A/N: Please drop a review so I know what you think. :) I always welcome constructive criticism.

Chapter 13

Sally LeRoy's Apartment, Sharpsburg, Maryland, Tuesday at 2:30 pm

Booth knocked on the door and Sally quickly admitted the partners into her apartment. Behind them, she locked the door and then went for the file folder on her kitchen table.

"I realize this is a bit unorthodox but I felt you needed to know before anyone else," Sally pulled a piece of paper out of the folder and handed it to the FBI agent. He quickly scanned the report and looked up at her, his eyebrows raised.

"Are you sure?" Booth wanted to know.

"Double sure. I took some prints off his coffee cup to double check," Sally explained.

"What's going on?" Brennan asked as she took a look at the report Booth handed her.

"Sheriff Townshend's fingerprints are on Leon Fick's open window sills," her partner said.

"That's not the only place I found them. They were on the door knob and on a coffee mug on the kitchen table," the forensic expert handed over more reports.

"This ties him to being there at the time of the murder," Brennan said.

"Not entirely. Any good defense attorney could say that at some other time, Townshend visited Leon and left the prints then. It does fit our theory that Leon knew his killer. Townshend stops by for a visit; Fick would open the door to him because he would not consider the Sheriff an intruder. They share a cup of coffee and when the sleeping pills take affect, he uses the shotgun. Afterwards, he opens the windows to let some fresh air in. Still the potato thing is quite the trick," Booth wasn't entirely happy.

"I did some checking and the Sheriff doesn't have a prescription for sleeping pills. There is an unidentified print however that I found on the frying pan, plates, and utensils," Sally told them.

"If we get one to match it to, we'll let you know. In the meantime, are these the only copies of what you have? We need to make sure the chain of evidence isn't broken if it does turn out that Townshend is involved," the G-man wanted to know.

"I have official copies locked in my desk," she nodded.

"Good. Tell no one of what you've found. In fact, come with us. If Townshend suspects anything, he may try something. I'd feel better if you weren't left alone," Booth was getting concerned. That last thing he wanted was for this sweet girl to get murdered because she knew too much. The three left the apartment and headed for the SUV. Soon they were back on the thruway.

Antietam National Battlefield, Just Outside Sharpsburg, Maryland, Tuesday at 2:30 pm

"Dude, we've been all over this battlefield. There are no nine millimeter bullets out here," Hodgins was getting frustrated.

"Dr. Brennan says that every bone tells a story and that every bone is important, no matter how insignificant it may seem, there is always a piece of evidence hidden somewhere," Simon told him.

"Now you're starting to sound like Zach," the entomologist shookhis head as he continued to wave the metal detector over the ground. It continued to pick up fragments of metal that he assumed to be shrapnel from canons. Nothing shaped like a modern day bullet. Even a damaged modern day would bullet would not appear to be as dense as the objects he'd been finding. In fact, a public service announcement about the dangers of lead in old paint popped into his head as he tried to imagine living with the hard metal everywhere. As a Civil War soldier, the bullets were made out of lead. At times, they made their own bullets. Granted, lead wouldn't do much harm outside your body, minus the point of it being shot at, but inside was a whole other matter. So lost in thought was Hodgins that he didn't notice the tree roots sticking up out of ground. The entomologist tripped and used his arms to brace himself.

"Ow!" He called out.

"Hodgins! You ok?" Simon asked as he rushed over to help his coworker.

"I think so. I just tripped over this stupid tree root," the entomologist picked himself up. He had landed on his metal detector and he could feel a bruise forming on his shoulder. It was then that he noticed where he was.

"Hey how far back would you say is this from where Sam Butter's body was found?" Hodgins asked.

"I'd say fifty feet, give or take," Simon estimated.

"Didn't I check most of this area?" Jack wondered.

"I thought so but we never checked the tree," the intern pointed out.

"Then let's do it," the entomologist lifted his metal detector and began to scan the tree's trunk.

"I got something!" He shouted as the detector went nuts.

"Is it a nine millimeter?" Simon inquired.

"What's left of one," Hodgins smirked. He quickly grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the Jeffersonian.

"Hi, Cam this is Hodgins. So should I retrieve the bullet or bring in the tree?"

The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, Tuesday at 3:30 pm

"What?" The Head of Forensics shook her head. Angela looked up at her boss. Whatever she heard must have been another crazy suggestion from Jack. After a pause, she said,

"I'll get a hold of the Federal Parks Commissioner and call you back." Cam hung up and turned to Angela.

"So why are you calling the Federal Parks Commissioner?" The forensic artist asked.

"I have to talk to him about a tree," she sighed and left the room to find the phone number she needed. Angela shrugged and turned back to the Angelator. The pieces of the puzzles were fitting together and she almost had the bullet back into its original form. As a young girl the forensic artist had enjoyed piecing puzzles together to create masterpieces of art. Now she used that favorite pastime tool to put bones, bullets, and faded handwritten notes back together. A smile crossed her face as the bullet pieces formed the picture she wanted. Using that picture, she quickly ran the striations through the criminal database. Now all there was to do was to wait for a hit.

Fargo, North Dakota, Tuesday at 4:00 pm

Charlie sat in the Sheriff's office trying to piece together what exactly was going on. He had visited the friend who was living with the victim, Tom Bailey. Something didn't jive with what the man claimed but he had no proof to refute it either. At this point, he figured he'd better call Booth. The seasoned agent would offer his advice and hopefully he could act on them. He picked up his cell phone when the Sheriff stopped him.

"Something isn't right," he said.

"What makes you say that?" Charlie asked.

"I can't find a record of a Tom Bailey," Sheriff George Knut told him. Here was a big decision to make and the rookie field agent made it.

"Get your SWAT team. We just found Jay Moore,"

To Be Continued…