Chapter one is at the crime scene. Tell me if it seems too short.
Chapter 1:
“I'm a biker. Not a motorcyclist, I ride actual, two-wheel, no motor bikes. I go along the same path every morning, so I guess I just knew something was up when I smelled that... smell,” This was John Patterson's reply when asked how he found the body.
“Well, the body was nearly 20 yards off the bike trail, Mr. Patterson,” Agent Booth would have liked to close up the case fast. No one really likes working on a weekend.
“I've got a good nose. What can I say? Should that make me a suspect?” John shifted back on his heals, “Do you really think that if I had killed... whoever this person is, I would have called it in, and waited for the FBI?”
Booth couldn't think of an argument, “You don't seem too freaked by the body.”
“I'm a little shaken up. Death is death, though, in the end,” John shrugged.
“Hm,” Booth crossed his arms tighter and didn't say anything. It was mid-Saturday and he was, once again, in the middle of a crime scene. A body had been called in less than 20 minutes ago by John Patterson, and already swarms of FBI forensic investigators, cops, and reporters where gathered around the small patch of woods in which a skeletonized body had been discovered, lying in the dried up leaves under the new summer green of the trees.
“May I go now?” John asked, a sardonic edge to his voice. He obviously had places to go, things to do, and unlike Booth, he had all day to do them. Without waiting for a reply, John swept off.
Booth meandered slowly towards Brennan, who was, of course, next to the body. Normally, he didn't mind, perhaps even enjoyed Brennan's lessons on forensics. Today, he wasn't much in the mood, but he brought himself to ask the routine questions.
“Boy or girl?” He directed the question toward Brennan.
“Neither,” She looked up at him, squinting against the midday sun.
“Alien?” He offered a playful smile.
“No, Booth-” She seemed to catch the joke, “Oh,” She laughed, “Because it's highly unlikely it would be an alien.”
Booth nodded, “Right, Bones.”
Brennan laughed again, before regaining composure, “This victim was not a child. She was probably more than forty years old,” She studied the pelvis, “Given birth at least once.” Her eyes seemed to catch something else, “Look, Booth,” She lifted the left hand.
“She was engaged,” Booth nodded, his face now drained of what ever playfulness had been there just a moment before. He was reminded of his last relationship, which had ended at a proposal. What he had hoped only to be the beginning.
Brennan looked worried, “I'm sorry, Booth.”
“It's fine. Was she murdered?”
Brennan laid the hand back down and examined the rest of he remains, “The left ring finger appears to be twisted. Fractures to the right wrist and hand,” She glanced up at him, “Could be defensive. No sign of remodeling.” She moved her focus to the skull, “Blunt force trauma to the occipital and parietal bones, sufficient to be cause of death.”
“Sounds like murder to me,” Booth sighed, knowing now for a fact he wouldn't get his weekend, “You're going to want all this shipped back to the Jeffersonian, aren't you,” He was ready to give the order.
“Yes, and whatever Hodgins needs.”
“Great,” Booth was already turning the the FBI men and women standing nearby, “Ship it all to the Jeffersonian, and whatever, he needs too,” He pointed at Hodgins, then turned back to Brennan, who was straightening up, sore from squatting for too long.
“Come on, Bones,” Booth noticed her latex-gloved hands, “But take your gloves off.”
“Why? They don't have anything on them,” Brennan held her hands out, elbows to her sides and palms up, despite what she said.
“They have dead people on them,” Booth objected.
“There was barely any flesh left on the body, I doubt any of it came off on my gloves,” She took them off anyway.
“You never know, Bones,” Booth swung into his car. Brennan smiled and rolled her eyes before joining him.
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Tue Feb 22, 2011 11:43 pm
