325Chapter 31 - The Full Team
A/N: Material with an asterisk ("*") is directly quoted from The Mentalist pilot episode.
The SCU Team, Sacramento International Airport, Monday
Van Pelt paid the cabbie and briskly walked into the terminal at a cool 5:15 a.m. Lisbon had called late Sunday night. The locals were doing the preliminaries on a double homicide since it was already too late to fly down. She was excited. First away case. Maybe I'll get to do more than computer work. She checked her luggage, knowing she'd over-packed out of uncertainty. I'll see what I use, get it down to a routine. She made her way to the gate. Lisbon already was seated in the waiting area, coffee in hand. Since her boss seemed engrossed in thought, Van Pelt just nodded a greeting when Lisbon looked up. She joined Rigsby in line at a coffee cart.
"Hi, Wayne."
"Grace," he nodded, smile instantly blooming.
After a pause, "My friend told me about the poker game."
"Yeah?"
"Jane really put a bounty out for ID'ing him?" she asked, careful that nothing confidential would be revealed if they were overheard.
"Yep. He's something else."
She looked at him speculatively. "You and Cho came in late Friday. Were you involved?"
Rigsby shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. He looked away pretending to judge how long before it was their turn. "Not exactly."
She pressed, "But you did something?"
He turned and faced her. "Cho and I wanted to be in the area. Y'know, just in case."
She whispered intensely, "Why wasn't I assigned as part of the team?"
He shook his head. "Not like that. Cho and I volunteered. Not an official operation."
She switched tactics and put a hand on his arm. Rigsby's eyes widened in surprise. She had his full attention. "I'm on the team and want to pull my weight, official or not."
He protested mildly, "Uh, you haven't even met Jane, no stake in him."
She licked her lips, then regretted it as Rigsby focused there instead of their conversation. "Wayne." His eyes reluctantly slid up to hers. "I'm game for whatever's going on with the team." She decided explicit was called for. "Next time, include me, okay?"
"Uh, sure. Sure." He turned as Cho walked up, exactly 15 minutes before boarding time.
"Rigs, get me coffee and doughnut?"
Rigsby nodded and Cho left to join Lisbon.
As soon as all four were present, Lisbon drew them aside to a relatively private area to brief them. A Gregory Tannen and Alison Randolph had been butchered Saturday evening, discovered the next morning when her husband got home from a golf tournament. The CBI got the case because of the smiley face drawn in blood near the woman's body. Rather redundantly, Lisbon finished, "Suspected Red John case. Ours now either way." Briefing over, there were still a few minutes before boarding. Cho excused himself to use the men's room.
The call was picked up on the second ring.
"... Cho. Probable Red John double homicide. ... Palm Springs, Saturday night. Discovered by the husband Sunday. ... Boss doesn't know. ... I'll text the address. ... 'Difficult' is a good day. Lately you've been a nightmare. Try working with her. ... Fight your own battles." He flipped his cell closed, knowing he'd get heat for this. Deserves to be there if his ploy drew Red John out. Can't kill the enemy without engaging him. Just hope Jane has his head on straight.
Lisbon, Flight From Sacramento to Palm Springs
With last minute reservations, the SCU team was scattered across leisure class seating, lucky to be on the same flight. Lisbon didn't mind as she wasn't in the mood for small talk.
What have we got? After months, Red John commits a double homicide the day after Jane posts bounty. What're the odds? She unconsciously shook her head, sightlessly staring out the window. 'Course it could be a decoy. –Get the team out of town while Jane's suspended. The Mafia could engineer that. But why bother? Jane's habits are regular. Works at the CBI every day, lives in that dismal motel room. Nah, the mob wouldn't need anything complicated to get to Jane. They wouldn't care if a low level thug got arrested for beating or killing him. She sighed quietly. Man attracts trouble like a magnet. Not to mention enemies.
What about the opposite? Not a decoy but bait. If not the mob, then Red John? Why would Red John want us in Palm Springs instead of Sacramento? He has good intel, might even know Jane's suspended. Ensure Jane's alone and vulnerable in Sacramento? She huffed, perplexed. That assumes that Jane would stay away. Again, too many complications and uncertainties. There're easier ways of isolating Jane or getting him in a particular location. Hell, a Red John murder isn't exactly subtle. No element of surprise.
Could Red John be targeting someone else, someone other than Jane? That would be surprising ... but doesn't make a lot of sense. Shoot! Jane's the one who loves these hopeless puzzles. Just makes my head hurt.
She leaned back and closed her eyes in hopes of catching a few hours of sleep. There were no firm conclusions to be had from this murky swamp of possibilities. Regrettably, the suspension kept her at a disadvantage in monitoring – and protecting – her unpredictable, vulnerable consultant, no matter how much he deserved it for the Tolliver debacle. As she drifted off she wondered muzzily when 'consultant' came to mean something a lot closer...
Sheriff's Office, Palm Springs, Monday Morning
Van Pelt snaked computer and printer cables under the desk, connected them, then stood and brushed off her clothes. She nodded, satisfied. The SCU now had a temporary workspace set up for the Tannen-Randolph double murder. She glanced at the clock. Wonder when they'll show? –Dammit anyhow! Why didn't I ask Wayn- Rigsby how away cases work? Stupid to look bad for checking luggage. She exhaled and went to pour a coffee. Grow up, Van Pelt. You're the rookie. Like when Dad whips high school 'stars' into shape before college. The faster they realize how much they have to learn, the sooner they start learning it. She was optimistic that solid, hard work would quickly erase this bobble in Lisbon's eyes. It was pushing lunchtime, so she ordered in sandwiches, sodas, and snacks from a deli recommended by the Palm Springs desk sergeant. Van Pelt started researching the victims and relatives. No point in waiting to tackle obvious work.
A half hour later her three colleagues trooped in. Lisbon glanced around and Van Pelt thought she caught a hint of approval at the set-up. Rigsby grabbed two sandwiches, Cho, one and even Lisbon took a bag of chips.
"Van Pelt, how long to get case photos of prior Red John murders?"
"A few minutes, Ma'am–"
"–'Lisbon,'" she corrected.
"Yes, M– Boss."
Van Pelt kept an ear on the conversation while various jpeg files were transmitted. She gathered Jane had shown up despite being suspended. Cho had bucked Lisbon by calling him. Jane irritated Lisbon by talking his way into the murder scene and then arguing it was a Red John copycat. Something about which wall the face was on. –He knows the Red John files that well? Huh. The files were cued up and Lisbon clicked through them on a medium sized TV screen. Across the room Van Pelt saw photo after photo of horrendous murders. All but one of the victims were female, all horribly slashed and mutilated, all awash in blood. Near the end was a woman and young child. OhmyGod, that must be the Jane family murders. Van Pelt couldn't watch any more. Suddenly not hungry, she threw away the rest of her sandwich and resumed her computer research. With years at SacPD she was hardly a law-enforcement virgin, but this was way worse than any other case she'd been on. Her team members finished going through the photos.
"So, yeah, this one doesn't fit the pattern,"* Lisbon admitted.
"So Jane was right. We have a copycat,"* Cho concluded.
That was an assumption too far for Lisbon. "Or we have Red John trying new things. Or we have Red John making a mistake. We don't know. We'll work the evidence until we do know. Go talk to the husband."*
"Will do, Boss."* Rigsby nodded.
"What are you waitin' for?"* They immediately jumped up and left.
Van Pelt exhaled, keeping her sigh to herself. Looks like I'm stuck at the computer. Despite that, seeing Lisbon at work was its own reward. Despite all those photos, Van Pelt was impressed Lisbon refused to jump to the convenient conclusion. She was jarred from her thoughts by Lisbon's cell phone. The quiet let her overhear Lisbon's side of the conversation without even trying.
Lisbon, Jane and Van Pelt, Sheriff's Office, Palm Springs
After Cho and Rigsby left, Lisbon sat at her desk and regrouped. Jane showed up anyhow thanks to Cho. He is suspended so I had to chew him out. Wish to hell he'd drop the 'Red John is mine' BS. An apparent Red John murder right after the bounty scares the hell out of me. And then Minelli lets him into the crime scene - so much for the suspension. She unconsciously huffed. Looks like he's right about the different smiley face M.O. –And then he disappears again, and I can't keep an eye on him. What if it is Red John and Jane wants to hunt him alone again? Damn, damn, damn. That man is giving me gray– Her ruminations were cut short by her cell.
"... So you might be right about this case. ... Might be. ... Thanks for the insight. ... No. ... Did I say that? I'm acknowledging the fact that you might be right, that's all. ... I mean, if you wanted to come back, I couldn't stop you. ... Yeah, fine. I'm asking you to come back. ... Because. ..." Her voice turned syrupy and mocking, "Because you're useful to the team. ..." Now thoroughly irritated, "No. No, I won't say 'please.' Go screw yourself!"* Lisbon angrily ended the call and muttered, "Jackass."*
Van Pelt was amazed. The call was obviously from Jane. It sounded like he was as obnoxious and disrespectful as everyone claimed. No matter what Cho and Wayne say, he must be a real jerk. As she got up for more coffee a handsome, 30's-something man in a three-piece suit walked into their workspace.
"Good morning."*
"Can I help you?"* she asked.
"You must be Van Pelt. Pleasure."* He extended his hand, "Patrick Jane."*
She hid her surprise as best as possible. "Oh, hi. Good to meet you. Agent Cho said you had left town."* She scrambled to find something to say to this man who seemed nothing like what she expected, especially after that phone conversation.
"No. Nowhere to go."*
That's confusing. Why? But she said only, "Okay. Do you want that desk over there or this one? I mean, that one gets more light."*
"That one. More light by all means."*
Despite the pleasant exchange or maybe because of it, she had the feeling he was gently teasing her in some undefined way. He immediately headed to Lisbon's desk.
"Very pleasant addition to the Serious Crimes family."*
She wondered if he intended her to hear that. Regardless, she was relieved to finally meet their elusive, controversial consultant and to have gotten off to a good start. She strained to overhear their conversation but couldn't make out the words. To her amazement, the tone of their voices was pleasant. So everything is okay after that obnoxious call? What gives?
Lisbon and Jane left shortly to interview Tannen's partner, a Dr. Wagner, leaving Van Pelt to finish her computer research. By mid-afternoon she was done. She printed key information and highlighted the relevant details. Her research didn't suggest any reason for Alison Randolph to be viciously murdered. The family finances were in great shape and they led a stable up-scale life in a very safe community.
Dr. Gregory Tannen also seemed to lead an exemplary life. He was a stable, long-time partner in a thriving medical practice with several other doctors. He was gay (which she overheard from the team, plus inferred from some of his affiliations), but seemed to lead a low-key, mainstream life. Of course, he might simply have been at the wrong place at the wrong time. The woman was murdered in her home and appeared to be the target.
Lisbon had her call the victims' friends and relatives and get preliminary information. As necessary, the team would painstakingly interview each contact, in person, after identifying the more promising leads. Unfortunately, no one said anything that raised the slightest suspicion. Eyes tired from hours of computer work, Van Pelt was relieved when everyone had returned and Lisbon declared the work day over.
Van Pelt eagerly anticipated dinner. This would be her first chance to see everyone together, particularly Jane. I've heard so much – okay – gossip about the man I need my own take. He's either the black sheep of a wealthy family. Or some poor carnival kid who grew up a con man. He either sleeps around nightly or doesn't sleep with anyone. Unless he's secretly gay. Then there are the disgusting rumors about Lisbon sleeping with him. The damn chauvinists can't accept she's a great team leader without imagining a lurid sex life. She swallowed a lump. At least they don't accuse her of sleeping with Minelli or something. Oh, yeah. Jane either blackmails Minelli to keep his job, or he's bait for Red John like Wayne and Cho think. –Aside from closing a lot of cases. That may be the only thing everyone agrees on...
'Intelligent' and 'devious' were invariably mentioned in the same breath as 'Patrick Jane.' She wouldn't blatantly push it, but was confident she could hold her own with darn near anyone. Impressed with her looks, men especially tended to underestimate her brains - a constant she counted on. It promised to be intriguing.
Palm Springs Seafood Restaurant, Monday Night
The team voted to try the seafood restaurant recommended by the sergeant.
Seated and served, their conversation was getting interesting. Van Pelt delighted in knowing that everyone on the team was competent and smart. The case itself was head and shoulders more complicated than most she had worked previously. Team and case were both a definite improvement over SacPD. She abandoned her wool gathering and picked up the conversation.
"I like the husband for it,"* Cho offered. "He hires some hooker he knows to create an alibi, flies home, fillets the spouse, flies back again. The classic elaborate and clever but ultimately stupid plan."*
"Have you looked at his PGA tournament record?"* Jane asked seemingly at random.
"It's not bad. Six mil career earnings,"* Cho answered.
"Mm‑hmm, for coming in second and third. You put him on the 18th tee with a big one on the line, like night follows day, he'll shank it. He's a choker. He doesn't have the nerve to kill his wife. Didn't do it,"* Jane argued.
"Are you suggesting we drop a prime suspect because he's never won a major?"* Lisbon asked in disbelief.
"Oh, no, no, no. I'm just making idle conversation,"* Jane replied. He moved his right hand and a toothpick followed.
"How'd you do that?"* Van Pelt asked, wide-eyed.
"Telekinesis."*
"He blew on it," Cho opined dryly, entertained that Jane was showing off for a new audience.
"That is another way to do it,"* he admitted easily.
Van Pelt pinned Jane with a sharp glance, a smile playing around her lips. "Mr. Jane, I have a question regarding your previous career path,"* she opened a trifle primly.
"Fire away."*
"When you met with other psychics ‑‑ real psychics, ‑‑ could they tell you were just pretending?"*
His pleasant expression clashed with an absolute denial. "There's no such thing as real psychics."*
"I beg to differ. My cousin Yolanda is a psychic."*
"Your cousin is deluded or dishonest, or both."* Van Pelt might have been offended were he less charming. Or handsome.
"Steady,"* Lisbon warned.
"No, no, he's entitled to his opinion. He's wrong, though," Van Pelt said self‑righteously. "‑‑ She has power."* Rigsby passed her the bread basket. "Thank you. – She can communicate with the other side. I've seen her do it myself."*
Jane gave her points for sticking to her position, though she was wrong. He'd walk her through it. "She let you speak with someone that's gone."*
"Yes."*
"Someone that you love and still miss very much."*
"Yes."*
"You wanted her power to be real, so it was,"* he concluded.
"No."* Van Pelt stuck to her belief.
"You're so sure you're right,"* Rigsby scoffed. Jane anticipated much entertainment at the expense of the tall agent who was so obviously smitten with the redhead.
Van Pelt countered. "Scientists don't know everything. A hundred years ago radio would've seemed like magic."*
"Exactly."* Rigsby seconded, eager to agree with whatever she was saying.
"A hundred years from now, it'll be normal to communicate with the other side."*
Jane mocked, "The 'other side.'"* The argument was impossible: Impossible to prove a negative. He changed to deflection. "Your father's a football coach, yeah?"*
She frowned, puzzled. "How'd you know that?"*
Off-handed, "It's obvious from your whole demeanor. - My point is, didn't dad always say life is like football? When that final whistle blows, the game is over. Done. There is no more. There is no 'other side.'"* He took a bite of his food. Affably, "This is it ‑‑ lobster and bread rolls and nautical kitsch. And then nothingness."*
"You poor, sad man. The Kingdom of God is a real place," she said with conviction.
"Okay, later tonight, when Rigsby asks you to come back to his hotel room, say 'yes.'"* Rigsby sputtered his mouthful of water, red flooding his face.
Disconcerted and offended at Jane's detour into the extremely personal, "Excuse me?"*
"I know. You were planning on refusing him very curtly. First week on the job, you want to set a tone. No monkey business. But why not? Rigsby is an excellent lover, I'm sure. Tough but fair. Right? Right."* Lisbon watched her team react to Jane's inevitable ploy to keep everyone off balance, come out on top. Van Pelt was less discombobulated than Rigsby. She's got game. Lisbon smothered a grin. Good. She'll need it.
Van Pelt refused to be cowed. "The Kingdom of God is a real place, Mr. Jane, and you have an immortal soul."*
"Oh, I do so hope you're wrong,"* he responded mildly but with feeling.
Van Pelt, Palm Springs Hotel
Van Pelt closed and bolted the hotel room door, still annoyed at Jane for embarrassing Rigsby and making it awkward between them. He can't refute my beliefs so he attacks Wayne. Obnoxious jerk. - Wayne. What am I gonna do about him? Likes me, has a crush even. He's good looking and has been really sweet and helpful. But office romance equals problems I don't need. Gotta keep my distance. She groaned. Jane knew just by looking at us. How do I deal with him?
She showered and changed, all the while sorting through a confusion of impressions about the consultant. Looks nothing like the newspaper photos. Shiny suit, slicked back hair, kind of smarmy and smug. I didn't even recognize him when he showed up. Yanked the boss's chain but was polite when we talked. Seems he's right about the Red John smiley face. Wonder if Jane really could tell from the husband's golfing he didn't do it? Bizarre. Except, how'd he know about my dad being a coach? And everyone's fine with him over dinner, even Lisbon. Charming, smart, good looking. But arrogant as all get-out.
She settled into the bed to read the novel she bought at the airport. She read a paragraph then frowned as another memory surfaced. Those murder photos! Without faith, how did he survive that? No life everlasting, no belief in God's Kingdom for the meek, the innocent. She blinked back tears in a rush of sympathy. No hope of being reunited. - Just a few years later and he's this cocky trickster?! Did he not care? Even if his marriage was on the rocks, what about his daughter? My God! She shook her head and set it aside, not knowing what to think.
She was a couple of chapters into the novel when Lisbon called.
Rigsby, Palm Springs Hotel
Wayne Rigsby frowned as he tossed his suit jacket on the bed. Mighta had a chance if Jane didn't screw it up. He huffed. For sure that's the only screwing I'm gonna see this trip. Damn him. And how'd he get onto Grace and me anyhow? We were talking about religion, then out of the blue he brings up my– he swallowed – my interest in her. He stripped and got ready for bed. A cold and lonely bed, thanks to Jane. Some days he makes it real hard to remember I owe him.
He tore open the bag of chips from the vending machine. Nothing coming together on the case yet. Maybe tomorrow.
Rigsby was about to brush his teeth and turn in when his phone rang.
Cho, Palm Springs Hotel
Cho left them in the elevator as he stepped onto his floor, hugely amused though he'd never show it. So much for Rigsby's plans. This will be either a lot of fun or months of Rigsby mooning over Van Pelt. How the hell can he be that insecure? –There's no way Jane resists messing with him. Them.
Cho stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers for his abbreviated exercise regimen for trips. Then he showered, only to hear his cell while he dried off.
Lisbon, Palm Springs Hotel
Lisbon wearily heaved her carry-on onto the low dresser and dug out her toiletry kit and sleepwear. She yawned as she busied herself with her bedtime routine. Van Pelt's off to a good start – luggage aside. Takes initiative, makes herself useful, hard worker. Thanks to her, it didn't take hours to get those Red John photos. And, wonder of wonders, Jane likes her. Hmph. Jane thinks Rigs is interested in her. Oh, God, let them be discrete so I don't have to deal with it. I hate interpersonal crap!
She continued her ruminations while she showered. Nothing solid on the case yet. She worried her lower lip. If I had to bet, I bet Jane's right. Copycat. Still, need the evidence. Probably good Jane talked himself onto the case so we didn't blindly go down the Red John rabbit hole. Maybe this really doesn't have anything to do with Red John or the mob. Hope so. Glad he's back with the team. No more adventuring with the mob. Minelli must be over being pissed. She sighed. Jane's on edge even if it is a copycat. Hides it, but that's probably why he needs sleeping pills. At least he's willing to take them. Leave it to him to try to talk a doctor into writing a prescription without seeing him first.
Lisbon settled into bed with her laptop. She'd go through the day's e-mails so there wouldn't be hundreds to read after the case. She sorted them first: Must read; delete without reading; and unknown. She deleted the junk and plowed through the necessary but boring 'must reads.' Paying only half attention, she gasped and sat up when she started the third 'unknown' e‑mail. Oh, God. She read it again to be sure.
'My Dearest Teresa,
'I am e-mailing you because Patrick stubbornly remains computer illiterate. Kudos to my arrogant friend for initiative and originality. Of course his scheming against me is comically impotent. Nonetheless, I applaud his dutiful and energetic attention to our game.
'Patrick's bounty tempts my weaker followers, which you might imagine poses a problem. You imagine wrong. He is saving me the trouble of sorting out true followers from money grubbing worms such as he was. His little gambit is helping me purify my band of disciples - something I am confident he did not intend. Please convey my appreciation.
'Your Superior'
Shoulders suddenly aching with tension she got up and threw on her clothes. She reached for her cell to call Jane and Van Pelt when it lit up with an incoming call.
Jane, Palm Springs Hotel
Comfortably full after dinner, Jane made his way to his room and closed the door softly. Fun to be working a case after two weeks off. Two boring weeks without company if I'm honest. He lay on the bed and laced his fingers behind his head without bothering to undress. Lisbon was obliged to be annoyed, but she didn't mind much. Not a Red John murder, but I appreciate Cho's heads up. So who dunnit? Forget 'choker' Price Randolph. Brother-in-law? The photos on Alison's mirror suggest more than familial love – much more. But why murder her? On to the good Dr. Wagner. Literally 'good' if he donates profits to build African clinics. Why'd he pretend he never heard of Red John? He lives in California and has books with chapters on Red John. He had means. Being a doctor he'd have the stomach to cut up a human. Access to a long-time patient would be easy. Motive? That's the puzzle. Time to set a trap and see what I catch...
Setting the case aside he pleasantly mulled the new team dynamic. Van Pelt. Delightful combination of brains, looks, and sweet naivete. Yes, she's an adult, but her optimism and innocence read younger, almost like a dau– He violently slammed the door on that thought. Shaken, he censored himself, allowing only that she was like a kid sister. After some minutes he calmed and again let his thoughts drift. Was I ever that innocent, trusting? Certainly not once dear old dad started using me in the show. He huffed. Operative word: 'Using.' And there's the religion, 'the other side' nonsense. He shuddered at the excruciating idea of a loving God, a just God that would let his blameless wife and cherished daughter be slaughtered for his actions. He forced his thoughts to the present, to neutral territory. Van Pelt changes the dynamic. Two women now - at minimum improves the scenery. And if Rigsby and Van Pelt pair up, more than a fling? –Affect Cho, their partnership? Mmm. Not much. It'll be fun.
Tired of thinking, he clicked on a wildlife special and passively let it wash over him. 'She explodes into action, reaching up to 60 miles per hour. She easily outruns her terrified prey.' A rustling noise attracted his attention. He rose and unfolded a paper slipped under the door. Red John! The smiley face shocked him like an electric jolt, compelling him to move. He yanked open the door. A hooded figure disappeared through a door down the hall. He followed, careening down the stairwell, slipping and crashing against a wall. Finally, outside. The world tilted nauseatingly. He scanned the area. In vain – no hooded man, no Red John. Chest heaving, he staggered back to the lobby. At his demand the frightened desk clerk gave him a phone.
The SCU, Palm Springs Hotel
Lisbon answered the call. "... Jane, what – ... But you're okay? ... Your room in ten minutes, with the team. ... Stay inside! I don't want you outside alone with Red John in the picture. ... Ten minutes." She sent the other three a text. She moved to rise only to notice her computer still in her lap. Decision. This'll keep till I know more.
Van Pelt arrived last. She slipped in and sat down at the small table. Tension was thick. Jane sat apart on the bed, folded like origami – legs crossed, arms loosely crossing his chest protectively, shoulders hunched. If body language wasn't clear, his expression spoke plainly of feeling threatened, unnerved.
Lisbon gestured at the paper on the table. "Read it aloud, Van Pelt."
"'Greetings, old friend. It's been a while. I hope you are keeping well. I am thriving and happy. I have 12 wives now and will soon begin courting number 13. Why can't you catch me?'" She flinched at the cruelty of the next sentence. "'You must feel so powerless and stupid and sad. Oh, well. All the best. Red John.'"*
"That sounds like the real deal to me."*
"Sounds like Red John."*
Jane disagreed, "It's not. Red John wouldn't risk capture just to taunt me."*
"So the real killer's trying to throw us off track?"*
"Cho, find out where Price Randolph was a half an hour ago. Rigsby, I want you to check the hotel security cameras. Get those over to forensics."*
The guys left. Van Pelt silently followed them out with a sideward glance at the stranger on the bed. This grievously wounded survivor was nothing like their teasing, obnoxious dinner companion. She was ashamed to have wondered how much his family's murder affected him. Never again would she mistake the image for the real man underneath.
Lisbon was last to leave. "You okay?"*
"Absolutely."* Neither believed that.
"Get some sleep,"* she said gently. She walked to her room and couldn't avoid contrasting this broken, desperately sad man with the shining, vibrant figure her friend cut just four days ago. It hurt. She was compelled to help him whatever way she could.
The latch clicked and Jane hesitated only for a moment. It's not Red John. Copycat murder, copycat note. Not. Him. He pulled himself together. Time to set that trap.
Sheriff's Office, Palm Springs, Tuesday
Van Pelt and Rigsby arrived together. Rigsby rushed to answer the ringing phone. Van Pelt caught sight of Jane slumped over the desk, no jacket, shirt sleeves rolled up, rumpled clothing and hair. Hangover?
"Hello?"* she ventured uncertainly.
Jane immediately straightened and swiveled his chair to face her with a Big Gulp soda in his hand. "Good morning!"* he said too brightly.
Lisbon stepped into the room and got her own look. "You didn't sleep, did you?"* she asked, disapproval laced with concern. She pulled out her cell and dialed. "I -‑ I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. Wagner, please. ... It's urgent. ... Jane. Patrick Jane. ... Yeah, I'll hold."*
Van Pelt sat in as the team discussed the case, hashed out evidence that might point to Tag Randolph.
"Forensics maybe got a break,"* Rigsby announced excitedly. "The blood on the cloth in the envelope is Alison Randolph's. But they found a hair in there ‑‑ doesn't belong to her or Tannen."*
Cho and Rigsby left to get and interrogate Tag Randolph. Afterward, Lisbon played the video of Cho's interrogation.
'... Guess who it does belong to. It's yours, Tag. Amazing, huh? Science.'*
'This is insane. I didn't I didn't kill Alison!'*
'How do you explain your hair in the envelope?'*
'Either it was a mistake, or ‑‑ or I'm being framed.'*
'Who would want to frame you? We don't want to, if that's what you're thinking.'*
Slumped tiredly over the table, Jane commented to Van Pelt in a stage whisper, "He and Alison were lovers."
'Who would want to frame you, Tag?'*
'My brother.'*
'Why would he want to do that?'*
'Alison and I were lovers.'*
Van Pelt looked at Jane from the corner of her eye. "I think you are psychic. You're just afraid to admit it." The Jane from last night is gone, hiding. Back to tricks and cheek. Poor man. Her surge of sympathy eclipsed any differences over beliefs. She took care to hide it, resolved to follow along whatever way was easiest for him.
Lisbon had Tag Randolph detained on suspicion of murder. The fireworks began when Price Randolph appeared, outraged at his brother's detention.
"Mr. Randolph, good–"* Lisbon started.
Angrily, "-‑ Cut the crap. My brother's done nothing. And you scumbags haven't got the stones to come after me, so you come after my family. -‑ That is flat‑out persecution."*
"–Price, what did we agree?"* Rigsby tried to defuse the situation, remind him he agreed to answer some questions.
Cho restrained the husband. His monotone was eerily effective. "Mr. Randolph, rest assured, there's no intent to persecute you. We scumbags are holding your brother because we have physical evidence linking him to the crime and potential motive in that he states that whenever you weren't around, he was banging your wife like a big bass drum."*
Disbelief! "Tag and Alison?"*
"That's what he states. And he further states that it was you that killed Alison, and you're now trying to frame him in revenge."*
Price Randolph struggled to get at his brother who was being hustled down the hallway. "- What'd you say? Wh–"*
Enraged, Tag Randolph jerked around and shouted, "–Bastard! You–"*
"– Son of a bitch!"* The husband finally believed it.
"You treated her like trash! What did you expect?"*
"I didn't expect my little brother to be banging my wife! You little punk bastard!"*
Both were strong-armed into detention for further questioning as the day waned.
Van Pelt watched it all, stirred by the fireworks, wondering which one actually did it. Jane observed calmly, strangely detached which she attributed to lack of sleep. Only after both men were locked up away from their workspace did Van Pelt recall the Red John angle and try to figure out which unlikely brother would have the cunning for that. Lisbon put the three agents to work investigating the brothers' alibis for any holes big enough for a killing jaunt to Palm Springs on Saturday night.
Late in the afternoon, Lisbon reminded Jane of his emergency appointment with Dr. Wagner. She watched him leave with worried eyes. Anything Red John left him off kilter. All she could do was push him to get a prescription so he could sleep.
It was late and night overtook day. Cho left to fetch take out. Rigsby was relaxing near Van Pelt when he got a call.
He glanced at the screen and took the call. "Jane?" There was no answer but he could hear Jane's conversation with someone. After a moment he realized it was Dr. Wagner's voice.
Van Pelt threw him a questioning glance. He muffled the microphone and said, "Don't know what's up, but it's Jane so..." Jane's conversation with Wagner continued. Rigsby put it on speaker and turned up the volume. They listened in silence.
'Thanks. Uh, yeah. Got it. Silly of me. –Well, good‑bye again.'*
'–Wait! Give me the diary.'* Wagner's quiet voice didn't mask the threat.
Van Pelt mouthed, "What diary?" Rigsby shrugged.
After a moment, Wagner said, 'It's very amusing.'*
'I try.'*
'I knew. I knew it might be a trick, but I had to be sure.'*
Jane's voice now held the sound of a trap closing. 'Yes. That's how the trick works.'*
Rigsby abruptly stood. "Oh shit!" He grabbed his cell and left at a dead run. Van Pelt gaped, not knowing what to think. When Lisbon stepped back in Van Pelt described what happened.
"Jackass did it again. Come on!" Lisbon also left at a run followed by Van Pelt.
Rigsby, En Route
Rigsby broke every speed limit on the way. He desperately needed to get there before Wagner got tired of Jane talking. His cell rested in the cup holder and he kept an ear on the conversation while racing to Wagner's clinic.
'What led you to me? Not that I'm saying I did it. I'm just asking.'*
'When we first met, you said you didn't know who Red John was. But you have books on criminal psychiatry ‑‑ there ‑‑ that have chapters on him. You're the Randolph family doctor, so you could easily get a strand of Tag's hair.'* Icily, 'And, being a doctor, you could hack up another human without difficulty.'* Jane concluded with absolute certainty. 'It's obvious it was you.'*
Astonished, 'That's it? You have nothing. That's just guesswork.'*
'Oh, I know. I just wanted to be sure I had the right answer. I was surprised. I gotta be honest. You don't seem to be a wicked man.'* With finality, 'But you are.'*
Rigsby prayed, String him along, Jane. Give me time to get there, dammit!
Wagner continued, 'You're angry about the letter. Yeah, it was a bit mean‑spirited. For the record, I'm sorry about your family. I can only imagine your pain. I'm not a wicked man. My conscience is clear.'*
'Really?'* Jane challenged.
'Right now in Africa, there's three-thousand beautiful children alive today who should be dead. But they aren't, because of me. Tannen was gonna ruin me and destroy all that work. - Over nothing.'* Scornfully, 'Money. Theft, he called it. Embezzlement. Self‑righteous idiot.'* Wagner paused, then continued his justification. 'It's simple math. If I go to jail, thousands of kids will die. So I made a rational, moral decision to kill Tannen for the greater good.'*
Contemptuously, 'And Alison? What did she do wrong?'*
'As you said, she was the magician's assistant, just a distraction. If only Tannen died, the police would've been all over this place, wouldn't they? Truly, is killing two any worse than killing one, when so many lives are at stake? I don't think so.'*
'You poor, sad man.'* Jane's tone changed to commanding, 'You're under arrest. – Let's go.'*
Wagner replied in amazement, 'I'm pointing a gun at you.'*
Rigsby turned into the drive leading to Wagner's building. Please, please, just another minute. Jane I'm gonna kill you for pulling this!
Jane replied, calmly mocking Wagner, 'You really think I would set you up so nicely and let you pull a loaded gun on me? I took the bullets out earlier.'*
Rigsby heard the rattle of metal - Coins! Dammit, he's bluffing. – then sounds of running. He tore out of the SUV, up the walk. Thank god, door's unlocked!
Jane burst out of the stairwell. "You're late!"* he shouted.
Rigsby didn't see anything at first. "– What?"*
Jane yelled, "Draw your weapon!"
Rigsby pulled his gun and aimed at Wagner who charged out after Jane. "Drop the gun! Hands on your head."* Rigsby kicked Wagner's weapon aside. "Get down on your knees."* He shoved the doctor to the floor and knelt on his back. "Down."* He holstered his piece in favor of handcuffs.
Jane stood panting, grinning in victory over the murderer. He ignored Rigsby's dirty look as Rigsby dragged Wagner to the SUV on his way to be charged with murder. Lisbon and Van Pelt arrived just as Rigsby shoved Wagner into the vehicle.
"Jane?!"
"He's fine. I'm gonna kill him for pulling this crap, though."
Lisbon relaxed all at once in relief. "Get in line."
Van Pelt eyed the doctor. "Is he the perp?" Jane walked up to the group, eyes shining from excitement and winning.
"Yeah," Rigsby replied. "Heard it over Jane's cell." Jane's grin widened.
Lisbon looked at Jane sourly. "You okay to drive back?"
"Never better."
The team freed the Randolph brothers with profuse apologies and the assurance they had the murderer. After Jane walked them through his reasoning, Cho interrogated Wagner. With Jane's smart phone voice recording, Wagner knew the murder charges would stick. He confessed to the double homicide, explaining at length how the crime could have saved thousands of kids. He emphasized his mercy in ensuring Alison and Gregory suffered little and died quickly.
Several Palm Springs officers crowded into the observation room during Wagner's interrogation. The SCU team got their compliments and appreciation after Wagner confessed. Van Pelt flushed with pleasure at being part of this team.
Sheriff's Office, Wednesday
Lisbon arrived early and found Van Pelt already at work disassembling the computer set-up and arranging to return the equipment and furniture.
"Van Pelt."
The redhead looked up. "Yes, Boss?"
"Take a break and let's talk."
Coffee hand, Van Pelt took a seat when Lisbon gestured.
"Your first away case. Reactions?"
"Interesting case. I'm looking forward to learning a lot from the team-" she swallowed, "–and you," she added, hoping Lisbon wouldn't think it was flattery. After a pause, "I don't really know how to take Jane. I – he makes me uncomfortable sometimes. But his take on the case was different from anyone else's–"
Lisbon cut short her effort to be tactful and said it bluntly. "He solved the case. Figured it out from clues no one else would notice. –Working with Jane is hard but you'll learn a lot. He will get under your skin, will drive you to distraction. But there's a real person – a good person – underneath the tricks and smiles and masks. Keeping that in mind helps."
Lisbon took a sip of her coffee and changed gears. "You're delivering what you were hired for. Your computer work saved a lot of time. Good initiative to tackle the research without hand holding."
"Thank you."
"If you think I was hard on you about the luggage screw-up–"
"–I underst–"
"–you better get used to it," Lisbon continued, talking over Van Pelt. "You have brains and ambition. As a woman in law enforcement you need to be twice as good to get the credit you're due. I'm gonna hold you to high standards so you have a chance at realizing your potential."
Mouth dry, "Yes, M– Boss."
Lisbon unbent a fraction and leaned back. "When I was with the SFPD a woman detective painted her nails during a departmental briefing. – She was prepping for an undercover sting as a 'working girl.' She still hadn't lived it down when I left five years later. The men remembered her doing her nails, not her busts or undercover work or close rate."
"I understand." After a moment of silence, Van Pelt hesitantly rose and collected her things. Before she turned away, Lisbon added quietly, "Good job." Van Pelt smiled in sheer pleasure. Getting it right at last.
Jane arrived a half hour after everyone else. "Closed case doughnuts are here,"* he called out, setting down and opening the box.
He was met with hostile silence.
He shrugged, "I just went to get sleeping pills, I swear to god. I -‑ I didn't even want to go. ‑‑ You know I didn't want to go," he pleaded, appealing to Lisbon.
Rigsby said sarcastically, "Right"* as he snagged a doughnut.
Cho added, "Yeah, you didn't set Wagner up. Didn't figure it was him days ago. You didn't let us tear apart the victim's family simply to satisfy your childish need for drama."*
An accusation too strong, Jane deflected. "Meh, that family was screwed anyway. Don't blame yourselves, guys."* Cho threw a crumpled paper ball at him. Jane caught it, fiddled with the paper for a moment, then approached Lisbon's desk.
"Don't even start. I'm still angry,"* she said, not looking up.
Contritely, "I'm sorry."*
"No, you're not." She straightened as Jane placed a paper object in front of her.
Her tone long-suffering and mocking, "A frog? Well, this makes everything better, doesn't it?"
The frog suddenly jumped and she yelped. She couldn't help smiling. Jane looked back with an answering smile.
Lisbon and Jane, Return Trip
The three SCU agents left first. Lisbon and Jane rode to the airport and turned in the second rented SUV later. They entered the secure area after TSA screening was greatly facilitated by Lisbon's CBI badge. Lisbon headed toward her gate then paused when Jane didn't follow.
"Jane?"
"I'm going to LA. –Will be in tomorrow afternoon." Raised eyebrows served as the request for her okay.
"Sure." She paused. They both had hours to kill before their flights. "You up to talking about work?" He nodded. More tentatively, "About Red John?" That earned her a puzzled frown. Taking that as agreement, she said, "C'mon, let's talk over dinner. I'll buy."
They found a secluded booth in a restaurant to their liking. The server placed their food before them and left. Lisbon looked down, toying with her food.
Deceptively casual, she asked, "Heard anything from Guerra about the bounty offer?"
Jane sipped his tea. "No. Not yet. Why?"
She bit her lower lip, then dragged her PC from the outer pocket of her carry-on. "This."
He tensed as he read, then blinked and deliberately tamped down his reaction. "When did you read this?"
"Monday night, before you got the note. –Jane, things were chaotic. I thought this could wait since there's nothing specific to act on."
He took a deep breath and surprised her. Slowly, "I guess that's reasonable. He's mainly jabbing at me, getting back for the bounty." He could tell there was more. "And?"
She swallowed her bite of food and licked her lips nervously. "I get the law enforcement news feed."
"And?" he prompted again.
"And there have been several sudden deaths since Friday. Accidents. Some killed in the line of duty. I know that's terribly vague but–"
"No, no, your instinct is good, Lisbon. So some of Red John's disciples may be–"
"–Cops," she finished for him, stomach clenching at the sickening thought.
He looked off to the side, eyes unfocused, frowning in concentration. Slowly, "Even that would help explain how he can be so elusive."
"But it doesn't ID him. Not specific enough to be leads." She shrank from the thought of investigating every LE death as though it was a Red John lead. Maybe Jane could poke around, but she wouldn't be able to talk Minelli into letting the team investigate slain fellow cops unless she had a lot more than a hunch.
He returned to the present. Smiling slightly, "Never fear, Lisbon. I'll be discrete if I look into any deaths."
Lisbon swallowed, the bite of food suddenly feeling much too large. She really didn't want to go on, hated giving him more reason to be secretive and paranoid. Or maybe she didn't like the possibility that secrecy and paranoia were justified.
"There's more?"
"Jane, when you were hired Minelli told me something. I – I thought it was just the FBI throwing its weight around, meddling. But after this..." He waited silently. She looked up. "Alexa Shultz asked Minelli to keep her apprised of our Red John work. Minelli agreed in hopes of finding out what she's up to."
"Why?"
"Said it was a case of interest to the FBI. No explanation."
"What else?"
"She called the day you were hired. She mentioned you by name, knew you'd been hired," anxious at how badly he might take the news ... and her not mentioning it for two years.
Intensely, "Lisbon, any time something involves Red John, you need to tell me."
"What does it mean?"
"Don't know. Maybe nothing. But in light of that sudden spate of deaths, maybe there's a connection."
"Should I get Minelli to stop feeding her Red John info?"
He thought a moment. "No. That would be obvious – if there even is a Red John connection." He looked at her seriously. "It does mean we need to hold our Red John cards even closer. Limit information about promising leads to the team."
"Minelli's my boss, Jane."
"So tell Minelli after we run down a lead. Most dead end anyhow. When we get one that could get us to Red John, we need to pursue it without the FBI and who knows who else interfering or warning him."
"I can live with that, Jane. But you need to work with me, with the team."
"Of course," he said soothingly, insincerely.
Dryly, "Like you worked your Wagner theory with the team?"
"Lisbon, I honestly did not know till I was talking with him. And I did involve Rigsby as back‑up." He had the grace to add, "Fortunately."
Her frustration bubbled up. "You call that working with the team?! You're damned lucky Rigs got there in time, you jackass."
That triggered an impudent smile. "Solved the case, got the perp."
"Oh, Jane," she sighed in resignation. "I'm gonna keep dogging you till you 'get' teamwork."
Softly, "I'm trying, Lisbon."
Her glare eased, "You are. Keep working on it because you have a ways to go." She glanced at her watch. "Gotta get to my gate." She retrieved her card and receipt and gathered her things. "Jane, good catch on Wagner. Less drama and more safety next time, 'kay?"
He smiled, "How can I refuse an earnest Lisbon?"
She gave him a dirty look. "Just keep mocking me, Jane. It'll be snowing in hell next time I compliment you."
Another smile, this one sweet and sincere. "Thank you, Lisbon. –Get going or you'll miss your flight."
Jane, Malibu
It was after midnight. Jane tossed his keys onto the foyer table, the sole piece of furniture in the dark, echoing house. He trudged up the stairs, entered the room that dominated his nightmares, and lay down on the bare mattress. The now rusty brown face was stark against the white wall in the moonlight.
Three years. Three years and precious little progress. No matter. He would continue until he fulfilled his promise to Angie and Charlie. Anything less was unthinkable.
- Fini -
