Ricochet (12/25)
Chapter Twelve
“So…”
Jane started on her from the moment that she exited the elevator. She hadn’t even had a chance to make it to the bullpen, never mind the kitchenette. Lisbon knew that Jane would be intrigued by the re-emergence of her father. In fact, she had mentally prepared herself for the bombardment of questions during her whole trip back from the hospital. This was the moment she was still dreading though; Jane’s curiosity was voracious and she knew that she would have to be fairly open with him in order to satisfy his appetite for information. Of course, she was highly skilled at dodging questions, but that didn’t necessarily mean that she liked doing so. If anything, it made her feel all the worse. She had started this job in the hope of proving to herself (and the world) that she was a better person than she perceived herself to be. Abusing the trust of people she was beginning to care about would not help matters, as far as Lisbon was concerned.
She hadn’t stayed long at the hospital; there wasn’t really all that much for her to actually see. Her father was alive, if only just and currently comatose. Lisbon spent a good long while talking to his doctor, seeing what his prognosis was and trying to discern what had actually caused him to land up in such a state. Of course, they had no clue whatsoever how he’d spent the past three years; she hadn’t heard from him at all since the day her family had been killed. The doctor didn’t know anything of any use to her, at least beyond the news of his health; the LEOs who’d brought him in had said very little. Throughout the conversation, Lisbon found a sense of foreboding had enveloped her. She didn’t much like secrets and lies, but then, it was almost standard fare for her relationship with her dad. Why she had expected any different, just because he was on death’s door, she didn’t know.
Still. That didn’t change her Jane dilemma. Naturally, instinct told her that she should be honest with him; she was not her father’s daughter. However, the very thought of Jane and her father getting to know one another felt dangerous. She knew without having introduced them that they would be an explosive combination. Her father, who toed the line between the law and lawlessness, and a maverick cop, together? Every bone in her body screamed out at her to prevent it at all costs. In some ways, it was almost a blessing in disguise that her dad was unconscious. At least he and Jane couldn’t cause any problems with him in such a state.
But even then, she still wouldn’t put it past him. Lisbon knew exactly what Mr. Jason Hamilton was like. After all, he had raised her from birth.
Even shedding her birth name and taking on her husband’s surname for good would never have been enough to completely distance herself from him. As tragic as the death of her family had been, and she had reacted terribly to it at the time, at least it had given her some breathing space from him, if only for a short while.
“So, what?” she asked innocuously.
“How did it go?”
“He’s unconscious. They don’t know when - or if - he’ll wake up.”
They headed naturally towards Jane’s office. Of course, he gravitated towards his couch and she took to the seat beside his table. They had spent so many hours in this position, discussing cases in detail, working the paper trails and the like. It felt right to be like this in Jane’s office; it was as simple as that.
“Teresa,” Jane said softly. “What’s the deal with your father? There’s barely anything on his records, and you don’t speak about him…”
“Do we really have to do this?”
“I think so. C’mon, it won’t be so bad once you get it over and done with. Think of it like a Band-Aid.”
“Jane…”
“I’m your friend, first and foremost and then your boss,” he reminded her casually and she stared at him, agog. “And this has obviously rattled you. Yes, I think it’s time we talked about this.”
Figuratively, she could feel her knees buckling as the weight of the world fell on top of her shoulders. This was the moment when she knew she would give into Patrick Jane and give him exactly what he wanted. It was rarely due to what he said, but the look he shot her and expressions he wore as he spoke. But, he was right. They were friends before anything else; even those niggling little feelings that continued to bother her from time to time came secondary to that. And, if they were friends, that meant she could trust him. On this occasion, Jane was reaching out to her, eager to help with her problems. Who was she to deny the hand he was offering her? She had never told him, though he may have figured it out anyway, but he had helped her so much since she had tried to re-assimilate herself back into the world after her family had been killed. After losing contact with her father, the one constant in her life, too. Though, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She owed him and yet again, he was offering to be the one to support her. Even so, she still felt the need to ensure the doors were firmly closed and the blinds shut. It wasn't so much a case of trying to stop people from overhearing; that was irrational. These office spaces, with their thin glass walls, offered no protection from that. However, she felt the need to imply that this conversation would remain private and that was the only thing she could do to ensure they wouldn't be unintentionally disturbed.
"You done yet?" he asked, and she could tell that he was begrudgingly amused by her actions.
"I don't know,” she admitted honestly. “You know I don't want to talk about this."
"He wasn't a nice man? He scares you?” Jane guessed immediately, as he was prone to do so. “Is he the only fear that the formidable Teresa Lisbon has?"
She rolled her eyes at his exaggeration, but tentatively nodded afterwards. Ultimately, Jane was right, in spite of it just being assumptions based on her behavior, especially when this specific subject ever reared its ugly head. Her father did scare her. As a child, she had seen him do terrible things, all to lie and cheat his way to the top. He had treated her with contempt, and his violent tendencies often extended to her too, especially whenever she had attempted to disobey him. When she had started to demonstrate a natural ability for observation and mind games, he had begun to live vicariously through her. Although, that was never enough to stop the physical abuse either. Lisbon was only thirteen when she realized just how damaging her abilities were to her father. He became power-hungry and crazed. He was insanely jealous of the attention that she drew and treated her with contempt. He stole from her, forced her into situations she didn’t want to be in, and made her life a misery. It wasn't long after that when she started hatching plans to escape his clutches, but she never got that far away before he inevitably caught her up once again.
In fact, the only time he had disappeared from her life for an extended time was the night when her family had died.
Now, she couldn't help but wonder that, if he regained consciousness and if he recovered completely, if this was a sign that he was going to drag her back down again. He had given her a reprieve, a small taste of freedom, but now it was over. Jason Hamilton wanted her back again; she could never escape because she was his.
And yet, she knew she couldn't just throw him to the wolves. He was her father; the only flesh and blood she had left now. She couldn't completely cut him off - partially because he wouldn't let her - but mostly because she knew there was no going back if she even dared. Her religion, and the only connection she had with her deceased mother, dictated that she should respect her parents. Lisbon knew she had to take her religion seriously; after all, it was one of the few things that kept her sane. Still, it was difficult for her to follow that specific teaching, but on some level she managed to do so. After all, she had never met somebody quite as wily and quick thinking as her dad ever was. Jane was close, but Jason Hamilton was still on a completely different level in comparison. Then, there was the fact he had given her some sort of stability and upbringing after the death of her mom. He didn’t just abandon her, and put her up for adoption or fostering, like so many hapless fathers would have. She had to respect him for that, if nothing else.
"Teresa, you've gotta give me something to work with," Jane said, dragging her back to reality and away from the darkest recesses of her mind. "As enjoyable as I find guessing games, I can't keep making these stabs in the dark. Do you really want me to have false conceptions of your upbringing or to know the truth?"
Truth was a funny word. She knew that she could tell him the truth about her childhood, but that still wouldn't be cold hard fact. It would be purely from her perspective of the situation. It would be completely biased. Had he asked her father for the same story, it would paint an entirely different picture. The cold hard truth was hard to fathom, even if you drew from the point of view of everybody in any given situation. Yet, Jane probably only cared about her view of it. They were her scars, her burden; they made her who she was. For Jane, her dad's opinion on the situation (and anybody else’s opinion, for that matter) was entirely irrelevant.
She went to open her mouth, to tell him about her mother's sudden death, the carnival, how she had become a fake psychic based on her innate ability to read people. He needed to know why she behaved in the ways that she did, and what had forced her back in her shell. She wanted to explain why she put so much faith in the law, why morality was the only rulebook she cared to live by these days and why she felt the desperate need to prove that she was a good person now. However, before she had a chance to say another word, she was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Boss," said Cho, and he looked uncharacteristically stressed. "We caught one."
“Okay,” Jane answered back, but Cho looked at him searchingly.
Lisbon knew immediately that Cho was insinuating that he needed a private word with his boss and she took that moment to step to one side. Cho followed Jane into the corner of his office, behind his desk and beside the whiteboard which indicated the status of all their current cases. She watched their every move with eagle eyes. Both men spoke in a hushed breath; they knew she was there, but they didn’t particularly want her to overhear straightaway. They intended to share their news with her in a more careful, more controlled manner. However, Lisbon decided that they both should have known better anyway. They should have made sure she was out of the room and well out of earshot before they’d even dared to speak, however suspicious that made their actions appear. Lip-reading was a skill she had mastered well before the age of ten. She didn’t need the clarity of perfect hearing to know what was being said. After about half a minute, she stopped watching them and spent the time trying to compose herself appropriately for the ‘blow’ they were about to deal her.
“Lisbon,” Jane said tentatively. “Before we go to this crime scene, I need a word in private.”
She cocked her head to one side and smirked slightly. The look in Cho’s eye suggested he knew precisely what she was going to say next. But then, to be such a good interrogator, he needed to be a good study of people in general. The two skills naturally went hand in hand. Again, that was something she knew from very personal experience.
“You think it’s related to Red John,” she replied bluntly and he nodded. At least he didn’t even bother to try pretending he was stunned at her ability to figure it out. “I’m fine, Jane, really. Let’s just go and get this over and done with.”
“There is an important difference though…”
“And?” she prompted.
“It’s Red John in everything but name,” Jane explained, a little too cryptically for her liking.
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
She felt distinctly uncomfortable and had an inkling about what it was he meant anyway. This supposed Red John murder had occurred less than a week after his previous murder. The serial killer was getting cocky, killing far more frequently than he had ever done so in the past and nobody liked that. But, if he was getting cocky, that meant he was more inclined to make mistakes. If he made mistakes, then it gave them half a chance to get closer to him and get him behind bars and in front of a court of law, where he belonged. Surely, that meant it was, on some level, a good thing? Except for the fact that another family was going to be submersed in the horror that she had been facing for nearly three years now. Being the relative of a victim of a notorious serial killer who was still at large was never a comfortable situation to be in.
“No smiley face,” Cho eventually supplied on Jane’s behalf.
“So… it might not actually be Red John.”
“That’s what they need you for.”
Jane sounded somber as he spoke, he sounded like he genuinely hated the concept of putting her in such a situation. He knew that it was a difficult situation for her to be in. Lisbon was already stressed, having dealt with the Red John murder in Jane’s old motel so recently. The thought of having to face another one so soon was difficult. But really, it was hard on the whole team. However, she understood that this was their job and it was something that she had to do. She had signed up to help him tackle the most complex homicide cases that the state of California could dare throw at them and gone into it aware of the connotations. Red John, of course, was one of that number. She never expected the job to be easy, physically, emotionally or on her mental capacity. And besides, there was nobody in the whole state who knew the Red John case as well as she did now, apart from the serial killer himself, of course. If anybody could get to the bottom of this supposed enigma, then it was her. As far as Lisbon was concerned, she had no choice if she truly wanted justice to be upheld.
But she had a feeling that Jane would have tried to argue otherwise, of course.
“Well what are we wasting time here for?” Lisbon snapped as she headed out of the office. “We can talk about this on the way to the crime scene.”
Behind her, Jane and Cho exchanged furtive glances and she knew they were judging her apparent eagerness to get to the crime scene. But regardless of whether or not Red John was involved, the sooner they got there, the better. Forensic evidence only had a very short lifespan and if they didn’t get there in time to ensure its preservation, then it was going to be lost forever. Then, the case would inevitably be more difficult to close, and if (or when) they managed to make an arrest, it would be harder to get a conviction. Though confessions played an important part, more often than not, the physical evidence was required to pin it all together. Added to that, if it was Red John, then he was an incredibly meticulous killer. The fact that he had potentially murdered twice in such a short space of time suggested that this second one was unplanned and rushed. This meant that he’d be running scared and taking risks that they needed to capitalize on. Besides, they really couldn’t judge her for wanting to do a thorough and exemplary job, could they? After all, they surely wanted Red John behind bars (or dead) almost as much as she did?
The journey to the crime scene was fraught with tension. Rigsby and Van Pelt muttered nervously to one another in the back seat of the van, and Lisbon could tell they were both equally unhappy about the latest developments. Cho had opted to take another vehicle, simply to provide them with the opportunity to split up when they got there, but also so he could escape this uncomfortable feeling. There was a wordless agreement in place that they were likely to be working late into the night; there always was when a case broke out after midday. Besides, some things just did not need vocalizing. Lisbon wrung her hands around one another as she sat beside an agitated Jane up front; she was trying desperately to rid herself of the nervous tension she herself was carrying. She knew half the reason why everyone else felt so unsure was because of her specifically; they didn't know how she was going to react next. However many times she told them that she didn't want anything but answers, they just didn't believe her. After all, a serial killer had brutally murdered her beloved husband and innocent daughter. Technically, she was a victim just as much as they were, and the same applied to anyone who had lost a friend or relative to murder. Therefore, statistics indicated that there was a high likelihood that she was really trying to seek out vengeance for their deaths in order to gain that closure she craved.
And maybe on some level she did, she acknowledged. Lisbon knew for certain that she wouldn't be entirely happy or completely at peace with herself until she saw a judge sentence him to death row. She didn't want to kill him with her own bare hands; she just couldn’t face it or justify it with her conscience. An eye for an eye would never get the world anywhere. But, if the state of California dictated that Red John should die for the crimes that he'd committed, it was fine. Because then, the world as a whole was judging him for his considerable amount of crimes, everyone would be dictating what his punishment should be. Therefore, it wouldn't come down to her alone.
It was quite a relief to get out of the car and walk up to the innocuous looking house. Van Pelt’s nervous theorizing was beginning to drive Lisbon mad, as were the continual concerned glances that Jane insisted upon sending in her direction instead of concentrating on the road. The place they had pulled up in front of looked like the ideal family home, perfect for living out the American dream. Or, at least it would have done so were it not for the fact that there was the yellow crime scene tape cordoning the building off to the general public and the door hanging off of its hinges.
Lisbon took the lead as she headed towards the house. A few things caught her eye in the surrounding area, especially along the path to the house and she made a mental note to investigate them further as they got closer to the crime scene. The medical examiner was already on the scene and she recognized him immediately. Brett Partridge was a man who took a little too much joy in his job, but it was healthier for him to be interested in that than taking his love for the macabre too far. Jane had pointed it out to him on one of the first times they had encountered him after she had joined the Serious Crimes Unit, much to the discomfort of everybody present. Since then, he and Jane had shared a fraught relationship and Lisbon could hardly blame him for that. They were meant to be working together for the same purpose; there was no need for them to build up petty rivalries just for the sake of looking like the cleverest man in the room. It was unnecessary and rude.
"Oh God, it's the crazy cop and his ragtag team again," Partridge mumbled under his breath and then he extended a hand to her. "Hi, Teresa, it's good to see you again."
She ignored the insult and instead, shook his hand firmly. "Hi. What do we got then?"
"Female victim, aged 25. No official ID yet, but thought to be Kayleigh Merrison, from Palm Springs. She's the girlfriend of the property owner and had been staying with him for the past week."
"Right," said Lisbon and she ignored the scowls on Jane's face which she had caught out of the corner of her eye. "Anything else? I know there's a reported similarity to Red John."
"Yes. It appears that the killer snuck up on her in her sleep, drugged and tied her up, took his sweet time killing her. All matches Red John's M.O. perfectly except..."
"No smiley face."
"Yeah," replied Partridge and she noted the disappointment in the tone of his voice.
"And can we actually see the crime scene now?" Jane asked, clearing his voice to remind them that he, too, was present.
"Yes, sir."
Again, the tone of Partridge's voice expressed his obvious disrespect for Jane, but she knew the feeling was entirely mutual. For once, Jane didn't rise to the bait though and Lisbon was relieved. They all just wanted to get this over and done with. As far as Lisbon was concerned, the sooner they actually had some sort of idea what they were facing, the better. Then, they would know where to go from here and that was the main thing.
The blonde girl still had her hands and feet taped together with silver duct tape. Red John never sexually violated his victims, but that didn't stop him from making them think that it was a possibility prior to their deaths. He toyed with them, like a cat with a mouse. That was how he sought his thrills; that was how he exerted power over his victims.
As Cho had told her back in Jane's office, and as Partridge had confirmed when they had arrived at the crime scene, the body was definitely sliced in much the same way as Red John ordinarily did so. Lisbon took a look at the blood spatters with considerable interest; there was something not quite right about them. The mattress was soaked with Kayleigh Merrison's blood; the arterial spray from the fatal neck wound decorated the wall just above her head. Partridge was busy explaining to the others how this most likely came from a second victim, one whose body had already been removed. He was wrong; she could already tell he’d missed something.
“No, there were three different people with wounds. Three different sets of blood,” Lisbon said quietly and they all turned to face her.
“Oh really?” Partridge said skeptically. “Because…”
She shook her head. “That’s the victim’s obviously. And so is that,” she said, indicating to the blood on the wall. “She never had a chance to leave the bed during her death. Her blood is all localized to that area. This is somebody else’s.” Lisbon moved to the doorframe and pointed to another small droplet of blood that had stained the carpet. “There’s a trail leading out of the room and outside. But that’s not the most interesting one…”
“What is it Lisbon?” Jane asked.
She beckoned them all back outside, and along the red brick pathway that led to the street. Hopping neatly over the yellow tape, she took them twenty yards away. It was well outside of the cordoned off area, and something she had noticed briefly before she had entered the house. Initially, she had cast it aside, believed it was road kill or something. However, after she had spotted the blood along the path earlier, she had known that it must be connected. Lisbon was annoyed that none of the forensics guys had taken note of this, but at least she had. This was the first big break in this case; she could feel it in her bones. Eventually, she stopped and pointed at a large pool of blood by her feet. Jane was frowning and Van Pelt let out an audible gasp.
“This was from a third individual,” she explained.
“What are you trying to say Lisbon? Is Red John involved?”
“Yes,” she confirmed and she nodded decisively. “He was caught before he managed to make the smiley face. He attacked the individual who caught him, but didn’t kill him. Then, he attempted to flee the scene but then…”
Lisbon trailed off. This was her hypothesis, but she didn’t like spelling out her hunches before she was absolutely certain of them. Just because it sounded right in her head, it didn’t mean it necessarily was. Besides, it didn’t explain where the person who interrupted Red John had gotten to. If he only had a minor injury, surely he should have been the one to call it in? But he (or she) hadn’t been; a neighbor had heard that the door had been kicked in, came to investigate and found Kayleigh Merrison murdered.
“He was attacked in revenge, right here?” Jane asked and Lisbon nodded.
“So we’re potentially looking for two individuals, both injured, one seriously and one with minor injuries. A witness and potentially, Red John himself.”
“Yes, that’s about it,” she said, her voice quavering slightly.
She didn’t like the feeling of any of this.
To Chapter Thirteen
“So…”
Jane started on her from the moment that she exited the elevator. She hadn’t even had a chance to make it to the bullpen, never mind the kitchenette. Lisbon knew that Jane would be intrigued by the re-emergence of her father. In fact, she had mentally prepared herself for the bombardment of questions during her whole trip back from the hospital. This was the moment she was still dreading though; Jane’s curiosity was voracious and she knew that she would have to be fairly open with him in order to satisfy his appetite for information. Of course, she was highly skilled at dodging questions, but that didn’t necessarily mean that she liked doing so. If anything, it made her feel all the worse. She had started this job in the hope of proving to herself (and the world) that she was a better person than she perceived herself to be. Abusing the trust of people she was beginning to care about would not help matters, as far as Lisbon was concerned.
She hadn’t stayed long at the hospital; there wasn’t really all that much for her to actually see. Her father was alive, if only just and currently comatose. Lisbon spent a good long while talking to his doctor, seeing what his prognosis was and trying to discern what had actually caused him to land up in such a state. Of course, they had no clue whatsoever how he’d spent the past three years; she hadn’t heard from him at all since the day her family had been killed. The doctor didn’t know anything of any use to her, at least beyond the news of his health; the LEOs who’d brought him in had said very little. Throughout the conversation, Lisbon found a sense of foreboding had enveloped her. She didn’t much like secrets and lies, but then, it was almost standard fare for her relationship with her dad. Why she had expected any different, just because he was on death’s door, she didn’t know.
Still. That didn’t change her Jane dilemma. Naturally, instinct told her that she should be honest with him; she was not her father’s daughter. However, the very thought of Jane and her father getting to know one another felt dangerous. She knew without having introduced them that they would be an explosive combination. Her father, who toed the line between the law and lawlessness, and a maverick cop, together? Every bone in her body screamed out at her to prevent it at all costs. In some ways, it was almost a blessing in disguise that her dad was unconscious. At least he and Jane couldn’t cause any problems with him in such a state.
But even then, she still wouldn’t put it past him. Lisbon knew exactly what Mr. Jason Hamilton was like. After all, he had raised her from birth.
Even shedding her birth name and taking on her husband’s surname for good would never have been enough to completely distance herself from him. As tragic as the death of her family had been, and she had reacted terribly to it at the time, at least it had given her some breathing space from him, if only for a short while.
“So, what?” she asked innocuously.
“How did it go?”
“He’s unconscious. They don’t know when - or if - he’ll wake up.”
They headed naturally towards Jane’s office. Of course, he gravitated towards his couch and she took to the seat beside his table. They had spent so many hours in this position, discussing cases in detail, working the paper trails and the like. It felt right to be like this in Jane’s office; it was as simple as that.
“Teresa,” Jane said softly. “What’s the deal with your father? There’s barely anything on his records, and you don’t speak about him…”
“Do we really have to do this?”
“I think so. C’mon, it won’t be so bad once you get it over and done with. Think of it like a Band-Aid.”
“Jane…”
“I’m your friend, first and foremost and then your boss,” he reminded her casually and she stared at him, agog. “And this has obviously rattled you. Yes, I think it’s time we talked about this.”
Figuratively, she could feel her knees buckling as the weight of the world fell on top of her shoulders. This was the moment when she knew she would give into Patrick Jane and give him exactly what he wanted. It was rarely due to what he said, but the look he shot her and expressions he wore as he spoke. But, he was right. They were friends before anything else; even those niggling little feelings that continued to bother her from time to time came secondary to that. And, if they were friends, that meant she could trust him. On this occasion, Jane was reaching out to her, eager to help with her problems. Who was she to deny the hand he was offering her? She had never told him, though he may have figured it out anyway, but he had helped her so much since she had tried to re-assimilate herself back into the world after her family had been killed. After losing contact with her father, the one constant in her life, too. Though, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She owed him and yet again, he was offering to be the one to support her. Even so, she still felt the need to ensure the doors were firmly closed and the blinds shut. It wasn't so much a case of trying to stop people from overhearing; that was irrational. These office spaces, with their thin glass walls, offered no protection from that. However, she felt the need to imply that this conversation would remain private and that was the only thing she could do to ensure they wouldn't be unintentionally disturbed.
"You done yet?" he asked, and she could tell that he was begrudgingly amused by her actions.
"I don't know,” she admitted honestly. “You know I don't want to talk about this."
"He wasn't a nice man? He scares you?” Jane guessed immediately, as he was prone to do so. “Is he the only fear that the formidable Teresa Lisbon has?"
She rolled her eyes at his exaggeration, but tentatively nodded afterwards. Ultimately, Jane was right, in spite of it just being assumptions based on her behavior, especially when this specific subject ever reared its ugly head. Her father did scare her. As a child, she had seen him do terrible things, all to lie and cheat his way to the top. He had treated her with contempt, and his violent tendencies often extended to her too, especially whenever she had attempted to disobey him. When she had started to demonstrate a natural ability for observation and mind games, he had begun to live vicariously through her. Although, that was never enough to stop the physical abuse either. Lisbon was only thirteen when she realized just how damaging her abilities were to her father. He became power-hungry and crazed. He was insanely jealous of the attention that she drew and treated her with contempt. He stole from her, forced her into situations she didn’t want to be in, and made her life a misery. It wasn't long after that when she started hatching plans to escape his clutches, but she never got that far away before he inevitably caught her up once again.
In fact, the only time he had disappeared from her life for an extended time was the night when her family had died.
Now, she couldn't help but wonder that, if he regained consciousness and if he recovered completely, if this was a sign that he was going to drag her back down again. He had given her a reprieve, a small taste of freedom, but now it was over. Jason Hamilton wanted her back again; she could never escape because she was his.
And yet, she knew she couldn't just throw him to the wolves. He was her father; the only flesh and blood she had left now. She couldn't completely cut him off - partially because he wouldn't let her - but mostly because she knew there was no going back if she even dared. Her religion, and the only connection she had with her deceased mother, dictated that she should respect her parents. Lisbon knew she had to take her religion seriously; after all, it was one of the few things that kept her sane. Still, it was difficult for her to follow that specific teaching, but on some level she managed to do so. After all, she had never met somebody quite as wily and quick thinking as her dad ever was. Jane was close, but Jason Hamilton was still on a completely different level in comparison. Then, there was the fact he had given her some sort of stability and upbringing after the death of her mom. He didn’t just abandon her, and put her up for adoption or fostering, like so many hapless fathers would have. She had to respect him for that, if nothing else.
"Teresa, you've gotta give me something to work with," Jane said, dragging her back to reality and away from the darkest recesses of her mind. "As enjoyable as I find guessing games, I can't keep making these stabs in the dark. Do you really want me to have false conceptions of your upbringing or to know the truth?"
Truth was a funny word. She knew that she could tell him the truth about her childhood, but that still wouldn't be cold hard fact. It would be purely from her perspective of the situation. It would be completely biased. Had he asked her father for the same story, it would paint an entirely different picture. The cold hard truth was hard to fathom, even if you drew from the point of view of everybody in any given situation. Yet, Jane probably only cared about her view of it. They were her scars, her burden; they made her who she was. For Jane, her dad's opinion on the situation (and anybody else’s opinion, for that matter) was entirely irrelevant.
She went to open her mouth, to tell him about her mother's sudden death, the carnival, how she had become a fake psychic based on her innate ability to read people. He needed to know why she behaved in the ways that she did, and what had forced her back in her shell. She wanted to explain why she put so much faith in the law, why morality was the only rulebook she cared to live by these days and why she felt the desperate need to prove that she was a good person now. However, before she had a chance to say another word, she was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Boss," said Cho, and he looked uncharacteristically stressed. "We caught one."
“Okay,” Jane answered back, but Cho looked at him searchingly.
Lisbon knew immediately that Cho was insinuating that he needed a private word with his boss and she took that moment to step to one side. Cho followed Jane into the corner of his office, behind his desk and beside the whiteboard which indicated the status of all their current cases. She watched their every move with eagle eyes. Both men spoke in a hushed breath; they knew she was there, but they didn’t particularly want her to overhear straightaway. They intended to share their news with her in a more careful, more controlled manner. However, Lisbon decided that they both should have known better anyway. They should have made sure she was out of the room and well out of earshot before they’d even dared to speak, however suspicious that made their actions appear. Lip-reading was a skill she had mastered well before the age of ten. She didn’t need the clarity of perfect hearing to know what was being said. After about half a minute, she stopped watching them and spent the time trying to compose herself appropriately for the ‘blow’ they were about to deal her.
“Lisbon,” Jane said tentatively. “Before we go to this crime scene, I need a word in private.”
She cocked her head to one side and smirked slightly. The look in Cho’s eye suggested he knew precisely what she was going to say next. But then, to be such a good interrogator, he needed to be a good study of people in general. The two skills naturally went hand in hand. Again, that was something she knew from very personal experience.
“You think it’s related to Red John,” she replied bluntly and he nodded. At least he didn’t even bother to try pretending he was stunned at her ability to figure it out. “I’m fine, Jane, really. Let’s just go and get this over and done with.”
“There is an important difference though…”
“And?” she prompted.
“It’s Red John in everything but name,” Jane explained, a little too cryptically for her liking.
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
She felt distinctly uncomfortable and had an inkling about what it was he meant anyway. This supposed Red John murder had occurred less than a week after his previous murder. The serial killer was getting cocky, killing far more frequently than he had ever done so in the past and nobody liked that. But, if he was getting cocky, that meant he was more inclined to make mistakes. If he made mistakes, then it gave them half a chance to get closer to him and get him behind bars and in front of a court of law, where he belonged. Surely, that meant it was, on some level, a good thing? Except for the fact that another family was going to be submersed in the horror that she had been facing for nearly three years now. Being the relative of a victim of a notorious serial killer who was still at large was never a comfortable situation to be in.
“No smiley face,” Cho eventually supplied on Jane’s behalf.
“So… it might not actually be Red John.”
“That’s what they need you for.”
Jane sounded somber as he spoke, he sounded like he genuinely hated the concept of putting her in such a situation. He knew that it was a difficult situation for her to be in. Lisbon was already stressed, having dealt with the Red John murder in Jane’s old motel so recently. The thought of having to face another one so soon was difficult. But really, it was hard on the whole team. However, she understood that this was their job and it was something that she had to do. She had signed up to help him tackle the most complex homicide cases that the state of California could dare throw at them and gone into it aware of the connotations. Red John, of course, was one of that number. She never expected the job to be easy, physically, emotionally or on her mental capacity. And besides, there was nobody in the whole state who knew the Red John case as well as she did now, apart from the serial killer himself, of course. If anybody could get to the bottom of this supposed enigma, then it was her. As far as Lisbon was concerned, she had no choice if she truly wanted justice to be upheld.
But she had a feeling that Jane would have tried to argue otherwise, of course.
“Well what are we wasting time here for?” Lisbon snapped as she headed out of the office. “We can talk about this on the way to the crime scene.”
Behind her, Jane and Cho exchanged furtive glances and she knew they were judging her apparent eagerness to get to the crime scene. But regardless of whether or not Red John was involved, the sooner they got there, the better. Forensic evidence only had a very short lifespan and if they didn’t get there in time to ensure its preservation, then it was going to be lost forever. Then, the case would inevitably be more difficult to close, and if (or when) they managed to make an arrest, it would be harder to get a conviction. Though confessions played an important part, more often than not, the physical evidence was required to pin it all together. Added to that, if it was Red John, then he was an incredibly meticulous killer. The fact that he had potentially murdered twice in such a short space of time suggested that this second one was unplanned and rushed. This meant that he’d be running scared and taking risks that they needed to capitalize on. Besides, they really couldn’t judge her for wanting to do a thorough and exemplary job, could they? After all, they surely wanted Red John behind bars (or dead) almost as much as she did?
The journey to the crime scene was fraught with tension. Rigsby and Van Pelt muttered nervously to one another in the back seat of the van, and Lisbon could tell they were both equally unhappy about the latest developments. Cho had opted to take another vehicle, simply to provide them with the opportunity to split up when they got there, but also so he could escape this uncomfortable feeling. There was a wordless agreement in place that they were likely to be working late into the night; there always was when a case broke out after midday. Besides, some things just did not need vocalizing. Lisbon wrung her hands around one another as she sat beside an agitated Jane up front; she was trying desperately to rid herself of the nervous tension she herself was carrying. She knew half the reason why everyone else felt so unsure was because of her specifically; they didn't know how she was going to react next. However many times she told them that she didn't want anything but answers, they just didn't believe her. After all, a serial killer had brutally murdered her beloved husband and innocent daughter. Technically, she was a victim just as much as they were, and the same applied to anyone who had lost a friend or relative to murder. Therefore, statistics indicated that there was a high likelihood that she was really trying to seek out vengeance for their deaths in order to gain that closure she craved.
And maybe on some level she did, she acknowledged. Lisbon knew for certain that she wouldn't be entirely happy or completely at peace with herself until she saw a judge sentence him to death row. She didn't want to kill him with her own bare hands; she just couldn’t face it or justify it with her conscience. An eye for an eye would never get the world anywhere. But, if the state of California dictated that Red John should die for the crimes that he'd committed, it was fine. Because then, the world as a whole was judging him for his considerable amount of crimes, everyone would be dictating what his punishment should be. Therefore, it wouldn't come down to her alone.
It was quite a relief to get out of the car and walk up to the innocuous looking house. Van Pelt’s nervous theorizing was beginning to drive Lisbon mad, as were the continual concerned glances that Jane insisted upon sending in her direction instead of concentrating on the road. The place they had pulled up in front of looked like the ideal family home, perfect for living out the American dream. Or, at least it would have done so were it not for the fact that there was the yellow crime scene tape cordoning the building off to the general public and the door hanging off of its hinges.
Lisbon took the lead as she headed towards the house. A few things caught her eye in the surrounding area, especially along the path to the house and she made a mental note to investigate them further as they got closer to the crime scene. The medical examiner was already on the scene and she recognized him immediately. Brett Partridge was a man who took a little too much joy in his job, but it was healthier for him to be interested in that than taking his love for the macabre too far. Jane had pointed it out to him on one of the first times they had encountered him after she had joined the Serious Crimes Unit, much to the discomfort of everybody present. Since then, he and Jane had shared a fraught relationship and Lisbon could hardly blame him for that. They were meant to be working together for the same purpose; there was no need for them to build up petty rivalries just for the sake of looking like the cleverest man in the room. It was unnecessary and rude.
"Oh God, it's the crazy cop and his ragtag team again," Partridge mumbled under his breath and then he extended a hand to her. "Hi, Teresa, it's good to see you again."
She ignored the insult and instead, shook his hand firmly. "Hi. What do we got then?"
"Female victim, aged 25. No official ID yet, but thought to be Kayleigh Merrison, from Palm Springs. She's the girlfriend of the property owner and had been staying with him for the past week."
"Right," said Lisbon and she ignored the scowls on Jane's face which she had caught out of the corner of her eye. "Anything else? I know there's a reported similarity to Red John."
"Yes. It appears that the killer snuck up on her in her sleep, drugged and tied her up, took his sweet time killing her. All matches Red John's M.O. perfectly except..."
"No smiley face."
"Yeah," replied Partridge and she noted the disappointment in the tone of his voice.
"And can we actually see the crime scene now?" Jane asked, clearing his voice to remind them that he, too, was present.
"Yes, sir."
Again, the tone of Partridge's voice expressed his obvious disrespect for Jane, but she knew the feeling was entirely mutual. For once, Jane didn't rise to the bait though and Lisbon was relieved. They all just wanted to get this over and done with. As far as Lisbon was concerned, the sooner they actually had some sort of idea what they were facing, the better. Then, they would know where to go from here and that was the main thing.
The blonde girl still had her hands and feet taped together with silver duct tape. Red John never sexually violated his victims, but that didn't stop him from making them think that it was a possibility prior to their deaths. He toyed with them, like a cat with a mouse. That was how he sought his thrills; that was how he exerted power over his victims.
As Cho had told her back in Jane's office, and as Partridge had confirmed when they had arrived at the crime scene, the body was definitely sliced in much the same way as Red John ordinarily did so. Lisbon took a look at the blood spatters with considerable interest; there was something not quite right about them. The mattress was soaked with Kayleigh Merrison's blood; the arterial spray from the fatal neck wound decorated the wall just above her head. Partridge was busy explaining to the others how this most likely came from a second victim, one whose body had already been removed. He was wrong; she could already tell he’d missed something.
“No, there were three different people with wounds. Three different sets of blood,” Lisbon said quietly and they all turned to face her.
“Oh really?” Partridge said skeptically. “Because…”
She shook her head. “That’s the victim’s obviously. And so is that,” she said, indicating to the blood on the wall. “She never had a chance to leave the bed during her death. Her blood is all localized to that area. This is somebody else’s.” Lisbon moved to the doorframe and pointed to another small droplet of blood that had stained the carpet. “There’s a trail leading out of the room and outside. But that’s not the most interesting one…”
“What is it Lisbon?” Jane asked.
She beckoned them all back outside, and along the red brick pathway that led to the street. Hopping neatly over the yellow tape, she took them twenty yards away. It was well outside of the cordoned off area, and something she had noticed briefly before she had entered the house. Initially, she had cast it aside, believed it was road kill or something. However, after she had spotted the blood along the path earlier, she had known that it must be connected. Lisbon was annoyed that none of the forensics guys had taken note of this, but at least she had. This was the first big break in this case; she could feel it in her bones. Eventually, she stopped and pointed at a large pool of blood by her feet. Jane was frowning and Van Pelt let out an audible gasp.
“This was from a third individual,” she explained.
“What are you trying to say Lisbon? Is Red John involved?”
“Yes,” she confirmed and she nodded decisively. “He was caught before he managed to make the smiley face. He attacked the individual who caught him, but didn’t kill him. Then, he attempted to flee the scene but then…”
Lisbon trailed off. This was her hypothesis, but she didn’t like spelling out her hunches before she was absolutely certain of them. Just because it sounded right in her head, it didn’t mean it necessarily was. Besides, it didn’t explain where the person who interrupted Red John had gotten to. If he only had a minor injury, surely he should have been the one to call it in? But he (or she) hadn’t been; a neighbor had heard that the door had been kicked in, came to investigate and found Kayleigh Merrison murdered.
“He was attacked in revenge, right here?” Jane asked and Lisbon nodded.
“So we’re potentially looking for two individuals, both injured, one seriously and one with minor injuries. A witness and potentially, Red John himself.”
“Yes, that’s about it,” she said, her voice quavering slightly.
She didn’t like the feeling of any of this.
To Chapter Thirteen