Episode 6.5 x 17: The Meanness in the World~ Written by NatesMama and Brainysmrfs
December 2, 1957 Lincoln, Nebraska
As clichéd tumbleweeds rolled past the scene indiscriminately, the stillness of the day was disturbed by the crunching of tires on the dusty, graveled path. An unmarked police car rolled to a stop next to the scene, the driver's side door opening with a creak as one well-worn, scuffed boot stepped out and hit the ground with an authoritative thump on the unpaved road. A second boot joined the first in short order, and the assembled group watched as Lancaster County Sheriff Seeley Booth pulled his imposing frame from his sedan and placed his black uniform hat on his head. He checked his weapon as a matter of habit and closed his car door, striding with his customary ease towards the crime scene. As he reached the quiet gathering, his second-in-command, Deputy Vic Anderson stepped forward to fill his boss in on the situation.
"Vic." Booth nodded shortly. "What do we have?"
Vic nodded. He liked that Booth got right to business, without all the usual boring pleasantries. "Sheriff. A couple of kids out joyriding early this morning thought they saw a store mannequin on the side of the road, so they stopped to check it out. Turns out, it wasn't a dummy." He tilted his head towards the man crouched in front of a sheet-covered body. "Dr. Vaziri says it's Bob Colvert."
Booth sucked a breath through his clenched teeth. "Damn. From Crest's?"
"Yup. Shotgun blast to the knee, kill shot to the head. Looks like it was done here."
"Anyone call Gerry Crest? Bob worked the late shift, right?"
"Yup." Booth almost smiled at Vic's predictable response. His underlings were well-trained in crime scene investigation and follow-through. He made very sure of that, no matter that they rarely had to use the skills in this quiet town. "Gerry says Bob was working last night. Earl escorted him out to the station; they said it looks like there was a struggle. No blood. Probably just grabbed him there and went."
Booth nodded absently, watching as Dr. Arastoo Vaziri, the local coroner, directed the ambulance drivers as they lifted Bob Colvert's body and placed it in the waiting van. "Sounds like you have the main points covered. Earl taking care of things at the station?" At Vic's nod, he continued. "You talk to the kids personally?"
"I did. They were upset, obviously. One of them knew Bob; his dad was friends with him. But they really didn't know anything, Booth. Good boys, just out screwing around with one of their dad's cars, had the bad luck to find this mess." Vic looked pained for a minute. "One of them is the kid my girl dates."
"Teddy LaChance?"
The deputy nodded. "You know me; I wouldn't let him near Betsy if he wasn't a good kid. They were just blowing off some steam." He kicked at a loose stone absently. "I had Cam call their parents to come get them."
Booth slapped Vic on the shoulder. "Good man. That's fine." He watched closely as the other officers assembled walked the perimeter, collecting evidence with practiced hands. "Anyone head out to speak to Marylou?"
"Not yet." Vic wiped his brow with a handkerchief and sighed. "You want me to handle it, Booth?"
Shaking his head, Booth started over to speak with the coroner before he left. "Let me talk to Arastoo, and then I'll head over and speak with her. You stay here and make sure everything is covered, and then we'll meet back at the station and start trying to make some sense out of this godforsaken mess."
"Good enough." Vic nodded as a goodbye and moved to supervise the rest of their deputies.
Booth spent some time getting a report from Dr. Vaziri, then left the rest of the details in Vic's capable hands. He sighed heavily as he got into his car, a burning in the pit of his stomach his companion as he headed back into town to let the unsuspecting Marylou Colvert know that she was now a widow.
I saw her standin' on her front lawn just twirlin' her baton…
January 27, 1958
Sheriff Seeley Booth drove through the quiet, early morning of Lincoln, Nebraska in his state-issued police car. Even though it was close to the end of January, the air was dry and mild and Booth felt comfortable enough to forego his jacket that morning as he kissed his wife goodbye before heading in to work. Of course, no normal morning in this town can be had without drama, so it was without surprise that Booth had stopped and scooped the clearly-drunk form of Art MacGregor off the street near the corner of Fifth and Belmont and threw him unceremoniously into the back of his cruiser. As he slammed the back door, he glanced up at a small house in the middle of Belmont and saw the second-oldest Bartlett daughter standing on her porch, throwing what looked to be a stick into the air. She stopped when a beat-up Dodge pulled to the curb, and when the passenger door flew open Booth could see the driver, a troublemaker around town called Charlie Starkweather. Booth watched, a worried scowl on his face, as the young girl ran for the car and jumped in, leaning across the seta to give Charlie a kiss. Now, that's a recipe for trouble if I've ever seen it. Booth thought to himself.
Pulling the half-awake Art into the Lancaster County Sheriff's station, Booth ignored the knowing smirk from Camille Saroyan, their dispatcher, as he opened the closest cell and deposited his charge on the unforgiving cot. With barely a grunt from the still-drunk man, Booth slammed the door shut and locked it with a snap. He crossed to his desk and threw himself into his chair, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.
"Rough morning, boss?" Cam asked, fixing a faux sympathetic gaze on her face for Booth's benefit.
Booth scowled. "Don't think for a minute I can't hear that smirk, Camille."
"Oh, come on…it's a little amusing, don't you think? The sheriff, on his early-morning rounds, has to bring in the town drunk…its very cliché." She leaned back in her chair, warming to the topic.
Booth imagined, not for the first time, just walking out of the office and never coming back. "Remind me again why I come into work every day? Because the level of abuse here is definitely making me rethink my career choice…"
"Because you're a dedicated law enforcement officer and if you quit your wife would kill you?"
"Ha ha. No, Bones would not kill me." He leaned back in his chair, mirroring Cam's position unconsciously. "In fact, it would probably make her happy to know I'm not putting myself in harm's way."
Cam nodded sagely. "She sees enough of the evil people can do to each other at work, she would know."
"Yeah."
"And I thought she told you to quit calling her 'Bones'." Cam added with a laugh.
"Naw, she loves it." Booth smiled, thinking about how irritated his wife had been with him when he had first given her the affectionate moniker when they started dating. Temperance had had an attractive figure, but she had been so skinny back then that Booth couldn't resist teasing her in order to goad her into eating, and the nickname, 'Bones', had stuck. It had stuck with Booth, in any case. Temperance was known to still throw a scowl or two at her husband on occasion when the name came out in mixed company.
He turned his attention back to his long-time dispatcher. "Doesn't Paul have a cute nickname for you, Cam?" Referring to her husband, who worked at the local mill.
"Yeah. Meal Ticket." She took in Booth's stricken expression, and shook her head. "Sorry, that was mean." She sighed. "He got laid off again."
"I'm sorry, Cam. You guys going to be okay?"
Sighing, Cam leaned back in her chair again. "Yeah. Probably. It's just…" She closed her eyes for a moment. "Never mind. It's fine. We'll be fine." She finished, determinedly.
Giving her a smile he didn't really feel, Booth nodded. "You will. You're solid."
"Yeah."
Their sudden, uncomfortable silence was interrupted by the appearance of Vic and Earl, who were discussing, quite loudly, the NFL championship game played last month.
"Come on, Berry was the whole reason the Colts won that game, Vic. He was a machine."
"Man, Unitas controlled the game the whole sixty minutes, without him the Giants would have been all over that ball."
The two men moved to their adjoining desks, completely ignorant of the amused looks from Cam and their boss. Earl tossed his lunch down and turned to his friend. "You're just into the Giants because they beat the Browns."
Vic nodded. "You might be right about that. I hate the Browns."
"Alright, you two. Enough." Booth stood and grabbed a pile of paperwork from the filing cabinet behind him. "I have enough work to keep you busy until next season's game, but you need to go get everyone breakfast, first." He pointed a thumb towards the jail cells. "Get something for him, too."
Vic laughed. "Again? Geez, Booth. Art spends so much time in your car lately; he might as well be family by now."
"Hardy har har." Booth groused as he handed his deputy some cash. "Just shut it and go get some food."
B&B
Earl and Vic entered the busy Pearly Gates Diner, expertly avoiding the exiting customers, and headed for the typically-decorated diner counter. They perched side-by-side, next to Wendell Bray, the local librarian, who was having a discussion with the diner's outgoing owner, Angela Montenegro.
The deputies nodded to Wendell and took the small notebook Angela offered them, writing down the order for their group even as they continued to discuss the football game from earlier. Once they were finished, Angela handed the order back to Fischer, the cook, and moved back to speak with the officers.
"Hey, you boys have any idea what happened to Bob Colvert?" She started in her usual blunt way.
The two men exchanged glances before shaking their heads in tandem. "Nothing yet, Angela." Vic spoke for the both of them. "And please, for the love of God, don't bring it up in front of Booth."
"He mad you haven't gotten anywhere?" She asked, moving to grab a coffee pot. She turned over the cups in front of them and gave them each half a cup.
"Thanks, Ang." Earl nodded. "And yeah, you know Booth. He's just trying to get Marylou some justice."
"He will." She nodded decisively. "He always does."
"Obviously not always." Wendell piped in. "It's been over a month, you should at least have a lead by now."
Both deputies glared at the man next to them, joined in their ire by Angela. "Oh, hush up, Wendell. They didn't say they didn't have any leads. Give 'em a break."
"I'm sure you'd be more inclined to criticize if the sheriff wasn't married to your best friend." Wendell's smirk only served to irritate Angela more. She glowered at him even as she turned and collected the bags containing the sheriff's office breakfast.
"And so what if I am? There is such a thing as loyalty, Wendell. You know, loyalty? Surely you have a book in that big 'ol library that can explain the concept to you?" Vic and Earl sniggered as Wendell blushed furiously.
"I just think Marylou deserves some loyalty, too." He snapped, embarrassed.
Angela sobered, and then spoke with a soft voice full of belief. "I agree. And you and I both know that there is no one more capable of finding out who killed Bob than Booth."
Nodding in acceptance, Wendell turned back to his meal, effectively ending the discussion. The two deputies accepted their bags of food and thanked Angela when she waved off their offer to pay, turning to head back to work. As he stepped down from the counter, Vic ran headlong into Clark, Angela's busboy.
"Whoa!" Vic cried, pulling the bag he was carrying closer while simultaneously grabbing Clark to keep him from falling over.
"Oh! I'm sorry, Officer Anderson!" Clark gasped, stepping back nervously as he righted himself.
Smiling, Vic shook his head. "No problem, Clark. Really." He nodded to Earl, who headed out of the diner alone. "But since I have you here…did you get a chance to read that book I gave you?"
Shifting his bus tub from one arm to the other, Clark grinned. "I finished it last night. I liked it very much, sir."
"What did I tell you about that 'sir' stuff?" Vic scoffed. "But I'm glad you enjoyed it. My wife recommended another for you, 'The Edge of Darkness', I have it back at the station if you wanna come pick it up after work?"
"Sure, sure. That would be great." He looked to Angela, who was leaning over the counter. She smiled at Clark and waved her hand dismissively.
"You can head over there on your lunch break, sweetie. You don't have to wait."
"Thanks, Ms. Montenegro."
"Anytime." She waved at Vic, who was heading back out the door. "See you, Vic!"
"Thanks, Angela! Clark, see you later?" He waited while the younger man nodded and then headed back to the office.
Earl waited for Vic before crossing the street to the sheriff's office. As they reached the door, it flew open and Booth pulled them in, forcing them to put down their packages in question.
"Saddle up, men. We just got a call about multiple bodies found over on Belmont." Booth checked his sidearm out of habit and took a piece of paper from Cam, scanning it quickly. "Dammit. How long have they been there?" He said to himself. "Cam, did the local who called tell you anything else?"
"No, just that there appear to be three bodies and one missing child."
Booth's head jerked up. "Missing?"
Cam nodded. "Yes, the older daughter…." She looked at her notes. "Caril. Thirteen years old."
"Shit." Booth grabbed a shotgun off the rack behind him and started out the door. "Come on, you two. Let's get out there."
"You think the girl was kidnapped, boss?" Earl asked, shouldering his own weapon.
Booth shook his head and frowned. "No. No, I do not. Now let's go."
B&B
"Gary, this is a friggin' mess." Booth growled as he paced the shabby living room of the Bartlett home. "These people have been dead for a goddamn week! What the hell happened?"
Gary Christenson, The Police Chief of the Lincoln Police Department, had the sense to look both embarrassed and disgusted at the mishandling of the situation. "Booth, if I had known what was going on…"
"And why didn't you?" Booth demanded.
"No one gave it a second thought!" Gary cried defensively. "The girl said everyone had the flu and we believed her! We had no idea she was being held against her will."
"Because she wasn't." Booth replied.
He scoffed. "You can't know that."
"I do. I saw her, this morning." Booth shook his head as his colleague's eyes widened comically. "I was picking Art off the ground on the corner and saw Caril waiting for him. She was standing out there on the porch when Charlie pulled up. She went willingly. Hell, Gary…she was fucking skipping to the car!"
"Holy shit."
"Yeah. That's what I said." Booth rubbed a hand across the back of his neck in frustration. "I knew something wasn't right, but I never imagined…"
"Booth, how could you have known there were three dead people in the house behind her?" Gary looked out of the corner of his eye, in the direction of the outhouse where the bodies of Caril's mother and baby sister were found. "The boys that came out here said she was acting perfectly normal. It wasn't until her older sister's husband reported the body that we decided to check the perimeter. The brother-in-law had found the father, Marion. One of my newer deputies thought to take a look in the outhouse and found Velda and Betty Jean. Luckily, the kid was smart enough to heave in the bushes and not all over the crime scene."
Sickened, Booth closed his eyes. "How old was Betty Jean?"
"Two. She was two years old, Booth. Dr. Vaziri says she was strangled, and then stabbed."
"Christ Almighty."
"Yeah, He's not in today."
B&B
Booth stood silently next to the Bartlett's car park as Dr. Vaziri and two ambulance drivers directed the body bags to the waiting cars. Every single hardened law enforcement officer in attendance froze in place, nauseated, as the tiny black bag containing Betty Jean Bartlett's remains was gently loaded into the hearse. Arastoo stood behind the closed door for a moment, head bowed in respectful prayer, unaware that the men behind him had all mimicked his stance and added their own words to whomever they personally believed in. When he raised his head, the coroner sought out Booth, wanting to give him as much information as possible to start the investigation.
"Hey, Doc. What do we have?" Booth pulled out his note cards, ready to get down to the business of handing out justice.
"Sheriff." The younger man nodded respectfully. "Three victims. Marion Bartlett, aged 57. Gunshot wound to the head, multiple minor stab wounds to the chest and torso. Velda Bartlett, aged 36. Gunshot wound to the head. Looks like she was beaten about the head, as well. And…" He took a breath, and continued. "Betty Jean Bartlett, aged 2. At least one blow to the head, and stabbed in the throat."
Shaking his head for at least the hundredth time that morning, Booth tapped his pencil on the side of the note card he was using. "How long you think they've been dead?"
"At least a couple of days, judging by decomposition. Maybe a little longer."
"The oldest daughter says she last spoke with her mother a week ago today. After that, she couldn't get a hold of her; Caril said they were all sick."
"I had heard that the local police had visited the home a few times."
"Three times. The first two they barely looked around. Third time was this morning. But that trip was because the sister's husband found the father."
"Amazing." Arastoo looked solemn. "I shall escort the bodies back to the hospital and conduct the autopsies myself. The assistant coroner is away due to a death in the family, so it may take me longer than usual to get you cause of death for all three victims."
"I understand. Just let me know when you have something." Booth shook the other man's hand respectfully. "I'll keep you updated."
"I appreciate that, Sheriff. Until then…" He bowed his head, turned and headed for the ambulance that was waiting for him. Booth watched the cars pull out of the driveway, ignoring the growing crowd of onlookers gathering around the perimeter of the Bartlett yard.
"Vic!" Booth called his deputy over. "Did you get the APB out on Starkweather and Bartlett?"
"Fugate."
"What?"
"Caril. Her last name is Fugate, not Bartlett. Marion was her step-father. Real father passed a while ago."
"Ah. Okay. As long as it's done. You talk to Guy Starkweather?" Booth asked, referring to Charlie's father, one of several who had raised the alarm about the strange events in the Bartlett home over the last week.
"Just heading over there now. Old man hates his kid, that's for sure."
Booth nodded. "Between you and me, that kid is and always has been a bad seed." A strange thought crossed his mind. "Does Doc Vaziri still have the slug he pulled out of Bob Colvert?"
"Yeah, we haven't consolidated the evidence yet because we didn't have a sus-" Vic's eyes widened. "You don't think…"
"Yeah, I do actually. Charlie Starkweather is a punk. And a mean one, at that. I wouldn't put it past him."
Vic rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand straight up. "I'll go talk to his dad, see what he says."
"Good. Let me know what's happening. I'll head back in and call around, see if anyone's heard anything." Booth pulled his hat further down his head and went back for his car. It wasn't even noon and he was already exhausted. Climbing into the driver's seat, he sighed and started the engine. There was a pall hanging over him, and it wasn't just this case. Something even worse was coming, he could feel it. And to his dismay, he didn't have any idea if he was going to be able to stop it before it got too big to stop.
Me and her went for a ride sir, and ten innocent people died…
Booth pulled into his designated parking space in front of the Sheriff's department and glanced at the car parked next to him. A smile crept across his face as he realized that Temperance had stopped by to have lunch and had waited for him to return from the Bartlett crime scene. Practically jumping out of the car, he decided that a little face time with his better half was exactly what he needed after the earlier events of the day.
When he opened the door, the first thing he heard was the sound of laughter. And as he suspected, his wife was sitting close to his dispatcher, and it was obvious from the looks on their faces that they were most likely talking about him.
"Alright, alright…break up the hen party." He crossed to Cam's desk and leaned down to kiss Temperance hello, while simultaneously glaring at Cam. "I'm assuming you didn't just come to chit chat about me behind my back?"
Temperance grinned, looking both contrite and proud. "Actually…no. I stopped by Angela's and got you a burger. We're both going to be working quite a bit for the foreseeable future so I thought we would have lunch together before it got too crazy."
"Thanks." He gratefully took the lunch bag from her and led the way to his inner office. He set the bag of food on his desk and sat down in his chair, while Temperance perched on the stool next to him. He opened the bag and sniffed appreciatively. "Mmmm…dead cow."
Temperance scowled. "I still think you need to eat more chicken. Too much red meat can't be good for you."
"Who says? And anyway, I'm a growing boy. I need the energy." He sighed, setting his burger back down. "Especially after today."
"Cam told me a little." She leaned forward and brushed a hand across his brow. "Was it…bad?"
He nodded solemnly. "However bad you think it was, multiply that times ten."
"I'm sorry." Temperance looked down for a moment. "I wondered because…Dr. Vaziri asked me to assist on the autopsies." Her voice was quiet and almost shy.
"Yeah?" Booth raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm not that surprised. You do know more about human anatomy than most nurses. Reading all those medical texts helped, I'm sure."
She smiled, and when her eyes lit up he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. "Dr. Vaziri is very supportive of my desire to become a doctor."
"He should be, you're a genius. Any med school would be lucky to have you." He reached over and tapped her hand, forcing her to look him in the eye. "You know you can do it. I know you can do it. Obviously Arastoo knows you can do it. So…"
She chuckled. "So, I should do it?"
Booth returned her laugh. "That's my girl. Whatever you set your mind to, you can get it done. You know that."
"You are a very supportive husband." Temperance leaned forward and kissed him softly. "I am lucky to have you."
"You really are." Booth's smiled as she rolled her eyes. "But now…" He looked around, collecting the remains of their meal and shoving the wrappers in the bag. "I need to catch a murderer."
They both stood and held hands, until Booth pulled Temperance into his arms and held her close. "You head straight for the hospital. No stops." He looked down at her as if waiting for an argument.
"I know. I will." She reached up for another quick kiss. "Oh, can you stop by the house and let Daisy out for a few minutes? She'll be going crazy, being alone all night."
Booth sighed and swatted her on the behind as she turned. "I suppose. Even though I can't stand that dog. Her high-pitched yipping drives me insane."
"Oh, be nice. She likes you."
"Of course she does, I feed her."
"Alright, give me another kiss." They bussed quickly, and Booth moved to escort her out of the office and to her car. Temperance waved at Cam as she passed, and they exited the building and stopped next to her car. Unexpectedly, she reached up and grabbed his collar, staring him in the eye. "You be careful, Seeley Booth. Come home to me."
"I will. Promise." He returned her eye contact solemnly, and with one more kiss, he sent her on her way.
B&B
After several phone calls and one tense interview with Charlie's father, Gus, Booth decided to continue smoking the fugitives out by going to their friends. Luckily, Charlie alienated almost everyone he'd met and so his options for hiding out were few and far between. The lone name Gus could come up with was August Meyer, who lived one town over in Bennet, so Booth called Vic back to the office and the two of them took a drive to speak with Meyer right around dinnertime.
As they entered the long, wet driveway, the first sign that something was wrong was the car stuck in the mud. A car that Booth knew belonged to Charles Starkweather. The vehicle was obviously abandoned, but Booth still stopped far enough away to be able to get out of his own vehicle and draw his weapon, signaling to Vic to take the rear approach. Once they cleared the scene, they headed up the drive to the ramshackle farmhouse owned by August Meyer.
Their second clue to trouble made itself known in the form of the front door, which was left hanging open, swinging in the slight breeze. The sick feeling Booth had been entertaining since finding Charlie's car intensified as they exited the car once again with guns raised, passing silent signals back and forth as they approached the weathered porch. Booth stepped gingerly on the first step, wincing as it creaked beneath his weight. Vic followed; swinging to Booth's left as they moved stealthily to the open door. As if choreographed, both men peeked into the house at the same time and their eyes landed on the reason for the deathly quiet simultaneously.
"Son of a bitch." Booth breathed. He nodded to his deputy. "Go check the back."
Vic returned the nod and moved to secure the rear of the house. Booth waited until he was out of sight, and then slowly slid into the opening the swinging door afforded. He visually checked the rooms as he crouched down to inspect the sprawled body of who he could only assume was August Meyer. A creak from the right had him pointing his weapon before recognizing Vic entering the room from a back entrance.
"It's clear, Booth. Staircase to the second floor is torn up, no way to get up there without a ladder." He glanced down at the body, lying on a worn rug and a large blood pool. "There's a car out back, looks like it was gone through. Probably doesn't run, that's why they didn't take it."
Booth ran a hand over his face in frustration. "Where the hell did they go without a vehicle?"
While Vic called the office and reported the scene to Cam, Booth walked down the road to inspect the abandoned car. Potato chip bags and candy wrappers littered the front seat, as well as the baton Booth had seen Caril twirling earlier that day, the sheer innocence of the toy making his gut clench painfully. When he pushed the front seat forward, he found a balled-up paper bag shoved under the mechanism, recognizing it immediately as he pulled it out. It was a carry-out bag from Crest's Service Station. Inside was a handful of random coins and a dollar bill. Shaking his head, Booth set the bag aside and turned to wait for the cavalry.
B&B
Booth found himself surrounded by deputies, a coroner and curious onlookers for the second time that day and frankly, he was getting sick of it. As they waited for the scene to be cleared, he gave Earl, Vic and Tony Bonafascio the rundown of what he had found in the car and what it meant. Tony, one of their newer deputies, got the connection between the change in the paper bag from Crest's and Charlie Starkweather long before the more seasoned cops did.
"Bob Colvert was murdered for a handful of change." Tony pointed out. "And he was killed with a shotgun, same as the Bartletts and Mr. Meyer."
"Well, in this county everyone has a shotgun." Vic replied. "That ain't nothing special."
Booth nodded. "Maybe, but they don't all have a bag of change from Crest's in their backseat."
With a growing dread, the four men considered the evidence in front of them and all came to the same conclusion. They were dealing with a killing spree, one that had started over a month previous. And now that they knew exactly who was responsible, the information only made the situation worse.
Charlie Starkweather, eighteen years-old, was well known in Lincoln. A strange kid with thick glasses, an awkward gait caused by a birth defect and a severe inferiority complex, Charlie wasn't so much a troublemaker as he was a misanthrope. He'd dropped out of high school his senior year, and had worked briefly with a newspaper warehouse so he could be closer to Caril Ann Fugate, his thirteen year-old girlfriend. Recently hired by the local garbage collection company, Charlie had managed to stay out of real legal trouble, but was well known in town for picking fights and minor petty theft, nothing that would really stick. The idea that he had escalated from small-time hood to multiple murders made Booth especially nervous. It was more than apparent that the kid had decided he had nothing left to lose.
And that made him more dangerous than anything they had ever had to deal with.
As Lance Sweets stood anxiously outside the sheriff's office, he stamped out one cigarette and quickly lit another, inhaling slowly and going over in his mind exactly what he would ask the sheriff when he finally appeared. As a cub reporter with the Omaha World-Herald, Lance was desperate to get a comment, any comment, from Sheriff Booth regarding the recent murders. His editor, Ms. Julian, had made it quite clear that if he didn't come back with a front-page worthy story, he might as well not come back at all.
Booth pulled into his parking spot in front of the office and inwardly groaned when he saw the slight, chain-smoking reporter waiting for him at the curb. He slowly got out of his cruiser and put on his hat, pulling the brim down low in hopes that it would hide his eyes.
Lance quickly dropped his cigarette and pulled out his notebook and rushed over to Booth, "Sheriff, I'm Lance Sweets with the Omaha World- Herald and-"
Booth held up his hand, "I'm gonna have to stop you right there. I have no comment."
"You didn't even give me a chance to ask a question."
"That's because regardless of the question, I have no comment."
Lance glanced down at his notebook and then back up at the opposing man in front of him, "I just need something, sir. Is there anything at all you can tell me?"
There was something about the young man that made Booth take pity on him. He placed a hand on Lance's shoulder and smiled, "The Pearly Gates Diner has the best pie in town and Claudia Turner has a boarding house across town if you're looking for a place to stay while you're here."
"Thanks but…" Lance sighed as he habitually reached inside his jacket and took out a cigarette.
Booth watched as he lit the cigarette and shook his head, "Those things will kill ya, kid."
"I'm pretty sure my editor will kill me before these things do." Lance muttered as he walked away, headed toward the diner.
B&B
Booth stood in front of what he was quickly coming to refer to as his posse. The twenty men from the community who had volunteered to canvas the area for any sign of Starkweather, comprised of mostly former military and ex-cops, as well as the local police and Booth's own deputies. He had considered simply sticking with law enforcement only, but the sheer number of tips that had been coming in from the news reports and APB were overwhelming him and his men, and they knew they could cover more ground this way.
An impatient voice hollered from the back of the room. "C'mon, Booth…let's get this show on the road already. Bruce is sittin' in my truck lookin' to hunt!"
Amid the nervous laughter, Booth rolled his eyes at the culprit. "Calm down, Rick. We'll get you and your mutt on the road here in a few." He raised his hand to quiet the random chatter. "Listen up, men. You've got the pictures of who we're looking for. You know they're armed. I know that some of you are, too…" He looked into a few eyes, conveying his message of restraint silently. "I need you all to canvas the areas we gave you, no more. The idea is to be as organized as possible so they don't get by us."
"How do you know they're even in the area, Booth?"
Another voice called out. "Cause that boy is stupid as the day is long, Dale!" Several heads nodded in agreement.
"Anyway…we have state police watching the roads out of Lincoln. We know they're here in the area." Booth stopped again, taking in the group as a whole. "Listen, I need this by the book, completely. I don't want any innocent civilians hurt; I don't want any of you hurt, just…be careful and watch your asses."
The group nodded as one, and seemingly satisfied with their response, Booth sent them out to start their search. After the last man exited the office, Booth moved to head for his office to make a quick call to Vaziri before he took his own section of town to search. But before he could get one number dialed, Cam came rushing into the room, waving a note.
"Booth! We got a tip and I think it's a good one." She handed him the paper, watching closely as he scanned it quickly.
"They were spotted right down the damn road from Meyer's farm! What the hell are they doing?" Booth ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "What does this say? They saw them parked in another car?"
"Yes, there is an abandoned storm shelter right off the path, the caller said she saw them, or two people she thought were them, standing next to a black Bel Air right by the shelter."
"Alright, I'm heading out there now. Call Earl and have him meet me, but I'm sure they're long gone by now." Booth grabbed his hat and pulled his shotgun off the rack behind him.
"You need all that firepower if they're long gone, boss?" Cam raised an eyebrow as Booth added another gun to the arsenal already on his person.
He shouldered the shotgun and started for the door with a dark expression. "You never know, Camille…you just never know."
B&B
"Hey sweetie, what can I get you?" Angela asked Lance as he took a seat at the counter of her diner.
"Coffee, please." He dropped his notebook down in front of him and rolled his eyes. The pages were blank and he feared that if he couldn't get anyone to talk to him about the case, his future was going to be just as blank.
Angela set the coffee down in front of him and slid an ashtray toward him as he lit a cigarette. "No offense babe, but you look like hell."
"Gee thanks." He sighed, "I was sent here to report on the murders and I can't get anyone to talk to me about what's going on. My boss isn't exactly the most understanding woman in the world."
She leaned toward him and dropped her voice, "Sit tight. Once Booth and his boys get a handle on this craziness, someone will talk to you."
"You think?" Lance took a sip of his coffee and tapped his cigarette into the ashtray.
"Oh yeah," she looked around to make sure no one could hear her, "I think right now, they're all a little embarrassed that things have gone this far. Especially the sheriff."
Lance sighed, "I'm gonna get fired. I just know it."
"Hang in there. Let Seeley see that you're sincere, that you just want to report the truth – he'll respect that."
"How well do you know him?"
"Pretty damn well, actually. His wife, Temperance, is my closest friend. And not that he actually told me this but I can tell that this case has gotten under his skin more than any other. He prides himself on being the kind of man who can take care of just about anything. And he usually does. Seeley Booth is a good man."
Lance jotted a few notes down and shook his head, "I should have finished my psychology degree like my mother wanted me to instead of dropping out to be a reporter. I just…I thought I could help people by sharing the truth with them but so far I…" He trailed of in defeat.
"Hey, buck up." Angela grabbed a piece of pie from behind the counter and placed it in front of him. "It's on the house."
He smiled, "The sheriff did tell me you had the best pie in town."
Angela tapped Lance on the nose, "See, I told you he was a good man."
From the town of Lincoln Nebraska with a sawed-off .410 on my lap…
Booth approached the turn-off where he knew the old storm shelter to be with caution. Not that he expected Starkweather to be there, because he didn't. But because his gut was telling him that whatever he was about to find here was not good.
He stopped his cruiser with the headlights pointed directly at the opening to the shelter. Decades old, the weathered building looked like it would barely hold up through a light rain, let alone a tornado. Once he'd exited his car, he flipped on his heavy flashlight and held his service revolver in the other. As he stepped towards the door, the sound of crunching gravel drew his attention and he whipped around in time to see Earl pulling in. The deputy jumped out of his own cruiser and joined his boss, both holding their flashlights so the beams bounced off the split, worn wood of the storm shelter.
"You feel that, Booth? Something's off about this."
"Yeah." He looked around, not nervously…but apprehensive. "Okay, you open I'll cover. Count of three."
In the end, the counting became unnecessary as a stiff wind blew through and the shelter door swung open on its own, revealing, to their shared horror, a pair of bare, lifeless legs.
Earl moved quickly to clear the shelter of danger while Booth covered him, switching roles without thought. Hearing his deputy's curse, Booth leaned in and saw the source of Earl's upset. There, thrown into the shelter as if they were nothing but discarded rag dolls, were the bodies of two teenagers.
"Owners of the car?" Earl asked, looking both pale and green at the same time.
Booth nodded sickly. "Probably. Let's get Arastoo out here, get the ID's. We'll know what kind of car we're looking for exactly. Then, maybe, we can catch this son of a bitch."
An hour later, Booth watched from his perch on the hood of his car as Dr. Vaziri and Temperance worked to get the victim's bodies from the shelter with as much care as possible. When the coroner had arrived with Booth's wife in tow, the sheriff had been less than happy, but with the scene secure and the need for all hands on deck in the wake of the sudden influx of bodies, he could hardly put up much of a fuss. In the end, he was just grateful to be able to see her for a few extra minutes as he contemplated just what in the hell Charlie Starkweather was doing and where he might head next.
Vic showed up at the scene to update Booth on the search, which had so far proved absolutely fruitless. "We figure he's gone to ground somewhere. Let's hope he didn't get smarter and leave the state."
"Yeah." Booth continued to watch the coroner and his own wife work to clear the scene. "I'm thinking we might want to talk to the governor about calling in the Guard if we can't get him by tomorrow night."
"Really?" Vic was shocked. As a former Army man, Booth was often reticent about calling in reinforcements until absolutely necessary.
"Yep. I was going to call Wyatt and put out some feelers about maybe having him send us a few men." He slid off the hood and dusted off his slacks. "We might need to start a house-to-house search."
Rubbing the stubble that had collected on his face over the day, Vic shook his head in frustration. "This kid is barely got a hair on his balls and he's draggin' around a little girl. Why the hell can't we find them?"
"God protects the young and the stupid? I don't know, Vic. But we will find them, that's a fact." Booth fixed a determined look on his face, walked around the area to hand out more orders to his men, said a quick goodbye to his wife, and headed back to the office to make his phone calls.
B&B
"Booth, you know I'd be happy to help, I just need the governor to give me a ring." Gordon Wyatt, the Adjutant General of the Nebraska National Guard and longtime friend of the sheriff, sounded apologetic but resolved. "I appreciate the mess you have going on there, I do. But unless Jack sends us out…"
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I put a call in to the governor earlier. And believe me, it was not one of my finer moments."
"Hey, everyone needs help once in awhile. Especially when you're looking for a needle in a haystack."
"Still…we should have this kid by now. He's a punk. And a stupid one, at that." Booth groaned into the reciever. "I'm being outsmarted by an idiot."
Wyatt grinned to himself. "But you know the idiots are the hardest to catch. There's a reason why they call it 'dumb luck'."
"I'm beginning to get that." Booth caught Cam's wave goodbye as she walked by the door on her way out. "Look, Wyatt…I need to get going. I have a posse out there I need to check on."
They ended their phone call with friendly ribbing and promises to get together the next time Wyatt and his wife were in town, and after hanging up, Booth headed into the main office, where several of the men who had been out searching earlier were hanging out. Most drank coffee and munched on donuts from the diner, brought over earlier by Angela as a 'donation to the brave men doing all the work'.
"Can I get everyone's attention?" Booth clapped his hands together loudly, trying to pull the group together so he could address them as one. "Hey, Teddy…Dale, chop chop! Get over here."
The stragglers finished their conversations and moved to gather around Booth in a loose semi-circle. He looked around at each man, unhappy with the update he had to give them. With a frown, he began to speak. "As I'm sure you're all aware, two more people were killed this afternoon, somewhere between here and Bennet. Seventeen year-old Robert Jensen and sixteen year-old Carol King. Both shot with the same weapon that killed the Bartlett family and August Meyer." He skipped over the savage desecration of the King girl's body, both out of respect for her and out of simple self-preservation. The sight of the once-pretty girl with multiple stab wounds all over the lower half of her body was still haunting him. "And, you should know that we've determined that same weapon was also used to kill Bob Colvert."
The quiet murmurs suddenly became indignant shouts as many of the assembled were friends with Bob. Booth knew that he might be setting them up to be out for blood, but after being turned down for Guard reinforcements by Governor Hodgins, he was feeling desperate enough to try anything.
"What do you need from us, Sheriff? Do we expand the search? Switch areas, change it up?" Alan Davies, a farmer and former Marine from nearby Denton, asked from the back of the room.
In answer, Booth pulled out a map of Lancaster County. He had drawn up sections and assigned the men, in pairs, to the section they were most familiar with. "We're going to pair you off, each according to proximity to your own homes. I need you to be able to look in alleys no one else would check, abandoned areas where fugitives could hide out, and places someone unfamiliar with the area would never think to look. We're going to use your strengths, and we're going to catch this bastard."
The group moved to get their assignments, most grabbing one more donut before heading back out to search. Booth watched as they all shuffled out, more determined than ever, and then crossed to his office and started going over the reports from the coroner, the tips from concerned citizens, and the facts of the cases, trying to find some hint or clue as to what Charlie was up to. It was obvious that he aspired to something better than the life he was living and that instead of working for it he was just going to take it. At each crime scene, he had stolen something valuable. Marion Bartlett's coin collection, a set of expensive pens from the Meyer home, and all the jewelry and cash Jensen and King had on them were all unaccounted for, and the single thought that Booth could not let go if was that those small-time trophies were not going to be enough for someone like Charlie. He was going to escalate to something more dangerous and lucrative…and Booth had no idea where he was or when he was going to strike next.
And that was the thought that was going to keep him up and working for the remainder of the night.
I can't say that I'm sorry for the things that we done…
At least for a little while sir, me and her we had us some fun…
When the call came through Cam's switchboard at a little after 6 AM, Booth had to squelch the urge to punch a hole through the wall as he chugged the rest of his cold coffee and headed out the door with an equally exhausted Vic hot on his heels. The drive to the east end of town, where the most expensive homes in Lincoln were situated together in neat rows, was quick and painless and deadly silent. Both knew what they were walking into, but the need to delay reality as long as possible, even for a seven minute ride across town, was enough to keep the conversation at bay.
They pulled into the driveway of the large home of C. Lauer Ward, president of Capital Bridge and Capital Steel and a close friend of the governor right behind Earl's cruiser, watching as he exited the driver's side and Tony jumped out the other. A figure ran towards them from the house, and all four lawmen reached for their weapons before realizing that the harried man waving his arms in their direction was Jim Austin, the local milkman, who had made the call to the sheriff.
"They're all dead! Oh my God…" He collapsed to his knees in front of Earl, who turned to look helplessly at Booth as he ran up the driveway to meet them.
Booth stepped around Earl and dropped down to take Jim's arm and pull him back up. "Jimmy…hey, what happened, can you tell me?" He used the most soothing voice he could, even as he frantically pointed towards the house, gesturing the deputies to head in and clear the scene.
"Seel?" The glazed look in the other man's eyes shocked Booth. Jim Austin was a former soldier, he had seen death and destruction up close, so if whatever was in that house had turned him to stone, Booth knew it had to be even worse than he was imagining.
"Alright, Jimmy…let's get you in the car here." Booth led his old friend to his cruiser, opening the door with one hand while setting him down on the seat with the other. He watched, fascinated, as the man in front of him got himself together with a deep breath and a nod to himself, and then looked up at Booth with a steady stare.
"Lil's dead." He took a shuddering breath. "The…their maid. I, uh, I knew her. She always met me at the back door to get the milk and order for the next day."
"And she wasn't there this morning."
"No." He shook his head, still a little dazed. "I mean, sometimes she would leave a note if she wasn't going to be there, but that hasn't happened in years. Years, Seel. Lil is as reliable as the sunrise." His voice broke on the last word and he cleared his throat in embarrassment. "But today…no Lil, no note. And the back door was open."
"Screen door, too?" Booth asked.
"There isn't a screen on that door. It was ajar, open just enough to make my blood run cold." A shadow passed over his face for a moment. "Blood…there was blood. I could see it on the floor. At first, I thought she had an accident and maybe Mrs. Ward didn't know. But she was just lying there…covered in blood. I knew it wasn't an accident."
"That's when you checked the rest of the house?"
He nodded again. "That's when I found the rest of them. M-Mister Ward was downstairs, in the dining room. And Mrs. Ward…she-"
"Booth!" Both heads turned towards Vic's cry. "Boss, you gotta get in here. We need to call it in…now."
Booth leaned down into Jim's face, inspecting him closely. Satisfied that some of the color had come back into his face, he patted his shoulder. "Stay here, Jimmy. We'll be back." He looked to his deputy. "Vic, stay out here with Jimmy…just in case."
Looking around nervously, Jim shook his head. "You don't think they're still-"
"No." Booth's answer was emphatic. "No, I really don't. They're long gone. But I would rather be safe than sorry." He ducked his head to look his friend in the eye again. "Alright?"
"Yeah." Jim nodded furiously, relived now that he knew he wasn't going to be left alone. "Thanks, Seel."
"You bet." Booth headed towards the back entrance of the house, where Jimmy had indicated he discovered the maid. Once inside, he found Earl standing over the blood-soaked body of a woman dressed in a traditional maid's uniform.
"What do we have, Earl?"
"Lillian Fencl. The Wards' maid." He looked nauseous. "Lots of stab wounds, from what I can see."
"Jesus." Booth breathed. "What about the Wards?"
"He's in the dining room, she's upstairs in the bedroom." He took a breath. "Boss, they even killed one of the dogs."
"Tony up there?"
"Yeah, he corralled the second dog and put her in a spare bedroom. He's taking notes now." Earl pointed to the second set of doors off the kitchen. "Mr. Ward is right through there."
Stepping over the expansive pool of blood, Booth suppressed a shudder. The weight of this case was beginning to pull him down, he could feel it tugging insistently on his ankle and he needed to find a way to anchor himself and focus. Unfortunately, as he stood over the battered body of a man who, by all accounts, never hurt another soul, he couldn't find that resolve just yet, even though he knew he was under a quickly-dwindling deadline. And that time was most definitely running out.
B&B
January 29, 1958
As the sun came up over the horizon, brightening a day that had no business being bright, Booth thought back to what made him choose law enforcement as a career. He wasn't normally an introspective man; he left the analyzing to his wife for the most part because her logical view of the world centered him like nothing else. But today, in the wake of one of the more horrific failures of his life he decided he owed it to himself to think about what happened in the past to give some perspective to what might happen in the future. Fighting in a war, taking lives, believing that what you've dedicated your life to doing is not only noble but true and right can take a hit when you see the lives of the truly innocent being thrown away, for what? Fifty dollars, a few trinkets and a general contempt for anyone else but yourself? Booth knew, deep down, that he was not at fault for Charlie Starkweather and his actions. But it's difficult to believe that when you see the body of a child stuffed like garbage into a box in an outhouse. In his head, he could hear Temperance berating him for his thoughts, and that brought a slight smile to his face as his car stopped in front of the sheriff's office and he killed the engine.
The crowd gathered didn't surprise him, and he did his best to be polite as concerned citizens and nosy reporters pushed forward, trying to get either reassurance or a statement from their stoic sheriff. Booth slid through the wall of humanity and quickly entered the building, accepting Cam's worried expression with a grimace.
"How long have they been out there?" He asked as he grabbed yet another cup of coffee.
"They were there when I arrived this morning." She pointed to the young reporter Booth had run into the day before. "That kid there, he's a persistent one."
"Tell me about it." Booth groaned as he settled into the chair next to Cam. "The guys are all still out at the Ward place, they-" He was stopped mid-sentence as the switchboard lit up, indicating that Booth's private line in his office was receiving a call. He nodded and stood. "I'll take that in there."
Cam watched as he crossed the room, his steps heavy and his shoulders slumped. She absently answered the call, eyes widening when she realized who the caller was. "Boss? It's the governor."
Booth heard Cam's warning, but he was beyond caring at this point. He grabbed the phone and hit the button, putting the call through. "Governor Hodgins, sir."
"Sheriff Booth? Is it true?" Booth noted with surprise that the man didn't sound angry, he sounded upset.
"Yes, sir. C. Lauer Ward, his wife, Clara and their maid Lillian Fencl were found dead this morning in the Ward home. We are sure that it was Starkweather and Fugate."
"Dammit." The soft curse only served to prove to Booth that Ward was more than just an acquaintance to the man who ran the state of Nebraska. "How bad?"
"They're all dead. It's bad enough."
"Right." The governor sighed. "Look, Booth…I was wrong about the Guard. I should have sent them when you asked, but I am correcting that mistake as we speak. They're on their way and they should be there within the hour."
"I appreciate that, sir."
"Well, thanks for not reminding me that it's a little like closing the barn door after the horse has already run off." Hodgins paused, and Booth could practically hear him thinking. "Look, I don't like bringing this up, but I've heard rumors…you know, with how slippery this kid is, that maybe he's been getting some help from someone higher up…"
"What?" Booth gasped. "You think there's some sort of conspiracy with the cops to let Starkweather roam free, killing people at will? Are you crazy?" Booth fought the urge to curse, assuming that calling the governor crazy was probably bad enough.
"Alright, alright…like I said, just a rumor. I had to ask."
"No, you really didn't."
There was an uncomfortable silence as both men contemplated apologizing. When the moment seemed to pass, Hodgins continued. "In any case, the cavalry is on its way. They know to report to you. Do what you need to do to bring that son of a bitch in."
"Thank you, sir. This is about to end, believe me. One way or the other." Booth's resolve was enough to calm him for the time being.
"Alright, Sheriff. Keep me updated."
"Yes, sir." They rung off and Booth took a few minutes to come up with a game plan before the troops invaded his little town. He knew the residents would be concerned…even more than they already were, but when it came to safety versus sanity, he always chose safety. For all the good it had done him up until now.
Sheriff, when the man pulls that switch, sir and snaps my poor neck back…
You make sure my pretty baby is sittin' right there on my lap.
After a relatively small but well-organized invasion by the Nebraska National Guard, Booth convened with Wyatt as to the disposition of his men, as well as Booth's own deputies, and they decided that the original idea of a house-to-house search was the only way they were going to flush Charlie and Caril out. With Earl and Tony's help, Wyatt managed to divide his men by block and street, and sent them off to begin pick Lincoln apart home by home. When the search was underway, Booth found himself feeling restless, and the pull of the investigation was too much to ignore, so he began a search of his own. He started on the main street through town, winding his way through the city he had sworn to protect and grown to love, looking for any inspiration as to where the fugitives had scurried off to after leaving the Ward residence. It suddenly occurred to Booth as he passed the Bartlett house where this all began, for a third time, that each murder scene followed a pattern. He mentally ticked off each location, and with a groan he realized that Charlie and Caril had been driving in circles. The Bartlett house, to the Meyer house, to the shelter, to the Ward's….one, giant geographic circle. Inspired, Booth turned his car around and headed out of town, towards the opposite end of the county from where August Meyer had lived. As he crossed the city limits, he simultaneously prayed for a break in the case, and hoped not to stumble across another crime scene. Not ten minutes into his drive, a car on the side of the road caught his attention and made every single warning bell in his head light up like the Fourth of July.
He pulled up close to the black Packard slowly; realization dawning that he was now staring directly at the very car that was stolen from the Ward home. Cautiously, he pulled his large frame out of the vehicle and drew his weapon. Walking behind the police cruiser, he couldn't see anyone in the car, but he stepped lightly in any case, coming up on the passenger side door. With a quick move and a flick of his wrist, he had the door open and immediately knew that the car was empty. Sighing, he headed over to his cruiser to call it in. As he passed the front of the Packard, he brushed the hood and realized with a start that it was still slightly warm. His head jerked up, eyes squinting as he looked into the distance down the road and with a muttered curse he ran to his car and slammed it into drive, stomping the accelerator down to the floor and spraying the Packard with gravel as he peeled out.
Booth's knuckles were stark white against the black of his steering wheel as his steel gaze never wavered from the road in front of him. Less than two minutes after finding the Wards' car on the side of the road, he saw a cloud of dust ahead and realized that the chase was on. He stared, transfixed, as the car in front of him was lurching down the road in a jerky, start-and-stop motion. Suddenly, the car veered to the side of the road and the back door flew open.
In shock he watched as a young girl stumbled from the vehicle and started screaming as she ran directly for Booth's car. "Help me! Help me! He's kidnapped me! Help!"
Slamming on the breaks, Booth jumped out of the cruiser, grabbed Caril by the arm and threw her at the back door. "Get in there and get down!" She froze for a moment before doing what she was told.
Booth started walking towards the obviously stalled car, gun drawn and muscles bunched and tight in expectation. He looked behind him as he walked, checking to make sure that Caril was still in the car and not either running the other way or coming up behind him with a shotgun.
"Charlie!" Booth called. "Come on, Charlie! It's over, get out here with your hands up!" There was no response from the car other than the grinding of the ignition as Charlie tried desperately to restart the car. "You flooded it, Charlie! Come on, get out now and no one else gets hurt!"
The standoff lasted for another ten minutes, alternating between Booth yelling for Charlie to come out and Charlie continually trying to start the car with no success. Finally, after Booth was able to step back and use his radio to call in to the station, the door to the other car finally creaked open. With a start, Booth realized that Charlie was reaching into his back pocket as he exited the vehicle.
"Charlie…" Booth yelled a warning. "Get your hands up, kid. Don't do it."
Charlie just shook his head and started to pull something out from behind his back. Without a second thought, Booth aimed and fired, ignoring the screams of the girl behind him as they melded with the sirens coming up in the distance.
They wanted to know why I did what I did…Well sir, I guess there's just a meanness in this world…
"This was the best possible outcome, Seeley. You know that." Temperance sat next to her husband in the sterile hospital waiting room, trying to bring him back from whatever dark place he was determined to set himself in.
He nodded, almost able to convince her that he was telling her the truth. "I know. And it's not that I had to shoot him." At her look, he shook his head. "No, it had to be done. I know that. I just wish…" He sighed. "All those people, Bones. Needlessly gone. That poor little baby. She never had a chance to even live. Sometimes I just-"
She placed a cool hand along the back of his neck and rubbed softly. "You lose your faith. I understand."
He looked up at her, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and too much caffeine. "Do you?" He took in her measured, calm look and nodded. "Yeah, you really do."
She smiled. "You know we have this same conversation every time something like this happens."
"Bones, nothing like this has ever happened before." A ghost of a smile crossed his face before he sobered again, seeing the doctor heading toward them. He stood and pulled Temperance up with him as they met Dr. Goodman next to the doorway.
"Sheriff. Mrs. Booth." Goodman nodded at them both as he looked around the waiting room. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "That was one hell of a shot, Seeley. He's going to be just fine, for what that's worth. Through and through, right in the upper arm. We don't even have to keep him here; you can take him to the jail."
"Yeah?" Booth looked so relieved; Temperance broke her own rule and kissed him soundly in full view of his deputies. "Bones!" He smiled despite his protest, and she took that as her cue.
"You'll be alright, then? We'll talk at home?" She ran her hand over his shoulder in comfort.
"Yeah. I won't be late." He winked and then leaned over and kissed her this time. "I'm exhausted."
"I'll bet you are." She reached up and touched his face once more, and then headed down the hallway to the lower level of the hospital.
Booth watched his wife walk away before turning to Tony and Vic, who had moved closer to hear Dr. Goodman's report on Charlie's condition.
"Hey Boss." Vic nodded. "Caril's locked up tight, talking to anyone who'll listen. Says Charlie kidnapped her."
"Yeah, she told me the same thing." Booth rubbed a hand across his tired face. "We figure out who the body in the car was?"
"Yeah, Merle Collison, a traveling salesman from Montana." Tony shook his head. "Just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"What was wrong with his car?" Booth wanted to know why Charlie had such a hard time getting away.
Vic laughed mirthlessly. "Stupid son of a bitch couldn't figure out how to release the emergency break. And since he'd already killed Collison, he couldn't ask him." At Booth's look, he shook his head. "Sorry, Booth. It's just…all that stupid luck he had the last two days, and he gets caught because of a sheriff with a great hunch and a general lack of vehicle know-how."
That last statement struck Booth's tired brain so funny that he couldn't stifle a snort that was echoed by Tony, and soon all three officers were howling with laughter, holding each other up in the hallway of the hospital as twenty onlookers stared at them as if they had lost their minds.
After they got control of themselves, Booth sent the two deputies in to keep an eye on Charlie, who was handcuffed to a bed, while he spoke with Wyatt and the rest of the assembled law enforcement, bringing them up to speed on Charlie's capture and shooting. Once he was done, he could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew he had one more task to perform before he kept that date he had with his pillow at home.
"Hey kid, you said you work for the World-Herald?"
Sweets looked up from his intense concentration on his lunch and his eyes widened at the sight of the Lancaster County sheriff gesturing to the chair across from him at the corner table at the diner.
"Uh…yeah. Well, at least for now anyway."
Booth smiled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest in amusement at the mock-defeated look on the kid's face. "Well, would you get to keep your job if you got an exclusive from the lead cop on the case?"
"Sweets? Hey, Sweets?"
"Sweets?"
Sweets tried to focus on what Booth was saying, shaking his head in confusion as he realized that the voice that was speaking to him wasn't the one he expected. He opened his eyes and raised his head off his desk to find himself looking into the worried eyes of Dr. Temperance Brennan.
"Dr. Sweets? Are you alright? It was very difficult to rouse you."
Over her shoulder, Booth was smirking as he looked over Sweets' desk. "Were you having a bad dream, Sweets? Maybe you shouldn't be reading about…" He glanced at the case file next to where Sweets' head was laying. "the Starkweather case? Whoa, that's an oldie."
"Charles Starkweather? The spree killer who murdered eleven people in Nebraska in 1958?" Brennan asked, grabbing the file from Booth.
"Yes." Sweets replied, taking the folder and placing it back with his paperwork. "I am conducting a lecture next month at Quantico about the psychological insights into spree killers, and the Starkweather case has always fascinated me. I guess I fell asleep while I was reading."
"And listening to Springsteen." Booth held up the CD cover for Nebraska. "Good choice. Kinda bleak, though."
"It adds the appropriate mood music to the literature, that's true." Sweets shook his head one more time and stood up. "And anyway, why are you two here? Did we have an appointment?"
"Nope. A case. And we need you to aim your shrink ray at the suspect we're about to bring in. You up for that?" Booth clapped his hands together and smiled. "Come on, Bones! Sweets! Let's go catch us a bad guy."
Booth started out of the office, Brennan right on his heels. Sweets followed more slowly, a smile crossing his face as he watched the partners practically run for the elevator.
"Yeah." Sweets nodded. "Let's go catch us a bad guy."
Join us next week when Booth and Brennan explore the possibility of redemption and forgiveness in The Sheep in Wolf's Clothing by Rynogeny.
Author's Note: This episode was inspired by the Bruce Springsteen song/album, Nebraska…which in turn was inspired by the real-life Starkweather case. Where possible, the episode follows the case quite closely, although obviously the characters from Bones are inserted where they seemed to fit best. The victims, killers and crime scenes are as described in court documents, newspaper accounts, and online reviews of the actual case, although we had to take some creative liberties with the timeline and resolution in order for it to work. This episode not intended to be a primer for the case; it is only used as jumping-off point.