Chapter 3: It Isn't What You Don't Know, It's What You Think You Know (But Don't)

Lisbon

Cho called and briefed Lisbon before she had to face the press mid-morning. She was grateful they had a viable theory, something better than wading through 1,350 people with no direction.

"... I cannot provide details on the investigation. However, there is progress and my agents are checking out a promising lead. ... Ted, you know sharing details would just alert the perpetrator, so of course I cannot be more specific. ... I brief the governor's office and AG daily. The CBI has complete support for this investigation. Resources aren't a problem at this time..."

Press conference over, Lisbon took a call from the ADA concerning the prosecution of some Red John followers. Bret Stiles hadn't quite gotten to all of them. Evidence from Haffner's home and storage locker implicated several men who survived and were wending their way through the California justice system. She reflected again how grateful she was that the investigations into the multi-state Blake Association and the international Visualize cult – "religion" if she were being politically correct – were Abbott's headache. She was restoring the CBI to its former high level of excellence, but it was not the right bureau to investigate criminal organizations that spanned the country or world.

"What can I do for you Mark?"

"You can help me locate the Red John files I need for the upcoming cases."

"We haven't had anything to do with Red John for six months. We finished working through the evidence from Haffner and referred the cases to your office for prosecution."

"Well, the files have disappeared. We have the evidence needed for our cases, but I planned on reviewing the files before we get to trial."

"Sorry. Can't help you."

"What about Jane? He was always at the center of Red John. Would he have any of the stuff?"

She sighed. "I doubt it. No reason to. Who signed the files out, anyhow?"

"That's the thing. The signature is illegible. After so many months, the records clerk doesn't remember. Are you sure about Jane?"

"Mark, I'll ask. But Jane had the Red John files memorized, for heaven's sake. Even if he wanted to check on something, he wouldn't even need the actual files."

"Call tomorrow and let me know?"

"Sure. Sorry you're having a problem." About to hang up, she hurriedly added, "Mark, if you just need to verify some details or check the logic, maybe Jane can help you. He really does have a near photographic memory when he intentionally memorizes stuff. Think about it. I'll call tomorrow."

Lisbon worked through her day, preparing supporting documentation for the budget battles going on in the Capitol. Getting Red John almost – almost – balanced out the PR nightmare from exposing the Blake Association. The CBI was still trying to get out from under the black mark of Gale Bertram, Director of the CBI, being a BA member. However, she could tell she was starting to win over the press. News reports involving the CBI had gotten steadily more positive over her eight month tenure. She scoffed at the superficiality of it all, but recognized that her relative youth and attractiveness didn't hurt any, especially on TV. There was a good chance she would get the budget she needed to continue reforming and restoring the CBI. Some good news on the mass murder in the high school would certainly help, but she refused to even mention that to Cho. She knew they were working as hard as they could. She was damned if this position was going to turn her into a Bertram.

She left later than usual, getting home just in time for the calls from Cho and Jane.

Cho's Team

The group sat around the table pondering the crime board crowded with fourteen victims (the two who had "just" been wounded died of their wounds). Yearbook photos taken months earlier had to be used on the crime board because all but two of the fatal wounds were to the head. The bullets were hollow point, which spread and made a fist-sized hole upon impact. Several victims' faces were unrecognizable. The 12-hour days, seven days a week were taking a toll. All looked ragged with Jane especially so, even allowing for the car accident. He never slept well whenever the victims reminded him of his family. Nonetheless, he had developed a theory he was willing to share.

"Look. Eleven of the 14 were female. All of the 11 were shot in the head. The other three were male and they were the only ones wounded in other places–" Jane was arguing.

"Yeah, except one of the males also was killed with a head wound. Doesn't work, Jane."

"Cho, that's the hunch I checked out last night. Sean Bower was the twin brother of Susan Bower. They looked alike. Both dressed in black, uh, Goth style. Most importantly, both had similar hairstyles."

Van Pelt interjected, "I interviewed Susan Bower and her hair looked nothing like his," she said pointing to the crime board photo.

"Not so fast. Her hair looks nothing like his in his yearbook photo." Jane passed around his cell phone which had a photo of Susan Bower he took last night. "She said their parents forced him to clean up for his senior photo. Since then he went back to normal. Susan said his hair was the same color, long, and tied in the back just like hers is now."

Rigsby frowned. "You're saying her brother was shot because he was mistaken for her. But I don't get it. She would be kind of the oddball among the female victims."

Van Pelt picked up his thought, "Yeah. The other girls look preppy. Cute, money. The kind who make the cheerleading squad, homecoming queen, run the school, snub the outsiders. Susan Bower Goth-girl would stick out like a sore thumb."

"Which fits my theory. This was revenge, not random mass slaughter. A guy spurned by the in-crowd girls. It's no accident most of the victims were female and that the fatal shots were to the head. The two male victims were shot in the abdomen and chest. They were accidents – moved the wrong way as the shot was fired."

"And Bower?"

"Bower is the key. Bower is the girl our spurned guy actually went out with. He meant to kill her for dumping him, but accidently killed her twin brother."

"Kinda thin, Jane."

"You're the boss, Cho. We can check this out or start on brute force investigations of a thousand plus witnesses with no way to narrow the field."

"Let's focus on Susan Bower. Van Pelt, find out who she's dated during high school. And if you're right, Jane, making all 12 head shots is pretty good shooting. We're looking for a marksman. Rigs, check the school's gun club and see if there are any private clubs in the area. It's rural, so a lot of gun owners won't bother to go to a shooting range, but try it anyhow."

Jane added, "There's nothing that says the gunman is still in high school. What about graduates, especially those who joined the military?"

"I'll take those. We need to go back four years to get anyone who might have overlapped with the current student body. Jane, go with Van Pelt. When you're done with Bower, talk to the friends of the female victims and see if anyone remembers a guy who might fit the profile-"

Jane added, "Not money, not in-crowd. Probably a loner. Probably not particularly handsome. You want to take note if anyone spontaneously uses adjectives like resentful, creepy, angry-"

"Thanks, Jane. We know."

They reconvened at the end of the day. They had an even dozen names, but four appeared on several of their lists. One was military, one ex-military - dishonorable discharge. One guy was a student who transferred mid-year. And the last was a drop-out. They would check them out the next day. Cho called Lisbon with the encouraging news. Idly watching the news shows he could tell everyone from the CBI up to the governor was feeling the heat. By Friday, it would be three weeks since the shooting.

Jane relaxed on the lumpy motel bed, tired but cheered at the though of talking to Lisbon.

"Director Lisbon, how is your eminence tonight? ... Yeah, me too. I see from the news you're getting pressure from the press. Did Cho tell you? ... Nothing definitive, but I think we're on the right track. ... Tomorrow. We've got 12 names of which four come up repeatedly. ... Doing okay? ... Hey, neither a chocolate nor bear-claw day. Must be getting somewhere. ... Why would I have any Red John files? ... Huh. No, I have no idea. ... Sure, if he has specific questions. I'd rather not go through dozens of files for 30-plus murders. ... Actually, I'd rather not go through them at all, but I will if necessary. ... I'm beat. Looking forward to wrapping this up. ... Just a few bruises. I told you yesterday it was nothing. ... I will. Can't wait to sleep with my favorite Director. ... Both meanings. Need to get back soon before I forget how. ... I'd like that. I pick up fast. ... Love you, too."

He dropped his cell on the nightstand and slid down the headboard into the pillows. Three weeks in the field on a high school mass murder was grueling. He couldn't wait to get back to the love of his life. He smiled softly at the thought. She had been due before he left, and was now three weeks late. No chocolate or bear-claw days. A warm thrum of pleasant anticipation ran through him at the possibility. About to doze off he thought that life might just have gotten a little more perfect.