A/N: Again, I own nothing pertaining to the Mentalist.

The Effect of Ricin

Chapter 2

Another round of intense questioning, mostly centered around Julia's husband, revealed that the wife, Abigail, had been seen arguing with her husband at a local grocery store. Rigsby and I took charge of that interrogation, catching Abigail as she worked out money issues concerning her newly inherited restaurant. I had Van Pelt do research on Julia's husband, still one of our prime suspects, to see if he knew about the affair. Cho stayed with Jane.

Abigail wasn't pleased to see us. I could tell she'd been crying, though she'd fixed her makeup and refocused her efforts on the bills sometime before we'd arrived. She folded her arms over the table and watched us carefully, "Do you have any news on my husband's murderer? Because if you don't, I really need to get back to sorting out these bills."

"You met with Jeffery two weeks ago, Abigail," I said, wasting no time with small talk. We were on a deadline, especially after the attorney general gave me a call this morning. Apparently Julia's father, the rich and powerful senator, was quite upset about his daughter's death. The senator blamed me for not wrapping up the case fast enough, and I was inclined to side with him. The attorney general gave my team three days to find the killer, or we were off the case.

And I wasn't going to let that happen. This was personal.

Abigail blinked in surprise, "W-what? No, I didn't."

"A market clerk confirmed the story," I said as clearly and calmly as I could, even though my patience was already wearing thin. "You were in contact with Jeff, and you were fighting."

"Look, I did not kill Jeffery, if that's what you're getting at," she snapped, looking quite overwhelmed. "I-I didn't even know about this… thing with Julia."

Rigsby and I exchanged disbelieving glances, and I turned back to Abigail, "What were you fighting about?"

She looked at the two of us and huffed slightly, "It doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with his murder."

"A wife meets her alcoholic husband after months of separation and they end up fighting, possibly about the husband's mistress. And now you're telling me it doesn't relate when the husband is mysteriously poisoned two weeks later?" Rigsby stated skeptically.

"Let me guess," I picked up the conversation, ignoring Abigail's indignant look. "You ran into Jeffery at the market, and he seemed sober enough. You thought, 'Maybe he's changed,' so you started talking with him. But then you look in his cart and notice a bottle of gin, or his girlfriend calls. Maybe he makes a wry comment that sets you off. You argue, he leaves, and you decide you've had enough. Until death do you part, right?"

"No!" Abigail yelled, slamming her fist on the table. Rigsby glanced around warily, but we were the only ones in the restaurant, so no one came running.

"Then maybe you'd like to clarify for us," I pressed, hoping she'd crack. A confession would take away a good bit of the stress that had settled on my shoulders since taking this case.

"I didn't kill him," she hissed, glaring at us both. I sighed and stood, deciding we'd wasted enough time talking here.

"Then you're coming back to the station with us until you're ready to tell us exactly what you two were fighting about."

Rigsby stood, retrieving his cuffs from his belt and approaching Abigail, face blank of emotion. I could tell he pitied her, but he knew what was important now, and that was finding the person who poisoned Jane. With Abigail, we'd be one step closer.

Cho and Van Pelt sat in on the interrogation with me, because it was Rigsby's turn to watch Jane. Since Cho was my best interrogator, I let him loose to see if he could get any vital information from her. Van Pelt searched her belongings for any clues, just in case. I observed my team in action, wishing Jane was there to read her like he always could.

"You're positive you haven't had any contact with Jeffery before the meeting in the market," Cho asserted, face stoic as ever.

"Yes," Abigail ran a hand through her hair, glancing around the small room nervously. Good, I thought. Let her sweat. Exhaustion was making me less tolerant than I usually was, and I was getting fed up with this dance she was forcing us to play.

Cho changed tactics, "At this point, you're one step short of being convicted for murder. Are you aware of what the punishment for that is?"

Abigail bit her lip, glancing at me in fear, "I didn't kill him, I swear."

"That remains to be seen," I said, leaning back in my chair.

Beside me, Van Pelt had frozen, her eyes reading a faded receipt, "Lisbon, look at this," she said, thrusting the paper at me. Cho, about to ask another question, closed his mouth while I read the receipt. When I was done, I met Abigail's gaze again, starting to piece everything together.

"You took a pregnancy test," I said slowly.

She stayed silent, though her hands gripped the side of the table a bit harder. I looked at the date and realized it was right before she'd been seen with Jeffery. Suddenly, I knew we had more than enough to hold her for the next 48 hours.

"You're pregnant," I slid the receipt across to her, as if showing her proof of her purchase would make her more inclined to speak to us about it. "Who's the father? Jeffery?"

She nodded slowly, "He came to my house to pick up some stuff. Things escalated… I'm so sorry I didn't say anything before, but I've been so confused… Not even my parents know yet." Tears filled her eyes. "Jeffery didn't take the news well. And now he's gone."

Van Pelt gaze was sympathetic, but I just kept thinking of Jane, hallucinating about his dead wife while he lay at death's door, and hardened my resolve, "I'm sorry, Abigail. But you're going to have to stay with us for a little while longer."

"What?" Abigail wiped the tears from her eyes with the palm of her hand. "I told you everything now, I promise! Why would I kill the father of my unborn child?"

"Anger that he refused to help you with the pregnancy, realizing the need for money and deciding to take over his restaurant to get it, we can think up plenty of—" I broke off, the chime of my cell phone commanding my immediate attention. "Excuse me for a moment," I said, stepping out of the room.

I answered it quickly, "Lisbon."

"Lisbon," Rigsby's voice sounded panicked. "It's Jane."

"What happened?" I asked sharply.

"He's had a seizure. A pretty bad one too, from what the doctors tell me. But I think he'll be okay…" he sounded he wasn't sure, but felt the need to reassure me anyway. I ran a shaking hand through my hair, letting out a breath.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Not right now," he replied. "They won't even let me back in the room yet."

I nodded slowly, "All right. Stay with him for now—I'll take the next shift."

"You got it, boss," Rigsby was obviously relieved that I'd once again assumed command. I think he was afraid I'd be overwrought with worry, unable to function. I nearly scoffed at the thought as I hung up the phone. Now more than ever, I needed to keep my wits about me. The person who poisoned Jane was still out there, and we'd find him if it killed us.

Something didn't seem right. I toted my laptop into the hospital, setting it up in Jane's room as I once again got comfortable in that plastic chair by his bed. Abigail certainly had motive, so we'd kept her overnight, but I didn't get the feeling she was a murderer. And, as Jane so often pointed out, sometimes your gut feeling was more accurate than the evidence placed before you.

So, out of curiosity, I started checking into the other suspects of the case, looking at phone records, alibi statements, etcetera. I lost track of time, sitting in that hard chair rereading evidence the rest of my team had already discarded days earlier. Eventually, my eyes started to droop, but I'd just opened the interview files, and I didn't want to stop now. It was only one in the morning, anyway.

"It's not good to run yourself ragged," Jane remarked tiredly, and I froze, lifting my eyes from my laptop screen to meet Jane's gaze. He looked somewhat alert, more so than last night, anyway, but I could see how exhausted he was. I closed the computer and put it aside, leaning forward.

"Jane?" I asked hesitantly, remembering his episode earlier today. The doctors had been optimistic, since his vitals had been steady for a good fourteen hours straight. Then he'd had a violent seizure—grand mal, they'd called it—and now the doctors were telling us to prepare for the worst. Jane still had to make it through another day and a half before he'd be out of the water.

But he looked pretty decent to me, responsive and somewhat alert, acting like he'd just taken a nap on his couch and was a bit groggy waking up. That gave me hope, which he promptly beat down when he smiled slightly, "I know someone who does that too, working until there are bags under her eyes. You'd like her, Jessica. She's very stubborn, just like you…"

My face fell. Jessica. He still thought I was Jessica. This was very alarming; none of my team had reported him waking up, and I'd forgotten to tell the doctors about last time, what with the case load and his sudden seizure on the front of my mind. But now I was thinking that it was a very bad thing he was still hallucinating. I'm sure it was a side-effect of the poison, but I needed to know if it was damaging his memory or brain.

My eyes settled on the nurse-call button on the armrest of his bed, which I'd overlooked last night in my shock at his actions. I reached for it, but Jane caught my hand, squeezing it tightly, "How's Samantha?" he asked me, eyes searching my face for some sign.

I hesitated. According to the Red John case file, which I'd recently reread, Samantha was his deceased daughter. It made sense for him to ask about her, especially if he thought I was his wife. I was going to tell him the truth—that I didn't know, since I'd never met either Jessica or Samantha, and since they were dead now—but the eagerness in his eyes quelled any desire to bring him back to reality. So I swallowed hard and answered, "She's… she's good, Patrick. She misses you, but she's happy."

Pain flickered over his face for a second, but it was quickly replaced with evident relief at my statement. He smiled slightly, closing his eyes as he whispered, "That's good. You'll tell her I love her, won't you?"

"Yes," I replied after a moment's pause.

"Get some sleep, Jessica. You look exhausted," he told me, and after another minute his breathing evened out again, and I was left staring at him once again, this time as pity swept through me. What would happen when he finally broke through this illusion and realized that he hadn't seen his wife at all? It would crush him, like losing her a second time.

I looked at the ceiling and whispered, "If you heard that, Jessica, please ease his mind a little. Help him get through this."

I didn't believe in ghosts, and I doubted she could hear me from Heaven, but for Jane's sake I prayed she got my message.

A/N: Next chapter will be longer. Please review so I know if this story's even worthwhile? :)