A/N: Passages marked with an asterisk are quoted verbatim from the "Red Dawn" episode of The Mentalist.


Chapter 7: Investigating

Jane

Jane woke for the second time. Morning at last. Since ... a year ago, he never slept well and sometimes not at all. Last night he fell asleep again, garnering him perhaps five precious hours total. Maybe that's why I feel better.

He showered even though he had showered the night before. Jane told himself his hair dried wild last night and he needed to take a new stab at taming it. Mousse and hair dryer had been abandoned along with every other trapping of his TV psychic life. He decided the electric razor did a good enough job last night even though there was now a slight stubble. He didn't delve into why he cared other than assuring himself that conning the cops would be easier if he fit in. Of course, he really didn't need to con them any further as he already had the access he wanted.

Okay, it's also because the little boss cop told me to clean up, he admitted to himself wryly. Till now, no one had needed to tell him that once he escaped the trashy glitz of carnival life, once he could buy his own clothes. (His father never spent a dime on him unless forced to. When his carny clothes were bought new instead of second hand, they were usually too big at first and then eventually too small as he grew.) He felt like he was preparing for a show. Perhaps he was. Present a confident image and maybe the internal will follow suit.

Being around cops was certainly a strange new world. Exquisitely perceptive of the humanity around him, Jane couldn't help but discern the reactions, cross currents, doubts, irritation and indifference of the others, even if he chose not to react. Like most people, he preferred to be liked than not. Charming people usually was as effortless as breathing. This lion's den of cops is interesting, even challenging. Lisbon would rather I walk away. Every instinct tells her I'm bad news. An outsider, a con man burdened with grief - it isn't infectious, Lisbon! - someone determined to catch a murderer. –Good she doesn't know what I plan to do when I catch him. Cho. Suspicion is an occupational mandate for him. He chose law over gang, so naturally he'd be wary. Rigsby's take is the same as Cho's, except more confused. And Hannigan just hates my guts. Didn't like the mirror I held up to him. Didn't like losing his imagined superiority, the platform for telling me what was best for my life when his own is a mess. He grinned mirthlessly. His punch hurt his career more than my nose. Fool. Jane gently checked out said proboscis and was pleased it barely hurt.

Jane stopped at the same diner for tea and eggs. Letting his mind wander, he was surprised to find he was looking forward to going back, to seeing the same people again. Get a grip, Paddy. You fancy the company of cops, now? Still, they're honest reads. Not like Sophie's therapeutic cloak. Not the enforced kindness and acceptance of the asylum staff. And certainly not the bizarre mental landscapes of the other inmates. Uh, patients. He snorted softly to himself, all too aware he was one of them not even a week ago. He finished his tea, paid and was at the CBI building for the start of the workday. He felt a wash of relief at having a reason to be someplace other than Malibu. Lisbon had left word with Security to admit Patrick Jane. Security didn't even realize he was the same guy as yesterday.

Lisbon

Lisbon arrived early to catch up on paperwork.

"Lisbon," she answered her phone absently.

"Detective Elliott. Patrick Jane stopped here yesterday. I referred him to the CBI and wanted to give you a heads up."

"Too late," she smiled. "He was here late-morning yesterday."

"Oh. Uh, sorry I didn't call sooner. Got a case."

"That's all right."

"Okay. Well, let me know if there's any way I can help."

"Thank you."

She turned to the current case. Cho was going to interview Kelly Burbage, Dellinger's dinner date. Hopefully that would produce leads on who might have wanted Dellinger dead. Hannigan would check into Winston Dellinger's life and finances. Rigsby would see if threats against Judge Dellinger might be a connection.

Cho and Jane

"Hi."*

"Hey."* Cho was surprised. He was surprised the victims' relative was back a second day. He was surprised the man had cleaned up. Thought he was a one-day headache. Wrong. Why?

"It's Kimball Cho, isn't it? Is that after the Kipling character?"* Most people like talking about themselves-

"No. Why are you still here?"*

–but not Kimball Cho. A challenge. "Agent Lisbon told me to come by. To read the Red John files."*

Rigsby came in. Cho answered his unvoiced question. "Lisbon told him to come by. Read the Red John files."*

"Hi," Jane offered a second time, ignoring the dual unsettled reactions.

Uncertain, "All right. Hi." Rigsby wasn't nearly as tough a nut as Cho.

"Oh, pretend I'm not here."

"Uh, okay."

Rigsby told Cho his interviewee, Kelly Burbage, was waiting for him. Cho left. Jane remained standing in the break area with his tea.

At the awkward thought of Jane standing in front of him all day, Rigsby suggested, "You can take the desk over there. No one's using that." Jane pointed to a desk, Risgby nodded.

Jane walked through the domain of cops and claimed one desk's worth of neutral territory. With the mug of tea, he had a small island of comfort as he waited.

The Bullpen

There was no sign of any Red John files. Yet. Jane idly stared out the window and sipped his tea. Listening to the hubbub around him, he couldn't help but pick up facts on the case from snippets of conversation. After Cho's interview - Jane thought he'd really like to see a Cho interview - Kelly Burbage passed by on her way to the elevator. Apparently something she said made them want to bring in an Emmett Cox for questioning. Jane snorted silently. Lisbon ordered 'full SWAT protocol.' Sounds dangerous. Rough. Exactly Hannigan's kind of–"

Lisbon's voice interrupted his musings. "Mr. Jane! Mr. Jane."* She motioned him to come over and smiled to cover her dismay at his return. At least he cleaned up. Mostly. His suit and shirt were clean and ironed, his hair neat – as much as the curls allowed. He needed a closer shave, although not badly. And his expression was pleasant and neutral ... which she found confusing because there was no reason yesterday's devastated survivor should have changed that much.

Jane took his mug and hurried toward her. "You ‑‑ you can call me Patrick," he offered, instinctively wanting to make the connection, ease the task of getting his way.

"Patrick, have a seat,"* she ushered him into her pretend office and motioned to an old, drab couch. He seated himself in the corner, arms tight to his body, legs close together.

"Thank you."* Taking her in, Jane cleared his throat and sighed. "You were hoping I wouldn't come back."* It wasn't a question.

"Yes. Frankly, I don't think you should look at the files."* Her statement rang of professional conviction and personal sympathy. It didn't have the overtones of superiority and bureaucratic bullying that Hannigan's had the day before.

"Your boss said I could," Jane politely countered. Because he had already won, he acknowledged her point, "-You're right. I should probably just start a new life."* After a moment he added flatly, "I can't."* A fact. As immutable as rock.

"I'll have the files sent up. There's a lot of them. Meanwhile, you stay in here."*

"I don't mind waiting out there. I don't want to be a burden."*

"You're kind of a distraction to the office. No offense, but you have a bit of a homeless vibe about you,"* she said with a half-smile.

"I cleaned up, like you, uh, told me to."*

"It's a process, huh?"* she said and walked off.

He was slightly surprised, a bit amused, and a little chagrined to be called out a second time. The master of control ... apparently was off his game. I have a ways to go to get my image straight, he decided. Then he wondered, And what image is that? No longer psychic. What am I now?

The Case

With nothing to do, Jane began to speculate about why Winston Dellinger was shot dead on a lonely stretch of road, why his car had new collision damage to the right front fender. Dellinger's date Kelly Bubage had come in to the CBI to be interviewed, but showed no sign of guilt or nervousness. Innocent, nice even. Not her. From yesterday, Jane read no guilt in Judge Dellinger for his son's murder ... though he was hiding something important but unknown.

Hannigan and Cho returned with Cox, who was taken to be interrogated by Hannigan. From the little Jane saw, Emmett Cox was hard, tough, negative, and aggressive. What Jane didn't see was guilt. After the interview Hannigan wanted another crack to make him "open up." Lisbon refused on grounds that Cox didn't seem guilty. Jane found it telling that Hannigan didn't even mention guilt.

The pseudo-office-without-real-walls did nothing to block sound. Now interested, Jane stood and consciously listened as the team outlined the fruits of their research. Lisbon and her team noticed his eavesdropping and challenged him. Jane claimed to be stretching his legs. Annoyed, they finished the briefing, doing their best to ignore the interloper.

There appeared to be no connection to any threats made against the judge. The bullet that killed Dellinger matched bullets from an armed robbery case in which the gun hadn't been recovered. A while back, Winston Dellinger had been charged with vehicular manslaughter for hitting and killing Mia Dos Santos while driving drunk. The manslaughter charge was mysteriously dropped. Her husband Christian Dos Santos had made some threats. The SacPD detective handling that case was one Nathaniel Kim.

Lisbon directed Cho to talk to Kim. She would talk to Dos Santos. Regrettably, the Red John files were slow to be delivered because of the remodeling. Much to his surprise, Lisbon had Jane accompany her. He figured she'd rather have him ride along than leave him to his own devices at the CBI, especially with Hannigan in the bullpen.

Even though it didn't relate to the Red John case, Jane was fascinated. Of course he had offered advice to PD's on crimes in the past. But he hadn't had the chance to see how the pieces were gathered and assembled to solve the crime. And, of course, learning how cops found killers was relevant – a burning personal interest now.

The law enforcement process unexpectedly resonated with his "psychic" work. He had funded an affluent lifestyle by reading people, figuring out their stories, and exploiting his insights to provide eerily accurate "psychic" readings. For a lot less money and, he indulged himself, with a lot less talent, these cops did something similar to solve murders.

Jane found Lisbon's interview with Christian Dos Santos and his wife's mother, Mrs. Recinos, unexpectedly personal, intimate. Dos Santos had been angry, made threats, wanted justice for his wife's death. The heavy hand of the law forced him to abandon those ideas. Dos Santos now said that thinking was wrong, stupid. Whether he believed that was not so clear.

His mother-in-law, Mrs. Recinos, was not as forgiving. She was outraged that Dellinger had killed her daughter and nothing happened to him. She thought Dos Santos should hurt Dellinger the way he had hurt them. The picture was familiar to Jane. They had experienced what he had a year ago. They had suffered a grievous loss and wanted the perpetrator to suffer the same. If they knew, they would understand the quest he had just undertaken. It was as if humanity was now divided into those who know, who understand, and the rest. The rest lived in blissful ignorance of the bottomless chasm that awaited were they unlucky enough to experience a random evil – or just negligent – act.

Despite the anger still buried within Dos Santos, Jane knew he hadn't killed Dellinger. He and Mrs. Recinos were merely happy someone had.

The team would gather the next morning to take stock.

Lisbon

Lisbon again dropped Jane off at the CBI building at the end of the day. She promptly forgot him. Her concerns were the case and her team. The case hadn't yet come together despite the team's diligent work in running down leads. The best shot they had at solving a murder was figuring it out as soon as possible after the event. Each day that passed without solving the case was a step closer to being unable to close it.

Hannigan was her second topic of concern. Again. Increasingly, Lisbon was limiting the tasks she was willing to assign to Hannigan. She had observed Hannigan interrogate Cox because she was unsure how well Hannigan would hold his temper ... and unsure of his instincts. The former was fine. The latter, worrisome. Hannigan wanted a win, a confession. He didn't seem to care whether the guy was guilty. She sighed. No wonder Hannigan's cases didn't hold up in court. Damn the hiring freeze. Unless I can find some other way of getting a fourth man on my team, I'm stuck with him.

Jane

Jane stopped at the same diner for tea and dinner. It occurred to him he must be desperate to establish a routine, restore some kind of certainty to his life. He was sticking with this perfectly ordinary restaurant for no reason other than he had already eaten there. He lingered for a second cup of tea, amusing himself by reading the random strangers. He left when a mother and her young daughter came in. That was too close, too much – at least for now.

A shower and shave later, he had an eternity to kill before he could return to the CBI and, hopefully, get to start on the Red John files. A wildlife special was on and he started watching, only to get lost in his thoughts. Realizing he had missed half of the special, he clicked off the TV and lay back on the bed. Force of habit channeled his thoughts to the people he'd seen related to the case. So far as he could tell, none of them seemed guilty. He was intensely curious about how the cops were going to actually solve the case. After all, he used to make good money being right about ... people. Something as powerful as guilt for committing murder should be printed on their foreheads with neon ink, metaphorically speaking. Unless none of them did it. He shrugged. Interesting, but not my problem.

Jane's thoughts drifted to the other people he'd seen: Lisbon's team. He didn't expect to be in contact with the CBI agents for an extended period. Read the files, store the information in the memory palace, and do what I need to hunt him down. My efforts will be separate. Can't see the cops helping me get revenge. Still, what if I need information on any new murders? Hm. If I needed to co-opt someone, who? Rigsby would be my best bet. Jane smiled at the thought. He was too uncomfortable to let me stand there all day. Could play on that. Cho, on the other hand, is more suspicious than Lisbon. Not him. As for Lisbon, she doesn't want me to read the files, much less hunt the killer. He flatly dismissed Hannigan, having already wasted more time on him than he was worth.

He scrunched down in bed a little more, and consciously relaxed. There was something niggling at the back of his mind from the day. Now, what was it? He stiffened as it came to him. Lisbon. When we saw Dos Santos and Mrs. Recinos, Lisbon reacted. Her father was no prize, but – there was something about a drunk Dellinger driving and killing that young mother of three. He exhaled slowly. Got it. Her mother was killed by a drunk driver. She was left ... and some siblings. She would have been the oldest. He blinked as the woman cop suddenly came into sharper focus. Early tragedy, abusive father, heavy responsibilities much too young. No wonder.

He slept a couple of hours on separate occasions. Once again he looked forward to what the next day would reveal. The Red John files, hopefully. Developments on the who dunnit. And the familiar faces of Lisbon's team.