A/N: Thank you so much to lysemma for reviewing part nine. It's much appreciated. I'm glad there is at least a little interest in this fic.

x tromana

Part Ten

Bristol, UK, Thursday, 07.32pm GMT

She stared at her mobile phone as if it was taunting her.

Grace had called Rich at least a dozen times and had attempted to leave several messages, only for the automated voice to tell her the number wasn't available. She'd already lost count of the number of times she'd tried to text him too. It was times like this when she was pleased that her father insisted she had a paid contract. His argument was that she had to always have the capability to call home, if needs be. It did nothing for her attempts at independence, but it was a security blanket of sorts. However, she wasn't sure that they'd be quite so appreciative of the bill she was running up. Especially so as it was simply her trying to call Rich.

Despite the fact that her parents had, after months of arguments and faux-threats, agreed to allow her to stay at Roundview, they still hadn't accepted her relationship with Richard Hardbeck. She wasn't quite sure what to do next; it felt like she had tried every trick in the book to try and make them see sense. Really, they just needed to give him a proper chance, like she did. Grace knew all too well that looks could be deceiving. If they could just see under that brash exterior, they would realise that he was genuinely a sweet and caring man. Somebody who was suited to their only daughter, even if they believed otherwise. After all, there was a reason she had accepted his marriage proposal. And gone behind her parents' backs in order to arrange the not-wedding.

Grace glanced at her left hand and her eyes lingered on her ring finger. She still took to wearing the engagement ring he'd presented her with. As far as she was concerned, they were still engaged. It was just a case of them postponing the wedding until a more appropriate time, instead of blindly rushing into it to defy her parents.

Why would he ignore her like this? She had always believed that their relationship was rock solid. The worst they'd had to deal with was getting over his preconceived views of what he expected in a girlfriend and then, of course, her parents. Apart from that, they'd be fine, almost perfect even. He'd been a little quiet over the past couple of days, since Liv had died, but she had expected that. They were all a little shell-shocked and withdrawn. Everyone was having to deal with it in their own, different, ways. Eventually, the group would reconvene and they'd be able to work through it together. It was simply a case of getting over the initial shock.

Her mobile buzzed brightly and she immediately grasped at it. It had to be him, who else would it be? He was probably just texting her to say that he'd been sick all day and had stayed home. That was why he hadn't gone to college today, that was why he hadn't been able to answer her messages. Briefly, Grace felt a pang of guilt for disturbing him. She should have known.

That was, until she opened the message. It was from Mini, and as usual, was a barely intelligible babble of text speak. Once translated into English, she threw the phone back down in a huff. She'd already told Mini she wanted to spend some time alone, to think things through. That she didn't really have the will or energy to go out again.

Grace didn't want to drown her sorrows. All she really wanted was to know that Rich was okay.

Seconds later, the landline rang out and Grace remained laid on her bed. Their last year of college wasn't meant to be like this. They were meant to be having fun together, celebrating being young before drifting off to university. Instead, they were all grieving, snapping each other's heads off and pushing one another away. College had been a nightmare today; Nick and Franky had ended up at one another's throats for some unknown reason. Alo and Matty had argued over something completely pointless. Then of course, there was herself constantly bothering Mini about her concerns for Rich.

Grace quickly forgot her train of thoughts when her mum knocked on her door. Swiftly, she jerked herself into a seated position and called for her to come in.

"It's the police, darling," her mum muttered. "They want to talk to you about poor Olivia again."

Cradling the phone in one hand, she quickly spoke to the officer. All they wanted to do was ask some follow-up questions, at five pm tomorrow afternoon, at Clifton Branch Police Station. It seemed a little strange that they had set a precise time and date, rather than just ask them, but Grace didn't question it. And naturally, she agreed immediately before ending the call. She desperately wanted to do everything she could to help, but couldn't help but wonder why they wanted another interview with her. The police had already questioned them, the whole gang. She had said everything that she knew the first time around. What more was there to say?

Sacramento, CA, USA, Thursday, 11.32am PST

It was another day and yet more time stuck in the office, going over the same ground with Jane and O'Laughlin. They had spent several hours looking over case files that she was all too familiar with. Like Jane, Lisbon practically knew the Red John case back to front and inside out. Going over each meticulous detail, along with O'Laughlin, was a waste of her time and energy. It was what the FBI agent had wanted; he had claimed to be desperate for their insight and expertise and therefore, they were obliged to comply. However, there were moments when the man seemed bored and kept switching off. Here she was, wasting time which could be used on other open cases and he wasn't even bothering to show his appreciation.

She couldn't see anything new in the photographs of the crime scene either, nor in the additional information sheets provided by the Avon and Somerset Constabulary. The known Red John cases showed things reminiscent of the Malone murder, but given how recent it was, it was obviously carried out by an amateur hand. Somebody with a fleeting knowledge of Red John and how he operated. It simply didn't have the serial killer's finesse or attention to detail. For a start, Red John had never shot a victim and then proceeded to butcher the body. Therefore, they all knew the crime scene had been faked, but how the hell could they prove that from five thousand miles away? They weren't miracle workers. They didn't have access to any suspects, people of interest and the like. How could they be expected to deliver what Bertram had asked of them? It was virtually impossible. Lisbon knew they were good, but damn it, they weren't that good. She let out a heavy sigh as she leafed through the forensics report again; really, she was just waiting for O'Laughlin to come back and using it as an excuse to ignore Jane. The FBI agent had been disturbed, by a cell phone call and had disappeared to talk to somebody. Presumably, his boss. Or so she hoped, because then they might finally get the break they were looking for.

"Good news," O'Laughlin announced, smiling wryly. "We can talk to the mother of the victim imminently. The friends, tomorrow morning at nine am."

"Finally," Lisbon muttered under her breath, pleased that her desperate prayer had been answered. "What took them so long? No don't bother answering. Politics."

O'Laughlin nodded in response before sitting back down opposite her and he started typing furiously at her computer. Jane simply observed, sipping his tea periodically. It was interesting, seeing Lisbon react to this situation. She was unhappy about losing the Red John case again. Not as much as he was, but still. Then again, if she had managed to keep hold of it, managed to close it, it would have meant great things for her career. Lisbon had spent a lot of time and energy on the damn thing and had expected some kind of payoff for her dedication. Then there was the Bosco debacle; she was still desperate to seek some kind of closure for someone so important in her life. However, apprehending Red John wasn't what Bosco wanted. Jane still hadn't told her, nor did he have any intention of doing so, but Bosco had asked Jane to butcher the serial killer open, just like he deserved. Death row was too good for somebody like Red John. But Lisbon did deserve some kind of break with Red John too; she had spent years on it. And because some foolish idiot in a foreign country had decided to copy Red John, her career-making case had been whisked out from under her feet for a second time.

Jane knew that both he and O'Laughlin were annoying her too. She had asked him, several times, to go and help Cho with the Hayes case, but it simply didn't interest him anymore. Why would he want to work on something else with the Red John case at risk? Besides, Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were all competent agents and had the capabilities to close the case without his assistance. Really, Lisbon should have been proud of them; they were a credit to her. Besides, like Lisbon, he had caught up on O'Laughlin's despondency, which was something far more fascinating than the murder of an actor. There was something irksome about that and he wanted desperately to investigate. However, at the same time, he knew his priority was to get the Red John case back into their hands. If it disappeared to the FBI, then his chances of slaughtering Red John diminished considerably. So, instead, much to Lisbon's chagrin, he'd spent the morning with O'Laughlin, winding up the FBI agent and thus, Lisbon in the process.

An incoming call via the webcam set up on Lisbon's computer startled him from his reverie. O'Laughlin took the lead and Jane quickly noted Lisbon's contemptuous scowl. She really wasn't impressed by O'Laughlin's presence. An English voice filled the room as the police officer in Bristol introduced the victim's mother and younger sibling. As far as Jane was concerned, this meant it was show time.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Malone," O'Laughlin stated smoothly, smiling at the webcam. "May I introduce Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon, of the California Bureau of Investigation and Patrick Jane? They are kindly assisting the FBI with their inquiries…"

London, UK, Thursday, 07.43pm GMT

Rich had chosen London for a reason. It was a huge city, with a population size to match. And on top of the people resident to the UK's capital, there was the additional commuters and tourists and the like. In short, it was the perfect place to head towards if you simply wanted to disappear into the crowd.

It hadn't taken him long to find a place to stay. The youth hostel was on the shabby side, but it was all he could manage on his budget. His savings weren't going to last long; what he really needed to do was organise employment as soon as possible. Preferably something which paid cash in hand, that'd make him less traceable. Before leaving Bristol, he'd emptied out his bank account, so he had a total of just under two grand in his pocket. That was mostly from his part time jobs; he'd never had problems with saving and yet, still having enough money to treat himself. Mostly to records, but stuff for Grace of late, too.

A pang of guilt washed over him. He wished he could have told her that he was disappearing on her. Made it easier for her to deal with. Then again, if he had done, he would have had to tell her the whole sordid affair. She would have been horrified, disgusted that he had not only lied to her, but the police too. Grace wouldn't have understood how he could have sullied Liv's body in order to try to get Alo off the hook. Wouldn't have been able to comprehend that Alo deserved to live his life properly, rather than being punished for such a fucking stupid mistake.

And she probably wouldn't have got his concerns over Red John either.

Then again, none of his mates would have. Mainly because, unlike him, they hadn't spent years researching the fucking psycho killer. All they had done was spend an hour on the computer in the library; that wasn't even enough time to scratch the surface. They didn't know that Red John's killing spree had started in 1998. Nor did they know just how many victims, mostly female, he'd murdered. Or that he had crossed state lines in order to kill. Time and distance meant nothing to him. That was enough for Rich to realise what a fucking stupid move it was, to copy Red John. The man obviously had money if he'd been able to hound Patrick Jane, the CBI's famous consultant, for years. He therefore could quite easily fly to England, find him, find Alo and exact his revenge. It had been proven that Red John hated copycats. The most recent Red John emergence had proved as much.

If they knew all that, then maybe, they would be able to sympathise. But as Alo, who was also caught up in this mess, there was no hope for the rest of them.

Least of all Grace. She was such a gentle soul, she just didn't get violence, anger and revenge. Her life had been surrounded by fairy stories and princesses and happily ever afters. Serial killers didn't have any place in her life. Therefore, it was for the best. It protected her from things she didn't deserve to be exposed to.

Or, rather, he hoped it did.

Rich looked at the face of his watch before placing it on the side table. He'd left Bristol just over twelve hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago. That was hardly surprising though; so much had already changed. This morning, he didn't even know where he was going, he just knew he had to get the hell out of Bristol. He had to put some time and distance between himself and the place.

The further from Bristol and the closer to London he'd got, the safer he'd felt. And now, he hoped that the feeling of security would increase as time passed on by. With a sigh, he climbed into the bed. Tomorrow, he'd think up what to do with the rest of his life. Right now, the changes were all too sudden, too raw. They almost felt impulsive, in a way. In reality, he thought it was for the best. However, that wasn't enough to stop doubt from beginning to creep in for the first time.

Eventually, he switched off the bedside lamp and curled up under the thin duvet. The only sound that filled the room was the ticking of his watch.

TBC…