"We may be able to determine where he was murdered." Booth looked up from his cell phone screen- he had intended to text Brennan and see if they could meet for lunch at the Diner, but he deemed case news a bit more important than lunch. But only slightly.
"How?" Hodgins quickly brought up a diagram on the computer screen.
"The cereal embedded into Fud's face is a generic brand, pertaining to a single grocery store that just happens to be down the street from the crime scene," His eyes flashed over to Cam's, who held in a breath, "And if British boy and me can do an experiment, I may be able to tell you exactly how he died."
"Why don't you guys ever just let the coroner handle the cause of death?"
"Cutting up dead bodies isn't as much fun as what I'm proposing." To this, Mr. Nigel-Murray nodded excitedly, but kept his lips sealed for Cam's sake.
"Fine, fine. Run and get the things you need. I'll be…" Cam paused, glancing around to see if there was truly anything for her to do, "Eating lunch with my sister, I suppose." She made her way down the platform and out of the Lab, calling out to Hodgins for a report on his experiment, before disappearing through the double doors.
Booth, however, stayed in his fixed position, watching the squints hustle around the platform, all the while debating on whether or not to hit send.
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"All right," Hodgins breathed out, content with the contents in front of him, "Considering that whatever shoved those cereal pieces into his face was a grated material, I have assembled together a number of items that could be the murder weapon or at least give us cause of death." Mr. Nigel-Murray peeked up from behind the counter, holding an iron metal water grate in one hand and a titanium cheese grater in the other.
"Do you really believe the murderer had immediate access to a cheese grater?" Hodgins simply grinned and snatched the items up, aligning them on the table with the others.
"Dude. Who cares? The goal is to figure out whatever smashed into his face and if this was cause of death."
"And we're going to prove this how…?" Hodgins's grin grew wider as he withdrew several honeydew melons.
"With roughly the same size and shape of a human head, we can use these to experiment on. Afterwards, Angela will produce us a 3-D rendering of the attack." Mr. Nigel-Murray simply continued to nod, quite speechless from the prospect of actually experimenting with an assortment of grated-objects. "Ready?"
"Oh? Oh, yes. Definitely. Did you know that-" Before the young squint could continue, he found himself drenched in honeydew guts, with Hodgins standing with the cheese grater mid-swing in front of him. Instead of worrying about his clothing, the squint grinned in response. "My turn!"
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"Hey, Bones!" Booth passed Hodgins and Mr. Nigel-Murray, eyeing their fruit-covered clothing, before barging into Brennan's office.
"Yes?" She called from her desk, took one look at the person in the doorway, and turned back to her computer. "What do you want, Booth?"
"Angela's almost finished with the recreation of the attack."
"Thank you." He watched her as she continued to type.
"That means we should probably head over to Angela's office."
"You can go to her office now. I will join you all in a few minutes." He let out a breath and decided to go against her wishes, instead choosing to lean against her doorway and stare at the side of her head. After a few moments, he noticed her eyes dart over to his form, but her neck never moving. Another glance. Her fingers flew faster across the keyboard. Another glance. "Okay, Booth, what are you still doing here?"
"I'm waiting for you."
"Why? I just told you-"
"I heard you, Bones, but that doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you."
"That doesn't make any sense. If you heard me, that obviously means-"
"It's a figure of speech," He moved closer and leaned in to quickly hit Control and S, saving her word document, then slapped her computer screen down, "Now can we go?" If looks could kill, he chuckled as he faced down Bones's attempt at a death glare. All it did was make her face scrunch up, which he admitted was pretty adorable, even if Bones claimed she never did 'adorable.'
"Fine."
"Good." She rose and he rose and together, they made their way just down the hall, where the other squints were already collected around Angela's computer. "See, you made us late." Brennan continued her glare, but gave up, realizing that Booth was just smiling right back at her.
"So what do you have for us, Ange?"
"This." The artist pointed to the large screen which began playing a reenactment, showing a grated-object smashing into Fud's pixilated face repeatedly, little sugary treats crushing and breaking inside of his nasal passages.
"The cereal killed him?"
"It appears so," Angela moved forward, slowing down the rendering to point out where the cereal entered Fud's nostrils, "As you can see, they broke apart due to the crushing, and when he tried to breathe in, he choked on the dust, and well… you know the rest."
"Do we have a murder weapon?" In response, Hodgins shook his head.
"We tested several items- and I mean several- but we just couldn't match it to anything that would be accessible in the middle of a parking lot or at the back of a store."
"A cheese grater?" Angela sarcastically questioned and to this, Mr. Nigel-Murray smiled.
"That was the most exciting trial." The squints and the federal agent rolled ideas around in their minds, calculating location and easily accessible objects.
"Grocery carts!" Booth exclaimed and the team turned in surprise at the exclamation.
"Well, that would certainly explain the grated texture of the weapon."
"And since the cereal was purchased at a supermarket, they would have plenty of carts, unlike a small chain like the organic market." Brennan finished examining the rendering and addressed her squad.
"All we have to do now is swab the grocery carts at the supermarket for blood and skin fragments." To this, her partner chuckled and as the team filed out to the Lab, Brennan wished to know the reason for his laughter.
"It shouldn't be that hard to find skin and bones on a grocery cart, Bones."
"Why? And we're not looking for bones, Booth."
"Yeah, I know, but considering the mayhem that comes along with Black Friday shopping…." At her pointed blank stare, he sighed, "Crazy soccer moms and 'Tickle Me Elmo's'?"
"What does murder have to do with Sesame Street characters?"
"You know what, I'll give you two points for at least knowing what Sesame Street is, but really, Bones, you need to get out more." Brennan grinned, restraining herself from rolling her eyes, and walked out with her partner to join her team.
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Outside, the world was bright and cheerful, a small pigeon pecking its way across the windowsill with small, round splotches of emerald green feathers decorating its back, which were brought out by the sunshine high in the eastern sky.
Inside, Special Agent Seeley Booth sat facing a large, burly man at a dark cherry wood desk. Wood paneling lined the walls, reminding him of his childhood home's 1970's basement paneling. To the right, the window shone. To the left, the looming filing cabinets rose up as if coming out of a stoic, plain grave. He didn't think he'd ever been in such a depressing room in his whole entire life.
"What can I do for you, Agent Booth?" The agent dragged his eyes away from the bright world outside.
"I'm here to inquire about your employee, Mr. Fud."
"Yes, yes. A great man, Elmer, but a very lonely man at the same time. No doubt you've heard about that terrible car accident?"
"Car accident?"
"Oh, never mind. Just bringing up the past. Now what is it that you want to know?" George Pavinich looked away from the window, too, as Booth had done. "I've got a meeting in a few minutes, so if we could just hurry this up." Any highly-trained public official knows that when a person pertaining to an investigation wants to quicken the interview, a red flag should go off. Booth's own red flag was high and waving.
"Did Mr. Fud have any enemies that you know about?" Mr. Pavinich seemed alarmed, surprised even, that this was the first question Booth would ask.
"Enemies? For God's sake, he was a stock-broker."
"My point exactly," Booth smirked, "Enemies?" Mr. Pavinich squirmed in his wide leather chair.
"Elmer was a good broker, but sure, the occasional customer was unhappy when their stocks dropped and would blame him, but it's not like we control the Dow. Things happen, Agent Booth."
"That they do, sir. Did any of these customers act upon their threats?"
"Not that I know of. If one of his customers did murder Elmer, though, I believe it would be that crazy bird lady with the mental son." Booth's eyebrows shot up and he permanently rested his gaze upon the older man in front of him.
"Crazy bird lady?"
"Gene Fitchkins. Every time she isn't up here cursing Elmer for stealing her money, she's down feeding birds at the park with her son. She works up at the hospital as an RN, but she's old, so they don't work her much, and she came here to see if we could help her get some extra cash. Didn't know a god-damned thing about the stock market, that woman," Mr. Pavinich gripped the pen in his hand tighter, his gray face tinted red in the cheeks and forehead, "Her son's mentally handicapped. He works down at one of those health food stores downtown."
"What happened with Gene?"
"The Dow plummets and she goes senile on Elmer, telling him that he's stealing her money and she's going to make him pay."
"Did she do anything?"
"Besides coming around here every damn day to file a complaint?" Mr. Pavinich cleared his throat, although the angered and disgusted look stayed upon his face, "No. She didn't do anything."
"And Elmer, did he...?"
"Agent Booth, I run a serious business here. If Elmer, a licensed banker, were sneaking money out of an account, we would know. We run checks on all of our employee's bank accounts, just to make sure they haven't mysteriously 'come into some money,' if you know what I mean." Outside the window, the sky began to take on a hazy, gray tone similar to that of Mr. Pavinich's wrinkly hands and his filing cabinets.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Pavinich."
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"Any news?" Brennan loomed near Hodgins, who was busy testing the last of the samples off of the carts.
"Didn't you just ask me that five seconds ago? And aren't you being a little vexatious?"
"I doubt that I asked you that same question five seconds ago and yes, perhaps," He invited her to explain, "Booth's been getting on my nerves with this whole thing about the murder being at one of the store's I frequent, so I'm trying to get it wrapped up as soon as possible."
"Then you will love this," Hodgins stated, bringing out a sample that was stained a blue color, "The coloring indicates that blood matching our victim's was covering the bars of the grocery cart." Hodgins and Brennan filed down the rows of buggies that lined the outside of the Lab. "Cart number 113." Before the two scientists sat the standard-issue metal-barred buggy, and as if Mother Nature sensed the lack of ominous mood, a strike of lightning cracked overhead and a deep rumble of thunder sounded far off in the distance. "I swabbed this one for fingerprints and fluids. Came up with a number of hits and ran them through the mass spec. Guess what popped up?"
"What?" Hodgins grinned, resembling a kid in candy store.
"No fingerprints, but a common organic insecticide- mostly used on green, leafy vegetables- was found in high doses on the handlebars of the cart," Although the situation didn't call for a crack of thunder, Mother Nature supplied one yet again before Hodgins continued, "Wilson orders that same insecticide to treat the plants for various insects on his roof." Another lightning strike lit up the darkened mid-afternoon sky.