His finger prints, DNA, work history, academic history, medical records, everything, now identify him as Bassam Alfayat. Caroline and Flynn said there was nothing they could do — an Egyptian official was there to take him home that night. Your turn. Do you think Flynn is in on it? Are you excited to see how Bones handles Pelant, or nervous? Save FB Tweet More. Credit: Patrick McElhenney. I think this is one of the first moments Brennan herself realizes she needs Booth.
Like here. And I think part of the reason it helped her was because she saw his pain when he talked about it and that gave her something else to focus on.
I also noticed in my rewatch of this episode the mention that Booth had tried to get the crew to go in together and buy her a real pig. Booth wanted to get Brennan a pig! Again, miss seeing Booth in the lab. My cousin has a teacup pig, so, so cute!! I think it would be very sweet if little girl Booth had a stuffed pig. Michael can have the bunny, but she should have a piggy. Brennan lived in the world of academia, an ivory tower in which she can postulate various theories about life and whatnot, but ultimately she cannot truly know until she has actually lived those experiences.
Booth gave her those experiences— the good, the bad and the truly repulsive. Epps is repulsive especially using them as he does in this episode, but Booth counters that by reassuring her that her actions were right. Brennan is the one who pushes to be out in the field as if she knows that she cannot live a narrow life. Booth broadens it in some ways— exposing her to one part of the spectrum of human interactions, usually the hardened, cruel world around them, but there are moments of their own making in which they both get to glimpse past the curtains and see each other for who they really are.
They get to see the humanity in themselves and in each other. She felt bad. This is the first time I believe her and Booth shared common ground. To sum it up, i think having to kill someone made Brennan and Booth closer. Brennan needed reassurance that she was going to be okay and Booth needed to be that person to give it to her.
The added touch of the pig made the moment all the more special. Maybe they can get a potbellied pig now? Back to your post, Brennan was always most comfortable living within the confines of her mind, even when she was globetrotting out in the world. She made herself into an observer, an outsider, and not really a participant. She was always talking about the death penalty being acceptable and about how she wanted to carry her gun around for protection.
At first she thought she could get these things through observation, but after Doctor in the Photo she realized she needed to experience them in order to have them-and the only person she wanted to experience them with was Seeley Booth because he gets her-just as she gets him.
I love the whole Epps arc. He was wearing an apron. He steered Foote and the other detective away from the booth to a picnic area just outside the stadium. The detective asked him to describe her. Foote asked if he had had sex with anyone at the Airport Regency, and Jones said no. He said that the woman he had had sex with in Miami had been working at the boat show, and that they had hooked up elsewhere.
Foote was not making Jones as a suspect. The big man acted convincingly, like someone with nothing to hide. The detective was freezing in the evening air. Foote preferred coming right to the point; he was not given to artful interrogation. Besides, he felt more and more as if the trip had been a waste of time.
So he just asked what he wanted to know. Did you have anything to do with it? Jones promptly said he would, further convincing the detective that this was not the guy. Do the guilty volunteer conclusive evidence? Months after he returned, the DNA results came back. Brennan got a call from Foote. Brennan flew up to Frederick in October to meet Foote, who arrested the big man. It had been 11 months since he took the case. Foote formally charged Jones with a variety of felonies that encompassed the acts of raping, kidnapping, and beating a young woman severely.
The accused sat forlornly in a chair that looked tiny under his bulk, in an austere Frederick Police Department interrogation room, great rolls of fat falling on his lap under an enormous Baltimore Ravens T-shirt. He repeatedly denied everything in a surprisingly soft voice peculiar for such a big man, gesturing broadly with both hands, protesting but never growing angry, and insisting that he would never, ever, under any circumstances do such a thing to a woman.
They showed him pictures of her battered face, taken the day she was found. Brennan asked him why a man would roll his suitcase out to the parking lot and stash it in his car at five in the morning, two days before he checked out of the hotel. Brennan was able to trip Jones up with only one small thing. Jones said that his suitcase had only his clothes, shoes, and a video game in it, but when the detective noted the extra tug Jones had needed to get it off the elevator, Jones suddenly remembered that he had had a number of large books in it as well.
He said he was an avid reader. When Brennan asked him to name some of the books he had read, Jones could not. He could not name a single title. But Jones was unfailingly compliant, and his manner worked for him.
Even with the DNA, the case against him was weak. The fact that Jones had willingly provided the sample spoke in his favor. She had picked Jones out of a photo lineup, but given how foggy her memory of the night was, and the fact that she had seen Jones before, unlike the other faces she was shown, it was hardly convincing evidence of his guilt. Miami prosecutors ended up settling with Jones, who, after being returned to Miami, pleaded guilty to sexual assault in return for having all of the more severe charges against him dropped.
He was sentenced to two years in prison, an outcome that Brennan would have found very disappointing if that had been the end of the story. It was not. Watch him on that video. The F. Local, state, and federal law-enforcement officials routinely enter DNA samples recovered from convicts and from the scenes and victims of unsolved crimes, and over the years the system has electronically matched more than , of them, often reaching across surprising distances in place and time.
Michael Lee Jones had left a trail. Detective Terry Thrumston, of the Colorado Springs Police Department sex-crimes unit, had a rape-and-assault case that had been bugging her for more than a year. The victim was a blond-haired, blue-eyed woman who had been picked up early in the morning on December 1, , by a stranger—a very large black man with glasses, who had offered her a ride and then talked his way into her apartment and raped her, holding his hand tightly over her mouth.
Thrumston had no leads, and the case had sat for two years until DNA collected from the victim matched that of Michael Lee Jones. There were two victims in New Orleans. One of them, also a blonde, had been partying in the French Quarter a little too hard, by her own admission, and very early on the morning of May 5, , she had gone looking for a cab back to her hotel when a very large black man with glasses pulled his car over to the curb and offered her a ride.
As she later testified, he drove her to a weedy lot and raped her. He pressed his large hand powerfully over her face as he attacked her, and she testified that she bit his palm so hard that she had bits of his skin in her teeth afterward.
When he was finished, he drove off, leaving her on the lot. Jones, it turns out, had been in both Colorado Springs and New Orleans on the dates in question.
So in , as his Florida sentence drew to a close, he was flown to Colorado Springs to stand trial. It was a novel prosecution, because the Colorado woman had died in the interim, of causes unrelated to the crime. Instead he fashioned a case out of two of the other rapes, calling as witnesses the Miami victim and one of the New Orleans victims, both of whom supplemented the DNA evidence by pointing out Jones as their attacker in the courtroom. The New Orleans victim proved to be a very effective witness.
Her memory was clear and her statements emphatic, the outrage still evident six years later, along with her chagrin at the poor judgment she had displayed that night.
The Miami victim, on the other hand, was every bit as bad on the stand as the Miami prosecutors had feared. Her struggles with English further confused matters. Jones pleaded not guilty to all charges in the Colorado case. He argued through his lawyers he did not testify that the sex had been consensual, and that the woman claiming rape had been a prostitute. But where jurors in Colorado might have been able to accept two prostitutes in different states at different times unaccountably filing rape charges after turning a trick, and in both cases immediately describing their attacker as a huge black man with glasses, they clearly choked on a third.
There was no evidence that any of the victims were prostitutes. And then, of course, there was the DNA. He received a term of 24 years to life for one count of sexual assault with force, and 12 years to life for the second count, of felonious sexual contact. He is 38 years old and will not be eligible for his first parole hearing until The state estimates his term will last until he dies.
Ken Brennan is back doing his private-detective work in Miami. He is enormously proud of the efforts that have locked Jones away. They could find no motive for the killing of popular oil-and-gas man Greg Fleniken—and no explanation for how he had received his strange internal injuries.
By Mark Bowden. Photography by Dan Winters. The murder of newlywed Sherri Rasmussen went unsolved for 23 years, with the Los Angeles police assuming it was a burglary turned violent. Then, one morning in , when a detective opened the cold-case file, he got his first clue that the killer had been under their noses the entire time.
Mark Bowden gets to the core of the case, and the mystery that remains. Photography by Platon. From the start, it was a bad case. That girl is inside that suitcase. He called Brennan when he got back. Enter your e-mail address. The Body in Room From the Magazine. By Mark Bowden Photography by Platon. You believe in ghosts and angels and maybe even Santa Claus. And because of you, I've started to see the universe differently. How is it possible that simply looking into your fine face gives me so much joy?
Why does it make me so happy that every time I try to sneak a peek at you you are already looking at me? Like you, it makes no sense. And like you, it feels right. If I ever get out of here, I will find a time and a place to tell you that you make my life messy and confusing and unfocused and irrational and wonderful.
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