Chapter 10

Red Plaid Couch 4

Peter Peterson lived in a small townhouse on the Eastern side of San Francisco. Lisbon observed the white siding of the house, which blended well into the building next to it. She pushed her door open and stepped out onto the curb, feeling pleasantly full and much more alive than she had when she'd awoken. The sun was still bright in the sky above and there was not a cloud in sight.

The agent turned to glance at Jane as she heard his car door slam shut. She smiled slightly as he stretched his arms above his head and then shook her own head toward the door. An unmarked car sat outside the building, two young cops sitting inside drinking coffee. They made a move to get out of the car. Lisbon lifted her badge from it place on her side and flashed it at them. They nodded. The brunette turned away and walked up the set of steps to the porch and knocked loudly on the door. She heard talking and turned to see Jane speaking with an elderly woman. They gestured together for a moment and then Jane smiled his charming smile before giving her a farewell. The consultant joined her beside the door moments later.

Lisbon stared at him levelly as he walked up the brick sidewalk and the asked, "What was that about?"

"She dropped her cane and I picked it up for her," he smiled as though it was a great triumph to pick and old ladies cane up from the ground.

"How chivalrous of you," The senior agent of the Serious Crimes Unit commented in a flat tone, "And after you picked up her cane, did you manage to glean any information about Mr. Peterson?"

"No," he replied, somewhat unenthusiastically for Jane, "She did however inform me that, for the last three weeks, a car has been driving up the street at almost exactly the same time every evening."

"Why would she notice something like that?" Lisbon asked as she rang the doorbell automatically.

"Because her last name is Marple," Jane quipped, as they waited for the victim's husband to answer the door.

Teresa raised an eyebrow, "What does her last name have to do with anything?"

Jane gave an askance look at her, "Miss Marple? Agatha Christie? The Body in the Library?" at her lack of recognition he sighed theatrically, "This, dear Teresa, is the perfect testament to what I've been saying all along. You need time off!"

Lisbon rolled her eyes but rose to the bait regardless, "I work no more than I should." She paused, poking him in the chest, "and if I do work overtime without enjoyment, it's your fault!"

"My fault?"

It was her turn to let out a noisy huff, "You manage to piss off any important person within a ten mile radius of you. That forces me to do mountains of paperwork, which makes me not enjoy my job." She shook her head at him, green eyes sparkling with faint aggravation.

Jane, unperturbed by her attitude, pushed on, "You know, I'm pretty decent at forging handwriting, signatures especially. I could help you with all of that work."

Teresa gave an unladylike snort of disbelief, "You, do paperwork? You don't even do the case write-ups you're supposed to. I'm always sticking information into the case folder pretending it's the work you've done."

"Oh," Jane exaggerated the 'oh' dramatically, "Lisbon, you didn't have to do that."

"If you wanted to keep your job, yes, I did," she paused, "and besides, forgery is illegal." Another pause interrupted the brunette's argument and then she turned to him angrily, "Hey, is that why I've been getting e-mails to subscribe to some trashy magazine?"

"You'll never know," Jane replied coyly, and then changed the subject, "Isn't this taking a bit long?

Lisbon glanced at his finger, which pointed unobtrusively at the door. It occurred to her that while they'd been bickering on their suspects porch, close to five minutes had passed. She rang the doorbell again with one hand, the other creeping to the holster at her hip where she kept her gun. When no one answered, she glanced around the block to see whether anyone was watching and reached for the doorknob. It clicked with the sound of a lock, stopping short when she tried to turn it. The agent swore and pulled her gun out of the holster.

Teresa Lisbon glanced at her consultant, taking one hand off of the gun and placing it on his shoulder to draw him behind her, ineffectually making herself his shield should the need arise. She was so much smaller than he, she barely protected higher than his abdomen. The agent pushed this thought aside, stepping back from the door a few steps. Her emerald eyes glinted with determination. Jane instinctually backed up with her, keeping himself out of her way. Lisbon drew in a breath and then let it out, launching all of her weight into her shoulder, attempting to break frame for the lock. She was in luck. The door was small enough that she was not forced to body slam the door again. It was old, and she noted, slightly rotten.

The agent winced as she flexed her shoulder, trying to alleviate the pain in the joint. Teresa stepped inside the house, glancing around as the floor creaked slightly. The hardwood was beautiful but old and the carpets that lined the hallway were knotted with use.

"Mr. Peterson," Lisbon called out, "Peter, my name is Agent Teresa Lisbon; I work for the California Bureau of Investigation. We have some more questions to ask you about your wife." She stepped around the corner of the foyer staircase and examined the living room and kitchen. Having mentally cleared the rooms, she checked Jane was still with her and then proceeded up the staircase.

The banister was white and made of a solid wood. It wrapped around the upstairs landing, making the small townhouse appear larger than it actually was. Teresa glanced back at Jane, who stood at the foot of the stairs hesitantly. He appeared to be trying to decide whether or not to join her. Lisbon turned her eyes away, glimpsing an open room to the left of the top of the stairs. The agent felt a twinge as she saw the soft colored walls of what was obviously supposed to have been a nursery. It struck her, that the young couple had been torn away from each other just at the time most couples debated having children. Her heart clenched but she was immediately distracted by the sound of running water.

Lisbon followed the sound and came to a door. No sounds other than the water left the room. She grabbed the handle and twisted it, shouldering the door open. The sight inside was shocking and horrifying at the same time. Peter Peterson was completely submerged in the water, a single hand hung over the side of the bath. Teresa Lisbon froze for a moment, her heart racing, and then she ran to the tub, setting her gun back in its holster. With some difficulty she hauled the water-logged man out of the bath and flopped him onto the floor, loudly.

The agent jumped into action, checking the man's vitals immediately. She grabbed his wrist and checked for a pulse. His heart was still beating but he was not breathing and obviously unconscious. A creek outside the door distracted her momentarily and she glanced up.

"Lisbon are you," Her consultant's voice was cutoff as he spotted the body lying on the floor.

"Jane," Lisbon gasped as she shifted the man's head into the correct position for resuscitation, "Call an ambulance. Let them know we have an attempted suicide." She bent her head taking a great gulp of air before prying the man's mouth open and blowing into it. The agent lifted her eyes, checking to make sure Jane was indeed calling and then blew a second breath into the man's lungs, quickly followed by a third. In the background, Lisbon could hear the consultant explained the situation to the dispatcher. She placed her hands on the man's chest and checked to ensure his heart was still beating. He was still living and her CPR seemed to be keeping him that way. Again, she bent her head and gave him three breaths before letting his body push the air out and then repeated the process over again.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Lisbon's knees ached with what she knew would be bruises the next day and the man was still not breathing on his own nor had he regained consciousness despite her ministrations. The Agent's head spun as she stood from the floor and she was grateful for Jane's helping hand as she attempted to regain her balance.

"Careful, Lisbon," he said quietly, "You should really be working on getting oxygen to your own brain. You know, with that concussion."

Lisbon waited until she was fully upright before she replied with a commented that dripped with sarcasm, "Thanks for the advice, Jane."

Jane just nodded solemnly, "Why, you are completely welcome Lisbon." He paused, "Just thought you needed reminding that your life is every bit as important as everyone else's."

"That's our prime suspect Jane! Without him, this case is as good as cold," Lisbon locked her gaze onto him, gesturing at the paramedics presently loading the almost suicidal man onto a cot and pump air into him, "What should I have done, let him die?"

"I'm just saying that you should look out for yourself as much as you do others." The blonde consultant rocked on his heels as they waited for the paramedics to check over their suspect.

Lisbon gazed at him silently for a moment, lips slightly open in consideration of his words. They sounded sincere and unmocking, something that rarely exited the man's mouth during a verbal sparring match. She gazed up at him, searchingly, examining his face for signs that her assumption about his tone was right. She saw nothing to contradict her conclusion. The agent blinked her eyes at him, for a moment, feeling her features soften and the sage colored irises fade slightly to a grateful pale green.

"Agent Lisbon?" One of the EMTs interrupted the moment.

Teresa hastily cleared her throat and turned her attention to the man in the blue, short-sleeved uniform. She sensed, rather than saw, Jane focus on the man as well.

"Yes?" the petite brunette answered plainly but her reply very obviously commanded a response.

"As Mr. Peterson is a person of interest in your investigation, you may ride along with him in the ambulance." The EMT's reply was hasty and nervous, as though he had not encountered such a situations before.

Lisbon glanced at Jane, and then turned to the EMT, "Thank you."

She replied curtly and hurried down the stairs before the man. Upon reaching the ambulance, Teresa waited for Peterson to load and then accepted the on board paramedic's help getting on the vehicle. She moved to the metal grating seats and flopped down, regaining her balance before she opened her eyes. The back of the ambulance looked too familiar and she was reminded that it was only a few days before that she had ridden to the hospital inside another such vehicle. She sighed and placed her head in her hands, watching the EMTs scurry around, intubating the man she'd just narrowly saved. Lisbon closed her eyes again. This case was not going as she planned.

The ride to the hospital was quick and mostly uneventful. The brunette agent sat back against the wall of the ambulance, feeling every bump of the road swaying the vehicle as they sped toward their destination. As a cop, she no longer noticed the sirens; long ago she'd learned to tune them out, but for some reason, today they seemed impossible to ignore. Each change of decibel was like someone shoving a stake into her head through her ears. She bore a grimace the whole ride.

Lisbon made way for the paramedics to roll the gurney off of the ambulance before she got out and then followed them into the Emergency Room. The doctors that took Peterson from the EMTs spared her little more than a glance as they rushed through the doors of the hospital and down the emergency hall. She flashed her badge as one of the guards made to stop her and he backed away. Her head throbbed as she tried to keep pace with the doctors, running down the hallway as she was trained to do.

Teresa stopped as the doctors rolled her suspect into a room and then abruptly closed the door in her face.

"Hey!" she snapped loudly but her anger fell away as her run caught up with her head.

Pain lanced behind her eyes and she near fell into the closest chair. Catching her breath and her balance, she stood up and pounded a couple times on the door to the small medical room. She grabbed the handle on the door and wrenched it open. She made it part way to the examination table before someone stopped her.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry but right now he's in critical condition. I need you to stay outside until we can be certain he's stabilized."

"Like Hell, I'll stay outside," Lisbon snapped trying to quell the throbbing of her head, and her rising ill-temper, "That man is my only suspect and I need to see him alive."

"Ma'am, you can wait outside. He's not even conscious. There's nothing you can do for him right now but let us do our jobs." The young intern bore a patronizing expression as though she were speaking to a small, insistent child.

"Then let me do mine. My suspects are my responsibility. I need to make sure they stay alive so that the justice system can function. Without him, this case will be as good as closed."
"I understand that, Ma'am, but I really need you to step outside and wait in the chairs. If he

can be saved, we'll do it." The intern reached out toward her as though to guide her through the door.

Lisbon's hand moved instinctively toward her gun and she saw the girl flinch. Nevertheless, Lisbon watched as the other doctors worked frantically to save Peter Peterson's life and conceded the the intern had a point. She might have started him breathing again, but she was no doctor and she probably was just in the way.

With a grim, subdued nod, she stepped back and settled into the uncomfortable plastic chair outside the door. Time passed slowly. She knew, as she watched the clock, that those seconds of "the golden hour" as the doctors sometimes called it, were ticking by as she waited. The agent pulled out her phone and opened it, staring at her inbox. She had four messages and a new voicemail. Lisbon did not like texting; she would much rather call someone, but at the moment, it appeared that she would have to get used to the technology. Of the four unread messages on her phone, three were from her daughters and one from Grace.

She opened the one from Grace first.

Boss, Rigsby and I think we have a possible lead. Also, that FBI Agent, Booth, called asking about progress.

Lisbon sighed and glanced around, and her mouth stretched in a strained line. She hated joint cases where she couldn't take lead. It made life even more difficult for her and added to her work load. It was one thing to hand-hold a local PD, another to be the one with your hand held. Letting out a growl, the senior agent gave herself a mental reminder to call Special Agent Booth when she got back to the office. She flipped down to the next message.

Do you have a chess set? It read. She knew her daughter well enough to know that even without a name in her phone yet, Kailey had sent this message. It was, however, from an hour previously and she presumed that, by now, her youngest daughter would have ascertained that she kept one in the cabinet in the end table.

She fumbled over the buttons on her phone for a moment and then flipped to the next message. They were both from the same number and she was positive that it was Maria who'd sent them.

Mum, do you have saltines? The first read followed quickly by: Never mind, I found a box of Ritz.

Lisbon sighed and glanced at the clock over the nurse's station again. Checking her phone had only taken a few moments and she felt as though she had to move or her head would explode. She bit her lip and looked around for Jane. At least his childish behavior nearly always afforded her some distraction from the anxiety of waiting. Unfortunately for her, he was nowhere to be seen. Actually now that she thought about it, she had not seen him since she'd gotten into the ambulance.

Lisbon glanced down at the phone in her hands and then over her shoulder into the trauma room behind her. The doctors appeared to still be hard at work and she didn't think that that would change anytime soon. Taking a breath, she placed her hands against her knees and waved to get the desk clerk's attention. She pointed at the phone and then the ambulance bay and he gave her a thumbs up.

Placing her palms against her knees, she rose from her seat and flipped open her phone. The beeps and voices of the hospital staff died away as the automatic doors slid closed behind her. She pressed number one on her speed dial and held the phone to her ear. The warm the day was as bright and sunny as it had begun, the same caliber of sunshine lighting the air with brilliant white/yellow just like it had the café earlier. Lisbon listened to the phone ringing on the other end of the line, and almost hung up after the fifth ring. The voice mail had just started when a beep sounded across the line.

"Lisbon?" Jane's voice answered questioningly, much to her surprise, "You surprise me. I usually am away a bit longer than that before you call to check in."

Lisbon smirked, her satisfaction diminished somewhat by his response, "Breaking and entering a person's home tends to make them trust you less."

The CBI Agent could hear his smile through the telephone line, "I maintain that it was only entering, my dear. As you recall, nothing was broken."

Lisbon bit her lip again and then replied, with an unintentional smile, "You burned pancakes in my house."

"That's simply making your apartment smell, Teresa." Jane's predictable retort went ignored.

"Where are you? I figured you'd follow the ambulance," She asked, glancing around the ambulance bay.

"Meh, no point really," the consultant replied nonchalantly, "the more time you spend in hospitals, the less interesting they become anyway."

Lisbon rolled her eyes, "What do you mean there was no point? Are you suddenly an expert in medicine?"

"No more than I am a psychic, but if Peterson really wanted to kill himself, he would have done it in a thorough manner."

"Well he was pretty close to dead when we got there." She snapped, beginning to become annoyed, "Why don't you tell me how you've determined he didn't actually want to kill himself."

"There are more efficient ways to commit suicide than by drowning yourself. If he had really wanted to die, for instance, he could have hanged himself or slit his own throat. But instead he chose a slow death in a bathtub that was full of warm soapy water. I knew he was going to pull through so what was the point of going to the hospital when I could be doing something else."

"So he didn't pick a speedy suicide. That doesn't mean he didn't want to die and there's no way you could know he would survive form that." Lisbon frowned and leaned against the wall of the ambulance bay, "Look, I don't really care about your theories or your suspicions right now. I only called to find out where you were."

"Now where would the fun be in that?" Jane's voice came over the line, "I'll talk to you later, Lisbon."

Lisbon's suspicions were raised the moment she heard that vaguely distant tone in his voice. She stumbled over her words as she attempted to get them out fast enough to beat the closing of his phone, "Jane, what are you doing? Jane!"

There came a distinctive snap from the other end of the line and a buzz filled her ear, "Damn it, Jane!" The senior agent swore loudly. The pair of nurses standing on the other side of the bay smoking glanced up at her in surprise and she looked down, embarrassed.