Russian Roulette (12/16)
Previous Parts: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven
Part Twelve - Developments
“Jane? A word?” Lisbon said nervously, before adding, “In private?”
Lisbon had been toying with the idea of not telling Jane, but in the end, she didn’t know who else she could trust. While his methods were sometimes a bit reckless, he did have the tact and subtlety needed for certain operations. If she dared to tell Minelli, or even the rest of her team, she knew they would go in all guns blazing. Her life was already at risk; she didn’t want to put her team in danger either. And besides, if there was half a chance that she could get out of this situation alive, then she was more than happy to seize it. And though she had fiercely denied it on occasion, she trusted Jane. When it came to solving crimes, even she had to admit that he knew what he was doing.
Besides, Red John was important to him. She knew he would want some involvement in bringing him down. After Jackson had left, she had done a little more investigation work in the cellar. The items he had stored down there, they only matched up to one serial killer. Of course, it had to be the only serial killer case that she was currently involved in. There were some key pieces of evidence that appeared to link Jackson to Red John down there, and Lisbon was hoping and praying that he wouldn’t remove them before she had the chance to take him down.
And before she was sure, of course. Her suspicions had major ramifications, regardless of whether or not she was actually right. She couldn’t just go and accuse him of multiple murders on something as small as a Jane-like hunch.
She was relieved when Jane merely nodded and followed her without a word into her office. They had been working together for eighteen months now and she believed they finally worked well together. Or at least, she knew when to give him some rope and when he needed to be on a tighter leash. At least now, there were fewer complaints about his work and their closed case record was still on the increase. There was still the Red John issue and that was what worried her the most.
Especially if she was right about Jackson.
He settled on her couch as she snapped the blinds shut. Slowly, Lisbon closed the doors tightly to ensure that they wouldn’t be disturbed during this conversation. Only then did she turn to face him.
“I think my husband’s a serial killer,” she said, without any preamble.
“Oh,” he answered, frowning. “Wait, you’re married?”
Lisbon rolled her eyes. “And here was me, thinking that the serial killer part was the more prominent issue,” she stated and Jane remained silent. “Yes, I’m married. To a serial killer, I think.”
Irritatingly, he didn’t have a quick comeback. Normally, Lisbon would have been thrilled to be able to surprise Jane in such a way. Usually, he knew anything and everything about her. Nothing could be kept a secret. The fact that he hadn’t even realized she was married surprised her. Lisbon had believed that he would have checked up on the records, or at least her personnel files, in order to get at juicy information like that. Clearly, she had been wrong.
Then again, he had always been open about the fact that Red John was his prime target. Why bother wasting time filling his ‘memory palace’ as he called it with useless nonsense about her when he had more important things to worry about?
“Who?” he asked when he finally seemed to manage to wrap his head around the fact she was married. “The Caveman? Dr. Valentine?”
“Red John.”
“Of course,” he sighed and ran a hand through his blond curls.
They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Lisbon had been dealing with this dilemma, alone, for forty-eight hours. However much they argued, she had still fallen in love with Jackson a long while ago. But she loathed what he did; it stood against everything she believed in. And somehow, he had snuck into the CBI unnoticed and started a relationship with her, of all people. It made her question the very foundations of their relationship. Did he really love her, or had he merely been grooming her as one of his victims?
And if it was the latter, why had he married her instead of just killing her outright?
As for Jane, this was the first major development she had informed him about in the case for a long while. And she could see in his face just how much it hurt. If she had just had an anonymous tip-off about Red John, then he would have been fine, practically itching to make a move. Instead, she had thrown him headfirst into a massive dilemma. Revenge was still something he considered, but however this ended, they both knew Lisbon would have to suffer an inevitable heartbreak.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied, her voice hollow. “Me too.”
After that, she explained everything she knew. Confiding in Jane clarified matters; she knew now that she had to deal with this in the same way as she would any other case. She had to set the ball in motion. Once she had called Rigsby and Cho into her office, she explained the situation to them. Thankfully, they didn’t ask too many questions, though Lisbon could tell they were desperate to do so. Quickly, she handed over her set of house keys to Cho and insisted they searched her cellar. Rigsby noted down everything she believed was of interest and then, she turned to face Jane.
“I brought his laptop with me.”
“And?”
“I think he’s planning to kill somebody. Soon.”
“You saw him leave with a knife in hand?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Van Pelt should be able to get into the encrypted data and-“
She was cut off by the ring of her phone. Leaning over to her desk, Lisbon pressed the receiver to her ear. Somehow, she almost expected the words that she heard the Assistant District Attorney say to her and her heart sank into the pits of her stomach.
“Red John has struck again.”
xxx
Ordinarily, Red John only killed at night.
Between the hours of two and three a.m. was generally his preference. It allowed for long enough to let his victim fall asleep, but also enough time for him to make his escape afterwards. Usually, he would bind them with duct tape and only rouse them once the blade of his knife was pressed firmly against their neck. Red John never killed for sexual gratification; he didn’t find murder erotic by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, he always sought for the higher meaning in what he did. Watching his victim’s perilous balance on the precipice between life and death was the core aspect which he found thrilling.
Seeing his victims realize they were about to go tumbling over the cliff-side, that they were about to die was the most exciting part of it all.
This time, however, he had carried out the deed in broad daylight. It lacked the atmospheric lighting, and the appeal, but it also carried a little more risk of being caught. His customer had been very specific about that though. After all, three in the afternoon was not too dissimilar to three in the morning for a night shift worker.
Red John was almost sorry to see this victim go. She had a sweet soul - almost too sweet for his tastes - and her only crime had been aborting her husband’s sick baby. But a job was a job; they came along too irregularly for him to complain about the detailing. He was being paid handsomely regardless of if his victim was entirely innocent or secretly a mass-murderer.
Before she had died, fear had paralyzed her. She blinked her doe eyes at him, whispered ‘why’ several times before just giving up. Red John had hoped that the prospect of imminent death would have given her some fighting spirit, that she would have attempted to escape or died trying. However, it wasn’t meant to be, and the kill was as unsatisfying as the selection of the victim.
Then again, it had probably been for the best that she had gone quietly. The road was fairly busy and if she had screamed the place down, then she could easily have drawn attention to him.
Slowly, he dipped his fingers into the still-warm blood and started to draw his calling card on the wall, just above her head. Halfway through, he shivered slightly and stopped drawing. Staring at it quizzically, Red John tried to recollect his senses. However, his instincts were telling him to run for the hills. That there was danger afoot. There was no real reason for him to be feeling this way, though. No car had pulled up on the driveway outside and no impending footsteps had approached.
That didn’t change his intuition though.
Hurriedly, he finished painting the smiley face. It was a rough job; it looked like it had been drawn by an amateur, but it was better than nothing. He wasn’t one to do half a job. Quickly, he gathered together his belongings. Ordinarily, he would have released his victim from their bonds for artistry, but he simply didn’t feel like he had the time. Something suggested that people were already out looking for him, but he wasn’t entirely sure why.
And when he thought people, he meant his wife.
It was only once he was in his car and speeding off down the freeway when he realized that he had left his shoes behind. He cursed loudly; there was nobody there to hear his frustration. Red John knew that he had two choices: turn back and pick them up, or just leave them. Either way, he had to change his plans. If he went and picked them up, then he knew that he’d be caught. But if he didn’t, then Lisbon would know he was Red John anyway.
Which meant that Lisbon would have to die. It was a shame, naturally, but it couldn’t have been helped. It was his fault anyway, for stalling on her murder in the first place. If he’d killed her years ago, like he had planned when he had first started luring her in, then he wouldn’t have found himself in this mess. Despite the fact they had grown distant of late, Red John still had a fondness for her. He knew that when he finally stuck the knife into her flesh, that her death was the one he would carry to the grave. Already, he could feel the guilt rising in the pit of his stomach and he hadn’t even killed her yet.
But if Lisbon knew, then so would Patrick Jane. Red John didn’t doubt that Lisbon would immediately confide in them from the very moment that she had worked it out.
He knew that death threats lingered over him from that man specifically. Lisbon had confided in him often enough. Red John shook his head. He’d deal with Jane when the time came, as well. For now, he was simply going to go home, sit and wait for Lisbon to turn up. He was genuinely intrigued to see how she would react to the situation. And of course, she was a hopeless liar, so there would be amusement on that front.
But really, all he could do was hope that Lisbon’s death would completely destroy Jane in the process. That was the main reason he had dragged on their relationship for these extra few months.
Wasn’t it?
To Part Thirteen
Part Twelve - Developments
“Jane? A word?” Lisbon said nervously, before adding, “In private?”
Lisbon had been toying with the idea of not telling Jane, but in the end, she didn’t know who else she could trust. While his methods were sometimes a bit reckless, he did have the tact and subtlety needed for certain operations. If she dared to tell Minelli, or even the rest of her team, she knew they would go in all guns blazing. Her life was already at risk; she didn’t want to put her team in danger either. And besides, if there was half a chance that she could get out of this situation alive, then she was more than happy to seize it. And though she had fiercely denied it on occasion, she trusted Jane. When it came to solving crimes, even she had to admit that he knew what he was doing.
Besides, Red John was important to him. She knew he would want some involvement in bringing him down. After Jackson had left, she had done a little more investigation work in the cellar. The items he had stored down there, they only matched up to one serial killer. Of course, it had to be the only serial killer case that she was currently involved in. There were some key pieces of evidence that appeared to link Jackson to Red John down there, and Lisbon was hoping and praying that he wouldn’t remove them before she had the chance to take him down.
And before she was sure, of course. Her suspicions had major ramifications, regardless of whether or not she was actually right. She couldn’t just go and accuse him of multiple murders on something as small as a Jane-like hunch.
She was relieved when Jane merely nodded and followed her without a word into her office. They had been working together for eighteen months now and she believed they finally worked well together. Or at least, she knew when to give him some rope and when he needed to be on a tighter leash. At least now, there were fewer complaints about his work and their closed case record was still on the increase. There was still the Red John issue and that was what worried her the most.
Especially if she was right about Jackson.
He settled on her couch as she snapped the blinds shut. Slowly, Lisbon closed the doors tightly to ensure that they wouldn’t be disturbed during this conversation. Only then did she turn to face him.
“I think my husband’s a serial killer,” she said, without any preamble.
“Oh,” he answered, frowning. “Wait, you’re married?”
Lisbon rolled her eyes. “And here was me, thinking that the serial killer part was the more prominent issue,” she stated and Jane remained silent. “Yes, I’m married. To a serial killer, I think.”
Irritatingly, he didn’t have a quick comeback. Normally, Lisbon would have been thrilled to be able to surprise Jane in such a way. Usually, he knew anything and everything about her. Nothing could be kept a secret. The fact that he hadn’t even realized she was married surprised her. Lisbon had believed that he would have checked up on the records, or at least her personnel files, in order to get at juicy information like that. Clearly, she had been wrong.
Then again, he had always been open about the fact that Red John was his prime target. Why bother wasting time filling his ‘memory palace’ as he called it with useless nonsense about her when he had more important things to worry about?
“Who?” he asked when he finally seemed to manage to wrap his head around the fact she was married. “The Caveman? Dr. Valentine?”
“Red John.”
“Of course,” he sighed and ran a hand through his blond curls.
They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Lisbon had been dealing with this dilemma, alone, for forty-eight hours. However much they argued, she had still fallen in love with Jackson a long while ago. But she loathed what he did; it stood against everything she believed in. And somehow, he had snuck into the CBI unnoticed and started a relationship with her, of all people. It made her question the very foundations of their relationship. Did he really love her, or had he merely been grooming her as one of his victims?
And if it was the latter, why had he married her instead of just killing her outright?
As for Jane, this was the first major development she had informed him about in the case for a long while. And she could see in his face just how much it hurt. If she had just had an anonymous tip-off about Red John, then he would have been fine, practically itching to make a move. Instead, she had thrown him headfirst into a massive dilemma. Revenge was still something he considered, but however this ended, they both knew Lisbon would have to suffer an inevitable heartbreak.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied, her voice hollow. “Me too.”
After that, she explained everything she knew. Confiding in Jane clarified matters; she knew now that she had to deal with this in the same way as she would any other case. She had to set the ball in motion. Once she had called Rigsby and Cho into her office, she explained the situation to them. Thankfully, they didn’t ask too many questions, though Lisbon could tell they were desperate to do so. Quickly, she handed over her set of house keys to Cho and insisted they searched her cellar. Rigsby noted down everything she believed was of interest and then, she turned to face Jane.
“I brought his laptop with me.”
“And?”
“I think he’s planning to kill somebody. Soon.”
“You saw him leave with a knife in hand?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Van Pelt should be able to get into the encrypted data and-“
She was cut off by the ring of her phone. Leaning over to her desk, Lisbon pressed the receiver to her ear. Somehow, she almost expected the words that she heard the Assistant District Attorney say to her and her heart sank into the pits of her stomach.
“Red John has struck again.”
xxx
Ordinarily, Red John only killed at night.
Between the hours of two and three a.m. was generally his preference. It allowed for long enough to let his victim fall asleep, but also enough time for him to make his escape afterwards. Usually, he would bind them with duct tape and only rouse them once the blade of his knife was pressed firmly against their neck. Red John never killed for sexual gratification; he didn’t find murder erotic by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, he always sought for the higher meaning in what he did. Watching his victim’s perilous balance on the precipice between life and death was the core aspect which he found thrilling.
Seeing his victims realize they were about to go tumbling over the cliff-side, that they were about to die was the most exciting part of it all.
This time, however, he had carried out the deed in broad daylight. It lacked the atmospheric lighting, and the appeal, but it also carried a little more risk of being caught. His customer had been very specific about that though. After all, three in the afternoon was not too dissimilar to three in the morning for a night shift worker.
Red John was almost sorry to see this victim go. She had a sweet soul - almost too sweet for his tastes - and her only crime had been aborting her husband’s sick baby. But a job was a job; they came along too irregularly for him to complain about the detailing. He was being paid handsomely regardless of if his victim was entirely innocent or secretly a mass-murderer.
Before she had died, fear had paralyzed her. She blinked her doe eyes at him, whispered ‘why’ several times before just giving up. Red John had hoped that the prospect of imminent death would have given her some fighting spirit, that she would have attempted to escape or died trying. However, it wasn’t meant to be, and the kill was as unsatisfying as the selection of the victim.
Then again, it had probably been for the best that she had gone quietly. The road was fairly busy and if she had screamed the place down, then she could easily have drawn attention to him.
Slowly, he dipped his fingers into the still-warm blood and started to draw his calling card on the wall, just above her head. Halfway through, he shivered slightly and stopped drawing. Staring at it quizzically, Red John tried to recollect his senses. However, his instincts were telling him to run for the hills. That there was danger afoot. There was no real reason for him to be feeling this way, though. No car had pulled up on the driveway outside and no impending footsteps had approached.
That didn’t change his intuition though.
Hurriedly, he finished painting the smiley face. It was a rough job; it looked like it had been drawn by an amateur, but it was better than nothing. He wasn’t one to do half a job. Quickly, he gathered together his belongings. Ordinarily, he would have released his victim from their bonds for artistry, but he simply didn’t feel like he had the time. Something suggested that people were already out looking for him, but he wasn’t entirely sure why.
And when he thought people, he meant his wife.
It was only once he was in his car and speeding off down the freeway when he realized that he had left his shoes behind. He cursed loudly; there was nobody there to hear his frustration. Red John knew that he had two choices: turn back and pick them up, or just leave them. Either way, he had to change his plans. If he went and picked them up, then he knew that he’d be caught. But if he didn’t, then Lisbon would know he was Red John anyway.
Which meant that Lisbon would have to die. It was a shame, naturally, but it couldn’t have been helped. It was his fault anyway, for stalling on her murder in the first place. If he’d killed her years ago, like he had planned when he had first started luring her in, then he wouldn’t have found himself in this mess. Despite the fact they had grown distant of late, Red John still had a fondness for her. He knew that when he finally stuck the knife into her flesh, that her death was the one he would carry to the grave. Already, he could feel the guilt rising in the pit of his stomach and he hadn’t even killed her yet.
But if Lisbon knew, then so would Patrick Jane. Red John didn’t doubt that Lisbon would immediately confide in them from the very moment that she had worked it out.
He knew that death threats lingered over him from that man specifically. Lisbon had confided in him often enough. Red John shook his head. He’d deal with Jane when the time came, as well. For now, he was simply going to go home, sit and wait for Lisbon to turn up. He was genuinely intrigued to see how she would react to the situation. And of course, she was a hopeless liar, so there would be amusement on that front.
But really, all he could do was hope that Lisbon’s death would completely destroy Jane in the process. That was the main reason he had dragged on their relationship for these extra few months.
Wasn’t it?
To Part Thirteen