Chapter Three

Jane flicked the crime scene tape up and over his head. He was separated from the rest of the team, so he searched for their familiar faces in the gray morning light. Judging from the ticked police chiefs and jumpy subordinates scattered about the crime scene; this was no cut-and-dry case.

"Jane!" Lisbon's sharp voice cut through some of the gloom. "Over here." He turned to his left, following her voice. His boss was standing at the top of the mansion's marble steps. At first glance, he thought it was a cathedral, but then he started noticing the smaller details. Drapes in the windows, impeccably manicured lawn and garden, a noticeable lack of religious symbolism and signage; things a person would not associate with a house of worship. Then again, it was better the crime scene was not a church. After yesterday, he did not trust himself to interview pious priests and their followers.

He jogged up the dew-slicked steps, and was about to greet his boss when she turned away sharply, disappearing through the large, ornate double doors. Jane's cheery salutation died on his lips, and he wordlessly followed her inside.

Rigsby was already at the crime scene, garnering information from the forensic techs. He looked up from his small black notebook when Lisbon walked in. "Good—"

"What do we have?" Her voice was cold and harsh. Obviously, Lisbon was not in the mood for formalities this morning.

Rigsby flinched visibly, then answered her question. "There's a lot of blood, but no body." Lisbon stepped over to where he was standing.

"No body, no crime. Why are we here?" she asked icily. Rigsby handed her a letter. There was only "13," and the signature smiley face "Great. Red John. Of course." She pressed her hand to her face. "Are you sure it's not another copycat? The MO is different."

"Come on, Lisbon. We all know this is him," Jane said, looking at the room's décor. It was expensive, yet tasteful.

Lisbon turned to face him. "If you are not going to offer anything productive, shut up."

Jane mumbled a half-hearted apology, and began to inspect the large bloodstain on the snow-white carpet. He looked at it one way, then the other. He furrowed his brow, puzzling about something in his head. Then he blanched slightly.

Rigsby saw his slightly horrified expression and came to his side. "What is it, Jane?" Jane did not respond; he raised his eyes slowly to the ceiling, then gasped. Rigsby followed his gaze, and recoiled in horror. "Oh, Christ! Lisbon!"

"So you mean to tell me that not a single forensic analyst or cop decided to look up?" Lisbon fumed. "What the hell is wrong with these people?" Rigsby, Jane, and Lisbon were back on the steps, trying to push the haunted sight into the darkest recesses of their mind. "How the hell do you miss a disemboweled woman nailed to the ceiling next to a bloody smiley face?" she mused, partially to herself.

Jane let out his breath slowly. "First, people tend to not notice things above eye level. Second, people have an even lesser chance of noticing something if it's behind them and above eye level. The vaulted ceilings are high enough to make the oversight plausible. The only reason I noticed the body was the blood pattern. The stain appeared to have been created by vertical dripping, so I…" His voice trailed off as he stepped into his thoughts.

Lisbon muttered to herself frustratedly as she raked her fingers through her hair. "Come on. We have to wait for an ID, and for forensics to finish before we do anything." Rigsby slipped his notebook into his jacket pocket, and headed off to the state-issue SUV. Lisbon took a step in the same direction, but Jane caught her arm. "Lisbon."

All the pent up stress of the past two days finally caught up to her, and found its way into her reply. "Get off me you sonofa--"

"Lisbon!"

She forced herself to take a breath. "What do you want?" she spat.

Jane put a tender hand on her shoulder. "I wanted to apologize. I've been pretty horrid to you." Lisbon was silent, her face burning in shame. "No, it's okay. I probably deserved that. I've been saying a lot of harsh things myself." He pulled her a little closer. "You did the closest thing to right, in my opinion. I don't like it, but it was the most logical."

"Thanks, but this situation has no bounds of logic or 'right.'"

Jane smiled, and looked down slightly. Then he stared her right in the eye, sending a shiver down both of their spines. "Don't let our friendship get in the way of good judgment." Then he hopped down the steps after Rigsby. Lisbon just stood there, thinking about what he had said. Usually, he was right about predicting what people would do. Was he right about her?

The drive back to the headquarters was stiff and silent. About halfway back, Rigsby's phone rang, breaking the silence. "Agent Rigsby. Yes. Oh, Good." He reached for his notebook, balancing it on his leg. "With a 'c?' And the last name?" He scribbled down a name. "Okay, thank you. You too."

Lisbon looked over at him. "Does our victim have a name?"

"Yes. Alicia Donnelly." Jane gasped softly in the back seat. "What's the matter, man?"

"Alicia…" He turned to look out the window, his mind far away. "That was my daughter's name."

A/N-Aha! The plot thickens. Thank you to my reviewers and sorry for the wait.