When the leader of the CSU team, a tall, rangy brown-haired guy named Lieutenant Platt, had met everyone, Brennan explained that she and Booth wanted the skeleton as soon as possible.
Pratt said, “Dr. Brennan, we’ve got the word on you from Lieutenant Greene.”
She blinked. “You do?”
“We do. He said you’re tops and anything you ask for, we should give to you. Expect nothing but cooperation here.”
She smiled. “Cool.”
The crime scene unit went to work and, an hour later — even though there was much to be done at the scene — Platt released the skeleton to Booth and Brennan.
“Where’s the note?” Booth asked.
“Well,” Pratt said, “we kept that, of course.”
“We’ll need it.”
“You said the skeleton, that’s what you got.”
“And everything that went with it — including the note.”
Pratt grimaced, then forced a smile. “Agent Booth, I indicated to Dr. Brennan we’d cooperate. This is a joint investigation. But this is still my crime scene. I’ve turned over the skeleton, and that will have to do for now.”
SAC Dillon came over and, pleasantly professional, said, “This is a federal investigation, Lieutenant. We’ll handle the note, and send you a copy with a full report on our findings.”
Pratt frowned.
He was just about to reply, apparently not in a nice way, when Brennan approached the crime scene investigator and said, “We’re wasting time, struggling over turf. You were great about the skeleton, and I appreciate that. But we need some more of that cooperation you promised.”
Pratt shook his head, only it wasn’t a refusal, because he immediately had one of his techs fetch the note and bring it to Booth.
This latest missive from their skeleton assembler was now safely sealed inside a plastic evidence bag.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Dillon said to Pratt, and walked away.
Brennan smiled sweetly at the already put-upon crime scene investigator and asked, “Just one more thing?”
Pratt laughed. “Not my firstborn? My wife will have a fit.”
“No. Not that. We could use some large evidence bags to convey the skeleton safely. Could we borrow some?”
“And by ‘borrow,’ you mean ‘have’?”
“Yes.”
Soon Booth and Brennan were utilizing large plastic bags from the crime scene unit, slipping them over the skeleton. The entire thing was covered with plastic by the time they loaded it into the backseat of the Crown Vic.
As they pulled back onto the road, Booth phoned Dr. Wu, who, despite the late hour, agreed to meet them at the Field Museum ASAP.
Booth ended the call, passed through a T-intersection and headed east back toward the expressway. He shot Brennan a glance and noted her puzzled expression.
“What?” he asked.
“I know I’ve been taking painkillers, but I thought you said this was Highway 62.”
“It is,” Booth said, pointing to a sign they were passing.
“Then why did the sign back there say this is Algonquin Road?”
“Because it is. Highway 62 is Algonquin Road.”
Booth tried to keep his eyes on the road, but he kept glancing over at Brennan, who was obviously pondering something.
When he couldn’t take it anymore, he finally said, again, “What?”
“Something doesn’t fit.”
“How so?”
“We’ve been working with the assumption that Jorgensen was the one placing the skeletons, right?”
“Right. And we caught him.”
“But the last one didn’t turn up until after he was in custody.”
“Also correct, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t stage it, before we caught him. Plenty of opportunity for him to do that, and it was only found just now.”
“Possible,” she said. “But think about it. Where was the first skeleton discovered?”
“At the Dirksen Building.”
“Why there?”
“To get our attention.”
Brennan nodded. “Which it did.”
“Yeah.”
“What about the second skeleton?”
He hit the exit and they were on the expressway now. Traffic was thin, the hour late, the lights of the city making Booth feel a part of civilization again. “By the Biograph theater.”
“But the homeless witness, ultimately, led you to where?”
“Jorgensen’s old haunts, his old house.”
“And now?”
Booth shrugged.
“Algonquin Road?”
“So?”
“Where did Jorgensen live?”
Seeing where she was going now, Booth said, “Algonquin.”
Forehead creased, she asked, “Would he be that obvious?”
“Sure, if he wanted to get caught badly enough.”
Brennan shook her head. “I don’t think so. You were in that kitchen. Did he behave like he wanted to be caught?”
“Maybe it was a… go-out-in-a-blaze-of-glory deal.”
“Booth, he didn’t act like he wanted to die. To take us with him. He wanted to survive. Which he did.”
“Creeps do weird things, Bones. This is my area, trust me — serial killers do things and sometimes don’t even know they’re doing it.”
She said nothing, staring straight ahead.
Booth kept trying: “He picks the cemetery, for some completely other reason, not even thinking about what road it’s on… but subconsciously, he’s trying to get caught, right? So out of all the cemeteries in Chicago, he picks the one on Algonquin Road.”
She wasn’t buying. “It’s not logical.”
“Neither is killing young men and burying them in your crawlspace or making ‘new’ skeletons out of the pieces of those people. Serial killing isn’t about logic…. It’s just a part of their sicko M.O.”
“I still think we’re missing something,” Brennan said.
“If it’ll make you feel better, have an advance peek at the note. Maybe there’s something there.”
She got the evidence bag out, turned on the dome light, smoothed the plastic so she could read the latest missive. “… All in caps again….”
“What does it say?”
“ ‘To the FBI,’ ” she read. “ ‘I’ve given you two chances already and you are proving to be as incompetent as the police. How much easier do I need to make it for you? I’ve given you every clue, every possibility to make it as easy for you as I can. Still, you are incompetent, inept, and unable to catch me. My patience is wearing as thin as your pathetic skills. Perhaps I need to just send you my name and address, like the police, that is probably the only way you will ever darken my door.’ Signed, ‘Nerd.’ ”
“‘Nerd?’ As in ‘Revenge of the… ’?”
“I don’t know what that means,” she said. “ ‘Nerd’ as in N-E-R-D.”
“Three notes, three different signatures,” Booth said. “Now that really doesn’t make sense….”
Brennan turned off the dome light. “Imagine we’d found this skeleton prior to pinpointing Jorgensen.”
“Why would that make a difference?”
“I’d have made the same Algonquin Road connection, and so would you…. Would Jorgensen make it so easy to track him? While using three different names that have nothing to do with him?”
“Bones, again — you keep using logic to try to explain an illogical act. You’ll never get anywhere that way.”
“Notebook and pen?”
He squinted at her.
“Eyes on the road,” she said. “Do you have a notebook and pen?”
Driving with one hand, and digging in his pocket with the other, he searched for the small notebook and ballpoint; he found them and handed them over.
Brennan, very quiet now, began writing something. Focused. Gone somewhere in her mind and not inviting him along.