Iniquity

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones

Ruth Geismann pulled her robe more firmly against her body to ward off the early October morning chill. Ruth was an early riser by nature, and only briefly regretted this morning, when the consequences of over indulging hit her as she left the confines of the bed. She had risen early that morning, to clean up the remnants of the party her and her husband, Judge Caleb Geismann, had hosted the night before. The kitchen had resembled a disaster area, plates and cups strewn about by the last of the party-goers, who had insisted on helping "clean-up."

The family dog, a corgi by the name of 'George,' was Ruth's only aid that morning. And George was quite content to snuffle around the kitchen floor, sucking up any crumbs to be found. Sadly for George the guests had been fastidious and his crumb findings were scant. Soon the dog had tired of his search and began barking to be let out.

"Alright Georgie don't rush me." Ruth crooned at the dog before opening the back door. She watched for several seconds as the dog sniffed around the ground before running to the back of the yard, hidden by a slopping hill.

Ruth turned back to the mess in her kitchen and set to cleaning it. She had just finished filling the dishwasher when the house phone began ringing. She rushed quickly around the island in the kitchen to grab the phone.

"Hello?"

"Morning Ruth."

"Hey Josie, you're up early," Ruth said smiling as she recognized the voice of her long time friend and neighbor, Josephina Kedleburg.

Josie laughed indulgently, "Not by choice. Georgie's at Caleb's shed barking up a storm."

"Sorry Josie, I'll come get him."

"Ok"

Ruth hung up the phone and slid her feet into her garden shoes sitting by the backdoor. Her husband's shed sat at the back edge of the property, where it abutted Josie's. As she exited the house she reached up and touched the mezuzah hanging by her door, a habit that preceded her leaving the house every time she did so.

Walking through the garden she and her husband had worked so hard to craft, Ruth was muttering under her breath about dogs and not having any sense. As she came drew closer to the shed she began calling to her dog and whistling for him to come. George, of course, was too busy barking at the door of the shed to pay her any attention. Corgi's have a reputation for barking at absolutely everything, so at first Ruth saw this little episode as merely an annoyance; but when she saw the frantic nature that George was pawing at the door, and shrilly barking her suspicions became aroused. When she reached the dog, he began pawing at her leg and barking and making a snarling noise.

"Be quiet George!" Ruth said sternly, as she reached for the door of the shed.

George darted into the building as soon as the door was open enough for him to wiggle through. Ruth followed at a much more dignified pace, searching the room as she walked. She walked around all of the various tables and machines, while the dog snuffled around the floor, eventually making their way to the stairs. The stairs creaked under Ruth's slight weight as she made her way up the stairs. Ruth looked up at the door leading into her husband's office , the normally white door was marred by scrawled red letters, "I am watching."

Her heart jumped into her throat, and quickly forgetting everything her husband ever told her about crime scenes and police work, raced up the final steps and entered the room. Ruth's husband was a stickler for order, and his office usually reflected that, the scene that greeted her in the room was anything but organized. His law books, so carefully organized and taken care of, were strewn across the room and files were pulled from the cabinet. She could see that there was something laying on the floor behind the desk, and rounded the furniture to see what it was.

Lying on the floor behind the desk was a body. It was readily apparent, even to Ruth, that these remains weren't 'fresh', as the skin was desiccated stretched tightly across the bones. The smell, which had not been immediately noticeable, was now nearly overpowering and had Ruth nearly gagging. Fighting back a scream in her throat she rushed back down the stairs to the woodshop. George was still sniffing around the room when Ruth grabbed him and bolted for the door. She rushed across the back yard and busted into the house, calling for her husband.

Caleb came down the stairs quickly, "Ruth? What's the matter?"

Gasping for breath she replied, "Caleb, call Danny."

"Danny? Why? Ruth what's going on?" He asked, watching his wife pacing in the kitchen, still holding George, who was squirming to get down.

Caleb reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out his cell phone and quickly dialed the number to the U.S. Marshal that had been charged with their protection for the past three years.

From across the street a dark figure watched the scene unfold from behind pulled blinds. His nicotine stained fingers pulled back the curtain slightly to watch as the U.S. Deputy Marshal arrived at the Geismann residence and he couldn't help but chuckle when he saw how distraught the lady of the house seemed even from the distance. When the cop cars and coroner's vehicles started to show up, he retreated behind the curtains again. At his feet his tabby cat was sitting watching him curiously, the man leaned down to stroke the feline's small head saying, "Don't worry my love. We'll get them."

Meanwhile, across the street, Danny was busy managing the different departments that were now involved in the investigation and was trying to keep everyone on the same page. He had several 'local cowboys' walking around to the various neighbors finding out what they knew, while he had the coroners and the local crime scene unit in the shed gathering evidence.

Having gotten a statement from both Ruth and Caleb, he went back out to the shed to see what the CSU team had uncovered. Walking up the stairs he could hear the murmuring of people having hushed conversations. Inside the room, there were two coroner employee's examining the body, two CSU techs were dusting for fingerprints on the various books and folders, and another Deputy Marshal standing in the room, writing notes.

Danny walked over to the other marshal, "Hey Tom, What've we got?"

Tom sighed, "Not much, the body's been dead a while. Not sure our techs can get anything out of it."

"What about that Jeffersonian group? Do you think they could get anything out of it?"

The group from the Jeffersonian was legendary in the D.C. law enforcement community and beyond, "I'm sure they could, but I've heard they're a bitch to work with, you sure this is worth the hassle?"

Danny was looking over his folder, having already decided that the Jeffersonian team was the best option, "Yeah man, I'm sure," then he looked up at Tom, "They have a handler at the FBI, I think his name is Booth. I want you to call him up and get them out here ASAP."

"Will do."