FIC: Acrimonious (20-1-2/21)
Title: Acrimonious
Author:
sirenofodysseus
Disclaimer: …it’s probably better that Bruno Heller owns The Mentalist, really.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After FBI Agent Susan Darcy is overheard telling Special-Agent-in-Charge Luther Wainwright that Patrick Jane may be working with Red John, Red John steals Jane’s body and begins to destroy the team’s lives one-by-one.
Spoilers: Brief spoiler for Crimson Hat (4x24), but the rest of this story is set after Something Rotten in Redmund (4x20).
Warnings: Violence, language, drug use, sex, non-con situations, mentions of child abuse/domestic abuse, negative character portrayals, major and minor character death.
Pairings: Red John/Teresa Lisbon, Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon, Wayne Rigsby/Sarah Harrigan, Kimball Cho/Summer Edgecombe.
20 1/2-
The holding cell within the Sacramento Courthouse was a white four-walled windowless area with a single silver toilet, sink and an uncomfortable off-white bench that Jane could stretch out and sleep on, if the proceedings upstairs didn’t start soon.
He glanced through the glass window on the door with a sigh, before he looked down at the silver handcuffs around his wrists with a shake of his head. Jane had tried asking Warden Donovan Lyle (the man in charge of Sacramento County Jail, where he had been staying for the past nine months) to remove the handcuffs, but the brown-haired Warden had refused once again.
Of course, as the court believed him to be Red John, the handcuffs were there to protect the individuals in the courtroom. The handcuffs were also there to keep him from committing suicide, before they could sentence him to his death. Not that Jane would have committed suicide in a courtroom full of people, but Darcy had apparently thought Red John would want to exit the world in some dramatic way that would traumatize a courtroom full of jurors, victims, police officers and witnesses.
The real Red John most certainly would have gone out in such a fashion; his blood would have splattered the courtroom walls. Jane, on the other hand, felt no need to end his life-especially when he knew he was innocent of all crimes the state of California had brought against him.
He hadn’t killed Summer Edgecomb. He hadn’t killed Wayne Rigsby. Red John had.
He hadn’t attempted to murder Kimball Cho. He hadn’t raped Grace Van Pelt or Teresa Lisbon. Red John had.
He also hadn’t murdered his wife, child or countless others either. Red John had.
And nobody believed him.
The evidence against him was a pile, almost six feet high. Osvaldo Ardiles had gathered enough DNA evidence, witness and expert testimony, and physical proof to prove that he (not the actual Red John, whoever that was) had committed over fifty crimes.
His fingerprints had covered every surface of Lisbon’s gun, which had been the weapon used to kill Rigsby. His fingerprints (along with Lisbon’s) had also covered the keys of a CBI-issued laptop, which Red John had used to blow Cho and Summer up.
On the stand, three months ago, Grace and Lisbon had also both admitted to seeing him kill Rigsby.
“Tell me, Agent Grace Van Pelt.” Ardiles had introduced the redheaded woman, as she sat on the witness stand before the jury. Grace had worn an olive-colored and long-sleeved turtleneck sweater and her body had been thin; the high amounts of visible exhaustion rolling off her shoulders had told him, even without hearing her speak, that the young woman wasn’t having an easy time. “What do you remember happening on the day of January 2nd, 2013?”
Grace had kept her eyes of him, as she had leaned into the small microphone to speak. “Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon had gotten a call on her cellphone from Patrick Jane, early on in the day. We…”
“Yourself, Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon and Agent Rigsby?” Ardiles had to clarify.
“Yes, sir.” Grace had replied, quietly with a brief nod of her head. “We put together the clues he-Patrick Jane-gave us, before we went to Oxley’s Shoe Warehouse.”
“Without backup, Grace?” Ardiles had asked. “Doesn’t the CBI require at least a dozen agents to accompany you to a possible hostage situation?” From where Jane had been sitting, Grace had looked almost hesistant to answer Ardiles’ question, until the attorney had leaned across the witness stand in his expensive Italian suit. Ardiles had covered the microphone with his hand and his mouth moved, before Jane watched Grace’s head bob up and down; and her long, red hair had shrouded her face from his vision.
“They do. It’s something you learn from the academy and the CBI handbook.” Grace had admitted, shyly. “Teresa Lisbon, my boss at the time though, hadn’t wanted to call for backup. She had feared that the FBI or the CBI would have arrested Patrick Jane on sight.” Ardiles had nodded and Grace continued. “Wayne Rigsby had found Patrick Jane in one of the larger factory rooms and Lisbon freed him from the chair that he had been bound too, before he had taken her gun from her.”
“Did Mr. Jane say anything to you or Agent Lisbon, after you had found him with her gun?”
Grace had nodded again, before she down at her hands in her lap. “Yes.”
“Did he admit that he was Red John, Grace?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about that, please.”
“Lisbon and Jane were talking. Lisbon told him he was Red John and Jane agreed.” Grace had explained, without glancing up. “Jane admitted that he worked better with knives. Red John favored a kitchen knife.”
Ardiles had nodded. “Did he say anything to you?”
Jane had watched her bottom lip quiver slightly. “He did.”
“What did he say, Grace?”
“He-Jane-said I was whore. He said I would kill my child.” Grace had sounded on the verge of tears, but he still couldn’t see her face. Why had she been hiding her face from him? He had known about the rape charge, but he had wondered if the woman was ashamed for making up such tales involving him. “He also said that no one will ever want me, because I was-am-the sloppy seconds of a rapist.” Jane had stared at her in horror.
“By rapist, Mr. Jane was referring to himself?”
“Yes, sir.” Grace had glanced up from her lap and her brown eyes were bright with unshed tears, as she had pushed her hair back behind her ears. Jane had felt sick. Grace had done nothing to deserve what she had gotten from the sick serial killer.
“Did Mr. Jane rape you?”
“Yes, sir.”
While the courtroom had exploded into a frenzy of yells, Jane hadn’t taken his eyes off of Grace, who had tried to shrink into her seat at all of the noise.
The Judge, Larry Dallas, had called order to the courtroom; and once the room had fallen into silence again, Ardiles had continued on with his line of questioning.
“Did you see Mr. Jane kill Rigsby, Grace?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me a little about that?”
“He…” Grace had started and Jane glanced down at the defense table, briefly. He had seen the written statements from both Grace and Lisbon about what had happened in the warehouse and he had been stunned into silence; how anybody, even Red John, could do something so twisted had been beyond him. “He shot Rigsby.”
The psychologist for the prosecution, two months ago, had declared him sane and fit for a murder charge.
“He is perfectly sane.” Dr. Ashland had responded, after Ardiles had questioned the doctor on Jane’s mental health. Dr. Ashland had studied at all of the top schools and had been one of the most brilliant scholars in the field of forensic psychology. “As Special-Agent-in-Charge Luther Wainwright stated earlier, Mr. Jane is a fully-functioning psychopath.”
“How do you explain the so-called lapse in his memory as being sane, Dr. Ashland?”
“It doesn’t take much for a memory to repress itself, Mr. Ardiles. Traumatic events, head injuries, etc. are all plausible reasons for why Mr. Jane’s memory would be repressed.” It had quickly dawned on Jane what Ardiles was doing with his line of questioning; the attorney was going to tie in the suicide of Amy Child to prove that his lapse in memory had been brought on by the traumatic sight of a girl blowing her head off, when in fact, he had seen much worse.
“So, say Mr. Jane witnessed someone committing suicide before his eyes.” Ardiles had said. “Would that be an event, traumatic enough, to cause a repressed memory?”
Dr. Ashland with his dark blue eyes and dirty blonde hair had nodded on the witness stand, a small smile on his lips. “Certainly! That type of a traumatic event could have also triggered schizophrenia, borderline personality disorder, dissociative identity disorder or various other psychological disorders.” Dr. Ashland had paused. “Mr. Jane though, did not test positive for being anything other than a fully-functioning psychopath.” Inkblot and observational tests were crude diagnostic tools for a reason; anybody could be a psychopath, on any given day, depending on their mood.
“We keep hearing that exact phrase, “fully-functioning psychopath”, in reference to Mr. Jane. Can you tell us what that means, exactly?”
“Mr. Jane can function fully in society, which means he is fully open to the experiences of life.” Dr. Ashland had answered. “The psychopath alone, however, feels no guilt, discomfort or remorse for his or her actions.” Dr. Ashland paused to take a sip of his water, before he had continued. “From what I’ve gathered about Red John. Red John is someone, who in my expert opinion feels deep seated remorse for his past actions.”
“How so?” Jane had wanted to know the exact same thing, as he had been studying the serial killer for much longer than Dr. Ashland had.
“The smiley face that Red John leaves behind is indicative of an individual, who believes he or she is making the world a much better place.” Ardiles had revealed a picture of Red John’s common signature on the television screen, closest to the jury. “Notice the detail in how he or she crafts the face; the creator is a person, who feels that they have wronged the world. He or she also regrets the murders that they commit to get to their ultimate goal, which is redemption.”
“Could Mr. Jane be Red John?” Ardiles had asked again.
“It’s certainly possible.” Dr. Ashland had concluded, after a moment of silence and another sip of his water. “Mr. Jane still feels deep guilt over the psychic cons that he had pulled years ago; and to balance out the staggering guilt, he became a killer to try and get rid of his conscience. Sometimes, the method works. Sometimes, it doesn’t.” Dr. Ashland had shrugged. “Unfortunately for Mr. Jane, becoming a one-time-killer hadn’t quite worked out, as he had planned. After his first murder in 1998, I would say that Mr. Jane realized that a single killing wouldn’t silence his conscience forever, thus he continued to kill to keep the voices in his own head quiet.”
Jane shook his head in disgust at the memory. Psychologists had nothing they could actively study, except for hearsay and impractical theory of psychobabble. Dr. Ashland, while impressive and charismatic on the stand, had been rather seedy when they had held a one-on-one meeting, prior to that court appearance; and Jane had wondered if Ardiles had found Dr. Ashland by mail-order.
If Dr. Ashland’s words held any water to them, in Jane’s opinion, anybody could have been a fully functioning psychopath: from the little girl down the street to the old woman at the bingo parlor. Nobody (not even Red John, who probably had his own fare share of skeletons hidden away) could live life without regrets, as regrets taught others not to look back.
Days after Dr. Ashland’s testimony, Ardiles had called Cho to the witness stand for questioning. In his wheelchair, the stoic former agent had all but declared him a serial killer.
“I left work early for personal business.” Cho had explained to Ardiles, who had asked about the day of the car explosion. “I had asked Senior Agent Lisbon if I could take one of the CBI SUV’s, as my own personal vehicle was in the shop still. Summer Edgecomb had asked if she could come along and I agreed. We drove all the way out to Placerville, before I realized we had gained a flat tire.”
“What happened after you found the flat, Agent Cho?” Ardiles had asked.
“I pulled into the closest filling station, parked and popped on the spare tire.” Cho had answered. “I got back into the vehicle. Summer was saying something about dogs, when I heard a distinct pop. She fell silent, midsentence, and I glanced in her direction.” He had paused. “I found Summer slumped over in the passenger seat and I leaned over to her.”
“Did you say anything to her?”
“Yes.” Cho had replied with a sharp nod. “I said, “Summer”, she didn’t respond. I placed my hand under her chin; my hand came back stained with blood. Her blood.” Cho’s voice had become tight with emotion and Jane had forced himself to look away. “I tried to find a pulse, but before I could, I felt pain.”
“You were blown up?”
“That’s what my doctors said, anyway.” Cho had said.
“Did Mr. Jane ever visit you in the hospital?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“What did he tell you?”
Cho had shrugged and Jane had glanced back at him. “Jane said Lisbon blamed herself. He also said that I must feel defeated because of my current state, due to the bomb.” Cho had briefly motioned to the wheelchair he was confined in, which had continued to stun Jane into complete silence. In jail, Jane had thought Darcy was pulling his leg about Cho, until he had seen it with his own eyes. “I said nothing. Jane told me that most individuals in my position felt the need to end their lives and how he hoped I didn’t try.” Cho had grown silent for a moment or so, before he continued to speak. “He said I could up the dosage of morphine into my body, but he warned me to be careful, as too much morphine could kill you.”
Jane had felt horrified at Cho’s statement. While he would have said something like that to a murderer, he would have never said it to Cho. He would have never said it to a friend, who might have taken the words to heart.
“Did you feel as if he had suggested suicide to you, Agent Cho?”
Cho had nodded, before their eyes had met. “It’s a common trick of Patrick Jane’s. He suggests something to the point of where his words don’t leave your brain, until you’ve done the suggested action.”
“Have his words left your brain yet?”
“No.” Cho had stated, his attention still on Jane. “They haven’t.”
He shifted in his spot on the hard bench, before he leaned back against the wall. Seeing Cho in a wheelchair had been hard to stomach, but hearing that Cho actually thought he had killed Summer and had tried to kill him also hadn’t helped to settle the lead weight in his stomach.
Cho had never trusted him completely, that much had been obvious from the very beginning. The man had only gone along with his plans to catch Red John or to help get Lisbon out of trouble, because he had trusted Lisbon and Lisbon’s logic. And in Cho’s opinion (from Jane’s knowledge of the man), if Lisbon went along with his plan, Cho trusted her to keep them from death’s doorstep or to keep them from getting into trouble with the big suits.
Lisbon failed him this time; Jane realized silently, Lisbon failed them all.
Lisbon had slept with the enemy (Red John), she had gotten Grace raped and she had gotten Rigsby killed, because of the trust she had placed in him.
Jane doubted Cho would hold it against her for too much longer though. Lisbon, after all, was human and she still made mistakes.
While Grace’s and Cho’s testimonies had made him feel as if he would never step outside of prison walls again, Lisbon’s and Lorelei Martin’s (an accomplice of Red John’s, who Jane had never met before) testimonies had sealed the outcome of the trial and his fate, even without the jury of his peers having heard the closing statements.
Ardiles hadn’t needed to question Lisbon on the witness stand, as Grace had given the man everything he had needed (a solid confession that he was Red John, that he had been the one to rape her and that he had killed Rigsby), but Jane had quickly realized that Ardiles hadn’t brought her up to cement his case.
No, in fact, Ardiles had brought her on the stand for two completely different reasons.
The first was to make sure that he couldn’t escape the death penalty. Bertram had apparently feared his abilities as a charismatic speaker (he had used those skills, after all, to escape prison time when he had killed Timothy Carter, years ago) and had forced Ardiles to use every available tactic into making sure nothing less of the death penalty would be ruled upon.
By using Lisbon’s testimony in Rigsby’s death, Grace’s raping and her own raping, Bertram and Ardiles had both excluded any slight chances of the jury finding him innocent.
Lisbon’s outlandish claim of rape had bothered him though, more so than the matching claims Grace had probably filed at Bertram’s urging. Jane would have never touched either woman, sexually, as he had considered himself celibate up until two months ago when he and a fellow inmate named Jade had shared a few intimate moments in the laundry room of the jailhouse.
The second mainly dealt with the bureau’s need to clean up a mess. After the media had gotten ahold of the information that Red John was Patrick Jane, the public had thirsted for Lisbon’s blood. Bold statements had lined the headlines of the newspapers for months: ‘Senior Agent Misses Red John’, ‘CBI’s Biggest Mistake: Hiring Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane’, ‘Victims Want Retribution: The Red John Mishap’, ‘Red John Was in Her Sheets the Entire Time, Says One CBI Official’, and ‘California Bureau of Idiots?’ but nobody had felt humiliation was a good enough punishment. To the CBI, it hadn’t mattered that they had just ruined the life of a once exemplary agent by smearing her pictures all across the front page of every newspaper in the State of California. It only mattered that she took a public falling from grace, so they (the CBI) all looked blameless in having not spotted Red John, as they hadn’t been working with him every single day like Lisbon had.
The questioning from Ardiles had been a way to continue publically slamming her, while giving her a fair chance to defend her actions. Of course, Ardiles and Bertram had known Lisbon wouldn’t even try; the media had nailed her as ignorant, blind and Red John’s call girl and even if she did try, nobody would take her story seriously.
As far as the CBI was concerned, in his opinion, Teresa Lisbon was a disgraced former senior agent, who had been working for Red John all along.
“Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon.” Ardiles had greeted the brunette-haired woman, almost mockingly after she had taken her seat on the stand. Lisbon had stared straight ahead at nothing and to Jane’s dismay, she hadn’t looked her best. Her dark brown hair had grown past her shoulders; the once well-kept locks of hair had become lank and matted from a lack of care and concern. The dark suit she had been wearing was patched in places and wrinkled (which had suggested to him that Lisbon was having money issues) and it most certainly hung off her form, ill fittingly. “Tell me what happened on January 2nd, 2013. The day Patrick Jane also known as Red John killed Agent Rigsby, raped Agent Van Pelt and you.”
Her voice had been emotionless, uncaring almost. “Jane called me. I went to find him with Van Pelt and Rigsby. Jane killed Rigsby. Van Pelt and I were raped.” Jane had nearly flinched at her lack of buffering. The Lisbon he had once known would have cringed at the bluntness.
“You were what, Agent Lisbon?” Ardiles had asked. The entire courtroom had heard her statement, but Ardiles had apparently felt that it was completely appropriate to make her say it again.
Lisbon had merely blinked, before she answered. “I was raped.”
Ardiles had crossed his arms against his chest. “So, Agent, let me get this straight.” Ardiles had continued, after a moment of silence and Jane knew the man was going in for the kill. “You were able to see your fellow agent and good friend get raped right in front of you, but you weren’t able to, after years of working together, see that Mr. Jane was not who he said he was?” Lisbon had said nothing. “Remind me, Agent, what made you decide to become a cop again?”
The courtroom had burst into a small fit of laughter at Ardiles’ crack, but Jane hadn’t moved. He hadn’t found any of it to be amusing; Lisbon had been raped. How could anybody exploit that? If it hadn’t been for the handcuffs around his wrists, he probably would have tried to strangle Ardiles.
Jane had almost called objection, but he had a feeling that his help would have only condemned her further in the eyes of the media and in the eyes of the jury.
Lisbon can take care of herself, Jane had told himself.
“So basically, Senior Agent Lisbon, you are one of those cops who can only solve a case when it is handed to you on a silver platter?” Lisbon had continued to stare straight ahead. “If I remember correctly, Mr. Jane solved about 95% of your cases. Tell me, Agent, if he was that good on the field and in bed apparently, then why didn’t he just run the CBI?” Ardiles had paused to chuckle, which had infuriated Jane. Lisbon had only been trying to do her job! “Oh wait, he did!”
The entire courtroom had exploded into laughter and Jane pushed his anger that he felt at their idea of a fair trial away.
Ardiles is supposed to slaughter me here, Jane had thought, not Lisbon.
“Jane has always conned people.” Lisbon had replied, flatly.
“He conned you out of your pants.” Ardiles had answered, skeptically and Lisbon had kept quiet. “Mr. Jane must have some talent if he can get you to do that, really.” Ardiles had paused again, as he had leveled his stare on her with a contained smirk. “Or maybe not.” Again, the entire courtroom had exploded into peals of laughter. “You can step down, Agent Lisbon. I have no further use for you, just like Mr. Jane; this time though, you get to keep your pants on.”
Jane had wanted to grab the man by his throat and choke him slowly to death for the harassment he had brought Lisbon. Lisbon hadn’t deserved his words, even if the woman had completely missed him being framed and had thrown him into jail without inquiring about his side of the story.
Ardiles was a ruthless individual (probably brought on by father issues), yes, but Jane had never thought he would see the man intentionally going after a woman, who had lost everything due to her one little mistake.
But it isn’t just one little mistake, Jane mused silently, it’s a mistake enough to condone a man to death.
Jane had spent many nights in his prison cell, before the trial, pondering how exactly Red John had managed to fool everybody into thinking that he had been the one behind all of these crimes. Had Red John hypnotized the entire CBI? Had Red John found an almost identical person to take his spot at the CBI? The lapse in memory couldn’t have been a coincidence, as he knew there were so such things as coincidences, but how had Red John managed to strip almost a year from his memory?
None of it had made any sense, but Red John had finally beaten him at his own game.
The team, who had been hunting the serial killer, no longer existed. Cho couldn’t work for the CBI anymore, due to his injury. Grace had probably refused to work at the CBI, due to her memories of what he had (supposedly) done to her. Rigsby was gone and Lisbon was under the suspicion of being one of Red John’s girls. With everyone being indisposed, Red John had individuals of average intelligence after him, who would only fumble around aimlessly with the case until it went cold.
Red John, serial killer or not, had always needed an audience; it was why the killer had splashed the walls above his victims with his calling card, instead of the wall adjacent to his victims. And while Jane had been focused on his quest to kill Red John, he had a million other distractions to focus on; Lisbon, the team, their other cases. In jail though, he had finally been able to focus on the serial killer entirely, not that it had done him much good; he was still on trial for murder and Red John was still free.
Of course, Red John was off somewhere laughing about it, as he had sent one of his many girls to testify at the trial. Lorelei Martins, according to Ardiles, had shown up at the CBI hours after Jane had been sent to jail; her bleeding leg had been bandaged and she had told Wainwright that she had information on Red John. The CBI apparently hadn’t found the timing of Lorelei’s appearance odd, as they had allowed for her to testify in exchange for safety from the death penalty.
“Ms. Martins.” Ardiles had greeted the young (and attractive) woman. Handcuffs had bound her wrists together and she wore an orange jail jumpsuit, as she remained seated on the witness stand with her dark hair braided. “Have you talked to Mr. Jane prior to this moment?”
Lorelei had nodded, her brown eyes focused on him. “Of course I have,” she replied with a small smile. “He’s Red John; the man of good change.”
“How do you this know this, Ms. Martins?” Ardiles had asked, as if the answer hadn’t been obvious. Lorelei was an attractive woman, who had no husband or boyfriend; obviously, she had been one of Red John’s.
“I worked for Red John; we slept together a few times.” Lorelei had responded, still with a small smile as she had shrugged her shoulders. “It was fun.”
“Why are you speaking so freely, Ms. Martins?” Jane had wondered the same exact thing. Red John had killed his other accomplices for way less before. “Aren’t you afraid Red John will murder you if you tell us about him?”
“Why should I be afraid of my lover?” Lorelei had questioned and Jane had stared at her. They had never slept together before. If they had, he was sure he would have remembered it. “He has never hurt me.”
Is she crazy? He had wondered.
All of Red John’s accomplices had been insane, of course, but the fact everybody had continued to believe the woman was ridiculous. Red John’s accomplices had lied before and Lorelei, whether the court thought that or not, had definitely been pulling a con for her beloved master.
“But he has hurt others?” Lorelei had nodded, slowly. “Who has he hurt, Ms. Martins?”
“He-Red John-killed all of his friends, aside from two of us.” Her brown eyes had gone to him. “He shot me in the leg, which is why I’m here.” Lorelei had paused to smile kindly at him. “You didn’t mean to hurt me, sir, you just need help. I’m sure these lovely people can help you.”
He had frozen in his seat.
At Lorelei’s indirect conversation with him, he knew he had lost. Jane had thought he could possibly explain away the murders and the rapes, but he couldn’t talk away that. Even if he had asked the judge to tell the jury to disregard what Lorelei had said, the jury would remember and Jane would find himself on death row. It didn’t matter how much persuading he could do, no jury would find him innocent on that line.
“You said there were two accomplices that escaped; you and someone else?” Lorelei had nodded at Ardiles’ question. “Who was the other person?”
He had watched Lorelei move closer to the microphone, the kind smile on her face still. “Teresa Lisbon, my sir’s other lover.”
The court had dissolved into a frenzy of chaos at Lorelei’s false tale, but Jane had known she was lying. Yes, she had been shot in the leg (he had seen the bandages himself). And yes, Red John had killed all of his followers at 9034 Ditch Avenue (he had seen pictures of the bloody massacre, but he had never been to that house before). But no, he had never killed anyone (aside from Dumar Hardy and Timothy Carter); and he most certainly hadn’t ever slept with Lorelei Martins.
As for Lorelei’s claim about Lisbon, Jane hadn’t been able to believe it. Lisbon had slept with someone who was framing him, but she would have never willingly worked for Red John; the brown-haired woman, in Jane’s opinion, would have known better than to deal with a serial killer, as it would have gone against her moral character. Lisbon was also everything Red John hated: confident, opinionated, a woman of spirit and drive. All of Red John’s female associates, on the other hand, had always been quite the opposite: self-conscious, submissive, women of past traumas and unspeakable horrors.
He had wanted to question Lorelei’s story further, but before he had been able to, the woman had committed suicide on his orders apparently and her death had been pinned on him.
Jane shook his head. He hadn’t given her any orders. He hadn’t even been able to speak with her. Bertram hadn’t allowed him a visit, because of the possible idea that he might whisper for her do something rash; as he had done to Cho.
--
Part Twenty 2/2