A/N-Okay, ladies and gentlemen, this is where things get interesting! We start out with a major cliffhanger (which won't be satisfied until next chapter) and a wicked plot twist. Actually, it's more of a plot wedgie! Please don't hurt me…:D (BTW, kaithann, I think you are the bomb. Have you been looking at my Magic Notebook? :P Because you are making very good guesses!)

Chapter Four

Patrick Jane was relaxing in the comfort of his own home. Well, it was the closest thing he had to relaxing in this… place. He just couldn't seem to concentrate on the newspaper article he was reading. The walls of the living room seemed to imprison him. Of course, it didn't help that his mind kept going back to that dark night…

Suddenly Jane was jolted out of reminiscing by a crash, followed by swearing. He grabbed his gun out of the end table drawer and cocked it. He wasn't going down without a fight.

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Van Pelt breezed into Lisbon's office triumphantly.

"Uh, Van Pelt? Forget something?"

"Oh, sorry, boss. I forgot to knock." One thing that irritated Lisbon was people just barging into her office.

"It's fine, because I assume you have good news, right?"

"Well, it's good news for Mr. Lansing. His alibi checked out, and we even have photos to prove it."

"Wait, where did you get the photos?"

"I pulled them off of Shannon O'Keefe's MySpace profile. It was one heck of a party, from the looks of it!" Lisbon sighed. She was really hoping he was the murderer. Now what were they going to do?

"Good work. Could you go tell Mr. Lansing he is free to go?"

"Sure." She left the room and closed the door behind her. Lisbon bent over the gargantuan stack of paperwork once again. After getting through a few sheets explaining Jane's latest stunt, she was interrupted by her office door opening again. "What is it with you people and knocking?" she snapped.

Cho ditched the formalities and merely stated, "Another murder, boss. 41 Industrial Way."

"Is it our guy?"

"Probably."

"Let's gear up."

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On the drive there, Lisbon got a call. Forensics wanted to let her know that the prints on the wallet matched the prints on the body. Finally, a lucky break on the case from hell, she thought. Then the techie went on to explain that the prints didn't belong to Mr. Lansing, and they were still working on them, with no success to date. Of course…

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Colleen Walters; a flirty, once-thriving twenty-two year-old. Her current occupation: hanging from a steel beam at an abandoned warehouse.

"Same red wig and everything, boss. We even found a wallet again," Agent Rigsby informed her. "Chances are it's our guy."

Why the wig? It doesn't make sense, Lisbon thought to herself. "Bring the owner of the wallet in for questioning, even though it's probably a dead end."

"Okay, boss."

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Lisbon came out of interrogation with a much-frazzled look about her. Van Pelt looked up from her work as she heard her approaching. "Let me guess," she said leaning back in her chair, "Limbaugh Rouchard is her ex. You want me to check an alibi for the murders, which could be solidified by," she produced a paper with a flourish, "a receipt for a gas station 25 miles away approximately 10 minutes before the murders."

"Is there any way that he could have made it over there in time to commit the murders? Any possible way?"

"Yeah, a divine miracle," Van pelt snorted. She swiveled around in her chair and went back to work. "Oh, by the way, forensics is on line one for you."

Lisbon lifted the receiver. "Senior Agent Lisbon."

"Hello. We have a lead on the case you're working."

"Okay. Shoot."

"The prints from the first crime scene matched the prints from the second. They belong to a Mr. Mark Tileppo."

"Oh, great! We'll pick him up and close this case."

"Ah, Agent Lisbon?" There was an uneasy pause. "One more thing…"

"What?"

"The murders took place this week, but…"

"Come on, spit it out!"

"Mark Tileppo has been dead for the last two years."

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I told you it would get interesting! Then again, this is nothing compared to what comes up next… I did make this a suspense story after all.

*laughs diabolically*