Programa de TV: Bones - 5x4
Everybody, I've got fresh pineapples!
* Liliko'i, liliko'i, liliko'i lava * * Sometimes you're sweet, sometimes you're sour * * Liliko'i, liliko'i, liliko'i lava * * Think about you every day, every hour * * Wake up in the morning, go out...
* Hey, back off, sailor.
Grabbing the gay guy's coconut boob-- real cool, Dad.
Your old man is cool.
Right, Nate?
Massively cool, Bob.
You're a glacier.
Aren't any of these nonalcoholic?
You know, it would do you some good to have a couple drinks, loosen up a little.
All due respect, James, I don't even understand why gays even want to get married.
Elliot!
family, kids, the American Dream.
Exactly.
Thank you, Paula.
Our house has been on the market for ten months.
Nobody wants the American Dream anymore.
Elliot, you're gonna love the 'burbs once we have a couple kids.
What's goin' on?
That's coming from the luau pit.
Hey, Trey, what's that noise?
For God's sake, Bob, he's a gardener, not a servant.
He works for the Homeowner's Association, which means he works for us.
Am I wrong?
Maybe the, uh, pig's eyeballs explode when it's done.
It shouldn't be done for a couple more hours.
We should check and make sure it's not burning.
All right, stand back.
All right, look out, get back.
This is kosher, right?
Aw, yeah.
Elliot, will you get the meat thermometer?
What, hon?
Is that a person?
That's a person!
He's been cooked!
Why are you standing there like a security guard?
Parker, hey!
Hi!
The remains we've been called to examine were apparently barbecued.
Would you like to see?
Totally!
No, no, no.
A person did not get barbecued.
Did they, Dr.
Brennan?
Yes.
In a luau pit, which is why I'm surprised you'd bring Parker along.
No, I-- Rebecca and her boyfriend won a night at the Greenbrier, so little kid's with me.
I got him.
Let's go see the cooked person!
Geez, you know our deal.
Well, what's your deal?
We're not allowed to talk about the bad parts of Dad's work until I have armpit hair.
You don't have any armpit hair last time I checked.
Not for a long time, kid.
Angela, would you mind...?
Oh, no, sure.
I get the situation here.
You're with me, Parker.
I want to see the barbecued body.
Well, I agree that does sound awesome, but I have face paints that your dad will never be able to get off, no matter how hard he scrubs.
They're basically tattoos.
Okay, I'm with you.
You have a good time, all right?
I'll come pick you up in a little bit, all right?
Have fun-- fun with the face paints, kid.
Hey, that's not true about the face paint, is it?
You're with me, Baby Booth.
Ethnographic studies of the suburbs indicate a cultural impulsion toward overt displays of status.
Of course, this competitive paradigm can often result in aggression and violence.
There was this guy on my street who cut his lawn on the diagonal.
The neighbors got angry.
Someone set his garage on fire.
Oh, I mean, yards, sidewalks, you know, clean streets, birds flying by.
A dead body in the barbecue pit.
Oh.
Okay, you know what, I'm gonna go talk to the neighbors, to see if anyone who cut their lawn diagonally is missing.
I think those are reflective lenses that have fused to the supra-orbital margin.
Nate and I moved to Verbena Court about six months ago.
The luau pit came with the house.
We installed a lockable cover.
We don't want kids falling in.
We're good neighbors.
Who has a key?
Uh, just us.
And there's one with the Neighborhood Watch.
Okay, uh, who put the pig in the pit?
Me, Nate and Trey at 9:00 this morning.
Trey?
Uh, Trey Jordan.
He's the gardener/handyman for the Homeowner's Association.
Stop staring at him, James.
You were just talking about him...
Guys, guys.
When you put the pig in...
We didn't notice anything down there but hot coals.
48 degrees Celsius.
That's, what, an hour after they drenched everything with a garden hose?
Wish they hadn't done that.
Well, it's human nature, Dr.
Brennan.
You see someone on fire, you put 'em out.
Prominent brow points to a male.
Wear on his mandibular teeth puts his age at about 30 to 35.
We should remove the remains and then let Hodgins get down here.
We have the luau every year.
The pit was dug maybe...
Four years ago.
July.
Same time we planted our hydrangeas.
That reminds me, we should spray.
Yeah, we all helped with the pit.
It's, uh, four feet deep and lined with brick; you burn the wood to embers.
You cheat with charcoal.
Don't call your dad a cheater, Paige.
Anyway, tons of embers going, then you throw down a layer of wet burlap, then wet leaves, then wet burlap, chicken wire, then you lower the pig in and voila.
Yeah, you're forgetting one thing there.
I don't think so.
Burlap, leaves...
He means the dead guy under the pig, Dad.
Smart one in the family there.
So, what made you crack open the pit early?
We heard little explosions, like fireworks going off.
We found these in the pit.
Reflective aviators.
Those look like Mr.
Bessette's glasses.
Oh, my God.
That's Kurt?
You must be mistaken.
Hey, everybody, looks like it was Kurt.
Oh, my God!
Oh, not Kurt.
Kurt...?!
Who's Kurt?
He and his wife live over there.
That was creepy.
I warned you about the suburbs.
And you're certain it's Kurt?
I'm afraid so, Ms.
Bessette.
His teeth match the X-rays your dentist provided.
Oh, God...
Well, I already told the FBI guy and the scary lady everything I know, so I don't know what...
You mentioned that you and your husband didn't really fit in with the neighborhood.
Uh, yeah.
Uh, Kurt put up a solar panel and a wind turbine, and it made everybody mad.
They thought they were pretty ugly.
They said they ruined the neighborhood, you know.
But he just wanted to save the planet.
There's nothing wrong with that, right?
No, it's quite a noble cause.
But it can kind of rub people the wrong way sometimes.
When the gay couple's dog peed on the wind turbine, Kurt gave the dog a laxative that nearly killed him.
Oh.
Well, that...
that's not quite so noble.
Neighbors don't forget a thing like that.
We got shunned.
Found out what caused the mini explosions.
Would it have anything to do with the pebbles embedded in the remains?
If by pebbles, you mean the rudaceous sedimentary stratified clast fragments, then yes.
Now, based on the amount of pyrites, I'd estimate the porosity at approximately 25%.
That's ideal for moisture saturation.
Meaning the pebbles exploded when they got hot.
The pebbles, as you so quaintly call them, were all found on the same strata as the human remains.
Most likely dragged from the murder site.
Which explains why they were embedded in the remains.
Yeah.
All consistent in size and color.
Decorative, perhaps?
I'll call you back.
These bones are not human.
I assume they're pig.
Yes.
Time for prayers?
Yes, but I have a couple of minutes.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Why?
As a Muslim, I imagine you consider this work unclean.
Yes, well, as a Christian, I imagine you feel the same way.
Four femurs, 12 phalanges, dozens of teeth, 12 canines.
Luau custom says throw the pig bones back in the pit.
Sorry, sorry.
Pig bones.
God...
I'm fine, Dr.
Saroyan.
Perhaps the killer assumed his victim's remains would never be noticed amongst the pig bones.
Really, Arastoo, there's no reason for you...
I appreciate your concern, but I am fine.
No, really, most of us aren't devout here, and I respect your religion. "
He hath forbidden you the flesh of swine, "but if one is forced by necessity, "without willful disobedience, nor transgressing due limits, then is he guiltless."
Point is, you shouldn't feel forced...
I'm a scientist, okay?
Just like the rest of you.
I can deal.
So please just back off and let me do my job like anyone else.
Wow.
I apologize for my outburst.
Oh, you aren't even gonna try to un-ring that bell, are you?
I have to pray.
Saroyan.
I found the rudaceous sedimentary stratified clast fragment mother lode.
Uh, yeah, any signs of a struggle in the pebbles?
No...
Um, I call do-over.
They're covered in blood.
Lots of blood.
My friend's dad just got a new girlfriend.
He goes with his dad to her place all the time to swim.
Oh, so he likes her.
Well, that's good.
Do you have a boyfriend?
No, I'm on a celibacy kick.
It's been five months and nine days, which in celibacy time is 400 years.
What does celibacy mean?
It's, um...
I don't have a boyfriend, no.
How about my dad?
I don't think he has a boyfriend either.
No, he really, really needs a girlfriend.
Really.
Why?
To sex up.
That's very succinctly put.
Could Dad sex you up?
Don't think I haven't considered that, but I'm sort of on the sidelines for now.
But thank you for thinking of me.
Okay.
Ready?
Mm-hmm.
Done.
Cool.
How'd you do that?
I'm good.
Plenty.
He estimates a fatal amount.
Can you compare the blood to the cooked guy and see if it's his?
He's pretty cooked, but we'll try.
Hodgins also I.D.'d morning glory pollen between the victim's eyeballs and his sunglasses.
How is that relevant?
He said morning glories only bloom after sunup.
Sunrise was 5:47 a.m., so we're close to a time of death.
Were you guys aware that Arastoo doesn't really have an accent?
Yeah, he does.
Yeah, it's thicker than Achmed the rug merchant.
Was that racist?
It sounded racist.
I knew that despite the fact that Arastoo said he was Iranian, his accent was Jordanian.
Don't you find it odd that he was faking an Arab accent of any kind?
Iranian isn't actually Arab.
What?
Bones, it's weird!
Now how is it any more odd than, say, shaving your face or putting on makeup?
I'm not hanging up because I don't have an answer to that, I'm just hanging up.
But...
I had questions about the morning glories.
So, we understand that you and the deceased had an altercation over your dog?
You think that we cooked him because he poisoned our dog?
Kurt did not poison our dog.
Yes, he did.
Rocky peed on his stupid windmill, so then he gave our dog chocolate laxatives.
Dogs don't react to that the way people do.
It's very difficult to overdose on laxatives.
All that will happen is...
Rocky died from cancer.
Maybe.
We'll never know because someone wouldn't pay for a doggy autopsy.
Oh, my God.
You won't let that go, even though the FBI thinks that we killed Kurt for poisoning our dog.
We don't think that he poisoned our dog.
He does.
Now that I think about it...
Rocky totally died of cancer.
Can you see anything that would explain copious blood loss?
Not so far.
As you can see, here and here...
Can it, bub.
It's just you and me here.
This mark here on the scapula suggests a puncture wound.
And it's barely a poke, right?
It would've been painful, but no way it kills the guy.
Here we see a bone laceration on the victim's proximal humerus adjacent to the greater tubercle.
Staining suggests that the injury occurred before he died.
Is that bone splintering?
Yes, micro-fragments.
I believe the laceration's the result of a blow from a reciprocating-type weapon.
Like?
A saw.
I asked Dr.
Hodgins to swab for particulates that may have been transferred from the blade.
Here...
is the stab wound.
And the laceration from the saw.
Neither blow's anywhere near a major vein or artery.
Neither blow explains the amount of blood on the pebbles.
I ran a metal detector through all the crap we found at the bottom of the pit.
Crap?!
Yeah, yeah.
Technical term.
Bullet.
Is that a .44 caliber?
Yep.
: This seems to suggest, rather convincingly, There is a *** Whoa-whoa-whoa, wait a second.
You and Parker discussed my sex life?
Well, we discussed your lack of sex life.
Angela, neither you nor him, especially him, know anything about my sex life.
Well, he knows that daddy ain't getting any, and he's concerned.
He thinks you need a girlfriend...
to have sex.
He said that?
Well, his exact words were, "To sex up."
I think you need to talk to him honestly about your love life.
You kidding me?
No offense, but I'm not talking about that.
Hey...
What?
Want to run our friendly neighborhood suburbanites through the National Gun Permit Database, see if any of them own a .44?
Hodgins found that in the pit.
Hi, Dr.
Saroyan.
Do you have a boyfriend?
See?
This is exactly how it started with me.
Come on.
Let's go.
Come on.
I gotta get you back home, or your mom's gonna kill me, all right?
Let me see this stuff.
Does this stuff come off?
Oh, seriously.
That's your big worry right now?
I hate Verbena Court.
Every last thing about it.
It's artificial, soulless...
that's why I'm trying to sell out.
It's ennui, Agent Booth, do you understand that?
Looks kind of nice to me.
It's good for kids.
They call it a cul-de-sac, but what it is is a dead end.
So why'd you move there in the first place?
Wife wants kids; kids want lawns.
Here.
I got snookered in the math.
Right.
Thanks.
Snookered enough, uh...
to snap?
So I own a handgun.
So what?
I have a license, it's registered.
We found this bullet in the pit with Bessette's body.
We checked out his bank records.
You wired $5,000 into his account last month?
Verbena Court was built with a limited amount of phone lines.
Bessette bought them all.
I wanted to put in a second line.
Your neighbor charged you $5,000 for a phone line?
Yup.
Then he spent the five grand on putting up the damn windmill.
Okay, so he rips you off for five grand, you snap and you shoot him.
No.
I should've shot him.
It wasn't Kurt I shot, though.
I shot the pig.
The luau pig.
Excuse me?
Bob Sayles and I found a farm in North Carolina and paid to hunt our own pig.
With a handgun?
I'll give you the name of the farm.
Porky walked right up to us.
I popped him one between the eyes.
I barfed, Bob cried.
Suburban hunters.
That's an oxymoron, my friend.
It's an oxymoron.
No, no, no, no, you can't just walk in here-- Arastoo Vaziri, our Muslim intern-- he's been faking his accent.
At first I go where everyone else goes, you know-- terrorist.
Wouldn't a terrorist fake not having an accent?
Is it crazy or just weird?
Weird, I can deal with, but crazy...
Wait.
What do you want me to do?
Oh, crazy is your department.
They went to a farm and shot an innocent pig in the head?
Look, it's not a Federal offense, Bones.
There's nothing we can do about it now, okay?
So let's just focus on the murdered human.
Okay, so far, we have a nick on the scapula, suggesting stabbing, and splintering on the humerus, which suggests sawing.
But neither explains bleeding out.
Well, Sweets says he has something he'd like to share with us in the conference room.
Why does he have to say "share"?
Why can't he just say "show"?
What do you have?
Hey.
Hey.
Suburbanites tend to put too much emphasis on their outward accomplishments.
Now, this creates a sense of detachment.
Ennui.
Very insightful.
That's right.
All right.
The inherent uniformity and shared ideals of a planned community suggest that the neighborhood can be psychologically analyzed as a single, dysfunctional personality.
You mean you can look at it anthropologically?
Really?
You're gonna shanghai my whole discipline?
You're tapping into what anthropologists call "lines of influence, dominance and suasion."
Go on, Sweets.
Just let him go on.
So we can look at the community as a single dysfunctional personality, dealing with sexual infidelity, indebtedness, resentment...
That's what I just said.
Both of you-- it's murder, okay?
We're either dealing with money or sex here.
That's what I just said.
And this is where psychology can provide an insight that anthropology cannot.
I doubt that.
Well, suburbanites will not only lie to outsiders, they'll lie to each other and to themselves.
What Sweets means is that societal norms endemic to the suburban acculturation dichotomize exterior postures and clandestine protocols.
Just give me one thing that's gonna help me catch the murderer-- just one thing.
All right, deal with these people as separate elements of a collective personality.
Identify the threat that Kurt Bessette posed to their psychological equanimity, and the killer will emerge.
I agree.
It doesn't help me one bit.
Why?
You seriously believe all that hoo-ha?
It's anthropology, so, yes.
Wrong "ology."
Keep your grubby anthro hands off my psych.
Listen, Bones, I'll meet you down in the car in five minutes, okay?
What?
Five minutes.
What?
Okay, look...
Parker has been asking all the women that I work with to be my girlfriend.
Well, the women you work with are beautiful.
Don't turn this into a conversation about sex, okay?
My kid is eight years old here.
Parker's pre-adolescent, but he's very concerned with sex.
What he's concerned about are shoes with wheels on them.
There are five stages of psychosexual development: oral, anal, phallic...
Whoa!
latent and genital.
Now Parker's transitioning from latent to genital.
At the genital stage, he's learning to identify with his gender parent.
That's you.
He looking at you to see his sexual future.
How do I get him to stop?
My advice is to let him see you interact with a woman.
Easy!
No, not sexually.
Socially.
Show him you're comfortable with women so he can learn to be the same way.
Okay.
Okay?
Just like that?
You're taking my advice?
No, I just don't want to talk to you about it anymore.
Wait.
This isn't my office.
* It's...
the...
good life * * Full of fun * * Seems to be the ideal * * Yes, the good life * * Lets you hide all the sadness you feel * * You won't really fall in love * * 'Cause you can't take the chance * * So be honest * * With yourself * * Don't try to fake romance...
* What are you doing? "
Alibis."
Hmm, it's very organized. "
At the time of the murder, "Mary Kay Sayles was biking with James Perry and Elliot Lindbergh."
I'm thinking gay guy and 'burb hater are out biking with church lady.
Oh, so you're thinking they're a sexual threesome?
What?
Wow.
No.
I was just thinking that one of these cyclists was having sex with Kurt Bessette.
Oh.
So we should find out where churchy lady's husband and gay guy's boyfriend and 'burb hater's wife were at that time.
Hey, if this turns out to be some suburban-key-party- threesome-revenge-slaying, it's gonna get complicated and I'm gonna get...
Hey, so I finally got through the particulates left behind by the saw.
Three different organic remnants on the cut: a hooked thorn from the Bougainvillea glabra, a haw from a hybrid Crataegus monogyna and nectar from a Syringa protolaciniata.
Each plant was from a different yard.
But all on the same reciprocating saw.
Yeah.
So, my question is, did you kill Kurt Bessette on your own volition or did his wife talk you into it?
What?
Bessette was attacked with your hedge trimmer.
Come on.
Young hot suburban gardener, bored suburban housewives.
You're an ethnological trope.
What?
Come on, Trey.
Iced tea is not the only perk here, is it?
Look, I had nothing going with Kurt Bessette's wife.
Let me make this a little easier for you, shall we?
Which one of these people did you have something going with?
Paige Sayles.
The church lady's daughter.
She's 18, she's legal...
and, plus, it was her idea.
And?
Paula Lindbergh-- I think she was trying to get pregnant so her husband would stay in the suburbs.
So, you mind being used as a stud horse?
Would you?
Do these women know about each other?
Not from me.
Then from who?
Mr.
Bessette caught me and Mrs.
Lindbergh sloshing up her hot tub.
Where were you between the hours of 5:00 am and 8:00 am the morning of the luau?
I've got a girlfriend.
I mean, back in my neighborhood.
A real one who I love.
I was with her.
Wow.
That cul-de-sac is like a sex camp.
What?
There's a sex camp?
No, no, no-- listen, what were your anthropological lines again?
Influence, dominance and suasion.
Okay, look, we both know that the murder victim wasn't above shaking someone down for a phone line, so maybe he finds out that Paula Lindbergh is trying to make babies with the gardener; he puts the squeeze on her, she kills him and Casanova gardener boy helps out.
Definitely fits the paradigm.
I was afraid this would come up when I heard you took Trey in for questioning.
You were right.
So start talking.
I should never have made Elliot move to the suburbs.
In a way, I emasculated him.
Oh, God.
She's a therapist.
She talks like a therapist.
What?
You remove a man from an environment where he flourishes to a place where he feels impotent, he actually becomes impotent.
Look, if you wanted a baby so bad, why didn't you just move back to the city?
We owe more on this house than it's worth.
And even if Elliot could sell it, we're stuck financially.
What happened when Kurt Bessette found you with the gardener?
Nothing.
He smirked.
Did Kurt threaten to tell your husband or blackmail you?
Oh, no.
He wouldn't dare.
Why not?
Wait, you think that Kurt told my husband about the gardener, and so Elliot killed him?
Elliot puked when he shot a pig.
Please.
Interlocking lines of suasion between members of the collective result in multiple duplicities.
Oh, my God.
She's an anthropologist.
She talks like an anthropologist.
Just answer the question.
Why wouldn't Kurt Bessette dare tell your husband about the gardener?
I'm a trained therapist.
I looked at Kurt and Paige talking on the street.
I knew immediately that their relationship was clandestine.
Probably sexual.
Kurt Bessette was sleeping with that 18-year-old girl.
I used that knowledge to ask for our five grand back for the phone.
Kurt wouldn't have agreed if it weren't true.
If I were you, I'd be looking at Paige's father for this murder, not my Elliot.
Hey, Dad!
I'm going to kill you!
That never gets old.
Okay, yeah, Kurt and I hooked up.
I'm of age.
He didn't break any laws sleeping with me.
So, what did you see in him?
Kurt wasn't like the other guys from here.
He wasn't just cute, he was committed to the environment, saving our planet.
People hated him because he made them feel ashamed that they weren't doing more.
I think what they hated was the windmill.
You know, it's possible having sex with you killed him.
No, Kurt was in awesome shape.
No, I didn't mean that you gave him a heart attack.
What I meant was, it's possible that someone who cares about you killed him.
Like my Dad, you mean?
Or Trey the gardener.
But they didn't even know about Kurt.
Well...
what if they did?
Is this an official FBI investigation?
Do I need some kind of representation?
Yeah, the whole accent thing-- it's kind of out in the world.
I figured.
This place, the Jeffersonian-- they see things in very black-and-white terms.
Comes with the gig.
We're scientists.
Yes, but unlike any of them, you're religious.
Muslim.
Now, this man I see in front of me right now-- rational, pragmatic, highly intelligent-- that man might have to explain his religion to people like that every single day.
Whereas...
Whereas a kid from the sticks of Iran, newly arrived in the West, it's no wonder he clings to his cultural superstitions.
There you go.
Frustrating enough to drive a guy to fake an accent.
Which, in my professional opinion, is not crazy.
You're a pretty smart guy.
But I don't need a scientist to tell me who or what I am.
And neither should you, Mr.
Vaziri.
Thanks for coming by.
Thank you.
Tox screen came back positive for potassium nitrate, which can be prescribed for high blood pressure...
...but Kurt Bessette was in very good shape.
Yes, we heard that from his teenage girlfriend.
Enough to kill the guy?
Nope.
He might have experienced some muscle weakness, but otherwise saltpeter is fairly harmless.
Saltpeter is not harmless, okay?
I went to Catholic school.
That's a total myth, Booth.
No, Booth did actually go to a Catholic school.
No, no, no, the nuns-- used to put saltpeter in all the boys' milk at lunch so that we couldn't get...
So we could concentrate without...
You know!
Ping?
But how could you tell that it was in the boys' milk and not the girls'?
'Cause the boys' milk was always frothier.
And did it work?
Well, not on me.
Well, it didn't work on anyone, Booth.
Why people insist upon believing that old wives' tale in the face of all evidence, I'll never understand.
Saltpeter acts as a blood thinner.
See?
Thin blood could stop a guy from...
We've been saying that the two wounds we found on the victim's body wouldn't be enough for him to bleed out.
But with saltpeter, he could have bled internally from even minor soft tissue damage.
We'd never have seen the evidence of that after he cooked.
We got a probable cause of death.
Now we just need to find out who fed Kurt Bessette the saltpeter.
I think you'll want to talk to the cheating bastard's wife.
I begged Kurt to stop cheating on me.
I did everything I could in the bedroom to make him stay.
I changed my hair.
I went to the gym.
But when I went to work every day, it was a "cat's away, mice play" situation.
Where did you get the saltpeter?
Oh.
Um...
Nate and James have stump remover.
And that's 98% saltpeter.
I figured that might be enough to remove Kurt's stump from her garden.
Who else knew he was cheating?
Nobody.
Unless her husband found out.
Husband?
Kurt Bessette was sleeping with the church lady, too.
Do you think her husband is capable of murder?
Bob?
No.
He's just a big dumb-ass knob who thinks Verbena Court is Heaven.
That was before he knew the neighbor was having sex with both his wife and his daughter.
I don't care how big of a dumb-ass Bob Sayles is.
He finds that out, he's going to want to kill her husband.
How did you find out about me and Kurt?
Only the two of us knew and-and Kurt's dead.
You were not the only person that Kurt Bessette was sleeping with.
You mean, aside from his wife?
So I wasn't his only...
Well, who?
Who else?
He was sleeping with your daughter Paige.
You can understand why you were a suspect here.
Yes.
People kill out of jealousy.
I guess it won't matter if I deny it.
Uh, but you're not our prime suspect.
You see, you have an alibi.
You were out biking with James Perry and Elliot Lindbergh.
So you think Kelly found out and killed her own husband?
Paige?
My God, she's only 18.
You think my Bob found out and killed Kurt?
I found evidence of a homogenous mixture of oily and waxy long-chain, which are non-polar hydrocarbons in, uh, this fracture of the skull.
Can't you just say lubricant?
Isn't that much quicker?
Arastoo must be finished looking at the mini-fractures in that area, right?
Where is he?
Sorry.
Sorry, I just finished morning prayers.
Skull fracture is located high on the frontal bone, right on the midline.
Whoa!
Who are you?
I don't have an accent.
I was faking it.
But I am devout.
I do pray five times a day.
Now can we get back to work, please?
Oh, no.
Definitely not.
How do we know you're not faking this accent?
Does Brennan know about this?
Yes.
She doesn't care.
She doesn't care.
The midline fracture...
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...
Arastoo, things will go a lot faster if you just explain.
When I speak as though I just got off the boat, people accept my religious convictions.
Plus, fewer terrorist jokes.
I don't know why.
'Cause they're afraid of you.
You are so going to pay for this.
Yeah.
I have no doubt that is true.
Now, this wound has a distinctive curve shape to it.
It doesn't look very severe.
Corresponding microfractures to the posterior cranium indicate that Kurt was hit while resting his head on a hard surface.
So, a weak blow that was delivered when Kurt was already on the ground?
There's a concrete base on the wind turbine.
Bob Sayles is a big, burly man.
Yeah, but he's a decent guy.
Well, what does that have to do with it?
Decent guys, you know.
They have a harder time hitting a guy when they're already down on the ground.
So, not a weak blow, a half-hearted one?
This mark here could be congruent with a golf club.
It's curved and metallic.
I could run up an image.
Most clubs have a brazing composition to secure the titanium alloy that's on the club head.
I can check on that.
So a reciprocating saw, a golf-club with some lubricant.
That just leaves the puncture weapon unidentified.
It takes a village, Bones.
Uh, I beg your pardon?
A village to raise a kid properly.
You know, it takes a village.
But metaphorically; it doesn't mean we all must grow up in hamlets of 800 people or less.
Thanks, um...
Will you be my village?
Huh?
I-I need Parker to know that I lead a full and rewarding life.
But you don't.
What?
Yes, I do.
No, you don't.
You work too much, you don't socialize, all of which prevents you from having a full sex life.
Okay, please, let's just take a hint from, you know, the suburbs and just make it look good.
You want to know if I'll help you fool your son into thinking your life is gratifying?
Yeah.
Will you do it?
Well, how?
Come to dinner with us.
Have fun.
Laugh at my jokes.
That might actually turn out to be fun, thus becoming a self-fulfilling desire.
Right.
So, you'll do it?
Yes, I will be your hamlet of 800 people or less.
My village.
I was being amusing.
You should laugh at my jokes, too.
I'm laughing on the inside.
Hey, so I just told Bob Sayles that both his wife and daughter were having sex with Kurt Bessette.
Was he shocked?
Yeah, and he wasn't faking it.
Well, you shouldn't say that like it's a fact.
In my opinion, his dismay was genuine.
However, it's difficult to say whether the shock was due to the sexual revelations or if we discovered information he was keeping secret.
I appreciate the distinction.
Hold on to that for a second.
You do the best you can, you know?
You go to work, you bring home the bacon, you raise a daughter.
Either of you got daughters?
Mm-mm.
Well, that's the trip, man-- daughters.
I was so worried about Paige and that gardener kid, I didn't see what was happening with Kurt.
But, I mean, what do you do, preach abstinence?
Doesn't work in Alaska; why would it work on Verbena Court?
Did you suspect anything about your wife?
I gotta confess...
If I'd have known any of that, I'd have killed the son of a bitch, bare hands.
And there's not a jury in this country that would convict me, either.
That is untrue.
They most certainly would have convicted you.
You don't have an alibi?
I was home alone, sleeping in, after getting that pig pit all dug and ready and lit.
Why would Mary Kay do this to me?
I've been a good husband, good provider.
I took two jobs.
* Liliko'i, liliko'i, liliko'i lava * * Sometimes you're sweet, sometimes you're sour * * Liliko'i, liliko'i, liliko'i lava * * Think about you every day, every hour * * Wake up in the morning, go out...
* Hey, back off, sailor.
Grabbing the gay guy's coconut boob-- real cool, Dad.
Your old man is cool.
Right, Nate?
Massively cool, Bob.
You're a glacier.
Aren't any of these nonalcoholic?
You know, it would do you some good to have a couple drinks, loosen up a little.
All due respect, James, I don't even understand why gays even want to get married.
Elliot!
family, kids, the American Dream.
Exactly.
Thank you, Paula.
Our house has been on the market for ten months.
Nobody wants the American Dream anymore.
Elliot, you're gonna love the 'burbs once we have a couple kids.
What's goin' on?
That's coming from the luau pit.
Hey, Trey, what's that noise?
For God's sake, Bob, he's a gardener, not a servant.
He works for the Homeowner's Association, which means he works for us.
Am I wrong?
Maybe the, uh, pig's eyeballs explode when it's done.
It shouldn't be done for a couple more hours.
We should check and make sure it's not burning.
All right, stand back.
All right, look out, get back.
This is kosher, right?
Aw, yeah.
Elliot, will you get the meat thermometer?
What, hon?
Is that a person?
That's a person!
He's been cooked!
Why are you standing there like a security guard?
Parker, hey!
Hi!
The remains we've been called to examine were apparently barbecued.
Would you like to see?
Totally!
No, no, no.
A person did not get barbecued.
Did they, Dr.
Brennan?
Yes.
In a luau pit, which is why I'm surprised you'd bring Parker along.
No, I-- Rebecca and her boyfriend won a night at the Greenbrier, so little kid's with me.
I got him.
Let's go see the cooked person!
Geez, you know our deal.
Well, what's your deal?
We're not allowed to talk about the bad parts of Dad's work until I have armpit hair.
You don't have any armpit hair last time I checked.
Not for a long time, kid.
Angela, would you mind...?
Oh, no, sure.
I get the situation here.
You're with me, Parker.
I want to see the barbecued body.
Well, I agree that does sound awesome, but I have face paints that your dad will never be able to get off, no matter how hard he scrubs.
They're basically tattoos.
Okay, I'm with you.
You have a good time, all right?
I'll come pick you up in a little bit, all right?
Have fun-- fun with the face paints, kid.
Hey, that's not true about the face paint, is it?
You're with me, Baby Booth.
Ethnographic studies of the suburbs indicate a cultural impulsion toward overt displays of status.
Of course, this competitive paradigm can often result in aggression and violence.
There was this guy on my street who cut his lawn on the diagonal.
The neighbors got angry.
Someone set his garage on fire.
Oh, I mean, yards, sidewalks, you know, clean streets, birds flying by.
A dead body in the barbecue pit.
Oh.
Okay, you know what, I'm gonna go talk to the neighbors, to see if anyone who cut their lawn diagonally is missing.
I think those are reflective lenses that have fused to the supra-orbital margin.
Nate and I moved to Verbena Court about six months ago.
The luau pit came with the house.
We installed a lockable cover.
We don't want kids falling in.
We're good neighbors.
Who has a key?
Uh, just us.
And there's one with the Neighborhood Watch.
Okay, uh, who put the pig in the pit?
Me, Nate and Trey at 9:00 this morning.
Trey?
Uh, Trey Jordan.
He's the gardener/handyman for the Homeowner's Association.
Stop staring at him, James.
You were just talking about him...
Guys, guys.
When you put the pig in...
We didn't notice anything down there but hot coals.
48 degrees Celsius.
That's, what, an hour after they drenched everything with a garden hose?
Wish they hadn't done that.
Well, it's human nature, Dr.
Brennan.
You see someone on fire, you put 'em out.
Prominent brow points to a male.
Wear on his mandibular teeth puts his age at about 30 to 35.
We should remove the remains and then let Hodgins get down here.
We have the luau every year.
The pit was dug maybe...
Four years ago.
July.
Same time we planted our hydrangeas.
That reminds me, we should spray.
Yeah, we all helped with the pit.
It's, uh, four feet deep and lined with brick; you burn the wood to embers.
You cheat with charcoal.
Don't call your dad a cheater, Paige.
Anyway, tons of embers going, then you throw down a layer of wet burlap, then wet leaves, then wet burlap, chicken wire, then you lower the pig in and voila.
Yeah, you're forgetting one thing there.
I don't think so.
Burlap, leaves...
He means the dead guy under the pig, Dad.
Smart one in the family there.
So, what made you crack open the pit early?
We heard little explosions, like fireworks going off.
We found these in the pit.
Reflective aviators.
Those look like Mr.
Bessette's glasses.
Oh, my God.
That's Kurt?
You must be mistaken.
Hey, everybody, looks like it was Kurt.
Oh, my God!
Oh, not Kurt.
Kurt...?!
Who's Kurt?
He and his wife live over there.
That was creepy.
I warned you about the suburbs.
And you're certain it's Kurt?
I'm afraid so, Ms.
Bessette.
His teeth match the X-rays your dentist provided.
Oh, God...
Well, I already told the FBI guy and the scary lady everything I know, so I don't know what...
You mentioned that you and your husband didn't really fit in with the neighborhood.
Uh, yeah.
Uh, Kurt put up a solar panel and a wind turbine, and it made everybody mad.
They thought they were pretty ugly.
They said they ruined the neighborhood, you know.
But he just wanted to save the planet.
There's nothing wrong with that, right?
No, it's quite a noble cause.
But it can kind of rub people the wrong way sometimes.
When the gay couple's dog peed on the wind turbine, Kurt gave the dog a laxative that nearly killed him.
Oh.
Well, that...
that's not quite so noble.
Neighbors don't forget a thing like that.
We got shunned.
Found out what caused the mini explosions.
Would it have anything to do with the pebbles embedded in the remains?
If by pebbles, you mean the rudaceous sedimentary stratified clast fragments, then yes.
Now, based on the amount of pyrites, I'd estimate the porosity at approximately 25%.
That's ideal for moisture saturation.
Meaning the pebbles exploded when they got hot.
The pebbles, as you so quaintly call them, were all found on the same strata as the human remains.
Most likely dragged from the murder site.
Which explains why they were embedded in the remains.
Yeah.
All consistent in size and color.
Decorative, perhaps?
I'll call you back.
These bones are not human.
I assume they're pig.
Yes.
Time for prayers?
Yes, but I have a couple of minutes.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Why?
As a Muslim, I imagine you consider this work unclean.
Yes, well, as a Christian, I imagine you feel the same way.
Four femurs, 12 phalanges, dozens of teeth, 12 canines.
Luau custom says throw the pig bones back in the pit.
Sorry, sorry.
Pig bones.
God...
I'm fine, Dr.
Saroyan.
Perhaps the killer assumed his victim's remains would never be noticed amongst the pig bones.
Really, Arastoo, there's no reason for you...
I appreciate your concern, but I am fine.
No, really, most of us aren't devout here, and I respect your religion. "
He hath forbidden you the flesh of swine, "but if one is forced by necessity, "without willful disobedience, nor transgressing due limits, then is he guiltless."
Point is, you shouldn't feel forced...
I'm a scientist, okay?
Just like the rest of you.
I can deal.
So please just back off and let me do my job like anyone else.
Wow.
I apologize for my outburst.
Oh, you aren't even gonna try to un-ring that bell, are you?
I have to pray.
Saroyan.
I found the rudaceous sedimentary stratified clast fragment mother lode.
Uh, yeah, any signs of a struggle in the pebbles?
No...
Um, I call do-over.
They're covered in blood.
Lots of blood.
My friend's dad just got a new girlfriend.
He goes with his dad to her place all the time to swim.
Oh, so he likes her.
Well, that's good.
Do you have a boyfriend?
No, I'm on a celibacy kick.
It's been five months and nine days, which in celibacy time is 400 years.
What does celibacy mean?
It's, um...
I don't have a boyfriend, no.
How about my dad?
I don't think he has a boyfriend either.
No, he really, really needs a girlfriend.
Really.
Why?
To sex up.
That's very succinctly put.
Could Dad sex you up?
Don't think I haven't considered that, but I'm sort of on the sidelines for now.
But thank you for thinking of me.
Okay.
Ready?
Mm-hmm.
Done.
Cool.
How'd you do that?
I'm good.
Plenty.
He estimates a fatal amount.
Can you compare the blood to the cooked guy and see if it's his?
He's pretty cooked, but we'll try.
Hodgins also I.D.'d morning glory pollen between the victim's eyeballs and his sunglasses.
How is that relevant?
He said morning glories only bloom after sunup.
Sunrise was 5:47 a.m., so we're close to a time of death.
Were you guys aware that Arastoo doesn't really have an accent?
Yeah, he does.
Yeah, it's thicker than Achmed the rug merchant.
Was that racist?
It sounded racist.
I knew that despite the fact that Arastoo said he was Iranian, his accent was Jordanian.
Don't you find it odd that he was faking an Arab accent of any kind?
Iranian isn't actually Arab.
What?
Bones, it's weird!
Now how is it any more odd than, say, shaving your face or putting on makeup?
I'm not hanging up because I don't have an answer to that, I'm just hanging up.
But...
I had questions about the morning glories.
So, we understand that you and the deceased had an altercation over your dog?
You think that we cooked him because he poisoned our dog?
Kurt did not poison our dog.
Yes, he did.
Rocky peed on his stupid windmill, so then he gave our dog chocolate laxatives.
Dogs don't react to that the way people do.
It's very difficult to overdose on laxatives.
All that will happen is...
Rocky died from cancer.
Maybe.
We'll never know because someone wouldn't pay for a doggy autopsy.
Oh, my God.
You won't let that go, even though the FBI thinks that we killed Kurt for poisoning our dog.
We don't think that he poisoned our dog.
He does.
Now that I think about it...
Rocky totally died of cancer.
Can you see anything that would explain copious blood loss?
Not so far.
As you can see, here and here...
Can it, bub.
It's just you and me here.
This mark here on the scapula suggests a puncture wound.
And it's barely a poke, right?
It would've been painful, but no way it kills the guy.
Here we see a bone laceration on the victim's proximal humerus adjacent to the greater tubercle.
Staining suggests that the injury occurred before he died.
Is that bone splintering?
Yes, micro-fragments.
I believe the laceration's the result of a blow from a reciprocating-type weapon.
Like?
A saw.
I asked Dr.
Hodgins to swab for particulates that may have been transferred from the blade.
Here...
is the stab wound.
And the laceration from the saw.
Neither blow's anywhere near a major vein or artery.
Neither blow explains the amount of blood on the pebbles.
I ran a metal detector through all the crap we found at the bottom of the pit.
Crap?!
Yeah, yeah.
Technical term.
Bullet.
Is that a .44 caliber?
Yep.
: This seems to suggest, rather convincingly, There is a *** Whoa-whoa-whoa, wait a second.
You and Parker discussed my sex life?
Well, we discussed your lack of sex life.
Angela, neither you nor him, especially him, know anything about my sex life.
Well, he knows that daddy ain't getting any, and he's concerned.
He thinks you need a girlfriend...
to have sex.
He said that?
Well, his exact words were, "To sex up."
I think you need to talk to him honestly about your love life.
You kidding me?
No offense, but I'm not talking about that.
Hey...
What?
Want to run our friendly neighborhood suburbanites through the National Gun Permit Database, see if any of them own a .44?
Hodgins found that in the pit.
Hi, Dr.
Saroyan.
Do you have a boyfriend?
See?
This is exactly how it started with me.
Come on.
Let's go.
Come on.
I gotta get you back home, or your mom's gonna kill me, all right?
Let me see this stuff.
Does this stuff come off?
Oh, seriously.
That's your big worry right now?
I hate Verbena Court.
Every last thing about it.
It's artificial, soulless...
that's why I'm trying to sell out.
It's ennui, Agent Booth, do you understand that?
Looks kind of nice to me.
It's good for kids.
They call it a cul-de-sac, but what it is is a dead end.
So why'd you move there in the first place?
Wife wants kids; kids want lawns.
Here.
I got snookered in the math.
Right.
Thanks.
Snookered enough, uh...
to snap?
So I own a handgun.
So what?
I have a license, it's registered.
We found this bullet in the pit with Bessette's body.
We checked out his bank records.
You wired $5,000 into his account last month?
Verbena Court was built with a limited amount of phone lines.
Bessette bought them all.
I wanted to put in a second line.
Your neighbor charged you $5,000 for a phone line?
Yup.
Then he spent the five grand on putting up the damn windmill.
Okay, so he rips you off for five grand, you snap and you shoot him.
No.
I should've shot him.
It wasn't Kurt I shot, though.
I shot the pig.
The luau pig.
Excuse me?
Bob Sayles and I found a farm in North Carolina and paid to hunt our own pig.
With a handgun?
I'll give you the name of the farm.
Porky walked right up to us.
I popped him one between the eyes.
I barfed, Bob cried.
Suburban hunters.
That's an oxymoron, my friend.
It's an oxymoron.
No, no, no, no, you can't just walk in here-- Arastoo Vaziri, our Muslim intern-- he's been faking his accent.
At first I go where everyone else goes, you know-- terrorist.
Wouldn't a terrorist fake not having an accent?
Is it crazy or just weird?
Weird, I can deal with, but crazy...
Wait.
What do you want me to do?
Oh, crazy is your department.
They went to a farm and shot an innocent pig in the head?
Look, it's not a Federal offense, Bones.
There's nothing we can do about it now, okay?
So let's just focus on the murdered human.
Okay, so far, we have a nick on the scapula, suggesting stabbing, and splintering on the humerus, which suggests sawing.
But neither explains bleeding out.
Well, Sweets says he has something he'd like to share with us in the conference room.
Why does he have to say "share"?
Why can't he just say "show"?
What do you have?
Hey.
Hey.
Suburbanites tend to put too much emphasis on their outward accomplishments.
Now, this creates a sense of detachment.
Ennui.
Very insightful.
That's right.
All right.
The inherent uniformity and shared ideals of a planned community suggest that the neighborhood can be psychologically analyzed as a single, dysfunctional personality.
You mean you can look at it anthropologically?
Really?
You're gonna shanghai my whole discipline?
You're tapping into what anthropologists call "lines of influence, dominance and suasion."
Go on, Sweets.
Just let him go on.
So we can look at the community as a single dysfunctional personality, dealing with sexual infidelity, indebtedness, resentment...
That's what I just said.
Both of you-- it's murder, okay?
We're either dealing with money or sex here.
That's what I just said.
And this is where psychology can provide an insight that anthropology cannot.
I doubt that.
Well, suburbanites will not only lie to outsiders, they'll lie to each other and to themselves.
What Sweets means is that societal norms endemic to the suburban acculturation dichotomize exterior postures and clandestine protocols.
Just give me one thing that's gonna help me catch the murderer-- just one thing.
All right, deal with these people as separate elements of a collective personality.
Identify the threat that Kurt Bessette posed to their psychological equanimity, and the killer will emerge.
I agree.
It doesn't help me one bit.
Why?
You seriously believe all that hoo-ha?
It's anthropology, so, yes.
Wrong "ology."
Keep your grubby anthro hands off my psych.
Listen, Bones, I'll meet you down in the car in five minutes, okay?
What?
Five minutes.
What?
Okay, look...
Parker has been asking all the women that I work with to be my girlfriend.
Well, the women you work with are beautiful.
Don't turn this into a conversation about sex, okay?
My kid is eight years old here.
Parker's pre-adolescent, but he's very concerned with sex.
What he's concerned about are shoes with wheels on them.
There are five stages of psychosexual development: oral, anal, phallic...
Whoa!
latent and genital.
Now Parker's transitioning from latent to genital.
At the genital stage, he's learning to identify with his gender parent.
That's you.
He looking at you to see his sexual future.
How do I get him to stop?
My advice is to let him see you interact with a woman.
Easy!
No, not sexually.
Socially.
Show him you're comfortable with women so he can learn to be the same way.
Okay.
Okay?
Just like that?
You're taking my advice?
No, I just don't want to talk to you about it anymore.
Wait.
This isn't my office.
* It's...
the...
good life * * Full of fun * * Seems to be the ideal * * Yes, the good life * * Lets you hide all the sadness you feel * * You won't really fall in love * * 'Cause you can't take the chance * * So be honest * * With yourself * * Don't try to fake romance...
* What are you doing? "
Alibis."
Hmm, it's very organized. "
At the time of the murder, "Mary Kay Sayles was biking with James Perry and Elliot Lindbergh."
I'm thinking gay guy and 'burb hater are out biking with church lady.
Oh, so you're thinking they're a sexual threesome?
What?
Wow.
No.
I was just thinking that one of these cyclists was having sex with Kurt Bessette.
Oh.
So we should find out where churchy lady's husband and gay guy's boyfriend and 'burb hater's wife were at that time.
Hey, if this turns out to be some suburban-key-party- threesome-revenge-slaying, it's gonna get complicated and I'm gonna get...
Hey, so I finally got through the particulates left behind by the saw.
Three different organic remnants on the cut: a hooked thorn from the Bougainvillea glabra, a haw from a hybrid Crataegus monogyna and nectar from a Syringa protolaciniata.
Each plant was from a different yard.
But all on the same reciprocating saw.
Yeah.
So, my question is, did you kill Kurt Bessette on your own volition or did his wife talk you into it?
What?
Bessette was attacked with your hedge trimmer.
Come on.
Young hot suburban gardener, bored suburban housewives.
You're an ethnological trope.
What?
Come on, Trey.
Iced tea is not the only perk here, is it?
Look, I had nothing going with Kurt Bessette's wife.
Let me make this a little easier for you, shall we?
Which one of these people did you have something going with?
Paige Sayles.
The church lady's daughter.
She's 18, she's legal...
and, plus, it was her idea.
And?
Paula Lindbergh-- I think she was trying to get pregnant so her husband would stay in the suburbs.
So, you mind being used as a stud horse?
Would you?
Do these women know about each other?
Not from me.
Then from who?
Mr.
Bessette caught me and Mrs.
Lindbergh sloshing up her hot tub.
Where were you between the hours of 5:00 am and 8:00 am the morning of the luau?
I've got a girlfriend.
I mean, back in my neighborhood.
A real one who I love.
I was with her.
Wow.
That cul-de-sac is like a sex camp.
What?
There's a sex camp?
No, no, no-- listen, what were your anthropological lines again?
Influence, dominance and suasion.
Okay, look, we both know that the murder victim wasn't above shaking someone down for a phone line, so maybe he finds out that Paula Lindbergh is trying to make babies with the gardener; he puts the squeeze on her, she kills him and Casanova gardener boy helps out.
Definitely fits the paradigm.
I was afraid this would come up when I heard you took Trey in for questioning.
You were right.
So start talking.
I should never have made Elliot move to the suburbs.
In a way, I emasculated him.
Oh, God.
She's a therapist.
She talks like a therapist.
What?
You remove a man from an environment where he flourishes to a place where he feels impotent, he actually becomes impotent.
Look, if you wanted a baby so bad, why didn't you just move back to the city?
We owe more on this house than it's worth.
And even if Elliot could sell it, we're stuck financially.
What happened when Kurt Bessette found you with the gardener?
Nothing.
He smirked.
Did Kurt threaten to tell your husband or blackmail you?
Oh, no.
He wouldn't dare.
Why not?
Wait, you think that Kurt told my husband about the gardener, and so Elliot killed him?
Elliot puked when he shot a pig.
Please.
Interlocking lines of suasion between members of the collective result in multiple duplicities.
Oh, my God.
She's an anthropologist.
She talks like an anthropologist.
Just answer the question.
Why wouldn't Kurt Bessette dare tell your husband about the gardener?
I'm a trained therapist.
I looked at Kurt and Paige talking on the street.
I knew immediately that their relationship was clandestine.
Probably sexual.
Kurt Bessette was sleeping with that 18-year-old girl.
I used that knowledge to ask for our five grand back for the phone.
Kurt wouldn't have agreed if it weren't true.
If I were you, I'd be looking at Paige's father for this murder, not my Elliot.
Hey, Dad!
I'm going to kill you!
That never gets old.
Okay, yeah, Kurt and I hooked up.
I'm of age.
He didn't break any laws sleeping with me.
So, what did you see in him?
Kurt wasn't like the other guys from here.
He wasn't just cute, he was committed to the environment, saving our planet.
People hated him because he made them feel ashamed that they weren't doing more.
I think what they hated was the windmill.
You know, it's possible having sex with you killed him.
No, Kurt was in awesome shape.
No, I didn't mean that you gave him a heart attack.
What I meant was, it's possible that someone who cares about you killed him.
Like my Dad, you mean?
Or Trey the gardener.
But they didn't even know about Kurt.
Well...
what if they did?
Is this an official FBI investigation?
Do I need some kind of representation?
Yeah, the whole accent thing-- it's kind of out in the world.
I figured.
This place, the Jeffersonian-- they see things in very black-and-white terms.
Comes with the gig.
We're scientists.
Yes, but unlike any of them, you're religious.
Muslim.
Now, this man I see in front of me right now-- rational, pragmatic, highly intelligent-- that man might have to explain his religion to people like that every single day.
Whereas...
Whereas a kid from the sticks of Iran, newly arrived in the West, it's no wonder he clings to his cultural superstitions.
There you go.
Frustrating enough to drive a guy to fake an accent.
Which, in my professional opinion, is not crazy.
You're a pretty smart guy.
But I don't need a scientist to tell me who or what I am.
And neither should you, Mr.
Vaziri.
Thanks for coming by.
Thank you.
Tox screen came back positive for potassium nitrate, which can be prescribed for high blood pressure...
...but Kurt Bessette was in very good shape.
Yes, we heard that from his teenage girlfriend.
Enough to kill the guy?
Nope.
He might have experienced some muscle weakness, but otherwise saltpeter is fairly harmless.
Saltpeter is not harmless, okay?
I went to Catholic school.
That's a total myth, Booth.
No, Booth did actually go to a Catholic school.
No, no, no, the nuns-- used to put saltpeter in all the boys' milk at lunch so that we couldn't get...
So we could concentrate without...
You know!
Ping?
But how could you tell that it was in the boys' milk and not the girls'?
'Cause the boys' milk was always frothier.
And did it work?
Well, not on me.
Well, it didn't work on anyone, Booth.
Why people insist upon believing that old wives' tale in the face of all evidence, I'll never understand.
Saltpeter acts as a blood thinner.
See?
Thin blood could stop a guy from...
We've been saying that the two wounds we found on the victim's body wouldn't be enough for him to bleed out.
But with saltpeter, he could have bled internally from even minor soft tissue damage.
We'd never have seen the evidence of that after he cooked.
We got a probable cause of death.
Now we just need to find out who fed Kurt Bessette the saltpeter.
I think you'll want to talk to the cheating bastard's wife.
I begged Kurt to stop cheating on me.
I did everything I could in the bedroom to make him stay.
I changed my hair.
I went to the gym.
But when I went to work every day, it was a "cat's away, mice play" situation.
Where did you get the saltpeter?
Oh.
Um...
Nate and James have stump remover.
And that's 98% saltpeter.
I figured that might be enough to remove Kurt's stump from her garden.
Who else knew he was cheating?
Nobody.
Unless her husband found out.
Husband?
Kurt Bessette was sleeping with the church lady, too.
Do you think her husband is capable of murder?
Bob?
No.
He's just a big dumb-ass knob who thinks Verbena Court is Heaven.
That was before he knew the neighbor was having sex with both his wife and his daughter.
I don't care how big of a dumb-ass Bob Sayles is.
He finds that out, he's going to want to kill her husband.
How did you find out about me and Kurt?
Only the two of us knew and-and Kurt's dead.
You were not the only person that Kurt Bessette was sleeping with.
You mean, aside from his wife?
So I wasn't his only...
Well, who?
Who else?
He was sleeping with your daughter Paige.
You can understand why you were a suspect here.
Yes.
People kill out of jealousy.
I guess it won't matter if I deny it.
Uh, but you're not our prime suspect.
You see, you have an alibi.
You were out biking with James Perry and Elliot Lindbergh.
So you think Kelly found out and killed her own husband?
Paige?
My God, she's only 18.
You think my Bob found out and killed Kurt?
I found evidence of a homogenous mixture of oily and waxy long-chain, which are non-polar hydrocarbons in, uh, this fracture of the skull.
Can't you just say lubricant?
Isn't that much quicker?
Arastoo must be finished looking at the mini-fractures in that area, right?
Where is he?
Sorry.
Sorry, I just finished morning prayers.
Skull fracture is located high on the frontal bone, right on the midline.
Whoa!
Who are you?
I don't have an accent.
I was faking it.
But I am devout.
I do pray five times a day.
Now can we get back to work, please?
Oh, no.
Definitely not.
How do we know you're not faking this accent?
Does Brennan know about this?
Yes.
She doesn't care.
She doesn't care.
The midline fracture...
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...
Arastoo, things will go a lot faster if you just explain.
When I speak as though I just got off the boat, people accept my religious convictions.
Plus, fewer terrorist jokes.
I don't know why.
'Cause they're afraid of you.
You are so going to pay for this.
Yeah.
I have no doubt that is true.
Now, this wound has a distinctive curve shape to it.
It doesn't look very severe.
Corresponding microfractures to the posterior cranium indicate that Kurt was hit while resting his head on a hard surface.
So, a weak blow that was delivered when Kurt was already on the ground?
There's a concrete base on the wind turbine.
Bob Sayles is a big, burly man.
Yeah, but he's a decent guy.
Well, what does that have to do with it?
Decent guys, you know.
They have a harder time hitting a guy when they're already down on the ground.
So, not a weak blow, a half-hearted one?
This mark here could be congruent with a golf club.
It's curved and metallic.
I could run up an image.
Most clubs have a brazing composition to secure the titanium alloy that's on the club head.
I can check on that.
So a reciprocating saw, a golf-club with some lubricant.
That just leaves the puncture weapon unidentified.
It takes a village, Bones.
Uh, I beg your pardon?
A village to raise a kid properly.
You know, it takes a village.
But metaphorically; it doesn't mean we all must grow up in hamlets of 800 people or less.
Thanks, um...
Will you be my village?
Huh?
I-I need Parker to know that I lead a full and rewarding life.
But you don't.
What?
Yes, I do.
No, you don't.
You work too much, you don't socialize, all of which prevents you from having a full sex life.
Okay, please, let's just take a hint from, you know, the suburbs and just make it look good.
You want to know if I'll help you fool your son into thinking your life is gratifying?
Yeah.
Will you do it?
Well, how?
Come to dinner with us.
Have fun.
Laugh at my jokes.
That might actually turn out to be fun, thus becoming a self-fulfilling desire.
Right.
So, you'll do it?
Yes, I will be your hamlet of 800 people or less.
My village.
I was being amusing.
You should laugh at my jokes, too.
I'm laughing on the inside.
Hey, so I just told Bob Sayles that both his wife and daughter were having sex with Kurt Bessette.
Was he shocked?
Yeah, and he wasn't faking it.
Well, you shouldn't say that like it's a fact.
In my opinion, his dismay was genuine.
However, it's difficult to say whether the shock was due to the sexual revelations or if we discovered information he was keeping secret.
I appreciate the distinction.
Hold on to that for a second.
You do the best you can, you know?
You go to work, you bring home the bacon, you raise a daughter.
Either of you got daughters?
Mm-mm.
Well, that's the trip, man-- daughters.
I was so worried about Paige and that gardener kid, I didn't see what was happening with Kurt.
But, I mean, what do you do, preach abstinence?
Doesn't work in Alaska; why would it work on Verbena Court?
Did you suspect anything about your wife?
I gotta confess...
If I'd have known any of that, I'd have killed the son of a bitch, bare hands.
And there's not a jury in this country that would convict me, either.
That is untrue.
They most certainly would have convicted you.
You don't have an alibi?
I was home alone, sleeping in, after getting that pig pit all dug and ready and lit.
Why would Mary Kay do this to me?
I've been a good husband, good provider.
I took two jobs.