Bones

God, I can't deal with any more kids poking at me.

At least you get the kids. I get their dads.

Letches all want me to sit on their laps.

I don't much care for the way Santa is gawking at you either.

Don't do that. You're too pretty to smoke.

Next you're going to tell me, it'll stunt my growth.

Be nice now, it's Christmas.

- What's that smell? - What do you want?

It's the back of a mall.

I have a very sensitive nose.

Don't walk. Why are you walking?

Let's just sit. It's coming from over here.

There's something.

Probably old hot dogs or a dead cat.

No, no, no, don't touch.

Let me.

Jail's not too bad.

I get meals with your brother. We go out on these work details together.

You haven't asked me why I'm strapped in these chains.

Well, you're in jail.

No, I'm in dress rehearsal for a Christmas Carol.

You're Jacob Marley?

I wanted to be Scrooge, but some triple homicide in Cell Block H got the part.

You don't want to know how.

What are you gonna do for Christmas?

I'm doing what I always do. I'm going on a trip.

To New York?

Peru. National Geographic found a new step pyramid

at an ancient ceremonial site known as El Brujo.

1,500-year-old skeletons.

Part of a very mysterious culture called the Moche.

Well, unless they're elves, it's not very Christmassy.

No, they aren't elves.

You know what I'd like?

I'd like to spend another Christmas with kids...

with a family, with a tree.

You're in jail, Dad.

So is Russ.

Mom's dead.

And Christmas is overrated anyway.

People expect it to be so perfect, and it never is.

I'm really looking forward to the skeletons in El Brujo.

Christmas and skeletons do not go together.

I remember the Christmas you and Mom...

gave me the toolbox.

That was great.

Yeah, except that the toolbox was for Russ.

But you decided that it was yours, and he let you have it.

He did?

Yeah.

I hope some day that, uh...

we can all have Christmas together again.

- I doubt it, Dad. - Lie to me. I can pretend.

I've got to go look at a dead person.

You never were any good at sugarcoating anything.

You've got that sad little

girl look on your face after you've been with your dad.

No, I don't.

He wishes we could spend Christmas together with Russ.

Do it.

They're both in jail.

It's impossible.

What are your plans?

I'm thinking of driving the truck right off the bridge.

I'm being melodramatic and self-pitying.

You love Christmas.

I love it, you know, when I have Parker.

This year, he's going skiing in Vermont with Rebecca and Captain Fantastic.

Who's Captain Fantastic?

It's her boyfriend. Commands a Coast Guard cutter.

His last name isn't literally Fantastic, is it?

Might as well be.

You know they have a trailer at the jail.

Mostly for conjugal visits.

Captain Fantastic is in jail?

No, your dad.

You could give him what he wants for Christmas.

- Pull a few strings. - I'm not a string puller.

- I've seen you pull some strings. - My father is a murderer and a thief.

Murders and thieves... they get Christmas, too.

In fact, it's kind of the point.

Well, I have other plans.

Whatever they are, skeletons and Christmas do not mix.

That's exactly what my father said. Where are we going?

Early Christmas present for you, Bones.

Dead guy in the sewer.

Cold enough as it is. Let's get this done here.

Great.

Had to be Santa.

You'd thinks someone who could squeeze up and down chimneys

would find the sewer a snap.

Rats got to him.

Like huge bacterial count, unseasonably warm weather...

explains why the rats found him so digestible.

He was washed down through the sewer system.

I mean, look at all the stuff that's around him.

Uphill is that way.

Busiest shopping district during the busiest shopping season.

Maybe he worked up there.

Or he was pushed out of a low-flying sleigh.

Cynicism from you at Christmas?

- What happened? - Nothing.

Rebecca is taking Parker to Vermont for the holidays.

That sucks majorly.

It does suck majorly.

So what do you say we just get back to our dead Santa here.

He's not Santa, Booth.

He's a dead man in a costume.

Well, the beard looks real and he's pretty fat.

Which doesn't make him Santa.

Well, let's not jump to conclusions.

Aw, three days before Christmas and somebody kills Santa.

Bones S03E09 "The Santa in the Slush"

We'll send his gloves to the FBI crime lab,

see if they can get any fingerprints from the inside.

Damage here on the left side of the skull

suggests a strong blow to the left temporal bone.

So Santa was definitely murdered.

Someone did not like their present.

There's copious insect activity from the sewer.

I'm intrigued that the Santa myth survived so far into modern times.

Children, Dr. Addy, it's for children.

These duds are not department store issue.

This is real ermine.

It's a hand-tailored suit.

Which I'd like to get off of him after you two finish your scraping and...

Not that that isn't all very, very important.

What Santa is supposed to do is clearly impossible.

He keeps a list, checks it twice, what's the big deal?

If you take into account all believers of the myth,

factor in time zones, rotation of the Earth, assume Santa travels east to west

he'd have to make approximately 822.6 visits per second to reach every child.

So Santa parks his sleigh, unloads presents,

fills stockings, eats snacks, gets back into his sleigh

and is on to the next house in about one-one-thousandth of a second?

Children have to be stupid to accept that.

Okay, first of all, children are not stupid, they're just children.

Second, Santa is magic.

Let's identify the victim, shall we?

There's an ellipsoid aperture in the mandibular left canine

and first premolar, consistent with pipe smoking.

Plus, traces of residue on the canine...

could this be clay?

Santa is often portrayed smoking a clay pipe.

All right, all right, very funny boys.

Come on, where's your holiday spirit?

Based on the degree of bloating and purge fluids,

I'd estimate time of death between 72 and 96 hours ago.

Check the sewer sludge and bugs and give me a confirmation.

Phorid fly maggots, third instar.

And they appear to have been well-fed as well.

Santa was around some other food source before he died.

My bet's on milk and cookies.

This is not Miracle on 34th Street.

We're not saying this is actually Santa Claus.

We're merely anatomizing the evidence.

Okay, it's still rough, but...

this might help.

Dad wants to spend Christmas with the family.

So how are you going to arrange it, bust me and Dad out?

There are trailers for conjugal visits.

We might be able to use one of those.

And I talked to Amy and she said she could bring the girls down to see you.

You shouldn't have done that.

Amy said the girls had been asking about you.

I lied to them, Tempe.

The girls don't even know I'm in here.

They think I went overseas to work.

You're deserting them, just like Dad.

You think it would be better for them to find out

that the guy they think is so wonderful is actually a criminal?

When I found out Dad was not dead, I was happy

- even if it turned out that he was... - A murderer?

You are not a murderer, Russ.

It doesn't sound like a good Christmas present to me.

- You could explain it... - No, Tempe, it's not going to happen.

Can't you sleep on your own couch?

I'm just waiting for the squints to find out something.

How'd it go with Russ?

He says he doesn't want the girls to come.

Your Dad... he wants the whole Christmas package, you know,

the tree, the kids, the presents, the whole shebang.

Well, the whole shebang is impossible.

Christmas is about making the impossible happen.

You mean like you spending Christmas with Parker.

Okay, you know what, that hurt.

Wake me up when the squint squad finds out something.

Victim appears to have odd-shaped remodeling on his sacrum,

with a sclerotic margin around the injury.

Some kind of old injury?

Two small indentations here,

consistent with trauma from impact with some sort of cloven-hoof?

Cloven, like a reindeer?

Oh, thank God you're here.

This is so wasted on me alone.

Evidence is evidence whether anyone is there to hear it or not.

Our victim was kicked by a reindeer.

Oh, get the hell out of here.

The sacrum.

Wait, wait.