Part Eight
Bristol, UK, Wednesday, 07.42pm GMT
Mini was uncharacteristically quiet. Normally, she said enough to keep everyone else in the room entertained and that was what Grace was finding so disconcerting. Then again, it was literally just the two of them. After they had left the library, Franky had disappeared, claiming that she had something to do and neither of them had had the energy to follow her. As for Liv, well, that was still self explanatory. And still far too raw. In reality, they had had enough of talking for a lifetime. Talking to each other, the police, to family. It all just seemed to be a never ending cycle of 'how are you doings?' and 'where were you between the hours of twelve and twos?'
With a heavy sigh, Grace flopped down on the sofa, with Mini sitting beside her. She had fished out a bottle of vodka from somewhere, but neither of them were really in the mood to drink it. Again, vodka was really Liv's poison of choice and without her, well, it all seemed that little less fun. However, Grace was grateful for the quiet. Mini's mother was fun, but not really the kind of person she would have wanted to endure at this specific moment in time. Shelley McGuinness would have probably told them to cheer up, have a drink and go find some good looking young men to woo. Remind them that they were in the prime of their life and they didn't have the time to waste it on moping around. That pining wouldn't bring Liv back and besides, their friend 'wouldn't want to see them so sad'. She would 'want them to enjoy themselves'. Grace had already heard enough of those clichés to last a lifetime and truth be told, she only heard them twice thus far. Still, it was already two times too many.
"Drink?" Mini eventually asked, if only in attempt to start a conversation.
Grace shook her head. She was worried. Rich was closing off from her; normally he wouldn't stop talking about the injustices of the world. Whether it was racism, the state of the music charts or politics, he always had something to say on the matter. Whilst she didn't necessarily agree with all of his opinions, it made for stimulating company. Half of her wished she could persuade him to give university more thought, but he always proclaimed that it was a fucking waste of money these days. That you could get the same experience and more by just going straight into the working environment. However, for the past couple of days, she hadn't been able to get more than a sentence out of him in any one go. Half of her knew that it was partially down to Liv's death, but then again, he had never been particularly close to her. Sure she was one of the gang, but they were friends due to their social network rather than having any close emotional bonds.
"Do you think Rich is acting a little strange?"
Once more, Mini didn't answer and simply shrugged. Grace took it as an agreement. If only they could turn back the clocks and stop all of this from happening. If only Doctor Who was real and they could borrow his TARDIS for five minutes or so and save Liv. If only…
The news reporter on television changed stories and it all sounded horribly familiar. Within seconds, they transferred over to the Malone household, where Agnes and Maude were sitting on their sofa, each clutching tissues in their hands. Agnes was, naturally, begging for news on her daughter's murder. It was obvious that she was aching for closure and was convinced that it would only come by knowing that her middle daughter's killer was behind bars.
Angrily, Grace pointed the remote control at the television screen and quickly switched it off. She didn't know anything; she didn't have a fucking clue. If she did, she would help out in a heartbeat. All their research online had been completely useless. It just said that the killer had been nicknamed Red John in the USA and he was a psychopath who specialised in hacking women to pieces. It didn't even give them a shred of idea why he had starting killing over here, in Bristol, of all places.
She placed her head in her hands. Grace could feel the group fracturing because of this and there was nothing she could do about it.
Merced, CA, USA, Wednesday, 12.12pm PST
"So, Mr Schaber…"
"That crackpot psychic isn't here, is he?"
"Jane?" Van Pelt asked and Schaber nodded in response. "No, he's… working other leads."
"Good. I have one more thing to say on the matter: I'll drop all charges if he apologises."
Van Pelt glanced quickly at Rigsby. They both knew just how unlikely it was that Jane would do such a thing. If anything, since he started working with the CBI, he had grown even more childish and even more petulant. Persuading him to say sorry was as likely as being able to convince a tabby cat it would be a good idea to take a bath. Still, she nodded, accepting of his demands. Prior experience had told her that in cases like this, it was best to let the person of interest think that they had the upper hand, even if they did not.
"So, why are you here again, anyway?" Schaber asked. "I do have a play to open in two hours, you know. It is a matinee day."
"We know. And we just have a few follow up questions, that's all."
The man glanced at his watch quickly before answering. "Good, just make them quick."
"Why didn't you attend rehearsals with the rest of the cast on Monday?"
"I…"
"May I remind you that it is a criminal offence to lie in situations such as these," Van Pelt stated mildly. It was unlikely that they would press charges, considering they were far more interested in the bigger picture, but it was always handy to rattle the suspect somewhat.
"I had a migraine, that's all."
"And why couldn't you tell us that yesterday?" Rigsby asked.
"For a start, your buffoon was bothering me and secondly, it doesn't look professional, does it? Taking a day off for something as mundane as a migraine…"
Van Pelt bit her lip. On occasion, she had taken days off for that very reason and nobody at the CBI, not even her boss, seemed to mind. Sickness was sickness and had to be treated accordingly. If somebody wasn't fit for work, it was best for them to go home and rest. Then again, on any given work day, she could theoretically have been wielding a gun or being held at knifepoint, so slightly different rules applied.
"Thank you for your time."
"Oh and one more thing," Rigsby added while standing. "How would you describe your relationship with Miranda Hayes?"
"Excuse me?"
"Miranda Hayes, Harrison's wife? What was your relationship with her?"
"She was the director. That's all."
"And really?"
"That is all," he said and Van Pelt raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Fine. We slept together once. And that's all. I swear. Are we done here?"
"Yes, we're done."
Sacramento, CA, USA, Wednesday, 12.12pm PST
Lisbon felt like she was banging her head against a brick wall. Admittedly, in the years she had known Jane, that was a fairly common occurrence, but it didn't stop it from being an irritation. He and O'Laughlin were continually baiting one another and thus, they hadn't actually gotten anywhere with the case for the entire morning. Dejectedly, she stirred her coffee. She had used her thirst as an excuse simply to get out of there for a brief while, to have some respite from their arguing. She hadn't known two men to be so antagonistic with one another since… well, since Jane and Bosco. Quickly, she cast those thoughts to one side. There was enough going on without her dwelling on the past.
Really, what they needed was some solid progress. Instead, O'Laughlin and Jane had taken to acting like kids. Both were being as bad as each other; she had heard numerous complaints about the suitability of either of them to work on the Red John case. Realistically, she could see that both of them had a point. Virgil Minelli, ex-Special Agent, had taken the Red John case from them for a reason during his tenure. They - not just Jane, but her whole team - had been getting too close to the case. The only reason they got it back was because Red John had decided to slaughter a whole unit within the CBI, Bosco included. And as for O'Laughlin, well she had been questioning the decision ever since she'd heard of it. Bertram had told them that O'Laughlin had been chosen because he was known with the CBI. It was meant to make the transition fluid. So much for that.
To make matters worse, she still wasn't entirely satisfied with his reasoning behind knowing unreleased details about the Salinger Mill case at the meeting the night before. It was fair enough him knowing now; they'd spent the morning poring over old case files when he and Jane weren't arguing. But she knew Van Pelt wouldn't spill important case details. It didn't matter that O'Laughlin was another cop; it was still confidential. The youngest member of her team knew the consequences of divulging too much information all too well.
"We've decided we need to talk to the family and friends of the deceased," O'Laughlin told her as she entered her office.
"I agree," she replied, casting aside her doubts. "How soon can you organise this?"
"I don't know. If I pull some strings… I'll get back to you."
Bristol, UK, Thursday, 01.22am GMT
He'd had enough. Alo wanted answers. Rich had always been a little weird, but he didn't mind that. After all, he was hardly your normal teenager either. They were like some kind of odd couple, a pair of best mates who got each other into and out of trouble. If he could count on anyone, he could count on Rich. That was the main thing for him, the reason why they had both been good friends since primary school. A pair of outsiders who didn't need anyone else because they had each other.
However, Rich was doing something he'd never done before. And that was hiding in a shell, trying to protect himself. He had gone quiet on Alo before, but that was because Grace had been eating up more of his time than usual. However, the two of them had hit a steady patch in their relationship and had learned to balance time with one another and time with their mates. On this occasion, it was different. Scarier, even. To make matters worse, Alo needed to talk about it, needed to understand. The only way he felt less guilty about the whole situation was if he actually discussed it with someone who understood. Unfortunately, Rich's coping mechanisms seemed to have made him do the exact opposite. All Alo really wanted to know was why Red John? How did Rich know about him? Did he have a collection of magazines about gruesome serial killers stashed under his bed like Alo had a collection of porn under his own?
Alo picked up a few stones from the gravel. It was a clichéd method of getting somebody's attention, but really he didn't want to explain to Rich's parents why it was so vital that he talked to their son at one a.m. All this lying was exhausting him and he didn't want to add some more white lies to his already very extensive collection. Besides, he had completely avoided going home since… well since the incident, as he had already taken to thinking of it as. The first pebble missed entirely and it was several more before he heard a response.
"Aloysius?"
His heart sank when he saw Kevin Hardbeck poking his head out of the window next to Rich's bedroom. This was entirely the situation he hadn't been hoping for. Kevin, however smiled brightly before confirming that he would let Alo in immediately. He waited patiently as he listened to the telltale signs that Rich's dad was making his way downstairs.
"Sorry for-"
"Don't mention it," Kevin interrupted, "but next time you want to see Richard, please just knock on the door."
"Yeah, okay."
Alo took the steps two at a time as Kevin closed the door and sauntered into the kitchen. He knew Grace was with Mini, so he didn't bother to knock. Instead, he just swung the door open to be greeted by a room that was doing a very good impression of world war three. That was unusual in itself; despite his appearance, Rich was always meticulous when it came to his belongings. Rich noticed the interruption immediately and turned to face Alo, unconcerned about the fact he had a bottle of moisturiser in one hand and a pair of pants in the other.
"What are you doing?" Alo stuttered eventually, once his mind had caught up with the rest of his body.
"Packing, what does it look like?" Rich answered back, without bothering to look at Alo. "You should do the same."
"Why?"
"Because Red John will know. He'll fly over and…"
"What the fuck?" Alo interrupted, surprised at this latest development.
"Look, if we don't get away now, Red John will…."
"Hold it, why the fuck are you only thinking of this now? Why did you-"
"You try thinking of a fucking plan to get your mate out of murder in half a fucking second," Rich hissed back, still angry that the situation had gotten so far out of control.
"Why involve me at all? Why the fuck couldn't you have told the fucking police the truth?"
Alo watched as Rich paced ceaselessly around his bedroom, running his hands through his hair. Nervously, he perched on the edge of Rich's bed as his mate continued to throw his belongings into a large backpack. Again, he wished Rich would just discuss everything properly. Make him understand why he was so scared, why this Red John psycho had him so on edge. He lived in America, for fucks' sake. Thousands of miles away, literally. And even though the U.S. police knew that something had happened in England, it didn't mean Red John would. Surely they had protocol and confidentiality and crap like that?
"Look, you can do whatever the fuck you want, but I'm outta here," Rich eventually said, whilst hauling the bag onto his back.
"What about Grace?"
"What about her?"
"Are you just going to, you know," Alo said, pausing for breath. "Leave her?"
"I'm doing this to save her. To save both of us."
TBC…
