AN: Thanks to MiseryMaker for keeping me motivated and for the read through. Those not reading her fine words might wanna look her up. You won't regret it.
The Officer in the Oubliette
Chapter Eight: The Crab in the Ointment
Guys Hospital, Great Maze Road, South London
It was difficult to be charming when trying to block out the smell of death and the constant jabbering of squints. The accent might be different, Booth considered as he tried to keep up with the discussion that was happening right in front of him, but a squint was a squint was a squint. Besides which, the basement-level morgue was sweltering – something to do with, according to Harriet, ancient plumbing and a fear of turning off the heat only to pay dearly when in winter it failed to fire up again. So, the oppressive heat, the unsettling stench and the nerd-speak all served to put a severe dampener on his previously good mood.
And he never got to take Bones out to dinner.
xxxxx
Brennan leaned in closer as Doctor Sidibe extracted a small light brown object from the nasal cavity of the dead man they had discovered on the banks of the river - the dead man who had now officially been identified as "Matthew Trent".
The object was circular in shape and her first thought was that it was a coin, perhaps a penny. But then the penny moved.
"What is that?" She asked, moving round the autopsy table so that she could stand shoulder to shoulder with the coroner.
"An insect or maybe a crustacean of some description...wait...it's moving again." The doctor held the object under the backlit microscope and took a quick glance at the magnified image before moving an inch or so to the side to allow Brennan room to look also.
"It's a crab!" She looked up and sought out Booth before bending down again for a second look.
"We're going to need to send it over to Jane." Doctor Sidibe said to Harriet, who nodded and then hit speed dial on her phone.
"Crap. It's gone to answer phone. It'll have to wait until the morning." Harriet left a short message for the entomologist they had on retainer from the Natural History Museum, and then hung up with a sigh. "I guess it is getting late."
"And not everyone is as mental as you are when it comes to work."
Harriet shot Rob a withering look and then resumed her list of questions of the coroner.
xxxxx
This is how Booth and Brennan had found them.
Rob had called Booth, who was just tying up his shoes and thinking about nothing else but not being late to pick up Bones, with news that the body had been taken to the morgue at Guys Hospital and that Doctor Sidibe had "found something interesting".
Booth had suppressed the urge to tell him that solving a Limey murder was the very last thing on his mind at that moment. And besides, he sensed that Rob hadn't wanted to disturb him on his own time. The other man had given him the news begrudgingly, apologetically, and with much prompting from Harriet, who Booth could hear clearly in the background.
"I'll let Doctor Brennan know. No. No. Really, it's not a problem."
"Well if you're sure. I can always tell the Inspector that I couldn't reach you...honestly; this conversation needn't have taken place."
Booth's cell vibrated in his hand registering that someone else was trying to reach him. He told Rob that they would be at the hospital within the hour.
"Bones."
"Booth, we need to get to Guy's Hospital. It appears that..."
"I know. I just got a call from Rob. How come you know about it?"
"David called me."
"Who?" Booth asked as he got up from the edge of the bed and grabbed his wallet from the inside pocket of the suit jacket he'd left hanging over a chair.
"Doctor Sidibe."
"So now Doctor Death has your phone number?" That pulled him up short. Why did she have to go and give him her phone number?
"Yes. We swapped numbers earlier today. He really is a most interesting man."
"Yeah, he's aces. So, do you want me to grab a cab and swing by to collect you, or am I meeting you there?"
"I'll meet you there. I need to get changed first."
"Bones, we're going to a morgue to look at a dead person – no need to get all dressed up for that."
"No, it's not that. I'm a little overdressed."
Suddenly all he could think about was what she was wearing. She had dressed up for him. Well, maybe that overstretching it. But still, she was dressed up. He could picture her in that black dress that swayed just above her knees – the one that made his chest ache, or perhaps the dark green dress – the dress that had presented him with a dilemma. He'd been brought up knowing that it was rude to stare, but that particular dress wasn't playing fair. It was a little low cut, snug in all the right places and sexy as hell. She'd worn it once to his knowledge. It was on the night of Angela's birthday party, and she had swept into the Founding Fathers and literally stolen his breath. He didn't know where to look – well, okay, he did...but he didn't, couldn't, not if he wanted to be able to look his partner in the eye ever again.
"So, I'll meet you there? Booth?"
"Yeah. Sorry, I um...yeah. I'll see you there."
xxxxx
If Brennan had to sum up her partner's mood, she would plump for hostile. Also, the brooding looks he kept sending everyone's way coupled with the fact that the form-fitting charcoal grey shirt he was wearing pinched just a little on his biceps, all made concentration extremely difficult. And he smelled so good. Despite the myriad chemical odours present, which usually had the effect of stripping your nose of sensation or over stimulating your sense of smell, she could clearly discern his scent. He was wearing cologne. Booth rarely wore cologne.
She thankfully found her voice.
"I can take a picture on my cell of the crab and send it to my entomologist in D.C."
Doctor Sidibe moved aside, first asking Harriet if it was okay for the photo to be taken.
"Okay, I've got it. It shouldn't take too long for Doctor Hodgins to identify the species."
"Well, in the meantime let's get back to our discussion, shall we?"
Brennan nodded and resumed her examination of the x-rays of Matthew Trent's right thigh. She quickly confirmed the assistant coroner's finding that the femoral shaft was fractured just below the lesser trochanter. The assistant coroner for his part did his best to look unfazed by her presence. He found his boss intimidating on his best, most confident of days, but that was nothing to the pressure he felt knowing that a world-renowned forensic anthropologist was reading over his case notes.
"So the injury to the femoral shaft wasn't documented in the medical notes sent over by the military academy?"
"No. The notes record nothing more serious than heatstroke, a bout of food poisoning and two broken fingers. All the aforementioned occurred whilst the deceased was on active duty, Doctor Brennan."
"I see. And what is your assessment of how recently the fracture occurred, Doctor Garrity?"
The prematurely-balding, too-skinny assistant coroner took a deep breath. It was vitally important that he got this right; he sensed that his boss was similarly invested in his determined effort to not make a tit of himself. He was, after all, the assistant coroner for the district and cocking up a relatively straightforward diagnosis such as this reflected well on no one.
"The subtrochanteric fracture appears to have been closed, as there is no sign of scarring on the skin. The x-rays show what now appears to be a very short oblique fracture with no comminution. It's not easy to determine if the fracture has healed over time and now shows this relatively minor damage or whether the injury is more recent. A CT Scan would assist." Adam Garrity sensed that she was about to cut in and so continued on, keen as he was to try and impress.
"However, the x-ray does show callus on the bone – here, and here." He was pleased to note that she was nodding her agreement. Healing bone callus can show up on x-ray within six weeks in adults. Given that the deceased's roommate gave a witness statement confirming that he last saw him five days before his death, and made no mention of the other man injuring himself recently, and as his most recent medical record attests, he was fit, healthy and mobile, I would assume that the fracture occurred between three to eighteen months ago."
"Have you ascertained if the callus on the x-ray is woven bone or lamellar bone?"
"I assumed lamellar given the fact that his medical records and witness statements don't mention an injury of this nature."
"Did the deceased smoke?" Brennan flipped through the x-rays until she found one showing magnified sections showed the bone growths.
"No."
"This would have helped in the healing process. Of course you'll need to carry out further analysis but I think the fracture occurred as recently as three to six months ago. The strength of the healing bone typically is eighty per cent of normal as early as three months after an injury. He could have sustained the injury during his last tour of duty and by the time he returned home nobody would have guessed what had happened."
"But what about his medical records? The last check-up he had was just shy of seven weeks ago. The army doctor doesn't report that he was suffering from an injury of this type."
"Did the doctor take x-rays?"
"Well, no. But surely at the time of the injury, he would have been in immense pain. So much pain that he would have sought medical attention."
"I agree. The fracture is as you say relatively minor, but nonetheless, it would have been painful and required sufficient time to heal. Also, a fracture of this type is usually the result of a sharp angled blow to the bone, so not a common injury - especially as no other bones appear to have been broken, indicating that the deceased was in a car crash, for example."
"So the army doctor lied?"
"I couldn't say."
"But that's what this adds up to, doesn't it?"
"I don't deal in conjecture, Doctor Garrity."
The assistant coroner inferred from her blunt response that he ought just to concentrate on the science and leave the rest to the police. He looked to his boss to see if the other man had been paying attention – after all, he'd done well, hadn't he? Unfortunately, his usually attentive boss was busy checking out Doctor Brennan. He stifled a grin. Sidibe was doing a piss-poor job of being subtle about it. He was practically drooling over her. Not that Adam could blame him, the woman was a knockout.
He took the x-rays from her and got on with the business of cataloguing the other anomalies present on Matthew Trent's body.
A few minutes later...
"So, are we about done here, people?"
She couldn't explain why, but just the sound of Booth's voice made her stomach tighten. Her legs felt hollow, weak – mimicking the sensation she sometimes experienced when she drank a glass of wine too fast. Of course, hearing his voice made her think about how desirable he looked tonight. If she was being entirely honest with herself, she had dressed for their dinner conscious that she was thinking of their date as a real date - a romantic date, not just dinner with a friend. She had slipped on her favourite dress. The dark green silky material slid over her warm, freshly-showered skin and she had foolishly closed her eyes and imagined Booth's hands tracing all the places the material touched.
Brennan looked up to find Booth staring at her. She expected him to look away, as he always did...seconds ticked by...voices echoed around the cavernous morgue...the ancient plumbing groaned and clattered...he would look away any moment now...she would look away...
The word "temptation" rolled round in her mind until it found its way onto the tip of her tongue. She could taste the initial sweetness of its promise. But then the promise quickly became burdensome - predictably, a chance not taken. She wanted to kiss him so badly that she imagined herself closing the distance between them - imagined taking his hand in hers and then sliding her other hand around the back of his neck and drawing his mouth to hers. Maybe that single taste, that sole concession would be enough?
Her whole body thrummed with energy, and her focus had narrowed to encompass his scent, his warm brown eyes and the suggestion of a smile that played invitingly at the corner of his lips. She silently begged him to look away because she didn't have the strength.
Temptation...
"Doctor Brennan. Doctor Brennan? I think that's your mobile ringing." Adam Garrity prompted.
"Bones."
"Yes."
"Aren't you going to get that?"
"Wha...oh, yes. Yes. Sorry." She reached inside the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out her cell phone. What had she been thinking?
"Ello, ello, Doctor B. How's London Town treating you guys?"
"Hodgins?"
"The one and only. So, I ran the image you sent me."
"And?" Her face was burning, she knew it. She hoped everyone would put it down to the temperature of the humid basement room.
"What you have there is Eriocheir Sinensis – otherwise known as the Chinese Mitten Crab or the Big Sluice Crab. It's native to..."
She interrupted him only to advise that she was going to put him on loudspeaker.
"Go ahead, Doctor Hodgins." She said holding out her phone. "We're all listening."
"The crab is native to coastal estuaries of eastern Asia but in recent years it was introduced to Europe and North America where it's considered an invasive species. They mostly inhabit fresh water sources but they return to the sea to breed. The one you have there is a juvenile. And this would fit given the time of year and where you found it - the females return to brackish water in the spring to hatch their eggs."
"So it's a common type of crab. It's not something that shouldn't have been down there with him?" Booth said, raising his voice in the way most people do when conversing over loudspeaker.
"Hey, Booth! So, Doctor B didn't update me – how are you guys enjoying London? You know, you should check out the Australia Landscape exhibit at Kew Gardens while you're there. A buddy of mine went and said it was pretty awesome."
"Plants and flowers...really?"
"Flowers are plants." Brennan interjected, unable to help herself. Booth shot her a pleading look as he set about trying to get their curly haired scientist back on point.
"Were you aware that one in five of the world's plants are threatened with extinction, Booth?"
"And this is relevant to the case, how?
"It's relevant in a bigger picture kind of way."
"Well, what say we narrow our perspective for a minute and you tell me how this crab can help us out?"
"I get it. No time for small talk. Right...so these crabs are burrowers. They often create problems when digging around embankments and they can clog drainage systems. I guess what I'm saying is that it will only be useful to you if it ingested something that can tie your victim to a particular location."
"Are they common to the Thames?" Harriet asked, before going on to introduce herself.
"They've been known to migrate inland. A Google search pinged up an article in one of your newspapers - the London Standard...no, that wasn't it."
"The London Evening Standard?" Harriet supplied as she scribbled down a note in her black pocketbook.
"That's the one. The article was from the mid-nineties but apparently this species of crab was seen coming out of the river and moving towards the main street."
"Main street?" Rob whispered to Harriet.
"He must mean "high street"."
Rob shrugged, her explanation seemed to fit.
"You know, you can buy these crabs on the subway in China. For between a dollar fifty and seven bucks you can buy a perfectly chilled crab and even pick up a bottle of crab vinegar to go with it."
Booth coughed. Hodgins acknowledged the usual cue and quickly moved onto another thought.
Half an hour later: 10:00pm
Brennan and Booth said goodnight to Harriet and Rob and quickly turned their backs against the fierce, cold wind and walked in the opposite direction down St Thomas Street towards Borough High Street. The bright lights of the newly-renovated New City Court entrance of Guys Hospital shone beaconlike into the night sky behind them.
"So." Booth finally managed.
"Yes?" She pulled her white raincoat tighter in at the waist in an effort to warm herself as bitter blasts of air now seemed to attack from every angle.
"We could still use the subway instead of waiting for a cab, if you wanted?"
"They call it the "Tube" here, Booth."
"Okay, do you want to catch the Tube?"
"I'd rather look for a taxi, if that's okay?" It was foolish, of course it was, but she didn't want to travel by train back to her apartment because this would mean that Booth would leave her as soon as they made into the welcoming warmth of London Bridge Station – his accommodation was located in a different direction.
"Sure. We can do that." He snuck a look at her and smiled. The cold had turned the tip of her nose and her cheeks a soft shade of pink. He barely resisted the urge to throw his arm around her shoulder and pull her closer. He could do just that of course, and tell her it was a way of keeping them both warm, but she wouldn't buy it. Hey, he didn't buy it.
"Are you hungry?" He asked hopefully as he stuffed his frozen hands into the pockets of his black sportcoat. He should've gotten changed when Rob called - he was overdressed for a night at the morgue. And what was he thinking with the cologne?
"I could eat."
"Me too. Maybe we can still salvage something of this evening - let's see what's open, shall we?"
"Okay." She fought to keep a telling smile from her lips.
They picked up the pace and almost walked the length of the still-busy street before finding a Lebanese restaurant which tempted them in by smell alone. The rich, savoury fragrances had hit them square in the stomach as they approached. Booth held open the glass door for her and this time she thanked him as she walked by.
They gratefully left the cold behind.
AN: Okay, so I realised the other day that I've only gone and named two people "David" in this story (wonder why?). I was going to go back and fix this but then reasoned that in real life sometimes we know people with the same name. Also, I'm lazy.
Hope you liked this chapter. If you have the time and inclination, I'd be interested to know your thoughts. :)