7. IN SIN AND ERROR PINING
- O Holy Night
It wasn't difficult to figure out how the Stanton's conversation had gone after they'd exited the elevator together the day before. Lydia was as forthright as ever, if more solicitous, and Wyatt hadn't even mentioned the safe house. Jane had conjured up a couple of pillows and full-sized blanket for her, and with her becoming more accustomed to spending the night on her couch, she had slept relatively well, waking only when she heard voices out in the hallway.
Just after eight a.m., a tentative knock at her door brought her fully awake, and at her invitation, Luther Wainwright stuck his head in the door with an apologetic look.
"I know it's difficult to imagine another priority right now, but there's a body just outside of Sonora by Stanilaus National. Apparently the locals have a question about jurisdiction, and the other homicide units are swamped with the divided case load. Do you feel up to—"
She threw back the blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the couch before he could finish the question. "Are the others all in?"
"Present and accounted for," he grinned in relief as well as pleasure that he'd been able to do something to liven her up, even if it was to tell her about a dead body they needed to go look at.
"Tell them we leave in ten." She headed for her desk to arm up, stopping in mid-stride when she realized what she'd said to him. "Please."
His grin widened and he withdrew to carry out her request. She thought through driving arrangements and what she knew of the Sonora and Stanislau area as she checked her clip. Holstering her weapon and grabbing badge and keys, she exited the office. A quick stop in the restroom with her toiletries bag, and she was ready, refusing to think about how much she missed her full-sized shower at home regardless of the convenience of the bureau dressing rooms.
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One Jeremy Russell, a hiker from Walnut Grove, had "gone and got himself shot" according to the local sheriff. After Jane had ruffled feathers by stating patronizingly that he hoped they didn't mind if the real cops didn't rush to the conclusion that it was entirely the victim's fault, Wainwright had stepped in to smooth things over, and the investigation had begun.
It was fairly cut and dried. Russell, wanting to take advantage of the fair Sunday weather, had come over to hike the forest for the day, and a few hundred yards into the trail had met with death by gunshot to the forehead, probably a small caliber handgun at fairly close range. Cause of death was obvious, but there were few other usable clues. The ground was so trampled by hikers and the ghoulishly curious that a clear set of footprints couldn't be lifted, not even Russell's if they hadn't had his boots.
It was obvious Jane had been nearly as on edge as Lisbon from being cooped up at their office building from the level of sheer ass-ery he managed to achieve. Between that and his incessant hovering, Lisbon was glad for the excuse to leave him behind in favor of taking Wainwright on the two hour-long drive to question Jeremy Russell's as yet unaware widow. Leaving instructions, including her order to meet back at the Bureau later in the day, she felt a little guilty watching Jane in the rearview mirror as he looked after her departing vehicle. But when he raised his hand in a regal, mocking wave, confident of her eyes on him, her vision locked on the road ahead without another glance.
Jeremy Evan Russell was a small pillar in his tiny community. Respected by all, adored by his young son and faithfully in love with his wife, no one—relative, friend or neighbor—could comprehend anyone wanting him dead. And neither Lisbon nor Wainwright was able to ferret out any lies on the matter. Afraid that they might have an indiscriminate killer on the loose, the two agents wrapped up their canvas and headed east to take the interstate back up to Sacramento.
Back at the scene, Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were able to concur that the murder weapon was a SIG, fairly common, powerful and deadly, favored by gun enthusiasts for personal protection as well as nearly a third of the law enforcement officers in the state. The body was picked up by a nearby county coroner who promised to send the bullet, once retrieved, up to the CBI along with his full report.
Now back in the car, most of the day gone, Jane took his cell from his vest pocket and punched one on his speed dial to bring up the picture. He wouldn't make the call. He'd already done so twice and was rewarded with the iciest tones and shortest responses Lisbon could muster. He knew he'd been insufferable and that that particular side of him would have been harder for her to endure today. But the constant worry of the past few days as well as the effort it was taking to hide it had worn away at his veneer and both he and Lisbon had come near the breaking point. Near but not crossed. They'd been through a lot, mostly by his own stupidity and recklessness, but she hadn't thrown him over yet. He rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth over the picture affectionately. That had been a good day, and he had teased her to a delicate blush before throwing a barb that had made her instantly angry. He had immediately said something to placate and please her and had taken the picture just as the hint of the smile had appeared. He had managed to capture all three faces—the sweetly embarrassed, the quick tempered, and the readily forgiving—all in one shot. She had never liked that picture and had chided him about taking another, but he liked this far better than something posed and practiced. Aware of Grace's eyes on him, he snapped the phone shut and laid back in his seat with a "Wake me when we're home" before closing his eyes.
Back at the bureau, he settled into Lisbon's couch to await her return, plan for getting back in her good graces already in place, beginning with the bag of pastries he'd talked Cho into stopping for. From her last check-in, Lisbon and Wainwright were about an hour behind them. So, he was a little confused when Rigsby shook him from a sound doze.
"Jane. Wake up. We need you to see if you can reach Lisbon. We've all tried and her calls are going straight to voicemail. Wainwright's too."
He fumbled for his phone as he sat up and made the call. "You've reached Teresa Lisbon. I can't take your call—"
The phone snapped shut, and he was on his feet and out the door heading for the bullpen and straight for where Grace was on her computer.
"Her phone. Is it off? Can you trace it?"
"I've got it." She looked up over her shoulder at him in confusion. "Heading north. A tower running along 99 toward Yuba City."
"We can be there in just under an hour," Cho said, slipping on his jacket.
"Cho—" Grace tried to interject.
"Keep the trace running as long as you can, Van Pelt. And call the locals, tell them we're coming and we'll want back-up."
"Cho, let me—"
"Grace." He was heading for the door, Rigsby and Jane hot on his heels, and paused just long enough to turn back to her patiently. "Somebody's got to stay—"
"I bugged Lisbon," she broke in. All three men stared at her, Rigsby's mouth agape.
"You . . . what?" Jane asked, uncertain as to whether he'd heard correctly.
"I bugged Lisbon," she repeated as she punched a number out on her cell and held up a finger indicating they should wait while she made the call. "We can't reach Lisbon. Her phone is headed north on 99, but the tracker says otherwise. Something's not right—can you come down?"
She closed her phone and turned to look at Jane before hesitantly shifting her eyes to Cho. Arms crossed tight against his chest and jaw working furiously, the senior agent glared at her a moment before issuing the simple command, "Explain."
Lydia and Wyatt Stanton walked in at that moment, and Grace was torn between relief at seeing the one and apprehension at the other. She had hoped the precautions she'd initiated wouldn't be needed and so hadn't thought through the scenario in which she would have to explain her actions. Still, she wouldn't regret the steps she'd taken.
"If they were as determined to come after Lisbon as we feared," she began, unsure of just how to account for the plan she'd put into action or whom else she should implicate. "I knew there was a possibility we would need a way to keep track of her, find her if something happened."
"And how did you go about this?" Grace drew back at what she recognized was Cho's interrogation tone.
"I drugged her," Lydia answered, stepping to Grace's side to face him and the others.
"You what?" Wyatt Stanton's voice rose an octave and double its usual decibel level.
"When the two of you went for coffee," Jane reasoned. "You slipped something into her latte. That's why she passed out."
"What did you do, Lydia?" Stanton's voice was back under control but not his temper.
"It was Grace's idea. And a good one," she faced him defiantly then turned to Jane. "And yes, I put ketamine in her latte."
"You roofied the boss?" Rigsby's gaze went from one woman to the other, torn between shocked disbelief and admiration.
"Only enough to get her groggy. Or so I thought." Lydia's eyes drifted as did her thoughts as she considered the matter practically. "She really was stressed and hadn't been getting enough sleep. Probably why she passed out. Helped with the injection."
The dry crackle of her husband's throat clearing recaptured her attention. "While she was unconscious I injected her with a subcutaneous transmitter. In the shoulder."
Jane moved to stand behind Grace, leaning over her, one hand gripping the back of her chair and the other curling around the edge of her desktop. He understood what they'd done and why and was ready to get on with putting their plan to use. Stanton's inability to let it go wasn't getting them any closer to finding Lisbon.
"And where did you get a subcutaneous transmitter?"
"I'm afraid that would be my doin'."
They all turned as Howard Tell entered the bullpen and watched him walk to Van Pelt's desk to stand next to Jane and look over her head at her monitor.
"What've you got, Grace?"
She pointed at a spot on the screen and answered. "I tracked the bug to this point, just outside of Walnut Grove. But," she swallowed hard, "it's not transmitting anymore."
She saw Jane's hand tighten around the edge of her desktop then refocused her attention on the computer screen. Moving her fingertip northward on the map displayed there she finished her explanation to Tell. "I traced Lisbon's phone here, moving toward Yuba City and now just a little further north."
"I say we go with the phone," Cho asserted. "The bug's not moving—probably disengaged it—the phone's still in play."
"Is that possible?" Rigsby asked, sick at the thought of what would have to happen to "disengage" a monitoring device from under the skin.
"Yes," Lydia answered quietly. "If he knew what to look for. I injected it at the back of her shoulder so she would think she had hurt it when she passed out. If she was able to reach it she'd just feel a bump. Someone familiar with the technology and the procedure wouldn't have any trouble figuring out how to remove it, especially since it was new and hadn't fully imbedded."
While the others talked, Jane had been studying the map on Grace's computer, following their discussion as he tried to reason through the two dots on the screen. The thought of what Lisbon could have gone through to have the transmitter dislodged was troubling enough, but it was Lydia's subdued tone that was nearly unnerving him. That being the case, it surprised even him when he spoke as the voice of reason.
"He wouldn't . . . remove the transmitter and overlook her phone. It's logical to assume he tossed it, probably in or onto a passing vehicle, to throw us off."
He was cut off by a ping on the computer. "What's that?" he asked urgently.
"It's a trace I was running on Wainwright's phone. It's not far from where the tracker shut off."
"Is he moving?"
"Doesn't look like it."
"Right. He straightened to look at Tell, Stanton and Cho. "I say we give Yuba City police the coordinates for the phone and keep tracking from here until they find it. We should go south, meet up with locals that way to look for Lisbon. And Wainwright."
"Sounds like a plan," Tell seconded. Grace was already dialing before Cho and Stanton agreed.
"So we head south," Cho said. "And you," he turned to Grace, unable to maintain his attempt at a disapproving glare and sighing in resignation, "I'll call you when we're getting close so you can track my phone in relation to Wainwright's."
Jane waited out the flurry of weapon checks, running one thumb against the other palm in agitation until a fair hand laid firmly on his forearm, arresting the movement, and he looked up and into Lydia Stanton's crystal blue eyes.
"You'll find her."
He nodded. "I will."
And then they were gone.
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They must have been on a highway, traveling which way she had no way of knowing. Both times she had awakened she'd been aware of the smoothness of the ride in spite of the discomfort that came with being tied up and thrown into a car trunk. This time the stinging in her shoulder had pulled her from sleep, and she was lucid enough to wonder what had become of Wainwright. And it was colder. The sun must have gone down. She wondered vaguely what time it was, thought of Jane and drifted back into unconsciousness.
