AN: Although I haven't been receiving many reviews for this, which, I'll admit, is a tad disheartening, I will continue to update, considering I have already typed out an outline for each chapter and I can't handle the thought of leaving Booth and Brennan alone. :)
I also apologize for the late update, which might occur a few more times, considering I'm up to my eyeballs in ACT preps and college pamphlets.
Enjoy!
"Going somewhere?" Booth called out to Wilson, who ducked out of his car and cried out in pain as his forehead smacked against the door.
"Huh? No, no where."
"So there's another reason why you've got a couple suitcases packed up into your backseat?" Finding his pathetic lie foiled, Wilson rubbed a sweaty palm over his temple.
"Okay, fine. I'm going to Miami to visit my mother." Booth grinned, denying himself the pleasure of rubbing his hands together in an iniquitous manner, because he knew he was the center, backing his opponent into the corner until he eventually cracked.
"And there's no other reason for you to be, you know, leaving the state, there, Vinn?" On this note, Brennan leaned over, whispering into her partner's ear.
"Are you suggesting that this man is jumping out on us?"
"It's skipping out, Bones, and yes," He eyed the five-o'clock shadow littering Wilson's face and the wrinkled 100% recycled T-shirt, "I am suggesting that."
"Listen, I promise that I had nothing to do with what happened to that guy."
"Oh, that's great. I'll definitely take your word on that and be leaving now." After a moment of silence, Brennan shifted her stance impatiently.
"Sir, we have reason to believe that whoever killed Mr. Fud had a specific type of insecticide on themselves."
"So?"
"The same insecticide is used for the plants on your roof," Booth interrupted Brennan- a brief flicker of annoyance coating her face before she narrowed her eyes at the store owner. "Now, if there's anything you need to tell us, Vinn, it better be now before I take you downtown for attempting to outrun the police."
"All right, fine. I do know him. I took out a loan with Fud for the store, but I only dealt with him a few times. The rest, I talked to Pavinich."
"Anything he did that rubbed you the wrong way?"
"Well, like I said, I only talked to him a few times and then suddenly, he's ignoring my phone calls and I'm waiting on a confirmation from him so I can go ahead and bring in the inspectors. Sure, I was ticked off, but wouldn't you be?"
"Did you murder Mr. Fud, Vinn?" Brennan asked in a soft voice. Wilson's shoulders slumped even farther.
"No, Dr. Brennan. I didn't kill him. I didn't like him, but I wouldn't have committed murder just because of having to wait an extra week or two to open up my store." With that, Booth and Brennan returned to the S.U.V. and watched as Wilson reversed and then drove away, chugging down the street in his hybrid vehicle.
"What does your gut say?" Brennan turned to her trusted companion as an amused expression crossed over his features.
"You're trusting my gut? I thought you said that there isn't any way on earth that my gut could detect whether a person is telling the truth or not?"
"Of course I don't believe in your 'gut' or 'soul' or whatever else you feel the need to personify, but I find it comfortable if I know what you're thinking, Booth."
"I'm still not sure. The evidence points directly to him, but I still think we need to talk to the mother." Brennan nodded, accepting his judgment as he headed off in the opposite direction of Wilson's car. "Thanks." Booth spoke up after a solid minute of quiet.
"For what?"
"For taking an interest in what I thought."
"We're partners, Booth. I want to at least acknowledge the information you obtained from the interrogation."
"A simple you're welcome would have sufficed, but I'll take anything you throw at me, Bones." They shared a simple grin and continued on their way back to the Jeffersonian.
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Dr. Brennan had an ability to adapt to any environment she was thrust into, whether it be a suspect's home, the Sahara desert, or a grotesque crime scene. However, as she sat at a local coffee shop- her fingertips rattling against the cup, her foot bouncing up and down- she realized that she had no idea what to expect out of Ms. Fitchkins. This was one of her first interrogations without Booth and one of the only public ones she'd ever tried. Downing another sip, her eyes flickered to the door, where a middle-aged woman was entering and scanning the coffee-goers.
"Gene Fitchkins?" The woman caught Brennan's own gaze and a nervous grin appeared across her face.
"I'm assuming that you are Temperance Brennan?" The anthropologist nodded and watched as Gene took the seat across from her. She set her purse in her lap, her fingers kneading the knit fabric. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise," Brennan sipped her coffee another time, preparing herself mentally for the questions Booth had drilled into her before she left the Jeffersonian, "As you know, I have several questions to ask you about the murder of Elmer Fud."
"The day it happened, Geremy called me from the store in hysterics, claiming that there was a monster in the freezer," Gene spoke smoothly, even as her fingers crushed the leather handbag.
"A monster? Was Geremy afraid of Mr. Fud?" To this, Gene shook her head.
"I don't believe so. Geremy never met Elmer, except for a few times when I went to visit his office. Once he saw Elmer's body, though, he… he just lost it. I couldn't be there because of my work, but I finally calmed him down over the phone." After a moment, Gene cleared her throat, "You want to know about Geremy?"
"No, actually," Gene widened her eyes at Brennan's blunt response, but did not have a chance to ponder on it due to the doctor continuing, "I want to know where you were on the night before the body was found."
"Me? Why? Am I a suspect?"
"Yes," Brennan nodded; ignoring the look of shock that coated Gene's wrinkled face, continued, "We have evidence that may link you to the murder."
"That's absurd! Why would I harm Elmer?!"
"According to Mr. Pavinich, you made several threats against Mr. Fud during the time he was alive. Obviously, you can see why the F.B.I. is inquiring about your whereabouts." Gene blew out an exasperated breath, her fingernails now carving small semi-circles into her purse.
"Sure I was pissed off at him; I have good reason to be. He stole money from me! But I would never seriously murder the bastard."
"Why not? You exhibit powerful emotions against him." The agitated woman shook her head furiously back and forth, placing her fists on top of the table.
"Dr. Brennan, there is no way I would have killed that man. I fantasized about going over to his enormous mansion and burning it down with him inside it- several times, in fact- but I would never do so, just to end up in jail. Who would watch out for Geremy then?" She inhaled, trying to calm herself down, "The only way we survive is on welfare. Without it and my crappy job, we would be out on the streets. I desperately needed that money, but Elmer practically threw it away, claiming that he knew the stock market like the back of his hand."
"Did your son know about any of this?"
"No. I don't tell him anything that he doesn't need to worry about. When he knows we're tight on money, he won't beg for the usual toys and trinkets," Empathy burned brightly in Brennan's eyes as she faced the woman who was moving farther and farther down the suspect list as she spoke, "The doctors told me the risks about having a child at my age, but I wanted a child so badly, I didn't care about the challenges we would face. He's a good boy, Dr. Brennan. I will never do anything to compromise his life."
"I'm sorry, but you still haven't stated your whereab-"
"I picked up a late shift from one of my co-workers, stayed at the hospital from five to four in the morning."
"Thank you, Ms. Fitchkins, for your time." As she rose to leave, Gene released her handbag and swiftly exited the coffee shop, leaving Brennan to review the conversation she'd just had and to swallow the thick layer of emotion that had collected in her heart and throat. After a few moments, she stood and pushed open the door into the blinding sunlight, leaving her half-empty cup of coffee sitting on the barren tabletop.
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"Did she have an alibi?"
"She was working the entire night. There isn't any way she could have killed him."
"Damn it. Anything else?"
"Yeah. I know I never make guesses, but I believe I just found out who murdered Elmer."
"Who?"
AN: My money is on Lady Gaga. How about you? If there are any mistakes, I apologize, because I typed this in a hurry.
Oh, and: review, por favor!