Chapter 36: Discussions
Jane and Lisbon
"How about 'Rory'? Reminds me of 'Aurora.'" Lisbon saw him wince by the dim dashboard light of the BMW.
"'Rory' means red. Maybe 'Aurora.'"
Taken aback. "Sorry, didn't know that. I'm doing the heavy lifting here, you suggest some."
He shrugged, "Umm, 'Catherine,' 'Cara'?"
"I like 'Catherine,' but 'Catherine Jane' seems generic. Bland." She flicked his arm. "Any child of yours won't be bland. -'Cara Jane' sounds harsh."
"No melody," Jane agreed. She snorted at 'melody.' "It's why I didn't suggest it before. –We do better when we can read the meanings. Let's table this till we have the baby names book. Maybe over Christmas."
"Okay." She rearranged her gown from the CBI party and hugged her coat closer. It was unusually cold for Sacramento. "Hey! Our turn!"
"We're making a detour." As she opened her mouth to object, "Shhh. You'll like it. Won't take long."
She settled back, too mellow to bicker. Staring out the window, "Look, Jane. Snow!" He glanced at her, his grin a flash of white.
"Weather station predicted flurries. Won't stick, though."
She watched, enchanted by the big fluffy flakes glistening in the headlights. "Chicago's winter weather was miserable. But I miss the snow. Sometimes."
"I don't. Try driving a semi loaded with carnival rides over the Rockies in October. Snow was not my friend," he mused idly.
"You left when you were 16. How–"
"Carnies bent the rules. Better than letting Alex drive drunk. Or Pete when he was dead tired after 700 miles in one go." He pulled into a rough gravel driveway through tall trees.
"The house!" she exclaimed happily. The BMW slipped a little on the rough, slick stone. "You're not gonna get us stuck?"
"Lisbon, please! It's a four-wheel drive SUV, for heaven's sake. It's only a little slick."
Going down the 800 foot driveway she noticed a cutoff to the right and could just make out a large rectangular area covered in gravel. "That's new. What's it for?"
"Parking area. Will be poured concrete later. We could use it for an RV."
"We have a garage under the house. And since when do you want an RV?"
"Thinking ahead. Way cheaper and neater to do it now while Bill has the heavy equipment here."
"Whatever." Jane's spending a million dollars on land and another million on the house. Guess he can have whatever he wants. Post wedding, she and Jane merged their finances. By then she wasn't surprised to find they were multi-millionaires although, in California, that merely translated into upper middle class.
Jane parked. He handed her a plastic bag with leather boots to change out of her heels, then got out. "Wait here." He took the porch steps two at a time, unlocked the door and disappeared inside. A naked bulb sprang to life. Back out, he opened the passenger door and took her by the arm. Lisbon grumbled under her breath about not being helpless, but didn't resist. She constantly felt off‑balance from the pregnancy changes. It wasn't just the (so far) modest weight gain, but relaxed joints, a different distribution of mass. Walking on slick, coarse stone in the dark while holding her dress well off the ground was tricky.
"The drywall makes it feel like a house with real rooms," she marveled, a smile in her voice. The propane heaters used by workers during the day were off, but the house was still warmer than outside because of the superior foam insulation. Sacramento temperatures rarely got down to freezing. The snow formed high in the atmosphere and drifted down, only to melt at ground level.
She wandered around, using the pencil flashlight Jane handed her to check out the first floor. A few rooms had light bulbs hanging from wires for temporary lighting. In the dark kitchen, she peered out the bay window. Softly falling, moonlit snow glittered against the black forest. "I'm gonna love living here." Her husband loosely held her around the waist from behind and nuzzled her neck.
"I'm glad you're pleased, love. A safe, happy home." He swallowed, throat tight from rising emotion after the single drink he had at the party. Or maybe he was reacting to the season and the woman he loved carrying their baby.
She turned in his arms and kissed him. Then she gave him a peck on the nose to distract him from getting even more sentimental. "C'mon, let's see the upstairs."
The nursery was keenly inspected: Size, direct connection to the master bedroom, light to be expected from the windows, storage, everything. It had to work for two infants at once. Jane was amused at her nesting instinct. Lisbon was equally amused at her husband, the whole house a testimony to his drive to provide for and protect his family.
A whisper to the dark figure standing by the doorway, "You okay?"
"Hmm? Yeah, just thinking. We have three months before our new arrivals. Bill should finish up in February. Then we can buy what we need for the babies."
Half-smiling, "Not to mention the rest of the house."
White teeth gleamed in moonlight from the window. "Almost an afterthought. Babies will dominate our lives for the next two decades."
She mock frowned. "Stop making it sound like a prison term." She wandered around the rest of the second floor, mentally furnishing the bedrooms for growing kids. Jane pointed out the centrally-located fireproof, bulletproof safe room. It was stacked above matching rooms on the first floor and basement, all connected by pull-down stairs. An underground tunnel led to a safe, hidden exit well away from the house. The level of preparedness struck an unwelcome somber note. Still, she supported whatever he needed to feel more secure raising a new family. She even took comfort in the precautions. Images flashed through her mind of Haffner, Volker, Barlow, and countless others they had helped put away over the years.
She stroked his shoulder. "This makes you feel better? That our kids will be safe?"
He nodded. "It can't hurt, Teresa. For a few extra bucks, we'll both sleep better."
She turned from him, looking out over the trees toward the sliver ribbon of creek in the distance. A thin coat of snow traced the delicate tangle of bare twigs and branches. She hesitantly broached the discussion she'd been mulling all day. "This morning I asked Hightower if she would want the Director's job."
"Why?"
She turned around. "I'm standing in the nursery for our children. If I didn't appreciate it before, I do now. This is the future I want to focus on. You. Our children. Time to pay attention to the people I love. Not treat my family like the trophy accessory of an 'important person.'"
He stood by her side looking out the double window. Mildly, "A bit melodramatic, no?"
She faced him. Sharply, "Is it? You've seen the hours I work. It's all-consuming." Jane didn't interrupt. "I led the CBI through a bad time and implemented needed reforms. I'm proud of that. The job requires someone with integrity and competence. But that doesn't need to be me anymore."
"You earned that position."
"So what? I'm an idiot if I climb the career ladder just because it's there. I'm sick of meetings and politics and policy papers and budget headaches. I've shoved a lot of the politics off on Madeline and dreaded the day she decides to move on. Unlike me, she likes that stuff and is good at it."
"What did she say?"
She snorted. "Called me a damn fool. Said I was ignoring the honor of being the first female CBI Director. That I could use this position to springboard my way to top spots in other states, maybe even cross over to the FBI."
"And?"
"I told her I don't want it. She can be the first black female CBI director."
"Is she interested?"
"Think so. She won't seriously consider it till I have more time to think. What she meant was till I come to my senses."
"Your replacement isn't your decision."
She waved her hand, dismissing his objection. "Hightower is tight with the Governor's political allies. The AG would go along, especially if I recommend her."
He cocked his head. "Isn't this something we should have discussed first?"
She leaned against him, hand around his waist under his coat and suit jacket. "If Hightower didn't want it, there'd be nothing to discuss. I'd keep the job. I'm not going to let them appoint some political hack. The CBI needs more time for the reforms to take hold."
"Mmmm. So, you want to return to the field. –What about Cho?"
"Cho made me realize how badly I want to get back. He said you were safer when I was team leader."
"Me? What's this have to do – oh, because of the kidnapping?"
"Scared the hell out of me. I'd never forgive myself if I'm sitting fat, dumb and happy in a stupid office while you get hurt or killed. We should be working cases side by side." She shivered. Jane chose to believe it was the temperature.
"C'mon, Teresa. It's chilly. And late. We can talk on the way home."
He pulled the SUV out onto the residential street. "Talk more?"
"A little," she said through a yawn.
"So, what about Cho? And his team?"
She shook her head in the gloom, street lights intermittently illuminating the interior. "I don't know, Jane. Cho earned that promotion. He'll remain a team leader regardless of what I do."
"So, you and I work together, maybe the nucleus of a new team. And Cho is left with – what?"
"Rigsby, Van Pelt and Crenshaw."
He sighed, "Except Wayne and Grace are really struggling to balance family and work. One of them might quit."
"That still leaves one of them plus Crenshaw."
"More trouble in paradise," he muttered.
She nudged his arm. "Spill."
"Cho and Crenshaw would get together, except for the rules against relationships between boss and subordinate. One may move to make that relationship possible."
"Oh." She swallowed. "A can of worms." She looked out the window at the light traffic and shiny, wet streets. "I want us to work cases together. I don't know about the rest." She swallowed a lump. "I hate the thought of breaking up the team."
After a long pause. "What if I saw a way to stay together? All of us?"
"What are you thinking, Jane?"
"Give me time to check some things out. Then I'll know if my idea would work."
Jane and Rigsby
'Lunch, Rigs?"
He looked up. "Sure, Jane." He forwarded his phone in case something came up, grabbed his jacket and they were off.
Cho was meeting with Hightower. Van Pelt was taking a few days to prepare for a family Christmas in Iowa. Crenshaw had added vacation days to the holidays and was taking the whole week off.
"That Chicago Italian beef place okay?" Rigsby suggested. He gave a happy rub to his stomach when Jane nodded. Jane and Rigsby each had a four-hour window for work between meals. Anything longer and hunger was simply too distracting. Ever since the belladonna incident the team rode herd more closely on Jane, checking his tendency to pilfer tea and food from the homes of victims and suspects alike.
"How are your kids?"
Rigsby instantly handed Jane his phone so he could thumb through the latest crop of pictures. The awkwardness of talking about his kids with Jane was gone now that Jane and Lisbon were expecting their own.
Jane smiled, "Jacob's not even three months and he's big. Raising your own linebacker?"
"Grace says the men in her family are big guys, too. I'll see for myself in three days when we're in Iowa."
"Lisbon and I are just starting to think about child care. How do you and Grace do it?"
They placed their orders and talked while they waited.
"Never ending hassle. Eugenia's been great, even when she has all three." He shook his head, troubled. "But the lack of flexibility is killing us. Grace wants to be home if one is sick. Away cases are a nightmare. Not having at least one of us home at night is unfair to the kids. We don't feel good about that at all."
"Solution?"
"Not unless one of us quits. We both hate that idea, but there's just no flexibility. I mean, who's heard of a part time CBI agent, or taking a day at the drop of the hat? – Food's up!" he said, hearing their order number called.
Cho and Jane
It was two days before Christmas and only Cho and Jane were around. Cho not only came in for the week, he volunteered to be on-call over Christmas and the weekend. Cho's mother lived in San Francisco, near enough to drive over for the holiday. Lisbon was working, so Jane came in as well.
Cho walked in, tossing a case file on his desk. He spoke even though his consultant appeared to be asleep. "Hightower called. Three prominent businessmen dead, no signs of break-in or struggle. Rural Placer County. Sheriff requested help. No idea how they died." He reached for his phone to call Crenshaw, the only other team member still in town.
Without opening his eyes, "Let's solve it ourselves without bothering Crenshaw."
Cho paused. "We may need her."
Sitting up. "Maybe. Let's take a look first." With growing interest, "Bet we can solve it before Christmas."
"When was I last dumb enough to bet you?"
Eyebrows raised, "Back when we got the severed hand."
"Why would I now?"
With a lazy grin, "Motivation, Fearless Leader. Solve it fast by ourselves."
"What's the bet?"
"We solve it before Christmas, just us. Loser buys lunch at Carrabba's."
"Okay."
Cho drove the two hour trip and met the sheriff at the crime scene. They got out and stretched, welcoming the fresh air despite the chilly breeze. Jane looked around while Cho handled the meet and greet.
"Agent Cho and CBI consultant Patrick Jane."
"Sheriff McCauley. Glad you boys could take this on," he responded. He shook Cho's hand and nodded to Jane who was looking around the clearing. He started toward a small structure.
"This is new, isn't it? Too small for a house so I'm guessing a hunting cabin?"
"Yep. Built just three years ago." The sheriff tipped his head to the right. "Caretaker's house is down that way."
Curious, Jane could just see a small, old house just visible through the bare trees. They crossed the porch into the cabin. Jane paused in the doorway, taking in the luxuriously appointed room. Everything was neat and orderly in the combined living and kitchen "great room." A bathroom and mud room opened off a hall past the kitchen. Hunting gear and rifles were piled neatly along one wall.
"Rustic chic. No expense spared," offered Jane.
"That's right. One of the victims Drew Jackson owns – owned – a construction company." McCauley rubbed his hand over his cheeks and jaw. "Heard he spent a quarter of a million on this little thing."
"No fireplace?" asked Jane, noting the absence of the de rigueur feature.
"Nah. Jackson was an environmental nut. Wind him up and he'd go on for an hour about super insulation and geothermal heating. He considered fireplaces stupid. Too inefficient." Heading toward the stairs, "The victims are down here."
Cho asked, "When were they discovered?"
"This morning at six when Rose Kennedy came by. Found all three dead in their bunks." The downstairs held a small living area, two large "bunk rooms" with four beds each, and a bathroom. Two large windows flanked a door out to a patio, which overlooked forest, wild and beautiful.
Jane followed them into the first bunk room. Three men in their late 30's to mid-40's could have been asleep in the beds. They weren't. They were dead. There were no signs of struggle, the door and windows were locked. Jane studied the bodies for a few minutes, then wandered off, leaving Cho and McCauley to discuss the finer points of corpses. Jane leaned on one window sill, looking out at the forest. He then moved to lean on the other sill. After a moment he stood straight and rubbed his hands together. He ambled back to the others.
"Time of death? Cause of death?"
McCauley shrugged. "TOD was 4 a.m. No COD yet. There are no signs of assault, no wounds. We did find cocaine and sleeping pills in a bathroom drawer. That could be it. But none of them have a reputation for taking drugs, so it's suspicious. It could be poison, but all three?"
Cho added. "The ME can tell if the victims regularly used cocaine. Stomach contents and blood will tell us about sleeping pills. No symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning."
Jane chimed in, "No combustion source either."
Cho used a gloved finger to pull back an eyelid on one corpse, then checked the others. "Bloodshot eyes, all three. Normally that suggests asphyxiation, but there's no bruising around the mouth or nose. No bruises or ligature marks on the neck, so not strangulation. –When will your ME get here?"
"Already was here. Figured out the TOD then left the crime scene for you to look over. He'll be back shortly to collect the bodies and do autopsies."
Noticing the pack of cigarettes in the sheriff's breast pocket, Jane asked, "Can I bum a smoke from you, Sheriff? I forgot mine in the office." Cho looked sharply at him but said nothing. Jane accepted the cigarette and lighter. Lighting up, "Thanks." He wandered back to the door and windows. The cigarette smoke languidly curled upward. By the time McCauley and Cho were done Jane had returned to the upper level and was leaning against a window sill. Jane tapped the ash into a disposable plastic cup which, for him, demonstrated unusual care about not contaminating the crime scene. Jane stubbed the cigarette out in the cup and put it in his pocket to toss later.
"What was the background of the victims?"
"Drew Jackson, age 39, was a general contractor. Arthur Gordon, 43 years old, owned the town's law practice. Arlie Shumacher was 41. He was a businessman and developer. They were the movers and shakers in this town and were in business together, too. They owned LandCo together, which bought up land for future development. It may be a while, but people are moving out this way from Sacramento."
"Any known enemies?" Cho asked.
McCauley sighed. "Not really. They were rich and a little hard nosed. Naturally they'd step on a few toes. But no threats. At least none they ever told me."
"You said the caretaker lived in the house off the driveway?" Jane asked.
"Mrs. Kennedy. She and her husband lived there till he died three years ago. They used to own this land. He and a bunch of others were laid off from construction work after the '07 real estate meltdown–"
"–Did he work for Jackson?" Cho asked.
"Yep. They eventually couldn't make the mortgage. LandCo bought the land for a song. They gave 'em the right to live in the house till they died. After her husband died Jackson hired Missus Kennedy to cook and clean here part time. She also works at the town café."
"How'd he die?"
"Suicide. Sad. Frank Kennedy was a good guy."
They had ambled back to the vehicles. Jane ducked into the CBI SUV and collected some empty snack bags and used styrofoam cups. "I'll just toss these in the trash around back before we leave." He left the other two talking. The trash container was secured in a metal enclosure, the better to deter the wildlife from rummaging. Several 10" circular indentations were visible in the soft ground along the wall next to the trash enclosure.
"... so only Mrs. Kennedy lives in the caretaker's house. Where would she be right now?"
"Most likely at the café where she's a waitress."
"Okay," Cho said, flipping closed his notepad. "We'll go there next."
"Excellent," Jane grinned. "Lunchtime."
"Fellas, mind if I leave you to your investigation while I do some other work? You can call if you have any questions, and I can meet up with you in a couple of hours."
"That's fine," said Cho. "When do you think the ME will finish his report?"
"Dr. Feinburg gets right to it. There are three bodies though. –Maybe early tomorrow." The sheriff pulled away as Cho and Jane got in and fastened their seat belts.
"What do you have, Jane?" Cho asked, Jane's enjoyment and satisfaction perfectly apparent after a decade working together.
"A pretty good idea, but not sure yet."
"Since when do you smoke?"
Jane shrugged noncommittally. "Seemed like a good idea."
Cho sighed, annoyed. "Okay, you're not ready yet. Anything deserve a closer look?"
"I'll be very interested in the ME's findings."
"Asphyxiation or drug overdose?"
"I'll know after lunch. And Mrs. Kennedy."
~.~.~.~.~
"Hello, gentlemen. What can I get you?" Her name tag said "Rose." She had been pretty before time and life etched wrinkles into her face and flecked her dark hair with gray. Now she was worn out, faded.
Both opted for a burger and fries. Cho had tea, Jane surprisingly had soda. The free refills were self‑serve. The syrup and CO2 canisters were hidden underneath. Jane carefully closed a cabinet door that was open an inch when he got his refill.
The food was good. By the time they finished, it was almost 2 p.m. and the lunch rush was over.
Flashing his badge and ID, "Mrs. Kennedy, I'm Agent Cho from the CBI. This is consultant Patrick Jane. We're here to investigate the deaths of Drew Jackson, Arthur Gordon, and Arlie Schumacher. We understand you discovered the bodies. We'd like to ask you some questions. Is there a private place to talk?"
"Oh. Well, Mr. Cho, I'd be happy to if it's okay with my boss."
Jane rose. "I'll ask. He's back in the kitchen?"
"Yes. It's Mr. Weston."
Jane disappeared and was gone for several minutes. He returned and they all relocated to the small café office.
"I worked part-time as the caretaker for three years. Had everything set up for them before I went to work yesterday. I got home from the café about 10:30 yesterday night and went to bed. I got up around 5:30 this morning and went over to fix them breakfast. That's when I found them. I tapped on the bunk room door and poked my head in. I – I thought they were sleeping at first. But they didn't wake up." She swallowed heavily. "I called Sheriff McCauley."
"Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts last night and this morning?"
"Um, no. I live alone." She added softly, "Now."
Jane smiled engagingly, "Rose – may I call you Rose?" She nodded. "You buy the groceries for the cabin?"
'Yes. When I'm told someone will be staying there. The cabin was only used occasionally."
"You knew the three were going to be there hunting for several days, right?" She nodded. "Why was there almost no food in the refrigerator?"
She closed her eyes for a moment. "Mr. Jackson asked me to serve pancakes." She fidgeted with the hem of her apron. "The mix was plenty for the three of them. I was going to bring in more provisions today."
Cho asked, "Did you have any reason to dislike any of the murder victims?"
"Not really."
"No hard feelings about them buying your land? Or about your husband getting laid off from Mr. Jackson's construction company?"
"It was one of those things," she said quietly, tired with the kind of fatigue that sleep wouldn't fix. "We were glad to sell because we couldn't afford the mortgage."
Cho glanced at Jane, who shook his head minutely. "Thank you. Please stay in town as we may have more questions later."
They left the café. "We should talk to the families."
"Yeah. Thorough investigation and all that," Jane agreed glumly.
"What's with you?"
"Nothing. It's an interesting case."
"Till we talked to Rose Kennedy."
Softly, "Yeah."
"If she did it, she's a cold blooded murderer, Jane."
He looked out the window and licked his lips. "Yeah."
After a moment Cho echoed, "Yeah."
The families produced no leads. Between the three victims, there were two happy marriages, one divorce, and ten children all under age 16. The wives and ex-wife denied any substance abuse problems by the victims. None of them knew of threats or enemies. All were shocked and grieving. After the interviews Jane confirmed the three were telling the truth about the big things. There may have been an affair in the past, the happiness of marriage may have been exaggerated, but none of them were involved in the murders so far as Jane could detect.
Sheriff McCauley contacted them near the end of the day. They asked him a few additional questions. The ME's report would either prove or disprove Jane's theory. They drove to a nearby town to stay the night at a Best Western motel.
"Jane, what's your theory?" Cho asked, once their entrees were served.
"The ME's report will either prove or disprove it."
"Understood. I still want to know now."
Jane leaned back and pushed his plate away, suddenly losing his appetite. The surrounding Christmas decorations magnified their gloom rather than alleviating it.
"I think Rose Kennedy did it."
"How?"
"The cabin is super insulated. No drafts, little air infiltration, even by the windows and doors."
"That's why you wanted the cigarette?"
Jane nodded. "The foam insulation effectively makes the house into a styrofoam cooler. You need active ventilation. Carbon dioxide is heavier than air. If I'm right, Rose Kennedy turned off the ventilation and flooded the cabin with CO2, which settled in the lower level. Unlike some burrowing or hibernating animals, humans don't react to it. It would be just like going to sleep and never waking up."
"Where'd she get the CO2?"
"There were several round depressions in the ground by the side door. They were the same size as the CO2 tanks used in the café. I had the owner show me the last several CO2 orders for his restaurant. Kennedy ordered a bunch more than they would normally need and paid cash for the extra ones. Dry ice would be another readily available source of CO2, though I haven't seen any sign she used that."
"Afterward, she just turned on the ventilation and aired out the cabin?"
"The window sills downstairs were cold. Probably had the windows open for awhile, too."
Cho frowned. "She doesn't seem like the type."
"Clinically depressed?"
"Usually that paralyzes the person, not incites them to murder"
Jane shrugged. "Anger is the flip side of depression. By definition, she would be unbalanced. There's certainly motive."
Cho grunted. "Lost their land. Lost his job. Husband committed suicide."
Jane grimaced. "And why no kids in the picture? I think something happened to their kids."
"Damn."
"Mmm."
"That's a long way from proof that will stand up in court."
"If I'm right, the ME's report will show elevated levels of CO2 in their blood gases, proving my theory about cause of death. Motive? Check. Opportunity? Check. Then there's the CO2 order, her paying for part of it herself. It would help if we could find the spent tanks with her fingerprints. If the autopsies show signs of sleeping pills, we could check to see if she had a prescription. If she served them dinner at the cafe, she'd have opportunity to drug them."
"Think she'll run?"
"No. Too depressed, too tired. I don't think she even sees a future for herself any more."
The next day the ME's report provided the proof needed for Jane's theory about COD. A search warrant allowed them to check her house, at which they found empty CO2 tanks with muddy bottoms. They had McCauley arrest Kennedy and tag and secure the evidence. Cho interviewed her at the Sheriff's office where it could be recorded. The only satisfaction he got from her confession 30 minutes into the interrogation was closing the case. She got the idea from how her dad had killed chickens on the farm using CO2 in an enclosure. The sheriff would take her into custody and hold her until Cho could refer the case to the DA for prosecution.
~.~.~.~.~
Cho drove, Jane rode shotgun back to Sacramento late Christmas Eve. Thirty minutes from the CBI Jane roused himself. "We closed it in two days. And didn't have to bother Crenshaw."
"Lunch after New Year's?"
"Take Crenshaw instead."
"Since when does Patrick Jane refuse payment for a bet?"
"It's the season. Besides, you'll have a better time with her."
"None of your business."
Jane's face lit up, more animated than he had been the rest of the drive, "But true. Serious about her?"
"Not a topic for discussion, Jane."
Jane let it sit for a moment. "Okay, Cho. Then let me think out loud. You've been interested in Crenshaw since we hired her. She's a good cop – smart, tough, knowledgeable - plus she has heart. You're a good fit together. Those six months on the road hunting Blake didn't hurt either. Rigs and Van Pelt got together. Lisbon and I did too. You're interested in settling down, finding someone. You'd explore a future with Crenshaw except for the rules against boss-subordinate relationships. How am I doing so far?"
Cho was as impassive as usual, except for the muscle flexing as he clenched his jaw.
Jane continued after a moment. "You're undecided. Crenshaw values her career at the CBI. You do too, though – though you might be willing to move to give this a chance. But you don't want to."
"Shut up, Jane. None of your business."
"I see it differently, Cho. –What if you could stay at the CBI, work with Crenshaw, and pursue a relationship? Interested?"
Cho's lips were pressed into a thin line. He was annoyed to have put himself in a situation where Jane could ask and observe without interruption.
"Okay, Cho. That's what I needed to know." Jane patted him on the shoulder and turned back to the passing scenery.
They finally pulled into the CBI lot. Jane got out and took his go-bag. With more than a little irony, "Merry Christmas, Cho."
"You, too." After a moment he added, "Good job on the case."
Jane looked back, frowned, then unlocked the BMW. He now knew they'd go for it. He just had to set it up.