someone whose daughter has just turned up dead. Brennan shot Booth a Look. She didn't always know exactly how to interact with people, but she was pretty sure that wasn't exactly the normal response. "Is something funny, Mr. Briggs?" She asked, studying him carefully. Mrs. Briggs spoke up, patting her husband's knee gently.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, glancing at the man next to her. "It's just...none of Livvy's friends were any good. She was such a good girl before she went to that school—middle school. I know all teenagers have their rebellious stages, but this was different, somehow." She sniffled, as finally the news appeared to hit her. "She was my sweet little girl until last year. Then she started making friends with these...horrible children, and she was gone."
Booth nodded, taking in this new information, but then looked at Brennan uncomfortably. They had to bring up the bruises, and Cam's hypothesis. With a man like Briggs, this was obviously not going to be an easy conversation. He cleared his throat, and moved forward a bit in his seat. "The coroner found suspicious bruising on your daughter...it leads us to believe she may have been assaulted before she died."
Briggs reacted immediately, as expected. He stood up as though the chair had suddenly caught fire. "What are you suggesting, boy? Do you think I've been touching my daughter? Are you saying you think I killed her?"
Booth and Brennan stood up as well, and Booth instinctively stepped out in front of his partner, just in case. "We're not suggesting that at all, Mr. Briggs," Brennan piped in, stretching to be make eye contact with the man over Booth's shoulder. "It's just that, in cases like these, the assault often comes from a relative or close family friend. A parent, a sibling, an uncle, maybe?"
Briggs took a step forward, almost menacingly, but Brennan held her ground. Mrs. Briggs slipped her hand through her husband's arm. "What about Daniel?" she asked, her voice almost fearful. The man spun to glare at her.
"Daniel didn't touch his sister, Maggie. These detectives are putting these crazy ideas in your head, woman. Pull yourself together." He turned to look at Booth. "Daniel is a good older brother. He protected his little sister, the way you're supposed to. He didn't go around sneaking into her room at night."
"Interesting leap, Mr. Briggs," Brennan spoke up again. "We never suggested that this would have happened at night."
Briggs' face turned an even brighter shade of red. "You're done here," he informed the two of them in a cool, even voice. "If you have anything else to say to me or my family, you can go through my lawyer. Get out." He pointed a gnarled finger at the door, and Booth and Brennan really had no choice but to leave.
"Great job, Bones," Booth muttered, once they were locked safely in the car. "You couldn't just leave that to me?"
"What?" She was honestly bewildered. Genius though she may have been, sometimes it was impossible for her to understand this man. "Booth, it had to be asked, right? Aren't they our best suspects?"
Booth couldn't argue with that—Brennan could tell by the way he pushed a little harder on the accelerator. Sometimes she worried that he was going to get them killed, but knew better than to bring that up right now. Instead, she sank back into the seat and gripped the handle on the door. She just hoped they would make it back to the Jeffersonian before the car burst into flames.
***
As per Cam's request, the so-called Squint Squad had gathered once more around the metal slab. Angela crossed her arms in front of herself, wishing to be pretty much anywhere but here. When he wasn't giving her strange looks, Hodgins was avoiding her gaze altogether—not a great feeling. By now, the girl's bones had been stripped clean—either by boiling or those flesh-eating beetles of Zack's, but frankly, the thought of asking him which one gave her the chills. Booth was near the back of the room, pacing impatiently, while his partner bent over the remains on the table looking intrigued.
"Looking at the remains earlier, I realized that something was strange—you know, off. During the autopsy, it was confirmed." Cam looked triumphant, and, usually, that fact made Angela happy, or at least relieved. It meant that there was a new development in the case: something that would help the team catch a murderer. This case was different. "During the examination, I discovered that the ligature mark around the neck was from something made of a wide but flat, braided or woven nylon. I found a few threads of black nylon in the wound."
"So she was strangled, right?" Booth all but leapt to attention at the sound of words he could understand. Cam glanced at him for a moment, then shook her head. Brennan arched an eyebrow.
"Why are you shaking your head? I can see right here that the hyoid was cracked—if she wasn't strangled, then what was the cause of death?" She crossed her arms and looked up at the boss, eyebrows arched. A challenge. Cam rose to it.
"It appears that massive blood loss was the cause of death, Dr. Brennan," Cam answered, taking entirely too much joy from answering. Were they always like this? Angela had never noticed. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, growing impatient and uncomfortable. "Obviously I can't show you now, as Mr. Addy appears to have jumped the gun, but there was a strange wound among the expected lacerations from bumping around, hitting rocks and such in the lake." She pointed to the screen, where a photograph of the aforementioned wound was displayed. "Think you can identify the weapon, Zack?" Zack crept closer to the screen, studying the image. His only response was a nod—hardly confidence-inspiring, but good enough.
"Okay, so wait. The girl was raped, then bashed with some sort of object until she bled out, and then dumped into the lake? Who would do that?" Booth looked confused—and if there was one thing that man disliked, it was not having all the facts.
"That's another thing." Cam moved to the other side of the table, to pick up one of the girl's wrists. "I found absolutely no defensive wounds."
Angela's stomach churned, as Hodgins spoke up. "So, what? Someone knocked her out, and then raped her?"
Cam looked frustrated. "No. The wound was about halfway down her back: it wouldn't have resulted in loss of consciousness at all. What's more, the bruising and ligature markings would have been several days old by the time she was killed. I found some evidence of sexual activity: namely mild bruises on the vaginal walls, but I did a tox screen and I found nothing in her system to suggest that she had been drugged—no traces of rohypnol, benzodiazepines, GHB, or chloral hydrate. There was some alcohol and THC in her system, but nowhere near enough to alter her consciousness enough to keep her from fighting a rapist."
There were several moments of confused silence, which Zack broke—less than gracefully, with his eyes still fixed on the photograph. "So she was enjoying it?"
"Nice, Zack." Angela couldn't believe that he, of all people in this room, would say something like that. "She wasn't drugged and didn't fight hard enough for anything to show up, so she wanted to be raped?" Zack turned around, looking absolutely bewildered, but she just didn't feel like talking to him—or anyone else, for that matter—right now. Instead, she hurried down off of the platform, in hopes of seeking refuge in her office before anyone saw the tears that threatened to spill.