Chapter one – Set in my perspective
I stared analytically at the crime scene in front of me. Well that's what I was supposed to be staring at. In reality, I was staring contemplatively at Patrick Jane. He had – through some means or another – located the victim's diary and was flicking through it absently, with a look of deep pondering on his face.
The victim was Perry Kolinsky, a middle aged banker who apparently, in Jane's opinion (I quote), 'liked his wife's cocktail dresses a bit more than any man ought to'. He was strung up in front of the kitchen entrance, wearing one of the aforementioned frocks, in his holiday home in the small damp village of West Parkville, a tiny gathering of dingy houses, a convenience store and a motel. There was no motive form the maid who found him – in fact, that meant she was out of business, so she was struck off of the suspect list. High up was the wife, and higher up was the sister in law, and on top there was the possibility that they pulled it off together, after facing the horror of his cross-dressing conduct. Mind you, I was not too keen on it either, but I was more caught up conjuring up the disturbing depiction of Rigsby wearing a ball gown…
"Boss, where do you want us?" He asked, and I snapped out of my Jane-staring and my envisioning-Rigsby-in-a-dress dazes to answer them.
"Cho and Van Pelt. Find the widow and sister in law and take them into interrogation. Rigsby, you are going to find the insurance people, I think they're a big part in this one-"
"They're not." Jane sang from across the hall. God that man has hearing like a bat's.
"What about Jane?"
"He's mine." I only realised the ambiguity of my statement after they has left. "…on this one." I muttered feebly.
"Lisbon?" he called through, and I hurried to his aid, hopeful that we wouldn't have to spend the night in the town motel, which has been rumoured to have food standard issues. I approached him in my overly manly gait, to mask the thoughts I had just had which involved me being very feminine and him being very manly.
Jane didn't look up when I reached him. Instead he grinned at the diary and spoke,
"You're overcompensating for yourself again. I wonder what you were just thinking about…" I froze forgetting that he fed off nervous silences for information. No, he was bluffing.
"Cut the crap Jane. Personally I want to finish this case so I can leave this godforsaken dump." This earned me a glare from the local sheriff off to the left. Jane glanced at me, his interest piqued.
"Okay, what is your idea and how do I fit into the equation?"
"No idea, I was hoping you would come up with something. Work your psych or something." Oh god I cannot believe I just said that to another human being. It would have been bad enough if I'd just said it to myself. Jane grinned, fully this time. Oh god it's been a while… bollocks! I forgot he was a mind reader! Jane frowned at me slightly, than if possible his smile widened. "Uh…"
"You just –you're blushing!"
"I am not!"
"You are so! You just thought of something completely inappropriate for the workplace, I know you did don't try to deny it. Something which – if discovered as a spoken thought – would strip you of all dignity and sanity and reverence and your life would become extremely unpleasant…" he gave an exaggerated gasp which made me groan inwardly. "You're thinking of someone you work with… sexually!"
"Actually-"
"It's Cho isn't it?" I stared at him, not sure whether he was joking or not. Either he knew and he was just gloating to wind me up, or he didn't' know and he was winding me up anyway. I glared at him sternly.
"I was not thinking of anyone in the workplace like that I was thinking about the case. And even if I was…Cho? Seriously?" he grinned at me in his way that made me want to simultaneously faint and punch him in the nose.
"Exactly." Oh. So he did know and he's winding me up. He returned hi attention to the leather-bound book in his hands. "Van Pelt and Cho are not going to get anything from the wife or sister in law. Even if they did it they were not going to talk this way. They're the kind of people who need proof before they change their story and are not going to break just because we look at them threateningly.
"So where do we look, the mistress? The hooker? The…"
"The boyfriend should have an inkling." His eyes were sparkling with amusement. I felt my eyebrows raise slightly.
"The boyfriend." I did not sound surprised, which was apt because I was not surprised. I guess I'm just well prepared for the amount of utter crap which flows from Patrick Jane's mouth to actually react to it.
"Yes the boyfriend. Are you okay today you seem a little…" he raised his eyebrow suggestively, "preoccupied." Yes, he definitely knew. After another internal groan of anguish, I nodded unconvincingly.
"Yes I'm fine can we just concentrate on the problem at hand please? What did you call me over here for?" Jane returned once more to the book, and furrowed his brow in confusion – something which did not happen often.
"There is something too familiar about this all. It feels like a signature, but I'm not sure who's. Signature but not signature." I did not see anything evidential which enforced the familiar feeling, but I could not disagree that it was familiar, frighteningly so.
Jane's eyes widened and he paled.
"What? What's wrong? Who is it?"
"It's him!" Jane muttered. "He did it!"
"Who's he? Jane-"
"This was someone who was close to him." I was getting anxious about Jane's already depleted sense of reality, but also worried about where he might be headed. He turned to me, his face inches from mine, and he looked triumphant.
"Red John."