A Man of Odd Enthusiasms

Gormogon’s apprentice is in the lab.

Up until now, there had been half-assed rumors to that effect. Ghost stories told around the water cooler and coffee maker—theories that lab techs came up with to pass the time. But now, with Zach in the hospital and the silver skeleton stolen right out from under their noses, there’s no longer any doubt.

Gormogon’s apprentice is here.

And Hodgins is officially tired of the looks he is getting.

Yes, he’s known for being a conspiracy theorist. And yes, people know he has a problem with authority. People have been matching his name with Gormogon’s, on and off, for months now.

He had just laughed it off before. He may even have enjoyed the notoriety a bit.

But now? Knowing that some people he’s worked with for years think he’s capable of arranging an accident that had blown his friend’s hands halfway off so that his ‘master’ could sneak in and take back his grisly artwork?

Hodgins hopes that no one can tell exactly how much that hurts.

He also hopes that no one can tell how scared he’s getting. Because it’s almost like that little bit of amusement he got out of being suspected of being Gormogon’s apprentice is coming back to bite him in the ass, now. Because the evidence keeps swinging around to point at him.

And if his colleagues are looking at him, they could miss the real thing. And someone else could get hurt.

And it’s not just the lab techs, now. His own team is having their doubts. The way Cam jumped when he appeared in her office was proof enough of that.

But Hodgins had sucked it up. Because he had information, and his boss needed to know.

“I pulled trace elements from the mandible and ran them through the mass spectrometer to see what he bone was boiled in. It was tap water. But see this spike?” Hodgins pointed to the one glaring anomaly in his findings. Lead. A lot of it.

“I thought the city had to replace all their lead pipes,” Cam said.

“They did, but individual homeowners didn’t. I focused on neighborhoods with the highest lead levels. Older homes were the worst offenders.” Hodgins kept his voice and his face carefully neutral as he pulled a map up on the computer screen, the relevant section shaded in blue. “This neighborhood matches the level of lead found in the victim’s bone.

Cam wasn’t as good at matching his deadpan. “Isn’t that your house?”

Better to lay it all out on the table. But Hodgins could feel his teeth trying to grit together as he answered. “Yes. It is. But there are other people who live in that area too.”

Cam promised to pass the information on to the investigators (as soon as he was out of sight, Hodgins was sure). Her hand was going for her phone, even as she looked up to see Hodgins still standing by her desk.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“I could have fudged the facts. Could have left my neighborhood out.”

“Yes,” Cam said bluntly, “but that would have raised suspicion if someone had double checked your results.”

Which she knew Hodgins was smart enough to have figured out. And her look told him clearly that he was still not above suspicion.

Hodgins bit down some piece of half-formed sarcasm.

“If you need me, I’ll be at my station. Helping,” he said, pointedly.

The hell of it is that, Hodgins knows, if he was in her place, he’d probably suspect him too.

Angela is missing out on some serious courtroom drama.

Granted, Angela has also been the cause of some serious courtroom drama, so maybe it all balances out.

Still, even Angela's refusal to testify may be trumped by the fact that it looks like the prosecution has the wrong murder weapon. What looked like an open and shut case has now been opened up for reinvestigation.

Hodgins is practically radiating I have news! when the officer shows him into the jail.

It's generally frowned upon to sneak up on people in a lab. Too many volatile chemicals lying around and too much delicate equipment.

And Hodgins has never been able to get a good startled jump out of Zach anyway, so there's really no point in trying.

"Zaaaach," he calls from the door of the exam room before coming in.

All of his friend's attention is focused on the skull of their latest victim, like it holds the anwers to the mysteries of the universe--or at least the case.

Hodgins can appreciate that, but it's a different sort of answer he's looking for at the moment.

Who needs to think about being being best man in your friend's wedding? But that's what Zach had said the first time Hodgins had asked him.

Of course given that it's Zach, he probably shouldn't be surprised that he'd wanted to think about it.