Original subtitles

This is the final

boarding call for Flight 416

with service to Dallas-Ft. Worth. I'm late.

Final boarding call for Flight 416

with service to Dallas-Ft. Worth.

This board is broken.

At this time...

The arrivals board is not working.

Uh, did anybody meet the flight from Guatemala?

Aviateca Airlines? What gate?

Yeah...

I'm late.

Excuse me, uh...

you have a computer glitch at the arrivals board.

Hello?

Sir, excuse me, yoo-hoo.

Great.

Yeah.

Hi. The flight from Guatemala.

Tell me you tried "excuse me" first.

Sweetie!

Yes, I did; welcome home.

Oh! Are you exhausted?

Was Guatemala awful?

Was it horribly backward?

And yet, I was never reduced

to flashing my boobs for information.

Flash them for any fun reasons?

I was literally neck-deep in a mass grave.

Not romantic.

You know, diving head-first in a pit of cadavers

is no way to handle a messy break-up.

Angela, nothing Pete and I ever did was messy.

Then you were not doing the right thing.

Sir, why are you following us?

Attack! Security! Hello!

Who runs this airport?

Kick his ass.

Ow!

Step back now! He attacked me.

I'm Homeland Security!

Oh... little misunderstanding here.

You can put away your guns.

What, is she in charge now?

No, I'll tell you when you can lower your weapons.

Hand over the bag.

Is that what this is about?

Boo.

I am Dr. Temperance Brennan.

I've been in Guatemala for two months,

identifying victims of genocide, including him.

Most people in this situation,

what they do is they sweat it.

Guatemala? Genocide?

How are you scary after that?

You know who doesn't sweat it?

Sociopaths.

I'm not a sociopath.

I'm an anthropologist at the Jeffersonian.

Who works for the FBI.

Which I'd maybe believe if you had ID

that did more than allowed you access

to the cafeteria.

You are illegally transporting human remains, ma'am.

And you assaulted a Homeland Security agent.

Look, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your friends,

but next time, you should identify yourself

before attacking me.

What are you doing here? FBI.

Special Agent Seeley Booth,

Major Crime Investigation, DC.

Bones identifies bodies for us.

Don't call me Bones.

And I do more than identify.

She also writes books.

Fine. She's all yours.

Great. Let's grab your skull, and let's vamoose.

What, that's it? "She's all yours"?

Why did you stop me?

What does it matter? You're free to go. Let's just

grab your bags-- click, click, cling, cling. You set me up.

You got a hold-for-questioning request

from the FBI, didn't you?

I love this book.

Come on.

That's the best you can do?

What? Getting Homeland Security

to snatch me so you can stage a fake rescue?

Well, at least I picked you up at the airport, huh?

Come on, I mean, I went through the appropriate channels,

but your assistant there, he stone-walled me.

Yeah, well, after the last case, I told Zack

never, ever to put you through. He's a good assistant.

You can let me out anywhere along here.

All right, listen, a decomposed corpse was found this morning

at Arlington National Cemetery.

Arlington National Cemetery is full of decomposed corpses.

It's a cemetery. Yeah, but this one

is your type of corpse-- it wasn't in a casket.

If you drive one more block

I'm screaming "kidnap" out the window.

You know what? I'm trying to mend bridges here.

Pull over.

I'm going home.

Great. Could we...

Look, could we just skip this part?

I find you very condescending.

Me? I'm condescending?

I'm not the one who's got to mention

that she's got a doctorate every five minutes.

I am the one with a doctorate.

Yeah, well you know what? I'm the one

with the badge and the gun, huh?

You know, you're not the only forensic anthropologist in town.

Yes, I am. The next nearest is in Montreal.

Parlez-vous français?

What's it going to take, huh?

Full participation in the case.

Fine. Not just lab work; everything.

What? You want me to spit in my hand? We're Scully and Mulder.

I don't know what that means.

It's an olive branch.

Just get back in the car.

What's the context of the find?

Routine landscaping-- they drop the level of the pond,

one of the workmen thought he saw something.

Hi, Zack.

This eco-warrior look works for you.

Thanks. Very action-oriented.

Agent Booth, you remember my assistant, Zack Addy?

Oh, yeah. How was Guatemala?

Dig up lots of massacre victims?

Learn a thing or two about machete strikes?

Zack, I need water samples

and temperature readings from the pond.

Right away, Dr. Brennan.

He's got no sense of discretion, that kid.

Typical squint.

I don't know what that means.

Well, cops get stuck, we bring in people like you.

You know-- squints; you know, who squint at things.

Oh, you mean people with very high IQs

and basic reasoning skills?

Yeah.

What, exactly, am I supposed

to be squinting at?

It's like pornography.

You'll know it when you see it.

Yeah, okay.

This is a crime scene.

The remains are wrapped

in four-mil flat poly construction sheeting.

PVC-coated chicken wire. Weighted.

That's why the body didn't surface during decomposition.

The skeleton is complete, but the skull is in fragments.

What can you tell me? Not much.

She's a young woman, probably between 18 and 22,

approximately five foot three,

race unknown, delicate features.

That's all?

Tennis player. How do you get a pretty

tennis player out of that yuck?

Epiphysis fusion gives age.

Pelvic bone shape gives sex.

Bursitis in the shoulder.

Somebody this young, it must be an athletic injury.

When did she die? Eh...

"Eh"?! What does that even mean?

Means wait until our bug and slime guy takes a look.

No clothing.

You know, in my line of work,

no clothes usually means a sex crime.

In my line of work, it can also mean

the victim favored natural fibers.

Your suit, for example,

will outlast your bones by decades.

Collect silt,

three meters radius to a depth of ten centimeters.

Your FBI forensics team can take the plastic

and the chicken wire; we'll take the rest.

I wish you wouldn't

just give me to the FBI.

As a federally funded institution,

the Jeffersonian must seize every opportunity

to prove our worth to our friends in Congress,

which means I loan you out as I see fit,

especially to federal agencies.

"Loan out" implies property, Dr. Goodman.

The FBI will never respect mere property.

I do not view you as property, Dr. Brennan.

You are one of the Jeffersonian's most valuable assets.

An asset is, by definition, property.

What's the rule, Mr. Addy?

You only converse with PhDs.

You realize I'm halfway through two doctorates?

Two halves make a whole,

so mathematically speaking...

Go polish a bone, Mr. Addy.

Dr. Goodman, FBI agents will never respect any of us

as long as you simply dole out scientists like office temps.

Dr. Brennan, are you playing me?

You know I'm no good at that.

Mmm. Thus far.

But you have a disturbingly steep learning curve.

and teeming with microbes,

which accelerated decomposition,

but it houses black carp and koi,

which fed on the body.

Can I, as the only normal person

in this room, say, "Ew"?

I got three larval stages of Tricoptera, Chironimidae...

As we cut to the chase...

The body was in the pond one winter and two summers.

Spring before last? Do you really think I'm lusty?

The book.

No, no, no, you're not in the book.

Sure he is; we all are.

No, none of you are in the book.

Those are fictitious characters based on...

I found some small bone fragments in the silt. We're out

of the book now. We're back in real life.

I'd guess Rana temporaria. Frog bones?

Also, some tiny gold links, as from a fine chain.

Point of clarification--

I'm not a virgin.

Nowhere near, in fact.

Who you captured perfectly is Booth.

Buttoned down, but buckets of sexual confidence

which, oh, I, for one, would love to tap.

It's not right to discuss

tapping asses in front of the soaker.

I can't bounce back and forth between my book and real life.

Since we're stuck with real life,

let's just forget the book.

I haven't analyzed whatever it was the victim was holding

in her hand, but it looks like cellulose.

Paper? Hmm. Possibly.

I found microscopic grit embedded in the skull fragments.

I need you

to identify those, too.

Remove the remaining tissue.

I'll debride the skull fragments myself,

reassemble it so Angela can put a face on our victim.

Good. I prefer holographs.

They don't stink.

Zack, I don't like those terms for human remains--

"soaker," "crispy critter..."

I know, Dr. Brennan.

♪ The dawn is breaking ♪

♪ A light shining through ♪

♪ You're barely waking ♪

♪ And I'm tangled up in you ♪

♪ Yeah... ♪

♪ Da, da-da-da-da, da, da-da-da-da ♪

♪ Da, da-da-da-da, da, da-da-da-da ♪

♪ But I'm hoping you're close ♪

♪ Well, I follow your car ♪

♪ I worry I won't see your face ♪

♪ Light up again ♪

♪ Even the best fall down sometimes ♪

♪ Even the wrong words seem to rhyme ♪

♪ Out of the doubt that fills my mind ♪

♪ I somehow find you and I collide ♪

♪ Da, da-da-da-da, da, da-da-da-da ♪

♪ Da, da-da-da-da, da, da-da-da-da ♪

♪ Collide ♪

♪ Da, da-da-da-da, da, da-da-da-da ♪

♪ Da, da-da-da-da, da, da-da-da-da ♪

♪ Da, da-da-da-da, da, da-da-da-da... ♪

squint a field rolea

in an active murder investigation? Yes, sir.

The one that wrote the book? Yes, sir.

Thought you said she wouldn't work with you anymore.

The last case we worked, she provided a description

of the murder weapon and the murderer,

but I didn't give her much credence.

Why not?

Because she did it by looking

at the victim's autopsy X rays.

Well, I wouldn't give it much credence, either.

Turns out she was right on both.

Plus, the pond victim-- Brennan gives me

the victim's age, sex and favorite sport.

Which is?

Tennis. She's good.

No, she's amazing. Only way I can get her back

on my side is to bring her out in the field...

I'm willing.

Fine. She's on you.

Take a squint out

in the field, she's your responsibility.

Yes, sir.

Peter?

It's not rational for you

to choose the first day

I'm back to reclaim your television.

While you were away,

I thought a lot about why we broke up.

We fought all the time and don't like each other anymore.

We fought because you were emotionally distant and cold.

But sexually speaking, I think you'll agree...

You didn't come for your TV.

You timed this for a booty call.

Okay, you're leaving. Come on.

Your intimacy issues are probably due to being orphaned so young.

I hate psychology. And you're just horny.

Brennan, do you really want

to spend the rest of your life alone?

Okay, I don't know about the rest of my life,

but I sure as hell wish I was alone right now.

So, what? We split the cost of the TV?

Good-bye.

What?

This is interesting, Angela.

Good morning.

Does Booth know how this works?

This computer program,

which I designed-- patent pending--

accepts a full array of digital input,

processes it and then projects it

as a three-dimensional holographic image.

Okay. You get that?

Yeah, the patent pending part.

Brennan reassembled the skull and applied tissue markers.

Her skull was badly damaged,

but racial indicators-- cheekbone dimensions,

nasal arch, occipital measurements--

suggest African-American.

And... we have our victim.

Whoa.

I have to admit, that's pretty cool.

Ange, rerun the program substituting Caucasian values.

Does she look familiar to anyone?

No.

Split the difference. Mixed race.

Lenny Kravitz or Vanessa Williams?

I don't know what that means.

Angela, reduce tissue depth

over the cheekbones to the jawline.

Does anyone recognize her?

Not me.

Wait.

Is that who I think it is?

The girl who had the affair with the Senator?

Her name's Cleo Louise Eller...

only daughter to Ted and Sharon Eller.

Last seen approximately 9:00 p.m., April 6, 2003

leaving the Cardio Deluxe Jam

on K Street.

She didn't even make it to her car.

Pretty good memory.

Yeah, well, it's my job to find her.

In that case, congratulations on your success.

This isn't exactly the way I wanted it to end.

Cleo Eller is not just some missing girl.

Yeah, she's a senate intern

who was boinking Senator Allan Bethlehem.

I was secondary in the investigation into

the disappearance of that girl,

and we couldn't confirm that.

How did you recognize her before she even had her own face?

I recognized the underlying architecture of her features,

the rest is just window dressing.

I'm not an expert, but shouldn't he be happier?

Oh, no, believe me, I'm happy.

You seem happy to me.

I need this kept quiet.

Ah, cover-up.

Paranoid conspiracy theory.

Is it paranoia that Monica Lewinsky

was a KGB-trained

sex-agent mole?

So what do you do first, confront the Senator?

Listen, Bones. I know... Don't call me Bones.

I know we talked about you coming out in the field and all...

Oh, you rat bastard! But if it's this big,

the Director's going to create a special investigation unit.

And if I line all my ducks up in a row, I can maybe head it up.

I don't know what that means, but I think I can be a duck.

You're not a duck. Okay? On this one, we stick to the book.

Cops on the streets squints in the lab. Well, in that case,

the Jeffersonian will be issuing

a press release identifying the girl in the pond.

You do that, I'm a dead duck.

What are you trying to do?

Blackmail you.

Blackmail a federal agent?

Yes.

I don't like it.

I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to.

Fine, you're in.

You're certain it's Cleo Eller?

The profile's dead on: age, race, height.

Plus, the timeline fits.

I mean, Cleo Eller did play tennis in college.

Talk to me about the Senator.

Cleo Eller, the victim, worked for Senator Bethlehem.

It was reported that they were involved sexually.

We couldn't confirm that.

Well, Bethlehem's a hound. Everybody knows that.

Ken Thompson, Cleo's boyfriend.

Thompson's still Bethlehem's aide.

Thompson keeps Bethlehem's calendar.

No way the Senator has an affair

that Thompson doesn't know about.

No sexual relationship, no motive.

What about the nut case?

Oliver Laurier.

Do you like him for this?

He's a stalker.

What's your first move?

I'd like to inform the Ellers that we found their daughter.

It's better to keep this quiet.

It's been, what, two years?

What's another few days?

All due respect, sir, I've come to know the family pretty well,

especially the Major,

and two years is a hell of a long time in limbo.

I'll have details of cause of death

by this afternoon.

That's where we'll get started.

All right.

Hodgins identified the particulates

embedded in Cleo Eller's skull as rolled steel--

most likely from a sledge-type hammer.

Also, there's cement

and diatomaceous earth.

What's that? Looks like that.

It's made up of prehistoric sea creatures.

It's used as an insecticide,

filtering agent, cleaning abrasive, ceramics.

It's very common.

Diatomaceous earth-- common or not, it's a clue.

You're positive it's our Cleo?

We established

22 matching points of comparison...

Yes, we're certain.

Did he do it?

The Senator?

One military man to another?

Major Eller, we can't discuss the investigation in any way.

Can you at least tell us if our daughter suffered?

Given the state of her skull...

Cleo never saw it coming.

Thank you.

Mrs. Eller, could you tell us what Cleo wore around her neck?

Her father's Bronze Star.

Ted won it in the first Gulf War,

and he gave it to her for luck.

Those people deserve the truth.

Their daughter was murdered.

They deserve the kindness of a lie.

There will be an inquest report.

Which they won't read because they don't want to.

Especially because toward the end,

Cleo and her parents weren't even speaking.

They told you that? You know, getting information

out of live people is a lot different than

getting information out of a pile of bones.

You have to offer up something of yourself first.

What exactly did you do in the military?

See? See what you did right there, Bones?

You asked a personal question

without offering anything personal in return.

And since I'm not a skeleton, you get zilch.

Sorry.

There are stab marks here.

And odd markings

on the distal phalanges.

Nothing I've seen before.

In a nutshell?

Anxious, depressed and nauseous.

Take a sick day.

Not me. Cleo Eller.

Pupal casings show she was on Lorazepam,

Chlordiazepoxide and Meclizine Hydrochloride.

Nausea. Show me those bone fragments.

These aren't frog bones.

Cleo Eller was pregnant.

Fetal remains?

Malleus, incus, stapes.

These are fetal ear bones.

The girl was pregnant.

Not very far along.

You want me to try and get a DNA reading,

see if we can prove paternity?

You can try. Let's hope there's

enough genetic material to test.

This Senator, oh, he is smart.

He gets an intern pregnant,

then murders her when it threatens his career.

And he has the connections to get away with it.

I hate it when you make paranoia plausible.

It's like sliding off a cliff.

This special unit, no way your FBI pal

heads it up, unless the dark powers in charge

are convinced he knows

where his political bread is buttered.

Either way, that's where this investigation ends.

♪ Stay for life ♪

♪ For life... ♪

Want to get a drink?

Non-topical application?

Glug-glug, whoo-hoo!

Come on, sweetie.

What if Booth's right?

What if I'm only good with bones

and lousy with people?

People like you.

I don't care if men like me.

Okay, interesting leap from "people" to "men,"

but I'm sure it means nothing.

I hate psychology.

My most meaningful relationships

are with dead people.

Who said that?

It's true.

I understand Cleo,

and her bones are all I've ever seen.

When she was seven,

she broke her wrist, probably falling off a bike,

and two weeks later, before the cast was even removed,

she got right back on that bike and broke it

all over again.

And when she was being murdered,

she fought back-- hard-- even though...

...she was so depressed she could hardly

get up in the morning.

She didn't welcome death.

Cleo wanted to live.

Honey...

you ever think that maybe you come off a little distant

because you connect too much?

I hate psychology.

It's a soft science.

I know, but...

people are mostly soft.

Except for their bones.

Yeah.

You want some advice?

Glug-glug, whoo-hoo?

Offer up a little bit of yourself every once in a while.

Just... tell somebody something

you're not completely certain

you want them to know.

That's the second time I've received that advice.

Well, you know I give great advice.

I'm going to have to

push this to the next level.

as to why the Director

of the FBI would send you to speak to the Senator

instead of coming himself.

Probably because I'm the one that found

that Cleo Eller was pregnant.

You could tell the girl was pregnant from her skeleton?

We found fetal bones.

The only question, Senator,

is which one of you is the father.

Are you willing to submit to a DNA test?

You know what? Given the sensitivity,

don't say anything on the subject without

your attorney present, that's my advice.

Advice I intend to take.

Ken, we have a vote to get to.

Uh... what are you doing?

Saliva, say from chewing gum,

is an excellent source of DNA.

I intend to compare it to the DNA in the fetal bones.

You need a warrant for that.

Ken. She needs a warrant.

We have any further questions, we'll be in touch.

Ken. You okay?

I could place you under arrest on a federal charge right now

for uttering threats against a United States senator.

What?

Bones. I own her,

but she was your responsibility.

Yes, sir.

Send in Special Agent Furst.

I warned you about taking squints out to the field,

but you vouched for her,

said she wouldn't screw up. Yes, sir.

No, no. Booth didn't know that I was going to see the Senator.

I wanted to get a sample of his DNA.

Exactly.

Not helping.

Tomorrow morning I'm announcing

the formation of a special unit

to investigate the murder of Cleo Eller,

at which time your investigation

will be officially terminated.

You will not head the new unit.

Congratulations, Patrick.

No hard feelings. Right.

I need the complete case files in the morning.

Of course. They'll be ready.

Thank you, Agent Furst.

Well, at least Dr. Brennan found out

that Senator Bethlehem was having sex with Cleo.

I did?

The report said there wasn't enough DNA in the fetal bones

to determine paternity.

Senator Bethlehem didn't want

Dr. Brennan to take that gum.

He's hiding something.

He didn't know there wasn't enough DNA.

I suggest that you, uh, go back to your lab, Dr. Brennan,

and get used to being there.

Come on, Bones.

Okay?

Don't be nice to me after I got you in trouble.

Your heart was in the right place.

I'm not a heart person. You're a heart person.

I'm a brain person.

You vouched for me.

Forget it. No, I won't.

You think it was the Senator?

Look, the Senator's had sex with a dozen of these interns

and he hasn't killed any of them.

Our best bet is still the stalker.

You want to check him out?

We can, um, what do you call it, roost him?

Roust.

Roust.

Well, the murderer

snatched the Bronze Star from Cleo's neck, so...

I got 12 hours before this case is over

and I'm off it, so let's go roust him. Come on.

Mr. Laurier, we have a warrant to search your apartm...

Don't run, Oliver. Uh... Aah!

Agent Booth is under the impression that you

might have something pertinent to a case

he's working on.

You're looking for a Bronze Star?

Like the one Cleo wore?

Exactly like that one, Mr. Laurier.

I don't have it.

Sometimes stalkers retain keepsakes.

What the hell are these things, huh?

Miniature Lives of the Saints.

Okay? I hand them out...

Heads up, Bones.

I hand them out for donations.

I'm not a panhandler.

Help yourself.

I never stalked Cleo.

Then why'd she get a restraining order?

Okay, okay, no.

First of all, no.

Ken Thompson, her supposed boyfriend,

got the restraining order,

with his boss, the Senator,

but Ken is only concerned with his job

and his tropical fish.

They colluded to ruin my reputation with this

specious "stalker" label, when, in actuality...

...I was Cleo's close friend.

Then why'd you run from the warrant?

My fight-or-flight response is heavily weighted towards flight.

If there's anything I can do

to help you catch Cleo's killer, just tell me.

Oh, a full confession-- that would be great.

I love Cleo.

Why would I hurt her?

If you don't mind, I'm gonna keep

one of these little books.

Whatever you need...

Dr. Brennan.

This is a rough composite,

but you get the idea.

Skull trauma was not the cause of death.

Cleo was stabbed first.

She was stabbed five to eight times

with a military issue K-Bar knife.

I just completed this rendering.

The defensive wounds to the bones

of her hands suggest that it wasn't

until the third or the fourth penetration...

That's likely the fatal stab,

right there.

...that Cleo stopped fighting back.

I believe that the distinctive damage to her distal

phalanges-- the tips of her finger bones--

was caused by the murderer using the knife

to remove her finger pads.

Cranial fragmentation suggests

a 20-pound hammer striking four to five times

while the victim's head rested on a cement floor

containing traces of diatomaceous earth.

That's the best explanation for the particulates

found in her skull.

This was not a crime of passion.

Cleo never saw the first stab coming.

It didn't arise out of an argument.

Why smash Cleo's face?

Why whittle away her fingertips,

remove her clothing and her jewelry?

Sink her body...

The murderer put more effort

into hiding the victim's identity

than he did into the murder itself.

In case Cleo was identified, the murderer planted evidence.

The little book Brennan got from the stalker

matches the cellulose found in Cleo's hand.

Military cemetery, military knife, implicates

her own father, more misdirection.

Sound like any conniving son-of-a-bitch

senators you know?

You expect me to declare war

on a United States senator based on your little

holographic crystal ball?

It's not magic.

It's a logical recreation of events based on evidence.

It's no more valid than my gut.

A good hypothesis withstands testing.

That's what makes it a good hypothesis.

This is not a hypothesis-- you have a dead girl

and a United States senator.

This is exactly why

squints belong in the lab.

You guys don't know anything about the real world.

Come on. We're done here.

Wow.

Touchy.

You must know about her family.

Both parents vanish

when she's 15.

Probably counts as the real world.

Yeah, I know the story.

I read the file.

The cops never found out anything.

Yeah.

Brennan figures that maybe

if somebody like her had been there...

Well, for somebody who hates psychology,

she sure has a lot of it.

Thought I'd find you here.

You know, you being a good shot and doing martial arts,

it's all your way of dealing.

I mean, who knows better than you

how fragile life can be?

Maybe an Army Ranger sniper who became

an FBI homicide investigator.

Oh, you looked me up, huh?

Do you mind?

Be my guest.

Thank you.

Were you any good at being a sniper?

A sniper gets to know a little something

about killers.

Senator Bethlehem, he's no killer.

Oh, and Oliver Laurier is?

Way I read Laurier, he's unhinged.

That makes him dangerous.

That'd be your "gut" telling you that, correct?

You know, homicides?

They're not solved by scientists.

They're solved by guys like me

asking a thousand questions

a thousand times, catching people telling lies every time.

You're great at what you do, Bones, but

you don't solve murders...

Cops do.

Cleo Eller was killed on a cement floor

sprinkled with diatomaceous earth.

Traces of her blood will still be in that cement.

One of us is wrong, maybe both of us,

but if Bethlehem wasn't a senator,

you'd be right there in his basement

looking for that killing floor.

You're afraid of him.

Your hypothesis is that squints

don't solve murders and cops do.

Prove it.

Be a cop.

Booth?

They look pretty happy, don't they?

Otherwise they wouldn't turn on the camera, I guess.

Zack said you wanted to see me.

Something you don't like to talk about: families.

Temperance...

partners, they share things.

Builds trust.

Since when are we partners?

I apologize for the assumption.

You got a warrant to search Bethlehem's place?

You were right:

If Bethlehem wasn't a senator,

I'd be in that basement, looking for that killing floor.

But you're wrong.

I was never afraid of that guy.

And I'm not doing this

because you're a genius.

I'm doing this for Cleo.

Sir, it's John Ferris. Channel 11. Sir!

Here, sir!

The warrant says they're searching for blood traces,

a sledgehammer and diatomaceous earth.

What the hell is that?

You're making a big mistake.

I'm in charge...

You come in and mess up my investigation.

Care to make a statement, Senator?

Senator Bethlehem,

can you just answer a couple questions?

Yeah, go ahead.

Who gave you this warrant? When was it delivered?

What are you doing here?

Look at him. For all his politics, he's got nothing.

He should've loved Cleo properly,

like I would've.

Will you sign my book?

Stalk me, Oliver, and I will kick your ass.

I don't recognize that.

That is not mine.

That is not mine!

At least we got the hammer.

Yeah, but that's all we got.

Cement floor in the basement?

Yeah, but no blood, no diatomaceous earth.

We needed a trifecta, Bones--

physical evidence, murder weapon, crime scene.

They wouldn't even arrest him?

Don't worry.

If that's the hammer used on Cleo Eller,

he'll get arrested.

A toast...

to getting the murderous bastard.

Yeah.

The hammer's not enough.

He's going to get away with it.

Maybe Booth is right.

Maybe outside the lab, I'm useless.

Let us take guidance from The Lives of the Saints.

"Albertus Magnus, Patron Saint of Scientists."

I thought Magnus

was the patron saint

of fishmongers.

Two separate entities.

Albertus Magnus was a 13th-century

philosopher. The fishmonger saint was...

Fish!

You said that diatomaceous earth

could be used as a filtering agent.

Yeah, for swimming pools, water filters...

Or tropical fish?

Oliver Laurier said that Ken Thompson kept fish. Uh...

What's your hurry?

Thompson read the warrant! He knows we're

looking for diatomaceous earth! Get in touch with Booth.

Tell him where I'm going, okay?

She didn't actually say where she was going, did she?

Stop!

You can't destroy evidence.

This is a private residence.

I don't suppose you have a warrant?

I'm working with the FBI.

If I have reasonable suspicion of a crime being committed,

I don't need a warrant.

What crime?

Destruction of evidence

pertinent to a federal investigation.

I'm just cleaning up.

Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?

This linoleum looks fairly new.

What's underneath? Cement?

The same cement that was embedded in Cleo's skull

when you bashed her head in.

You might want to get out of here.

I can't let you destroy evidence.

How are you going to stop me?

I'll stop you.

Not before I burn this place down

with you in it.

I don't get it.

It wasn't jealousy, it wasn't passion.

Cleo wouldn't get rid of your boss's baby,

and so you got rid of her. Ah!

What kind of psychology is that?

What kind of person are you?

Temperance.

Are you all right?

Oliver, I understand you're here out of a misguided

concern for my safety,

but I apparently don't read people very well,

and you could be in some kind of psychotic collusion with Ken,

so I'm going to ask you to go over there

and apply pressure to his wound until the police

get here, you understand? Okay, okay.

Did he kill Cleo?

Yeah. He killed Cleo.

Okay... then

I'm down with him bleeding to death.

That guy bleeds

to death, Bones will go on trial for attempted murder.

You don't want that, now, do you?

I wouldn't want that.

No. Besides, you know, uh, applying pressure,

that can be very painful.

The evidence said he did it, but...

I don't know why.

No, it doesn't matter.

You know what? Motive does not matter.

He did it to save his job.

His job?

Yeah, senator in scandal,

he'll lose the beltway fast track.

It's that simple, it's...

It's a tough town.

Yeah, it is a tough town.

Yeah, you know, in the future, uh,

maybe I should do the shooting.

Why?

I'm a good shot.

"Lord, make me an instrument

"of Your peace.

"Where there is hatred,

"let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon."

Is the FBI gonna lay charges against Brennan?

She only shot him in the leg... once.

She didn't give him a warning.

She just shot him, with alcohol on her breath.

It was her first shooting.

You can't expect her to be perfect

right out of the gate.

How much warning did you give people

before you sniped them?

♪ ...that I know what I'm all about... ♪

"Where there's doubt, faith.

"Where there's despair, hope.

Where there's darkness, light."

What?

I told you it wasn't the Senator.

And I told you who it was, so we're even.

Except we work on the same cases, and you end up

on the New York Times bestsellers list.

I didn't know that.

Mm-hmm. Number three, with a bullet.

That's good, right?

The New York Times, with a bullet?

Means you're rich; call your accountant.

I don't have an accountant

Well, get one.

Okay. How does that work? Wow!

You need to get out of the lab, you know?

Watch TV, turn on a radio, anything.

Pick up the phone, and...

"Where there is sadness, joy.

"Oh, Divine Master, grant that I may seek not so much

"to be consoled, as to console;

"to be understood, as to understand;

"to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving..."

You know, if it weren't for you...

those people would never have known

what happened to their daughter.

That's got to be worse than the truth.

I know exactly how the Ellers felt about Cleo.

My parents disappeared when I was 15,

and nobody knows what happened to them.

Being a sniper, I...

took a lot of lives.

What I'd like to do before I'm done

is try and catch at least that many murderers.

Please, you don't think there's some kind of...

cosmic balance sheet.

I'd like to help you with that.

Eh...

What's that mean?