Chapter 26: Getting to Know (of) You

A/N: Chapter 25 was posted on 5/20. Please be sure to read that before this one.

Patrick Jane, Start of Week Two

Jane impatiently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel on the way to Reno. The nine‑hour drive got an hour longer because of a seven car pile-up which, thanks to his dead cell phone, he didn't discover in time to avoid. This time he had taken his charger from the CBI, but forgot to plug it in when he crashed after Thursday's game. He didn't much care. He wasn't on call for CBI cases anyhow.

Eddie Bartolo had called shortly after Jane woke on Friday with the invitation from Guerra. Bartolo had two more bits of information. Guerra's wife had been a fan of Beyond the Veil and wanted Jane to do a reading. And the buy-in was a quarter of a million. He had to bring the full amount next Thursday. In cash. (He reassured Jane. Guests of the capo needn't worry about being robbed.) Jane was amused. That a known mob boss ran a licensed, legal card club in the state capitol spoke volumes about the limitations of the law to ensure morality. Or even honest gaming.

Jane paid Bartolo the bonus from money in his safe - the real safe which was much better hidden than the decoy in his office behind a picture. Bartolo opted for cash to avoid bank reporting laws. Jane dropped off the money and headed to Reno. Blackjack and poker were his best bets for getting a quarter mil together without disturbing his well-hidden off-shore accounts. Those accounts could save his life if he ever needed to disappear for good.

The long drive afforded plenty of time to plan. From his former life he knew Reno and environs had over 30 casinos with another 20 a short drive away. If he won only a little – less than ten grand – at any one place, he could amass the money without being too obvious. Weekend crowds would help. And a high stakes poker game could be a shortcut if needed. Reno was a little lower key than Vegas with its worldwide reputation. It would take time, but he had a whole week.

Jane pulled into Reno mid-evening. He ate and slept a few hours to be fresh before gambling. He charged his cell phone but left if off so he wouldn't be disturbed. Being able to win the money wasn't in doubt, but he did need to concentrate.

It was mid-afternoon Sunday when a casino manager asked to speak with him. Jane mentally sighed at having been discovered a little too soon. When he showed his driver's license the manager was keenly interested in his CBI ID card visible alongside. The manager clearly discounted Jane's denial that his systematic round of Reno casinos had anything to do with the CBI. After being escorted out, he returned to a casino-resort he had visited earlier and lined up a poker game. By Sunday night he had the money he needed, safely deposited in his account for Thursday. He'd drive to Sacramento Monday, having no desire to return to the grisly reminder at Malibu.

Van Pelt

The young woman sat bolt upright in bed, heart beating wildly, sweat cooling on her body. Charity's sleeping face faded slowly, harsh morning replacing harrowing night. Groggy, she stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, desperately wanting to leave her past ... in the past. Hands shaking, she gulped a glass of water. Drinking something always helped distance her from the grief. The guilt.

A half hour later she was sitting on her couch with coffee and toast. Angry. Her subconscious resurrected it all, no matter how deeply she buried it, no matter how far she fled from Iowa. Then she let the anger slide off like a cloak and surrendered to the sadness. Why did I think it'd be easier this time, this anniversary? Of course it's all gonna come back up with the memorial service. - Even the new job. A hazy image of her cousin Yolanda flitted through her mind. Why now? She made the connection. Yolanda helped her contact Charity. The memorial and gossip about the maybe‑psychic Jane triggered the dream. Nightmare.

Grace Van Pelt dressed and took a walk. The park was empty this early. The bright greens of foliage and rainbow colors of flowers weren't enough to hold her attention. She was 13 again, confused at how different her older sister seemed in the two months since she got back. That year Charity went with their dad Amos to the summer football clinic - six weeks for promising high school athletes, then six weeks for the college men. Charity had always been daddy's little girl, with him whenever possible. The clinic was away – Indiana – this year. Grace was deemed too young to be kicking around a football camp for three months, unlike 16-year-old Charity.

It was 9 a.m. and they'd be late for church. Grace went to wake her sister, cutting through the shared bathroom sandwiched between their bedrooms. Looking down was like looking in a mirror, the family resemblance was that strong. They shared the shining red hair, flawless skin, oval face, warm brown eyes. When Charity didn't respond to her voice, Grace reached down and shook her shoulder. Fifteen minutes later her mother hugged Grace from behind, pulling her from her sister where she was still hysterically trying to shake life into the cold body.

Excited shouts of children startled Van Pelt from her memories. Seeing the children cut through the mists of time. She rose and continued her walk, reminded of growing up with Charity, safe and happy in their close, loving family. Mid-morning found her in a Starbucks, nursing hot coffee and a sweet roll. Nursing bitter regrets.

Charity was different when she returned with their father. Grace couldn't help but overhear Charity's frantic late night calls about someone she only called "C." Then Charity was sick. A lot. Didn't feel well, tired, nauseated. This time Charity - who never could never stand pain, always acted the baby when sick - didn't seek their mom's comforting hugs and sympathy. She brushed off Grace's questions and made her promise not to tell, claiming she didn't want to miss school. Grace didn't understand Charity's sudden preference for scalding hot baths when she had only showered before. Late one night Charity's overwrought voice woke Grace from a sound sleep. She padded through their bathroom to ask Charity to hold it down only to overhear a tortured admission that C had forced her, that she was ashamed to face her parents. Grace barged in, shocking Charity into silence. Grace passionately argued with Charity, finally extracting a promise Charity would tell their parents, would let them help - with whatever it was.

Back home, Van Pelt straightened an already straight apartment. She reconsidered the clothes she would wear on Monday, only to end up with the same choice she had made hours earlier. She had watched the women leaving the CBI on Friday after work to get a sense of what would fit in. Then she realized she had no way to know which women were agents and which were administrative assistants or clerks. Van Pelt finally decided to mirror Lisbon's dress. She didn't actually own clothes quite that severe, but managed to come close. Running out of busywork, her thoughts inevitably came round to Charity again.

Emily's gossip about Patrick Jane bothered her so much because it didn't fit. A dishonest, cheating, fake psychic didn't fit with the honorable institution Van Pelt thought she was joining. She couldn't reconcile the consultant with who she thought – hoped – she would be working for, the agents she would be working with. The CBI was to be her contribution to a better world, a place where maybe other Charity's would be safe. She needed it to be a force for good.

Grace gradually connected the bits of information after her sister's suicide. When she thought through the timing, she realized a college player at camp had to be involved. Intercourse between a college man and a girl of 16 was statutory rape at the least. In light of Charity's tortured confession during the call, it was likely forcible rape of a minor. Without proof, she kept her conclusion to herself, not wanting Charity's memory to be sullied for her parents with regret for unprovable speculations. Years later she learned excessively hot baths or use of a hot tub could cause spontaneous abortion. The picture was complete. Charity was ashamed to go to her parents, ashamed of violating her religious convictions, and horrified at having killed innocent human life in her desperation. All this because a football player raped her sister. It was ruled suicide. The autopsy revealed no pregnancy – unsurprising after Charity's recent heavy period. Grace's speculations came years after there was any chance to investigate. Realistically, there was no evidence other than a fragment of an overheard phone call. When Grace checked on her own, she learned the football camp that year included a dozen men whose first or last names started with a "C" from a dozen different universities – UVA, Ole Miss, U of M, BU, and on and on. She couldn't get justice for Charity. But as a cop – a detective – she could make a difference for others. The CBI had to be the organization she thought it was.

By Sunday night Van Pelt decided to set aside her concerns about Patrick Jane and try to stop thinking about Charity. She would do her best and act professionally no matter who she had to work with. Yes, she was young and comparatively inexperienced. But she was also smart. She vowed to be wary of the Jane character and not let him compromise her in any way. Teresa Lisbon was the leader of the SCU. Teresa Lisbon would be her personal lodestar.

The CBI

Lisbon arrived at work a bit early after a busy, restless weekend. Her team was making progress in determining how and where Mercy Tolliver was murdered. Sloppy work by the local PD once again had muddied the picture. Contrary to the PD's assumption, Mercy hadn't been murdered where her body was found. Despite bruises on her neck, the autopsy revealed she was smothered rather than strangled. Reworking the investigation from bottom up, Cho and Rigsby discovered recent soda stains in Andrew Tolliver's car. Though someone tried to clean the stains, enough liquid had seeped into the foam padding for Forensics to analyze. The soda was laced with sleeping compounds. Motive. Access. Means. If they could extend it just one step closer to Andrew Tolliver the case could be closed. The man was already dead, of course, but they had to prove he had murdered Mercy. As for the other Tolliver murder, there was no question that Juniper Tolliver shot her husband. Once the SCU was finished, the ADA would decide how to proceed legally.

Lisbon's other job – supervising Patrick Jane – wasn't going nearly as well. (She often thought she deserved pay for two full-time jobs.) After her Friday meeting with Minelli she repeatedly called Jane's cell to no avail.

Lisbon entered her office Monday morning just in time to pick up Minelli's call summoning her to his office. Damn! Minelli kept an office in the CBI building as well as one at the capitol near the AG's office. Lisbon hated never being sure whether he'd be in the building. Now what? She groaned as she took paper, pen and coffee and hurried to Minelli's office. Why do I suspect it involves Jane?

Her stomach churned as she saw Haffner, LaRoche and a man she didn't know already present. Minelli waved her to a seat, not interrupting the unidentified speaker.

"... from the Nevada Gaming Board. Since when is the CBI involved with gaming matters, and in another state yet? If there was a legitimate reason, I'd appreciate knowing before I get called by my Nevada counterpart," he finished, clearly annoyed.

"Jason Smith, Director of the Bureau of Gaming Control," Minelli indicated to Lisbon. Glancing at Smith, "This is Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon. Patrick Jane works with her team." Summarizing for Lisbon, "This weekend Jane gambled at a couple dozen Reno casinos and won five to ten thousand dollars at each. Can you enlighten us, Agent?"

She swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. Glancing to each man in turn, "I have no information about Mr. Jane's private activities, Sir. This has nothing to do with the SCU's work."

Looking back at Smith, "Director, I am very sorry the Nevada Gaming Board assumed the CBI was involved with Mr. Jane's gambling. I assure you he was acting solely as a private citizen."

Smith sat silent, clearly dissatisfied. "That's it?! You're telling me an employee–"

"–consultant," corrected Minelli.

"–won thousands at each of the 21 casinos he visited? No help, not some sort of an orchestrated investigation?"

"Correct," Minelli answered unapologetically.

The man glowered in disbelief. Sarcastically, "I will communicate your explanation to the Nevada Gaming director. And I'll ask the AG to contact you if Nevada complains."

"Thank you, Director." Minelli rose and courteously shook his hand. Smith gathered his things and left in a huff.

The door softly closed, the ensuing silence heavy and awkward. After a sip of coffee Minelli spoke. Dryly, "It appears we need another update on Jane's activities. Lisbon, did you get hold of him?"

"I called repeatedly from Friday till this morning. My calls went to voice mail."

"Texts?"

"Unanswered."

Minelli rubbed his forehead. "So you haven't told him to butt out?"

Grimly, "No opportunity."

Haffner pulled a sheaf of papers from a folder. "I know why Jane was in Reno. Bartolo called him Friday with an invitation to Guerra's card club. Jane needs two-hundred-fifty thousand for the buy-in. Guerra's wife also wants a psychic reading." Lisbon blanched at the amount then felt worse at the thought of Jane having to do the psychic readings he now loathed.

LaRoche weighed in. "I'll be fascinated to learn how Mr. Jane won that kind of money in a few days of gambling."

Lisbon offered tentatively, "He won only a little at each place. It's not as improbable as winning a–" she swallowed, "quarter of a million in one sitting."

Ponderously, "That is incorrect. A huge winning may be statistically improbable, but it happens. Statistically, consistently winning five-to-ten thousand dollars from twenty different casinos is far less likely. Statistically, it is virtually impossible."

Haffner slyly added, "Unless he cheated."

LaRoche echoed, "Unless he cheated."

Lisbon frowned, anger growing, "Gentlemen, is there evidence he cheated? Did the Nevada casinos accuse him of anything?"

Minelli brusquely seized control. "No evidence Jane did anything wrong. –Let's get back to business. Bartolo got Jane the invitation and Guerra's expecting him." He threw it open. "What now?"

Haffner, "Have Jane cancel. A known CBI figure has gotta raise suspicions."

Lisbon, thoughtfully, "Isn't it too late for that? Won't it be more suspicious for Jane to bow out after he went to so much trouble to get invited?"

Haffner virtually radiated frustration, "Dammit. Jane's screwing up my investigation. Six months of work!"

Minelli had sat back while his subordinates slugged it out. Now he had his decision. "Ray, Lisbon has a point. The last thing a crime boss would expect is a CBI investigation when a CBI consultant is making contact with him. This might even work to your advantage. Cover. Distraction."

Haffner shook his head in disbelief, fuming. After a minute he exhaled noisily and relaxed somewhat. "I don't like it. This isn't the plan."

"The best laid plans, Haffner. Just continue your investigation. We do have to factor Jane in if he's around when you move in for arrests."

Lisbon sat straighter in alarm. "I don't want Jane around any operation. Even if our side is careful, Guerra might go after him."

"Lisbon, find out what Jane's doing. We can't work around him if we don't know his plans. ‑‑Haffner, I need to know before any action. Or if you think Guerra's on to you."

"Yes, Sir." Apologetically, "Uh, I have a 9 o'clock conference call." Minelli genially waved him out.

LaRoche cleared his throat and took the floor, "Director Minelli, Jane's gambling success is so improbable I am compelled to investigate further."

Lisbon pinned him with her stare. "Special Agent LaRoche, all of Jane's abilities are improbable." She added delicately, "What happened to not judging someone based on one's own limitations? Or innocent till proven guilty?"

LaRoche doggedly plowed on, "Nonetheless, in my efforts to eradicate employee–"

"–consultant," Lisbon inserted.

"–corruption, I will call the Nevada authorities and check further."

Minelli intervened. "I fully support your efforts to safeguard CBI integrity. By all means, check." His voice hardened, "But unless they have evidence of cheating or fraud, I trust you will avoid a witch hunt."

LaRoche stared at Minelli for a moment. "Of course."

"Thank you, Special Agent." LaRoche nodded, rose, and left.

Minelli leaned back, rubbing his chin. "Another day, another meeting. About Jane. Again."

Lisbon looked trapped. "What can I say, Sir?"

Grumpy, "Nothing to say."

"Um, this is irregular, but I'd like authorization to do GPS tracking on Jane's phone. I – I don't want him in the middle of Haffner's takedown of a mob figure."

"Too late."

"What?"

"I gave Haffner authorization Friday because of his investigation. Have him e-mail you the daily reports."

"Yes, Sir." She suppressed a nasty mix of aggravation and relief.

Minelli harrumphed. "In a little over a week Jane has irritated Haffner, LaRoche, the Gaming Board's executive director, and the Nevada gaming authorities."

"Sir, I–"

He ignored her interruption, voice getting steadily louder. "I have to return a call to Alexa Shultz of the FBI – wonder why she's calling? And the AG's wife heard Jane's doing psychic readings again and wants to contact him."

"Yes, Sir."

Pointing for emphasis, "Jane better be squeaky clean because I neither can nor will protect corruption or outright criminal activity." He frowned and shook his head. "Remind me of this disaster next time I think suspending Jane is a good idea."

"Yes, Sir."

Irritation spent, Minelli flicked his hand. "Now get outta here. Go do something that makes my life easier instead of harder."

"Yes, Sir." She rose and hurried out before another Jane grievance occurred to him. I've got to get hold of Jane!

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