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14. Facing the Facts

"Whoa, got a hit on our Mary Rushmore," Booth called to Brennan, from where she stood at the doorway talking to Director Hacker.

Brennan smiled dismissively, and walked away from Andrew, who left promptly.

"Talk to me," she sighed, plopping down in one of Booth's chairs.

He looked at her, deliberating a train of thought.

"Okay, well, her 'black file' has a pretty interesting back story. You wanna hear it?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?"

"Good point." He tried to ignore her bland reply. "So, Mary Rushmore was born in Quebec. Her father was Canadian, and her mother American. Mary is nine years younger than her brother, Joshua Blake. The two are only half-blooded siblings. Joshua's father is unknown."

"Unknown, how?"

"Off the grid."

"Ah. Okay. So, the rest?"

"After Mary's mother gave birth, she left her daughter, with the father, and took off with nine year-old Josh. Years later, Mary tried to get in contact with her brother, couldn't find him, so she contacted a service, and they dug up a bit of dirt on her older bro. She found him, clearly. Mary has also been married three times. Her most recent marriage was, of course, our Evan Rushmore."

Brennan massaged a temple, leaning her head into the same hand. "Why would Mary lie so much about her family? Is she protecting them?"

"I don't know Bones. That is a possibility though. What could also be a possibility, is that she is ashamed of them for some reason or other."

"Well, her mother did abandon her."

"Yes-"

"May I suggest you do a check-up on her father?"

"Already done." Booth tapped a few keys into his computer, and a document flashed onto the screen. "Mathieu Pierson. Had a clean record until seven years prior. He was caught in a combat attack on the police forces of Quebec, and was shot dead. When he died, those two siblings lost the only support they had."

Brennan nodded, slowly processing every detail. "That was the same year that Mary married her first husband, am I correct?"

"You got it. That year-" Booth typed a few keys, and hit enter. Reading off the screen, he continued, "Mary married Kevin Giles. He had the pretty dollar. No kids. Estranged family. My guess, is Mary would have been the only person on his will. Anyway, Kevin disappeared a year or so after Mary married him. Case went cold, and he was declared dead."

"And the other husband?"

"I'm getting to it."

"Why didn't you just get Agent Heath to get it for you?" Brennan couldn't understand why he would waste his own valuable time, when they had a case that needed all the time they could give, to crack it.

"Because you asked me to."

She was taken back by his response. "Do I really have such a great sway over your actions?"

She received no reply.

"Okay – it's here," said Booth quickly, eyes scanning the new profile. "Nicholas Gates, age thirty-seven when he went missing. He has two daughters, Charlotte and Elizabeth. It says here that his first wife, Margaret died giving birth to the youngest, Elizabeth. Mary Rushmore – although previously Mary Giles – married him, and their relationship lasted for about two years before he went off the grid. Like before, case went cold, and he was declared dead. His two daughters now live with his late wife's parents in New York." He looked up from the screen to watch his partner.

Her eyes were knotted together, and she bit her lower lips between her teeth so harshly, that the rouge blood nearly surfaced.

"Are you okay, Bones?" he asked tentatively.

"I don't know," she replied a little shakily. "I think...well...think about it."

"Think about what? You're not making sense."

"Was Nicholas wealthy?"

"He and his wife built up some great money; apparently they had business lifted from the ground in racehorses."

"Don't you see the recurring pattern here?" Brennan asked, a look of revelation colouring her glazed eyes.

Booth remained silent, allowing her to explain.

"She married wealthy men, who had a fortune. She married those who didn't have any other family – with Nicholas being the exception; he may have had two daughters, but I don't see his late wife's family making an extreme effort to find him. If anything, they probably blamed him for the death of their daughter."

"You know what, Bones? You are brilliant, you know that? Brilliant."

"Yes, I know."

"So Mary marries those who have very loose family connections, and kills them for their money?"

"Be poetic about it, if you wish, but that is what I think."

"Fantastic. So we have an aim."

"Yes, we do. Can you think of any rational reason supporting her need for a secure inflow of cash?"

Booth stood and began to pace his office thoughtfully. "She was separated from her brother...her mother is gone, her father dead...she wants to stay in her brother's life, he is successful-"

"Or not so much; although I chose the winery myself for a holiday destination, it was apparently poorly portrayed in the article I read. It had been suffering financial difficulties on and off for the past ten years."

"Genius, Bones!'

"Why?"

"Because if Mary Rushmore wanted to stay in her brother's life, and he was struggling to keep his business afloat, she could have been marrying these men, and then cashing in on their inheritances."

"Oh..." Brennan replied thoughtfully. "So are we assuming that Mary knew that Evan had the potential to make it in the music industry, so she sat back and waited for his money to come in?"

Booth shrugged. "Sounds probable." He expected his partner to offer more, but instead she collapsed into a sad silence.

"What's the matter?" he asked compassionately, drawing a seat closer to hers and settling down.

"The records said that she was married to three men, correct?" Brennan asked, eyes wide.

"Yes."

"They said that her previous husbands' cases went cold."

"Yes."

"We have multiple murders on our hands, Booth."

"Bones, we don't know that for sure-"

"You have to admit that the symmetry of this case is lining up."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"But what?" She crossed her arms.

"We have no evidence, Bones," Booth argued exhaustedly. "All we have are assumptions. Probabilities. There is no evidence in this case! It's clean. Very tidy. Clearly, the person we're dealing with knows how to leave behind an untraceable track. I'm telling you, this is a career killer. We're allowed to lose one, sometimes, Bones, okay? That's life. We're gonna lose this one."

"No." Brennan shook her head viciously, and stood.

"Yes, Bones. Reality. You can get all of the facts you want, but they're not going to add up."

"Yes, they will."

"No, they won't."

"I'll make them add up."

"You can't." Booth stood. "Look, all of our suspects are tight-mouthed. They're putting us on edge. This case is going to drive a wedge between us."

Brennan looked at him sadly. "It already has, Booth," she whispered in torment, yanking her back up from the floor, and existed his office without another word.

-~B&B~-

Morning sunlight filled the Jeffersonian the following morning, wisping away horrors of the day before, if any had existed. Brennan however, missed this, cooped away in the Bone Room.

"The metacarpal shows evidence of industrial wear," Brennan stated, moving her hand in a strumming motion.

"Bren, the guy was a musician. He played a guitar. Seriously, though; what's wrong?" Angela set down her clipboard. "Why are you running over insignificant details that you haven't missed?"

"Because I might find something. I know that you think I have analysed all I can, but I can't find anything else."

"What about his head wound? Why aren't you examining that, instead of the extremities?"

"Because I have a feeling that it isn't going to lead us anywhere."

"A feeling? Bren, the head wound was cause of death. Analysing it will help us find the murder weapon."

"You've already tried, Ange, and you couldn't find anything. Unusual, given the recourses you have, but you failed to produce any evidence. Please, stop telling me how to do my job," Brennan snapped.

Angela stood back tearfully, hand on her womb.

Taking a deep breath, Brennan realised the biting words were wrong, after they had been spoken. "Ange, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't want to be angry at you. I shouldn't be angry with you. Nothing...none of this is your fault." She ripped of her gloves and tossed them in a nearby wastebasket.

"What can you tell about the head wound?" Angela then asked, dismissing the snappy moment, and apology she received from her friend.

"It's not cause of death," Brennan replied with a shrug. "It was already starting to heal at time of death. The whole scull appears to have a deformed look about it, and you're not going to like what I am thinking."

Her best friend motioned for her to continue.

"This deformity and strange head wound? It occurred post-mortem. We have no cause of death."

"So we're back to square one?"

Brennan nodded.

"Great," Angela hissed, retrieving her clipboard. "This case just gets better by the day."

"Well, I might have just saved the day," Hodgins said suddenly, cheerily skipping into the Bone Room. "We supposed that our victim was buried shortly before his death, did we not?"

"Just cut to the chase, Jack," Angela requested tiredly.

"Okay. So our victim was buried in a paddock that contained lots of decomposed horse manure. The soil was very rich and high in nutrition."

"Could it have been Mary Rushmore's place?" Brennan queried helpfully. "I mean, she does live on a very well kept horse property."

Hodgins nodded. "If I can get soil samples from that particular place, I might be able to match them with the soil found on Evan."

"Contact Mr Bray, Dr Hodgins. He can accompany you."

Brennan retrieved another pair of gloves and made her way to the gurney again.

"Sweetie?" Angela positioned herself closer to the anthropologist.

"Mmm."

"Bren?"

"Yes?" She looked up.

"Shouldn't you call Booth?"

Swallowing hard, Brennan tried to conceal the hurt from her eyes. "No," she strangled, shaking her head weakly.

Angela, although still understandably offended by Brennan's outburst, felt sadly towards her best friend. She was hurting. Something had happened.

"Are you busy tonight?" she asked, taking a step closer as Brennan inspected a clavicle.

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Brennan premeditated. Considered turning her best friend down. Then settled on realising that she really wanted to talk to Angela, out of the workplace. She wanted to spend time with her.

"If I have any plans, they are not relevant. Would you like to come to my place?" she offered hopefully.

Her pregnant friend rubbed her torso. "I would love that. Does seven-thirty work for you?"

"Yes. Perfect. I'll see you then."

Nodding, Angela left the platform and waddled to her office.

Brennan leant towards the bones, and stared them down. For hours, she analysed the victim. Lunch passed it's mark. Afternoon was dawning, when she finally registered what had been there all along.

"Oh my god," she breathed, taking a step back from the table. This was it.

More to come - don't worry!

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