A/N: It's 12 am, and this isn't betaed LOL. All mistakes are mine. I won't be home tomorrow, and I wanted to get this chapter up. Hope it answers some questions and that you like it :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.....
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Chapter 4: The Tape
The next day....
"The next person. Next person please."
"Mr. Jane, this is Sarah Manning."
"Sarah, what is troubling you? I'm here to help."
"My grandfather died about six months ago--"
"--And you want to know if he died in any pain."
"He was home alone."
A pause.
"Your grandfather said he was sleeping when he passed on. He says he's ok and that he felt no pain. In fact, he fells more free now than he has in years. Where he is, there is no more pain"
"Sarah Manning was a plant." Patrick Jane explained to the assembled team. The day was different. The clothes were different. The mind frame was even different. Everyone had ordered their emotions to the back of their minds. Facts and evidence where what they were after. Only 24 hours to go until the investigation was over on way or the other.
"A plant?" Cho asked, jotting things down on his legal pad. Of the entire team, he'd probably slept the most the night before. A whopping three hours combined. "Like an actress?"
"Basically yes." Jane said as he sat on his couch watching along with everyone else. On this day, he wore black pants, black vest, and white shirt. It was a stark contrast to the 'Psychic Patrick Jane' on the television in his high priced suit and expensive jewelry, most of it gifts from wealthy clients. "I always had a few paid people scattered in the audience. The first person I spoke to in every show was always a plant. His or her job was to relax the audience. Show that I really was psychic." He paused, a hint of a smile crossing his face. It had seemed so simple then. So clean and easy. If only he'd paid attention....
"And the other plants?" Cho prodded.
"The others where scattered around in the audience. If the participants stopped asking questions or I felt I needed a break, I would call on one of them. You have no idea how much it mentally wears on your scamming a bunch of people--- sorry." he added when Grace shot him a dirty look.
For her part, Grace looked like the epitome of professionalism. Her hair was down in soft waves. She wore a black blazer, emerald green shirt, and black slacks. She'd done as she set out to do. Rigsby had offered to spend the night at her house.. on the couch.. in case she needed anything. She'd declined, just wanting to be alone. She had called her parents who where so shaken by her sister's death that she couldn't bear talking long. She'd taken a shower. And went to bed. By the time the third infomercial came on showing her the greatness of the Shamwow, she gave up on sleeping and got up to just do... something. When morning finally rolled around, she was up and ready to go. Thankfully, she was still in the stage of grief called shock. She wouldn't have to feel anything watching her sister on Jane's show... at least she hoped she wouldn't.
"Who's the man in the black suit walking around with the microphone?" Teresa Lisbon asked, pushing pause on the VCR.
"That was Simon James. He was an actor friend of mine. A very smart man. I paid him well. He didn't ask questions."
"He didn't know?" Lisbon asked surprised.
"Of course he knew." Jane replied the slightest bit annoyed. "He was just smart enough not to ask any details or dwell on it. That was the part he had to play."
"Sounds so simple." Van Pelt said quietly, eyes not moving from the tv.
"It was." So simple.
"Couldn't we have sprung for the DVD?" asked Rigsby, who sat a few feet away from Van Pelt with a large tub of popcorn in his lap. He knew it wasn't appropriate, but he knew himself to well. If he didn't have anything in his hands, he risked jumping up and clobbering Jane at any given moment. If he didn't have anything in his mouth, he risked saying out loud all of the "Dude, what were you thinking with that suit?" jokes he was storing up. He knew it was better to keep his bases covered.
"Sorry," Lisbon answered. "Best I could do on short notice." She reached over and pushed play.
--
"Who's next?"
"Debbie Mosely." The man in the black suit replied.
"Ms. Mosely, how can I help you?"
--
"She wouldn't have gotten a letter." Jane said, sitting up on the edge of his brown couch.
Cho asked why.
"Because, she wanted to know about some test she'd taken for her teacher's license. It wasn't life or death."
"Did she get it?" Rigsby asked, shoving a pile of popcorn in his mouth.
Jane looked at him incrediously. "How should I know?"
Rigsby shrugged innocently and turned back to the television, mouth-filling popcorn in hand.
"Guys, look." Cho said, pointing to the TV.
--
"Mr. Jane. This is Caitlyn Robb." Simon James announced before handing the microphone to the short, blonde woman.
"Mrs. Robb. What's troubling you?"
Caitlyn Robb stared hopefully at the psychic. "Mr. Jane. I have a question for you. My husband died a few months ago. He was in a car accident. The doctors said he was in a coma, but when he died... He had a single tear fall down his face. Was he in pain? Did he know I was there? What did that mean?"
"Very good questions, my dear." The psychic's eyes shut and his head rolled dramatically. "Ms. Robb, your husband is here. I can communicate with him. He says that he was crying because where he was going was so beautiful. He said for you not to worry about him and that he loves you very much." He opened his eyes back to her, a strange look in them.. a knowing look. "But you already knew that, didn't you, Mrs. Robb. Tell me, what is the real reason you're here? It has nothing to do with why he was crying."
The woman broke down and began to sob. The psychic walked to her and took her hand, rubbing gently causing her heart rate to ease, calming her. "Something happened before he died. That same day in fact."
"Yes." Her pulse quickened under his fingers.
"Something very painful."
"Yes." Pulse quicker this time. He rubbed the spot just above her thumb a little harder now, she needed to calm herself but still be riveting television. He know had all of the information he needed.
"You accused him of having an affair."
Her eyes darted to his, but she couldn't deny it.
"He wasn't." The psychic assured. "The woman was just a friend. Nothing more. He didn't love her. Had no interest in her. He was really crying when he died because he wanted to tell you that, but couldn't because he wasn't able. But you know that now, don't you? You know it to be true."
"Yes." Caitlyn replied, tears dripping from her cheeks. "I believe you."
--
"That was so cruel." Van Pelt said what the others were thinking, even Lisbon who would never voice it.
"So, that was our first victim." said Cho. "You really did a number on her." he said to Jane.
"Yeah, thanks, Cho. I told you this wouldn't be pretty."
"You weren't lying about that." Rigsby agreed, running out of popcorn.
"Oh God." Van Pelt's heart felt like lead. "That's my sister."
The woman on the television had long hair like Grace's only it was dark brown. Her features were completely different from Van Pelt's, however. She had a short nose that turned up a bit at the end. Her eyes were blue and had a sadness in them. She stood from her chair as the man with the microphone, Simon, walked up to her. She was visibly nervous. Her hands clinched tightly in front of her.
"This is Faith Kingston, Mr. Jane."
The psychic smiled warmly. "Faith. What can I do for you this evening?"
The woman sighed, obviously trying to compose herself before she began. "My daughter, Hannah, drowned a few months ago, out back in our swimming pool. She was only five." Faith's voice broke. She began wringing her hands tightly.... a sign of nervousness and guilt concluded the 'psychic'. He knew she would be an easy read.
"And you want to know if she's ok. If she suffered. If you were to blame for her death." The psychic stated. There was no questioning in his tone.
"Yes, sir." she answered politely.
"Faith, there is no need to be so formal. Come down her please."
She did as she was told. Once she was in front of him, he gently took her hands in his. His first impression was that they were slick from sweat, again nervousness and guilt. But the guilt of a mother isn't true guilt... you didn't have to be psychic to know that.
He closed his eyes and lightly rubbed the woman's hands. "You have a lot of guilt about your daughter's death."
"I do."
"You blame yourself."
"Yes."
"You shouldn't. You didn't know she had snuck out that day. You did everything you could."
When she nodded in confirmation.. that she had done everything she could, he knew how to handle this. He knew what was truth. "You locked the gate to the pool like a good mother. You didn't know that she would find a way to climb through the bars. It wasn't your fault. And your daughter knows it."
Hearing that, Faith jerked her hands back, startling the psychic. Television cameras zoomed in on both of their faces. "I'm her mother. I'm supposed to protect her. I'm supposed to know. Of course it's my fault."
"Look at me. You may think that. You may even feel that, but your daughter doesn't."
"Do you have children, Mr. Jane?"
Her question threw him off guard. "Yes." he answered finally, not liking where this was going and cursing the pre-screeners for letting this obviously guilt ridden woman in. She should be seeking psychiatric help, not a psychic... and not a psychic who refused to look like a fool on national television.
"A girl?" Faith asked.
"We are talking about you.."
"A girl?" she asked more forcefully.
"Yes." his tone was harsher than he meant. He knew what she was getting at and he didn't like it.
"Mr. Jane, how would you feel if your daughter died, and you knew in your heart that you had something to do with it?"
A knot formed in his throat. He'd never even allowed himself to think about the possibility of something bad happening to her. "Well, that would be very sad."
"Very sad. Yeah." she agreed. "You have no idea. And you don't want to know, Mr. Jane. It's the worst kind of pain."
The psychic knew he had to regain control of his show. "Close your eyes for me, Ms. Kingston. Please. Humor me." he added when she had only raised her eyebrow. Finally, she obeyed. "Ms. Kingston, listen to me. Listen very carefully. You are here, aren't you? You must believe that I have powers... that I can speak to those who have gone on before."
She nodded, but couldn't speak.
"Then you must know that I can talk to your daughter. I can see her. She looks so much like you, but with a hint of her father. She has dark hair, and a smile that would light up a room." Tears fell down the woman's face more fiercely now. "You must know that I can see her... in my head.. I can see her. I can talk to her, and she is telling me that she does not blame you. Others do, your family, your husband. But she doesn't. How could you have known that she could get around the gate? It wasn't your fault."
----
"I'm gonna be sick." Grace announced. She held her stomach and ran from the room. She'd seen enough.
"I'll go get her." Rigsby said, sitting his empty popcorn box down on the floor.
Jane cut him off. "No, I will."
"No offense, man, but you are the last person she wants to see right now." Rigsby told him.
"Probably. But sometimes the person you want the least is the exact same person you need the most."
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Patrick found Grace just where he knew she would be. At the back of the building in a small alleyway, squatting next to a wall like it was the only thing holding her up. Without saying a word, he slid down the wall beside of her.
"She never told me she came to see you."
"It's understandable. Obviously, it was very hard for her."
Grace's breath caught and a slim, bitter smile formed on her lips. "Hard. Yeah. It was hard on us all. Hannah was just five like you know. She was the light of all of our lives. She---- it nearly killed my sister when she died. Broke up her marriage because Cal blamed her for Hannah's death. She swore up and down that she'd closed the gate, that it was locked, but since she was the one who had found Hannah, and the gate was open when the EMTs got there...no one knew for certain if she was telling the truth." She paused, finding new and interesting things to stare at on the palm of her hand.
Jane never spoke. He knew he would get more out of Grace if he didn't. "I blamed her too." she went on. "I mean, how hard is it to lock a gate? She was blamed by everyone, by her Cal, by my parents, by the police, by me, by herself--"
"She shouldn't have been-- blamed that is. She did nothing wrong."
She looked at Jane, confusion and exhaustion written all over her face. "How can you know that?"
"Same as always, I take all of the facts and make a guess."
"No, it's more than that." she said with angry passion. "How could you have known about the fence?"
"All houses must have them if--"
"No! You knew--"
"I didn't." he protested. The conversation's beat growing with intensity and speed. "I don't. I don't know."
"Yes. You say you are a fake--"
"I am."
"She believed in you!" Grace's words came out almost like a plea. Her sister had believed in Patrick Jane, the famous psychic. The one person in the world who could make her feel better, and he'd used her.
"I know." Jane said gently. He knew all to well. He laid his hand on top of Grace's which was on her knee, but she shook it away. Slowly, he did the same until she stopped fighting and allowed him to hold on. "I know she believed in me. A lot of people did-- but after everything with--- after Red John, I came clean. I told the truth. What doesn't make any sense here is why now? Why now after all of these years do these two women kill themselves?"
"Because of the notes?"
"No, and you know it too. Did you ever speak to your sister about me?"
"Occasionally. She knew I worked with you, but never said anything about the reading."
"Think very carefully, Grace. Even the slightest thing could help."
Grace closed her eyes and thought back to the very limited conversations her and her sister had had since Hannah's death. "We didn't talk much. I blamed her as much as anybody."
"Don't dwell on that now, Grace. Did she ever mention me?"
She thought harder. "The only thing I can remember is that she called you a fake once."
"So she already knew."
"Yes."
Jane let go of Grace's hand and began to stand up. "So the question becomes, why did these letters show up now? And why frame Red John?"
Grace leaned her head against the wall, completely exhausted by the whole ordeal. "I have no idea. It doesn't make sense though."
"No." He offered his hand to help her up, and she hesitated his help. "Grace, you can hate me all you want later. I won't blame you, but now we have to get back in and see what the others have pulled from the tape. Besides, if I don't get you in soon, Rigsby might come out here and beat my ass."
"Pity." She said finally grabbing his hand.
"Sarcasm. Fantastic." he said, forcing himself not to smile.
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Once inside, Rigsby asked a Grace if she was alright, all the while shooting Jane a "if you hurt her..." look.
Cho decided to be the voice of reason and said, "We pulled these pictures from the members of the audience, both those who spoke to Jane and those that didn't. We have names, of course, of the ones who spoke. Jane, we need you to tell us who were plants and who weren't. Also, we need you both to look at the pictures and see if you can see anyone familiar."
Van Pelt and Jane sat side by side watching the photos go by on a computer slide show Cho had put together while they were outside. Seeing their faces, Jane remembered them all... and all the lies he told him. Van Pelt only saw strangers... strangers who had gone to Jane for help and ended up scammed. Then finally........
"Oh my God." she gasped. "I recognize him." She pointed to the picture on the screen, and Cho stopped the slide show. "Who is he?" he asked.
"I can't remember his name, but he was here yesterday. He's the officer who told me about Faith's death. He's one of the two who brought me the box. Officer.... Um.. Officer Jason. Jason Copola."
"And the box had the letter and flier in it?" Jane asked, but knew the answer. Sometimes he just had to ask questions so the others could catch up.
"Yes." she verified.
"And the police log in your sister's death had no mention of the papers?"
"No." she said, eyebrow raised.
"Interesting." Jane said to no one in particular. This time, he couldn't stop this smile that crossed his lips. Finally, it was all starting to make some sort of sense.
