Hello again. I apologise for the wait, GCSE's catching up with me, hope you understand!
I'd just like to say a huge thank you to people who have read, subscribed to or reviewed the story, I love hearing your feedback so as always it's a pleasure! Please review if you get the chance!
Unfortunately I do not own Patrick Jane or anything to do with The Mentalist. *sinks into deep depression*
Anyway, this is where the ball begins to roll. And I've rewarded you with a rather lengthy chapter too. Enjoy!
Teresa Lisbon reached the elevator and stabbed the button in frustration. Around her, the incessant phone ringing and bustle of people only managed to add to her grumpiness. 'Fine.' She thought to herself. 'If he doesn't want to come with me to help, he can stay here. It doesn't make a difference to me. He can just stay on his god damn couch for all I care.' As the doors opened, her mobile rang, intruding on her thoughts.
"Agent Lisbon, CBI."
"Lisbon? It's Hightower. I've just been updated with the latest on the Lauren McHearty case. Apparently the guy who provided Don McHearty's alibi wasn't reliable. Just last night he was caught up in a drug-trafficking incident, we had to bring him in for questioning. If we can't trust him on that then we can hardly trust him with an alibi, so looks like you'll have to question him after all."
Suppressing a groan, Lisbon grimaced and rolled her eyes as the elevator doors closed before she could step in. 'Fantastic, more case reports.' Her boss was still talking.
"-so really Mr McHearty is the priority now. He lied about his alibi, so chances are he's lying about something else. I'll leave it with you and the team. Rigsby will question McHearty with you. Make sure Jane stays out of trouble."
And with her usual warning, Hightower ended the call, just as Rigsby rounded the corner and almost collided into Lisbon, stopping short just in time.
"Glad I caught you. I'm gonna help you and Jane question Don McHearty. He's supposedly a bit of an aggressive one, and Jane isn't the best when it comes to confrontations... Where is Jane, anyway?"
"I can handle it by myself; I don't need-"Lisbon began to interrupt defensively, ignoring the question. Rigsby stopped her hurriedly.
"Look, if Hightower says so, it happens. New boss and everything, don't want to annoy her any more than is necessary, right?" He grinned at her and pressed the elevator button, the doors sliding open immediately. "So isn't Jane coming?"
Shrugging her shoulders in an attempt at indifference, Lisbon stepped into the elevator, Rigsby behind her. "He's being stupid, just leave him." Poking at the button that would take them to the ground floor, she stared stonily at the doors as they began to close, shutting off the world of the busy headquarters.
Just before the doors could close completely, Patrick Jane scooted around the corner and shoved his hand between the doors, preventing them from shutting. Prising them open again, he acknowledged Rigsby's disbelieving stare and Lisbon's irritable one, beamed at them both, and settled himself between them, straightening his suit as he did so.
"I changed my mind. You obviously need me on this case", he stated by means of explanation. Lisbon sighed sceptically and turned her head away, trying to hide her amusement at the fully grown man who had just launched himself into the elevator. Rigsby shook his head, bemused.
"What?" Jane asked innocently, eyes wide. Lisbon smacked him on the arm, for her own satisfaction than anything else. He frowned at her, clutching it. "Rude." He nudged her with his elbow, earning him a challenging stare. Catching Rigsby's eye, he pulled a face that said 'someone's moody' and as the elevator doors slid open as they reached the ground floor, bounded out like an excitable terrier. Behind him, Rigsby and Lisbon exchanged weary glances, mentally preparing themselves for an afternoon with their impossible consultant.
It was a warm, sunny day in Santa Rosa. The sun beat down upon the team as they slammed the doors on their vehicle and proceeded towards the neglected caravan site they had been directed to. As they passed a market, colourful and vibrant, Jane strolled off a different direction, heading towards the stalls filled with fruits. Stopping at the sound of Rigsby's "erm... boss?", Lisbon turned and sighed, watching as Patrick pondered over a basket of shining green apples, digging into his pocket as he did so. Handing coins to the woman behind the stall, he flashed a delighted smile and picking three apples, practically skipped back towards the two, eyes twinkling mischievously.
Raising her eyebrows, Lisbon hid her elation as Patrick bowed ostentatiously and presented her with an apple, shiny and perfect in his cupped hand. She took it and shook her head at him, smiling. Throwing the second apple to Rigsby, who caught it, grinning, he bit into his own apple and an expression of utter happiness crossed his face. Watching him, Teresa Lisbon found herself wishing that she had the ability to make that expression appear on his face, if only for a moment. It was bliss, pure and simple, and she longed to experience that emotion directed towards her, happiness, delight and adoration.
No.
She cleared her straying thoughts from her head and continued onwards, towards the shadowy, secluded lane that would inevitably lead them towards the home of Mr Don McHearty. Rigsby followed her, Jane trailing a little behind.
Approaching the neglected house belonging to the victim and her father, Lisbon went over the details of the case in her mind. Don McHearty, father of Lauren McHearty, a 19 year old girl murdered three days ago. Her body was left on the Spring Creek Trail, east of Lake Ralphine. There was evidence of sexual assault on her body and it was apparent there had been a struggle. Lauren had been returning from a restaurant named Checkers in the centre of Santa Rosa, where she worked 5 nights a week to support her and her drunken father.
Lisbon groaned. How could she have forgotten? She was questioning a drunk. An aggressive drunk, if what Rigsby had told her was true. 'Brings back memories', she thought, gritting her teeth. Reaching the caravan, she clasped her fingers round her gun holster for comfort and strode up to the door, Rigsby close behind her. Patrick was loitering aimlessly a few steps back. Weapons made him nervous, Lisbon knew. Clenching her fist, she rapped on the door firmly.
"Mr McHearty? We're from the California Bureau of Investigation; can we ask you a few questions please?"
Silence. Glancing warningly at Rigsby, who had drawn his gun and was looking around suspiciously, Lisbon raised her hand and knocked the door again.
A low grunt was heard from behind the door. Lisbon paused and looked at Rigsby, who kicked the door without hesitation. It flung open. The dingy interior was dark apart from a few dim lights, and the overpowering stench of alcohol almost made her retch as she peered into the gloom. She could remember that smell. Every few nights her father would appear from the drunken abyss he'd been wallowing in, dishevelled, and aged well before his time. He would carry that smell with him wherever he went, leaving it lingering on her long after he'd gone. She knew it only too well, and she had no desire to ever experience it again.
Yet here she was. Rigsby went on ahead of her, becoming submerged in the dusty darkness almost as soon as he stepped through the door. Jane waited behind her- she could feel his eyes on her back. Taking a breath, she turned and acknowledged him.
"What?"
That curious expression, those searching blue-green eyes analysed her. She felt as though she were underneath a magnifying glass for those few short moments. He could sense her unease.
"Nothing. Ladies first?" Gesturing into the gloom, he offered her a reassuring smile as she stepped into the house and was consumed by the murky smoke and stench of alcohol. Catching Rigsby's eye, he motioned towards the back room. The low, drunken snores of a man who had lost everything shattered the silence.
Following the noise, Lisbon made her way through old newspapers and empty bottles. Don McHearty obviously wasn't in any fit state to tidy up now that his daughter was gone. The room practically oozed hopelessness, and Lisbon momentarily found herself pitying the creature that inhabited such a ramshackle house all on his own. He had no-one.
She snorted, disgusted with herself. For all she knew, he could've been the person who murdered Lauren McHearty. It was unprofessional of her to allow pity to cloud her vision. It was also unprofessional of her to let her past dictate her attitude, but she pushed that thought aside. Patrick was studying the dusty photographs arranged on the mantelpiece; evidence of a time when the moments of this man's life needed to be captured, saved forever.
"Boss." Rigsby's voice rang through the house like an alarm, startling her. Returning from her reverie, she moved towards him and looked in the direction he was gesturing.
A man lay slumped, fast asleep on a moth-eaten armchair. His clothes were filthy and faded- he looked as though he had aged with the house, like he hadn't moved in months. Empty bottles were scattered around him, evidence of his downfall. The smell coming from him was putrid, and covering her nose with one hand to quell the stench, she realised she still had the apple in her other. Frowning down at it, green and flawless, so wondered how she hadn't realised it was there before. It was the only definitive colour in this desolate space, and it somehow brightened the room, lifted the shadows. The man in the armchair shifted slightly, and Lisbon glanced at him with repulsion. She had no time for drunks. The dark circles under his eyes and haggard features reminded her of the man she had sworn to forget, but at the same time, he reminded her of someone. Don McHearty. Not a name she had heard before, and not a name she was likely to forget, had she already heard it. But somewhere back in the recessed cavities of her mind she knew his face, she had seen it before. A sense of recognition for this pathetic mess slouched on his chair alarmed her, and she stepped back involuntarily.
From the corner of the room, Patrick Jane watched her. He studied her face as he had studied the faces of those on the photographs, hidden from light but so natural, so human. He frowned slightly as she stepped back with a look of realisation on her face, wondering what could've caused her reaction. Biting her lip, he watched her regard the sleeping man on the chair. She looked worried, the creases of a frown present on her forehead, and Patrick wished he could do something to remove that expression on her face permanently. It was an expression of distress, conflict and loss. He knew all about loss. He smirked dryly. It wasn't funny. He could help her there.
'She'll never let me in.' A slow fear rose up in Patrick's mind as he realised Teresa Lisbon would never accept help from anyone, and would never allow that troubled expression to permanently leave her face. She would suffer in silence, as she always had, and that concerned him. She looked so worried, and not for the first time in his life, Patrick Jane felt completely and utterly helpless.
She knew him from somewhere. She was sure of it, but the question was, where? She certainly didn't have a habit of conversing with drunks, so it couldn't have been anyone she was on speaking terms with. But those features, that face stirred up something deep in her memory which worried her deeply, and she wasn't certain why, which of course worried her even more.
Watching Rigsby lower his gun, Lisbon attempted to make contact with McHearty. "Sir, could you wake up please?"
This achieved nothing but for the man to twitch and begin snoring even louder than before. Irritated, Lisbon raised her voice and tried again.
"Mr McHearty? We're with the CBI. We'd like to question you. Excuse me?"
The man on the armchair refused to acknowledge her, and feeling a growing annoyance that she couldn't quite explain, Lisbon was about to raise her arm and inflict him some sort of physical pain. Before she could however, Jane stepped in front of her, leaned forward; fingers poised, and flicked the man sharply on the end of his bulbous nose.
Catching Lisbon's reproving look, Jane shrugged and explained. "You did it to me..."
Rolling her eyes, Lisbon was about to reprimand him on the grounds of 'attacking a suspect' but he raised his hands in mock surrender with a hasty "well, it worked didn't it?"
Sure enough, Don McHearty shifted, and blearily opened his eyes. He didn't seem surprised to see three strangers in his house, and hauling himself up, he rubbed his face, muttering "God damn cops, god damn 'em all." Noticing their eyes upon him, he sighed resignedly and acknowledged them.
"Whadd-ya want? An' what d'ya think ya doin' creepin' up on me like that, I'll 'av yer, you cops, I'll 'av all of yer..."
And with that, Don McHearty began to mutter gruffly under his breath, stumbling over words and ranting about apparently nothing. He was evidently still very drunk.
"Mr McHearty, can we ask you some questions? It's about your daughter, Lauren."
At Lisbon's words the man stopped mid-sentence and stared at her as if she'd gone completely mad. Dead, unseeing eyes. Lisbon knew those eyes. She had seen them before.
"Lauren...? You wanna talk 'bout my Lauren? She ain't here. She ain't coming back. She's gone. My girl's gone. Dead."
Patrick spoke up from behind her. "Lauren McHearty. She was beautiful, no doubt. A beautiful girl with her future ahead of her, and she was bringing in money for you, wasn't she? A model daughter." He was looking at Lisbon pointedly, but she failed to pick up on it due to the sudden jealousy clouding her mind. 'Beautiful? Well, she was okay looking, I guess. Wouldn't say she was 'beautiful', unless you like that kind of thing...'
No. Professionalism. Ignore Jane. He's irritating.
Waiting until she trusted herself to speak, she made another attempt. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Sir, but if it's okay we need to just-"
"SHE'S DEAD. SHE AIN'T COMING AN' YOU CAN'T SPEAK TO 'ER, YOU CAN'T EVER SPEAK TO 'ER, SHE WAS KILLED. MY GIRL WAS KILLED AND IT'S NOT OKAY, SHE'S GONE, MY LAUREN'S GONE AN' IT'S ALL MY FAULT." At this, Don McHearty, the shell of a man, the ghost of a father, completely broke down. He put his head in his hands and he wept for the loss of his daughter.
Rigsby turned away, embarrassed. Jane looked uncomfortable as he tried to fix his gaze anywhere but on the weeping man in front of him. Lisbon sighed: it was up to her. It was always up to her.
Walking closer to the armchair, she stood and looked down at the man who was so familiar. She spoke calmly, gently, so as not to provoke the uproar she had just caused.
"Mr McHearty, why is it your fault?"
No answer. She looked to Rigsby for guidance, but he was looking firmly away. Patrick had gone back to studying the photographs in the room. She was completely alone.
"Mr McHearty, if you know anything that could help us, we can start looking for the person who killed your daughter."
She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was a mistake. Without warning McHearty grabbed her in a vice-like grip and clung to it, standing up and swinging her round to face him. He leaned towards her and leered at her, words spitting curses from his mouth, stinging her face. His breath was so familiar to her, the stench of alcohol and filth, that for a moment it sent her back to when she was 9 years old as her father stood, screaming abuse at her for no reason at all. In her mind's eye she pictured him raising his arm and pushing her away, as one might swat a fly. The force of it flung her against the wall she had been pressed up against. She'd sat there gazing up at a man she no longer knew, wondering what she had done to make him hate her so much. Flinching, she stared up into the face she recognised, and in her thoughtful state had no time to react.
Rigsby however had done quite the opposite. As soon as McHearty started to move, he raised his gun and pointed it straight as McHearty's head with a quiet, simple warning. "If you touch her, you're going to be on the floor, and you may or may not be breathing when you land."
Releasing her hand, Don McHearty turned, disgusted, away from Lisbon. She stumbled and felt Patrick's hand on the small of her back. It was a small gesture, but she lit up from the warmth it brought her. Her momentary lapse had gone; in its place was a ruthless officer of the law who had just been assaulted, someone who didn't let personal issues stand in her way of anything, least of all a vile creature like this.
Straightening, she looked up to find Rigsby had pinned McHearty to the wall. In his drunken state, he could barely stand, instead lolled with his head against the worn plaster, looking tired and old once more. Rigsby grimaced as he handcuffed him and led him out of the house. "You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer with intent to threaten her and cause her potential harm, anything you do or say-"
His words trailed off into the distance as he moved out of the doorway, leaving Lisbon and Jane standing alone in the house. Moving towards her, Patrick placed his hands on Lisbon's arms and looked down at her with concern. "Are you okay?"
Ignoring her heart, which was beating at an inconsistent rhythm against her chest, she forced a smile and looked into his eyes, willing herself not to break. "I'm fine."
Her heart thumped repeatedly, and Lisbon attempted to make herself believe that the reason was because of the shock of being assaulted, rather than the curly haired consultant who was leading her gently from the house. He seemed to care so much. That thought warmed her to the core, and made all her troubles seem a million years away.
Hope you're enjoying so far. Please please please can I remind you to review, it's the little things that make me want to keep writing and your reviews would really help!
