Still Seeing Red
Chapter 7
"So, they'll be back by 6:00 tonight? Any leads? No? Damn…"
Teresa Lisbon glanced up from her cell phone. Patrick Jane was at the door of the burnt-out house, trying the knob, pushing, pulling, trying to pick it. He had torn down the weather-beaten police tape, hell-bent on getting inside, apparently convinced that this was where Dorothea Gavin had died three months ago. There wasn't a shred of evidence to suggest that it was, but his hunches were more than frequently right. Besides, she thought, it was amusing to watch him try.
"What? The same house? Don't tell me – a two storey, with a large front porch and gardens in the front? Yeah, we've been getting that too. Both houses. Creepy is right…"
He had already ambled round the house several times, tried at one point to squeeze in through a charred hole in one of the walls, but had only succeeded in getting himself stuck, and having a chunk of drywall fall on his head in the process. She had often wondered whether his belligerence more than equaled his brilliance, and today he certainly seemed set on proving her theory correct.
"Has the CSI team sent you the images from the hotel room? Good, I want you to transcribe them, get us a hard copy, try to figure out where it all starts. Maybe there is something in there we can use. Yeah, it was Jane… Never mind, I explain later…"
At the door, Jane gave one last tug, the door popped off its hinges, and suddenly he was caught trying to stop a very large, very heavy wooden door from crashing down on him. Lisbon bit her lip as he staggered under its weight, tipping it first one way, then the other, trying to lean it back up against some wall. She could have helped him, could have run to his rescue, but honestly, watching him struggle was so much more fun.
"Okay," she said into the phone as he finally managed to lay it against the front window. The charred glass held for a moment then gave way and the door crashed right through. "We'll see everyone back in the office at 7. Get some take out for us, and we'll review what we've got. Good. See you later." And she folded her phone and trotted up the front steps.
"Thanks for the help," he panted, wiping the soot on his trousers and admiring his handiwork. "I have two doors now."
"Breaking and Entering is illegal, especially across police tape. I didn't want to aid you in committing a felony."
"Bah. You need to go in through an out door, sometimes, Lisbon. Run a red light. Live a little."
"You're my role model, Mr. Jane," she grinned in an itty-bitty voice.
He seemed to like that, and turned to the destruction that was formerly called a house.
Everything inside was black, charred almost beyond recognition. She had called in to the Salinas PD to inquire, and it was indeed listed as an open arson case, the fire having started in the basement and been fueled by gasoline. Nothing at all sophisticated, but effective nonetheless, as it was a write off, now awaiting demolition and the potential resale of the property. In a town like Salinas, that didn't bode well for the bank.
She followed him in, stepping over debris and ducking fallen beams. The smell of smoke was still strong even after 3 months, and it was making her eyes water just being there. Jane paused, turned around in a circle, as if surveying the damage, but she knew there was more than that going on.
"What are you looking for?" she asked.
"Where did the fire start?"
"The basement."
"A stairwell, then – Ah, there." And he trotted over to what looked to have been a doorway. He yanked on this one and the knob came off in his hand.
Lisbon snorted.
He grinned and tossed it to her, stuck his fingers in the latch opening, twisted something inside, and the door swung open, revealing utterly destroyed wooden stairs going down.
"You're not going down there?" she asked incredulously.
"Why not? There's one piece of the puzzle missing, and I bet it's down here…"
One piece, she thought to herself? There were over a hundred pieces and she'd been studying them for days, had just dumped them all on the floor, and didn't even have the corners put together yet, let alone know there was a missing piece.
He stepped down onto the first stair, tested it to see if it would take his weight, burnt to a crisp as it was. Tapped his foot, stomped, then both feet, bounced. Turned to Lisbon, flashed a brilliant smile. Suddenly, the step gave way beneath him and both he and the entire staircase dropped to the basement with a loud crash.
She rushed to the doorway.
"Jane! Are you alright?! Jane?!"
"Oww…"
"Jane?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I think. Yeh, probably fine."
She shook her head, lowered herself to a seated position and let her feet dangle over the now open hole.
"So," she called down. "Anything broken?"
"Oh, only my manly pride." he called back, and she could see him now, as her eyes adjusted to the near total darkness of the basement. Basements were not commonplace in California, but in a traditional house design such as this, it wasn't surprising to find one. He pulled himself gingerly out of the rubble that was now an ex-staircase, frowned at a tear in one of his pant legs, patted himself down and glanced up from below. His face was covered in soot and ash, but his blue eyes beamed at her from the darkness.
"In one piece."
"How's your head?"
"Well, at least there's only me in there at the moment…"
She grinned.
His attention was captured by something farther on, and he disappeared from view.
"Ooh, look at that. There's a room down here…"
"I don't know where you grew up, Jane, but where I come from, people do sometimes put rooms in their basements."
"Not like this…"
She could hear rattling, crashing and the rending of wood, and his sudden "Aha!" It was only a matter of moments until he reappeared at the foot of the stairwell. There was a charred but shiny object in his hand and he tossed it up to her. She caught it easily.
"It's a plate," she muttered, turning it over and over in her hands. "A metal plate. This is your piece of the puzzle? It looks like something you'd take camping…"
"Doesn't it, though? Stand back…" And he reached down to haul a blackened two-by-four up from the concrete floor of the basement to the lip of the stairwell. He impressed her by scaling it like a cat.
He stood and smiled at her, looking like a refuge from a war zone. "We can go now." And he snatched the metal plate from her hands, walked to the gaping hole that used to be a door and disappeared into the sunshine.
She shook her head, utterly bewildered but used to it, and followed him out.
________________________________
They took a different way back from Salinas, one not quite as twisty, turny and hilly as the first, but then again, not as beautiful, either. It had also been less musical, as Jane sat quietly thinking and clutching the metal plate in his lap, tapping some sort of rhythm on it with his fingers. He was filthy, having tried to clean his face of the ash and soot with his jacket, which now lay discarded in the back seat of the SUV. As she drove, she spied a large local fruit market on the side of the road, and pulled over to kill three birds with one stone.
She swiveled in her seat. "You, go get cleaned up. I'm going to make a phone call and buy us some real food."
"Okay."
"Jane?"
He turned back to her. "Yeah?"
"Leave the plate."
"Oh." He looked at it as if surprised that it was still in his hands. "Right. Silly."
She frowned as he got out of the car and ambled over to the large covered building that constituted a storefront. She eased out and stretched, enjoying the breeze and the fresh smell of fruit and corn and perennials. There were many cars here, as it also seemed to be a bit of an artisan haven as well, with copper lawn sculptures, wooden benches and garden gnomes for sale.
She made her phone call and bought locally-grown grapes, apricots, and strawberries. She also bought a few apples, knowing Jane liked them and hoping she might tempt him to eat. She paid for her purchases and headed back to the SUV. He wasn't there.
She sighed, left the fruit in the car and went looking.
First, the covered market, and she asked the location to the washrooms. Trudged around the back and discovered both men's and women's. Waited for what seemed like hours. Finally, an elderly gentleman came out and she leaned into his path.
"Excuse me, sir. Is there anyone else in there?"
"Nope. Why? Don't want to wait for the missies'?" he grinned, eyes twinkling in mischief.
She grinned back. "No sir, just waiting for someone."
"Sorry." And he walked away, leaving Lisbon frowning some more. Just as she was about ready to head back to the car, the door to the ladies' washroom opened, and two plump women came out, obviously sisters, laughing hysterically.
Lisbon's heart sank.
"What a honey-bunch!"
"You're tellin' me! Makes me wish I was single again!"
She stepped into their path. "Excuse me, but there wouldn't happen to be a man in there, would there?"
They exchanged glances, then broke out into laughter once again.
"Not anymore, honey," said one.
"Not for lack of trying!" said the other.
"Mm mm mm. He cleaned up real nice, didn't he, Bernice?"
"Sure did, Denise. Sure did."
"He yours, honey?"
"Um," she pursed her lips, not knowing how to answer that. "Sort of…"
"Well, if you don't want him, you just send him our way."
"We'll take good care of him, we will, won't we, Bernice?"
"Sure will, Denise. Sure will."
And still laughing, the sisters strolled off to the fruitstands, leaving Teresa Lisbon standing alone, knowing without a shadow of a doubt, that Kristina Frye was back in the building.
She found him standing with his back to her in front of the apples. He had in fact washed his face and hands, but his hair was still covered in ash, and his vest and rolled-up sleeves were in desperate need of a cleaning. He was staring at the fruit, but not seeing it, and he didn't turn when she walked up beside.
"Jane."
No response.
"Jane?"
Still nothing.
She took a deep breath. "Kristina?"
He turned to look at her, but she could tell it wasn't him.
"Can you hear me?" he asked. "Can you really hear me?"
"Well, sort of--"
"It's Patrick Jane, isn't it? He can hear me. I can feel him in my head."
She didn't know how to answer that one, either.
"Where are you?"
"I don't know. I have no idea. There was a man...in my room... " Jane/Kristina's voice trailed off and he looked around, clearly worried. "It's so hard to see..."
"We're very close, Kristina. We'll find you soon. Trust me." She reached out to touch him on the arm, and as quickly as she had come, Kristina Frye was gone, leaving Patrick Jane blinking and swaying in her wake. She needed both hands now to steady him.
"Whoa," he gasped, wide eyed. "Outside."
"We need to get you home."
"I need a Scotch. Do they sell that here? Locally grown, totally organic Scotch, perchance? Made by garden gnomes..."
"Sorry, Jane. No Scotch. Mineral water, though."
"Damn."
She slipped an arm under him and together, they made it back to the SUV and the long drive back to Sacramento.
End of Chapter 7
