Author's note: a huge thank you to those of you who have left a review. I loved finding them in my inbox; they made my day! Hope you'll all like this new chapter.
Chapter Six
It wasn't like Brennan to lose sleep over something—anything—for she prided herself on mastering the art of compartmentalizing. Therefore, she had no clue why she couldn't have found sleep that night and how, instead, she had been restless with thoughts of Booth, the tension between them and her conversation with Angela. It confused her to no end.
Yawning, due to the lack of sleep, she strolled into the FBI building the next morning, taking the elevator up to her partner's office. They had an appointment with Sweets that morning, but she needed to talk to Booth in private first. Arriving at the right floor, she left the narrow confines of the elevator, intent on finding out if Angela had been right and, hopefully, resolving their problems. Without knocking, she walked into Booth's office and up to his desk.
"Morning, Bones," he greeted her, looking up from the newspaper he was reading. "Have you read the Washington Post? There's another article about the fairground in it."
"No, I haven't. Angela thinks I hurt you. Did I?" she asked him, not beating around the bush.
He put down the paper. "What makes her think that?"
"The kiss."
His eyes widened in distress. "You talked to her about that? Don't you think that's personal… private… between us?" he exclaimed in a stutter. "And what happened to your plan of moving on?"
"Our partnership feels strained, Booth, and I needed her advice. She basically told me that we are uncomfortable with each other because I misjudged the kiss. That's how she thinks I hurt you. I need to know if she's right."
"Can we not talk about this now? We have to see Sweets in ten minutes."
"Now seems like a good time. You rather want to talk about it during therapy?"
"Absolutely not. Sweets would have a field day. It's none of his business, anyway."
"So, you don't want to resolve this? You like the way things are between us right now?"
"We can resolve it by forgetting about it and moving on, just like you suggested."
"Obviously, we can't," Brennan sighed. "Why did you kiss me? Was it to make me feel better or because you're in love with me?"
"In love with you?" Booth repeated, hoping his gulp hadn't been audible.
"That's what Angela seems to think."
"You really shouldn't talk to her about these things, you know how she is."
"Yes, she's usually right about these things. And judging by your actions, she might be right this time as well. Is she?"
"My actions?"
"The point is, we kissed and ever since then things have been awkward."
"Things are not awkward. It's just… stress from not having solved this case yet," Booth told her, trying to sound confident, as he stood up from his desk. "Let's just talk to Sweets."
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Sweets studied the partners as they sat down across from him. The manner in which they walked into his office and took their places on the couch always told him a lot. That morning their entrance spoke volumes. There was definite tension. Based on his last session with them, he had decided to have them fill out the same questionnaire he had given them during one of their first meetings. Seeing them this morning, he was even more content he'd made that decision. The outcome would be extremely interesting and he couldn't wait to examine it.
"You're doing one of your silent exercises again?" Booth spoke up, getting uncomfortable under the therapist's stare.
"Actually, I had something else in mind for today's session," Sweets replied and grabbed the two questionnaires from the coffee table that stood between them. He held them out to the partners.
"Another questionnaire?" Booth said, taking a closer look at what he'd just been handed.
"Not another questionnaire, the exact same one in point of fact."
"Did you misplace them or is there a problem with our answers?" Brennan wondered.
"Neither. It's just that it was wicked insightful and since roughly a year has passed, I'd like you to fill them out again, so I can compare your answers to last years."
"What exactly will that tell you?" Booth inquired, not liking the words 'wicked insightful' in relation to having to provide the young therapist with an insight into his personality through his answers. He didn't want his personal feelings and desires to be labeled that way, better yet, he didn't feel like sharing them with Sweets in the first place.
"Obviously, I don't know yet."
Brennan opened the questionnaire booklet. "We need to do this right now? Here?"
"No, you can take them with you. If I could have them back by tomorrow morning, that would be awesome. That is, of course, if you have enough time to answer them today. In that case, we can discuss the outcome tomorrow afternoon? Say, at five?"
Booth looked at Sweets. "Does that mean we can go now?"
Sweets nodded. "That's correct."
"Great," Booth replied as he got up from the couch. Brennan mirrored his actions and followed him to the door.
"Agent Booth, I'm sure you remember from last time that there's an essay question. Please, take the time to answer it seriously. I think your partnership deserves that much."
Booth glanced at Brennan for a moment, before looking back at Sweets. "Sure."
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When the partners returned from their shortest therapy session with Sweets to date, they found Jacob Cohen sitting on a chair right outside of Booth's office, evidently waiting for them.
"Good morning, Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan," the fairground's owner greeted them, getting up from the chair and firmly shaking their hands.
"Mr. Cohen, what brings you here?" Booth asked and opened the door to his office for the man. "Why don't we step inside?"
"This morning's paper, actually," Cohen replied as he entered the office, followed by Brennan and Booth. "There was another article in the Washington Post."
"Yeah, I read it," Booth said as they all sat down.
"Then you must understand my concerns. The longer it takes to solve this case, the more visitors I lose. The fairground's been in my family for more than sixty years, I really don't want to have to close it."
"We understand, Mr. Cohen. We're doing the best we can to solve the case and find the murderer."
"And I have faith that you will. That's not why I'm here. It's just that the article made me think about what happened that day. There's one thing, other than the murder itself, that puzzles me and that's why my mechanic hadn't fixed the portable air conditioner. I talked to him and he said he just forgot. He's worked for my family for over thirty years, so I want to believe him. Anyway, when I took a look at the thing myself, I saw that the wire was cut. I only noticed this morning, so I'm not sure when that was done, or even who did it, but if I remember correctly you found a wire cutter in a garbage bin."
"We did," Brennan confirmed.
"Right. So, I can't help but think it's somehow connected to the murder."
"You suspect your mechanic?" Booth asked. "That would be Peter Warner, right?"
"Yes. Look, I don't suspect him. Like I said, Pete's been with me for a long time and we have a good relationship. We never had any problems. I also don't mean to meddle in your investigation, but I thought that it might be useful information. Besides, I don't want to be charged with obstruction of justice, or something like that. I've got enough problems as it is."
"It was wise of you to come here, Mr. Cohen," Booth acknowledged. "A lot of people have access to your office, however, am I right?"
"That's true. It could have been anyone. It's never locked during opening hours and most of my employees have keys."
"We should dust the air conditioner for fingerprints, see if there are any on it that match the partial print we found on the wire cutter," Brennan mentioned, looking over at Booth.
Cohen looked worried. "I think my fingerprints will be all over it, too. Usually, I'm the one who turns it on and off. After all, it is my office."
"We can identify and discern different fingerprints and see if there's one that matches the one left behind on the wire cutter," Brennan explained to him. "So, if that's not your fingerprint, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."
"I've never touched that wire cutter. I'm not technical at all, it's why I hired a mechanic in the first place. Pete does all the maintenance and repairs at the fairground, while Hugh did some of the simpler maintenance work," Cohen told them. "But the wire cutter is not the murder weapon, right? You told me it was the glass from the mirror. So, Pete's innocent, it can't be him…"
"Everybody's innocent until proven guilty. But we'll definitely look into it," Booth promised.
"Okay," Cohen said with a nod and stood up.
"Dr. Brennan and I will have to make some arrangements about how to proceed. In the meantime, can you make sure that your office will be off-limits to everyone?"
"Of course. Thank you for your time."
Booth smiled politely. "No problem."
As soon as Cohen had left the office and was out of earshot, Brennan leaned over to Booth, looking at him. "Booth, it has to be Warner. The oil we found on the wire cutter was of the same type as the oil found on the glass and the costume."
"And Warner is a mechanic. He must work with oil," Booth added in response, finishing her train of thought.
"Hodgins is analyzing oil samples to find out what type it was exactly."
"Alright. We'll head over to the Jeffersonian to ask Hodgins if he's found anything yet, then we'll drive over to the fairground, dust for fingerprints and question Warner."
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The partners arrived at the Medico-Legal Lab and found Hodgins at his workstation in his usual position, bent over a microscope. Noticing their presence, he looked up at them.
"Were you able to specify the type of oil?" Brennan asked him.
"Yes, I compared the gaschromatogram of the samples and I…"
"Gaschromo-what?" Booth asked.
"Gaschromatography is a common analytical method for comparing oil samples," Hodgins explained. "Generally, gaschromatograms of two oil samples are compared by comparing the shapes of the envelops of the n-alkanes, the unresolved backgrounds and individual peak intensities."
"Right," Booth replied, sounding unconvinced.
"What did you find?" Brennan inquired.
"It a lubricant oil. One of the most common ways to characterize liquid lubricants is by the type of base oil used. In this case mineral oil. Chemically, mineral oils mostly consist of carbon-heavy alkanes, which are compounds that are made up of just carbon and hydrogen molecules. That's what I initially found on the evidence."
"Typically, lubricants contain 90 base oil and less than 10 additives. The additives deliver reduced friction and wear, increased viscosity, and resistance to corrosion and oxidation," Brennan summed up.
"Among others, yes. Good quality lubricants are usually formulated with additives that form chemical bonds with surfaces to prevent corrosion and rust," Hodgins mentioned. "I can't say the oil found on the evidence belongs to that category. It's a lubricant, sure, but certainly not the best kind." He looked at Booth. "Cheap stuff."
"Well, the fairground probably doesn't have the financial means to use quality products," Booth reasoned.
"Using a good quality lubricant will protect the equipment better. If it prevents corrosion and rust longer, it's a good investment," Hodgins argued.
Brennan nodded. "I agree."
"I think they're more worried about paying everyone's salary on time," Booth said. "Anyway, if it's lubricant oil, the evidence points to Warner all the more. We should go pay him a visit at the fairground, Bones."
"Right. I'll go and get my kit, so we can dust for fingerprints as well," Brennan replied and made her way over to her office. She grabbed the supplies she needed and put everything in her bag. She was just about to head back to Booth when Angela entered her office.
"Have you done something yet?" the artist asked with a grin.
"Define something," Brennan replied.
"Well, off the top of my head… oh, I don't know, tell Booth how you feel," Angela said, stressing the last part.
"Then, no."
"Why not?"
"What's the use, Angela? He's the one who drew the line and doesn't want to cross it."
Angela frowned. "He drew the line? By kissing you? I don't understand."
"No before," Brennan sighed. "I did try to talk about the kiss this morning, but he was adamant. I'd suggested earlier that we'd move on and now he's intent on doing just that."
"Because his ego was bruised."
"No, because the kiss didn't mean anything to him."
"Ah, so it did mean something to you."
"I admit I felt… something," Brennan said as she slung the bag over her shoulder. "Ange, I really need to go now. Booth's waiting."
"Alright," Angela nodded, feeling somewhat disappointed. "I'm here if you feel like talking."
Brennan nodded, then left her office. She walked back to Hodgins' workstation, but Booth was nowhere to be seen.
"He's getting coffee," Hodgins explained, pointing in the direction of the upstairs lounge area. "Said you were taking too long."
"Booth," Brennan yelled, hoping he'd hear her. Fortunately, he did and his head popped over the railing. "Can we go?"
Booth returned from the lounge area and followed Brennan on her way out of the Lab.
"Sorry, it just that it took you so long to get your things and I didn't want to bother Hodgins," Booth apologized when he'd caught up to her.
"You didn't want to bother Hodgins, or you didn't want to be bothered by him?"
Booth grinned. "Both. Plus I managed to drink half a cup of coffee while I was up there."
"Did you know that coffee has been associated with birth defects, miscarriages, inability to conceive and sluggish sperm?"
"I so did not need to hear that," Booth said hoarsely. "Why'd you even need to bring that up?"
"I was just trying to make conversation and facts are what I'm at ease with. They're objective," Brennan replied. "Besides, these days I'm not sure which topics are still okay to discuss with you. I constantly seem to make you uncomfortable."
"We can talk about coffee," Booth said quickly. "You drink it, too, by the way."
"Well, scientific studies have refuted most of the negative effects coffee was thought to have. And it does have many healthy qualities. For instance, caffeine increases intellectual activity when fatigued or bored."
Booth rolled his eyes. "When fatigued? Why can't you just say tired?"
"Those are synonyms."
"Yeah," Booth sighed and was glad they had reached his car. He opened the door and climbed inside. He started the engine and waited for Brennan to slide into the passenger seat. When she was buckled up and ready to go, Booth shifted into gear. He drove the car out of the underground parking lot and onto Jefferson Drive, steering it towards the Cohen & Co. Fairground.
Brennan opened her bag, which she had placed at her feet, and took out the questionnaire booklet Sweets had given her. "Is it okay if I start on this now?"
Booth looked to his right and eyed the questionnaire. "Sure." As Brennan started on the first few questions, Booth drove on in silence. After a while, he glanced at his partner again. "You think our answers will change much?"
"We're not supposed to talk about it," Brennan replied, not even looking up, which led Booth to release a sigh and shift his concentration back to the road ahead. A heavy silence occupied the car for the rest of the ride.
When they reached the fairground's car park, Booth parked the vehicle and they climbed out. After having shown his badge at the entrance gate, they entered the park and walked straight over to Cohen's office. He had noticed them already and came out of his office to greet the pair. After exchanging niceties, the three of them stepped into the office.
"So, how does this work?" Cohen asked after showing them to the portable air conditioner.
"It's fairly simple," Booth replied. "Dr. Brennan will dust the surface for fingerprints. If she finds any, the prints will be coated with powder, then lifted and taken for identification at the lab."
"Fingers are coated with perspiration and oil. When they touch any relatively smooth surface, the friction releases the oil from between the ridges and a print is left," Brennan explained as she took the dusting kit out of her bag. She sprinkled a small amount of black powder from the jar onto a small tray, before grabbing the Zephyr brush and rotating the shaft between her thumb and fingers, so its bristles spread apart. She dipped the tip of the brush in the powder and then gently tapped the handle to remove excess powder from the fibreglass filaments.
While Brennan started the process of dusting for prints, Booth turned his attention back to Cohen. "While she works on the air conditioner, I would like to ask you some questions about the victim," he said and Cohen nodded. "We gathered from your employees that he wasn't doing a very good job looking after the park and most of them didn't understand why you didn't fire him, or why you hired him in the first place."
"Well, I admit that he wasn't the most effective in his work, especially since he was almost completely deaf, but I just couldn't let him go."
"Why not? I'm sure you had more effective and efficient ways to spend your money than on his salary," Brennan interjected.
"Bones," Booth shushed, shaking his head at her.
"Hugh's salary wasn't exactly exorbitant. I hired him because he was a friend of my father. Hugh only had one daughter, whom he didn't get to see much. His wife died nine years ago. Cancer. If it hadn't been for this job, he wouldn't have gotten out of the house very much."
"I see. You told us this morning that Peter Warner is in charge of maintenance and repairs. Hugh Everton also did some of the maintenance work. How was their relationship?"
"Having worked here for so long, Pete was used to being the only one in charge of maintenance. I believe he really enjoys the work, so having to let Hugh handle some of the workload wasn't always easy on him, but he knew it was too much to take care of all by himself. He accepted it. Apart from that, though, I don't think they had any problems."
"His niece, Wendy Fisher, told us that he sometimes talked to you about Everton's inability to look after the park. She believes she can do a better job and her uncle often spoke with you about her ideas for improvements."
Cohen nodded. "That's true, he did. But I never perceived that as a problem. I explained to Wendy that, while I'm glad she has an interest in the fairground, I simply don't have the financial means to do any upgrades right now. I wish it were different, too. She has some great ideas."
"Did Warner mention anything to you on the day of the murder?"
"No, but I only spoke to him in the morning," Cohen answered. "You know, I'm sure there wasn't any bad blood between them. He was just looking out for his niece."
"Well, that's something we'd like to ask Warner," Booth said. "Bones, how's it going?"
"I've found several prints on the air conditioner itself and two partial prints on the wire. I've lifted them, so I'm done here," Brennan answered, already busy putting the evidence and her kit back into her shoulder bag.
"Alright," Booth replied. "Mr. Cohen, where can we find Warner?"
"He's fixing the coffee machine at the food court, something that was on Hugh's to-do list actually," Cohen answered. "Or if he's done already, you might find him at the tool shed behind the Big Wheel."
"Thank you."
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The partners walked into the food court and found Peter Warner behind the counter, cleaning up. Jerry Crawford, the young man who actually worked the counter, looked at them expectantly.
"What can I get you?"
"Actually, we're here to talk to your colleague," Booth replied, motioning his head to Warner. "Mr. Warner, can we have a word with you?"
Warner turned around to face them. "Sure." He looked at Crawford next. "It should be working now. Just switch it on and let it percolate through without any ground coffee, okay?"
"Alright, thanks," Crawford replied and went to work.
Warner walked around the counter and followed Booth and Brennan over to one of the many vacant tables. They sat down; Warner on one side, the partners across from him.
"You two the detectives working on the case?" Warner asked them. "Such a terrible loss, one can barely comprehend it."
"Actually, I'm a forensic anthropologist, working for the Jeffersonian Institute. My partner's with the FBI," Brennan corrected him. "But you're right, we're trying to solve the murder of Hugh Everton."
"Which is why we would like to ask you some questions," Booth added, looking at Warner and sizing him up.
"I understand. You've already spoken with my niece, Wendy. She told me all about you."
"We're more interested in what you can tell us about that evening?" Booth asked him.
"Not much, I'm afraid. For most of the afternoon I was fixing the back of the fun house, but I remember leaving relatively early. Now I'm quite glad I did."
"You didn't see or hear anything suspicious?"
"Well, I did catch a glimpse of young Ricky and Charles arguing. I'm not normally one for eavesdropping, of course, but I think it had something to do with being popular with the children and something about a red nose. I can't remember much else. Maybe you should ask them yourself."
"We already did," Booth replied, wondering how Warner could have overheard the argument if he'd left the fairground early. He decided to return to that line of questioning at a later stage. "We understand that you've worked here a long time."
"Oh yes, a very long time. Thirty-one years, next month. I've seen many staff members come and go, but Jacob normally knows how to run things. His father thought him well. He's usually capable of making the right decisions."
"But not always?" Brennan asked him.
Warner laughed. "Is anyone?"
"How well do you get on with your colleagues?" Booth asked, quickly moving on when he noticed that Brennan was about to answer Warner's rhetorical question.
"As well as could be expected in this negative working atmosphere. I don't have problems with anyone, although I can't deny having argued with Charles on a couple of occasions, but most of the people here are guilty of that. He's so difficult sometimes."
"What about Hugh Everton?"
"He was a nice enough man, but we had our… disagreements. Some of our work, shall I say, overlapped. When Hugh didn't get around to doing the things he should have done, I often had to step in and take over, do it myself. I think he never really enjoyed his job. He was almost completely deaf, so we didn't speak much. Anyway, my niece often complained about his work to me, or lack thereof. I told her not to cause trouble, but I know she could do a better job any day. She's so talented. It's what I told Jacob, but he doesn't listen, just tells me there's no money."
"Right," Booth said as he studied the tool belt around Warner's waist. Its pockets were filled with different types of tools, except for one pocket, which was empty. "What's with the empty pocket? Lost something?"
Warner looked down at the tool belt. "Oh yeah, I'm missing one of my tools. I suspect Hugh borrowed it, but now I can't ask him where he left it…"
"What kind of tool?" Brennan asked, as she noticed that the tools in the belt pockets visibly matched the wire cutter they'd found. It seemed to come from the same set for all the tools had similar dark blue handles.
"A wire cutter, real nice one, too. Now I'll probably never get it back."
"A wire cutter," Booth repeated, as if he hadn't expected that answer. "Do you happen to work with lubricant oil?"
"I do maintenance and repairs, so yes. Why are you asking?"
Booth stood up and Brennan quickly copied his move. "Mr. Warner, I think we'll have to continue this conversation elsewhere."
"What do you mean? Where?"
"At the FBI, I think you know why."
I'd love to hear what you thought of this sixth chapter!
Only three more to go...