Jane, distracted, begins to wander the small one story home. He can still hear the muted conversation from the living room, though the tones begin to blend into the background as he observes his surroundings.
He notices the lack of pictures hung on the fridge, lack of anything really, drawings, fliers, schoolwork, the sort of things that indicated the presence of a child. He rifles through a few drawers in the kitchen, prodding junk around as if it held some sort of hidden significance. Old receipts, disorganized paperwork, prescription drugs - lots of them, he notes, disheartened. He recalls the girl had a minor case of Asperger's.
He migrates his search to the small den, scrutinizing the messy office in a brief sweep. There's an eerie quietness about it, it nips and bites at his heels like a cat out for a meal, chilling him to the bone. Jane swallows hard, his heart twisting in dread, shivering as a sudden chill cuts through his clothes. Only, the window isn't open.
He stares, transfixed. There's a breeze, it sets the curtains awhirl. They swish in the impossible wind, and from behind them a small form emerges slowly, peeking her head out. She stares at him, eyes wide pools of cloudy blue. Her name is Margaret, Jane remembers.
"Hey, hey, it's alright, come on out, I'm not going to do anything to you." She approaches him slowly, stopping in front of him.
He crouches to her level, smiling pleasantly. "Nice to meet you, Margaret." She tilts her head but otherwise doesn't react.
He can't help but gasp as the girl grabs him by the hand suddenly, her fingers are cold and unsettling against his palm. "What is it?" He asks, breathless as she practically pulls him along. She stops in front of the desk, jabbing a finger at it harshly, her face set in a determined glower.
Jane stares at the drawer in trepidation, wondering what horrors it concealed. The girl points again, insistent. He gulps, reaching out-
"Jane! Are you listening?" He recoils, turning abruptly as if awoken from a trance.
"Lisbon." He greets, shaken, distractedly glancing back at the desk. Margaret is gone.
"You weren't listening." Lisbon says, sounding both certain on the matter and resigned to it all with one sigh.
"Well go on then woman, tell me."
She scoffs, trying not to look offended. "I was just saying, we're splitting up to go talk with a few of the suspects, and-"
"There's no need for that," Jane interrupts in regular Jane fashion."It was the mother."
Lisbon rewards his outburst with a very pregnant pause. "How could you possibly know that?" She asks, sounding vaguely long-suffering.
"She didn't care for this girl the way she should have. There was too much medication, and not enough drawings."
"Drawings?"
"Kid things, you know, on the fridge. There wasn't any." He hates the way Lisbon nods in silent understanding. He continues on, not acknowledging her knowing gaze. "And, while we were talking, didn't she seem a little relaxed to you? Like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders."
"You think so?" Lisbon asks, thoughtful.
"I do. That woman was a terrible parent. She despised being solely responsible for Margaret's life, and she never showed her the attention she deserved."
"Ok, I believe you." Lisbon holds her hands up, "Relax."
Jane exhales deeply. "I am relaxed, Lisbon." He insists, annoyed.
"Just because she wasn't a good mother-"
"Horrible- I said that didn't I?"
"-doesn't mean she was the murderer. You're going to have to come up with something more."
Jane's eyes drift to the drawer, and a faint smile tugs at his lips. "The murder weapon." He proclaims proudly.
"What?"
"It's in this room, Lisbon." He whispers, roving his eyes around conspiratorially.
Lisbon looks dubious, but struggles to keep the interest out of her voice as she asks: "You think she'd stash it here?"
"She didn't have time to dispose of it. So, she hears the cops outside. She panics. In an act of desperation, she stashes it. Likely -she'll ditch it. As soon as we're gone. Nobody would suspect the girl's own mother, after all."
Lisbon bites her lip, and Jane knows her well enough to see that she's considering her options. "Do you have any idea where?"
Jane begins to say something but is interrupted by the presence of the mother.
She had followed Lisbon, it seemed.
"What's going on here?" She asks, trying to sound uninterested. Jane can see through her, though, within the scrawny, pale woman, an inky coil of hatred festers, twisting and knotting in ugly chaos. It seeps from her like the stench of decaying flesh and congealing blood - dry rot and garbage left out in the sun. He can see clearly now. The woman is guilty.
"Nothing. Why, do you think something is going on?" He's both accusing her and playing dumb. He sees the way she struggles with his words and how to respond to them.
She purses her thin lips, then presses on cautiously. "I just think- it's not appropriate for two government agents to be snooping around my house. It's not professional."
"Snooping? Why do you say that?Do you have something to hide?" He prods, pushing her to the brink. She shifts under the accusation, her jaw tightening in firmly concealed anger.
"I will be speaking with your superior about this " She threatens quietly.
"You know what I think? I think you're deflecting. You're trying to take the attention away from what's really important here." He pauses, watching from the corner of his eye as a few officers gather at the door. "The blood on your hands."
"This is ridiculous! Why would I murder my own child?" She snarled.
"Because you never wanted her. She came out different than you hoped, quiet, awkward - and to top it off you're all alone now. All alone with a terrible, terrible burden. You begin to resent her, you isolate her, you ignore her, you shout at her when she messes up, even if it's only a little, even if she can't help it." He breathes in sharply, drunk with triumph at the startled look on her face. Slower, he continues.
"The cherry on the cake, you're foolish. You've hidden the damning evidence right in this very room."
With that proclamation he begins to confidently pace the room, hovering his hand over possible hiding spots.
The woman, startled, stands on her toes. She's trying hard to show no reaction as Jane pokes around, making a show of reading her reactions. He's sure even a regular person could read her now as he rests his hand on the knob of the very same drawer Margaret had pointed him to.
"Ah-ha." He breaths, feeling a prickle of satisfaction as the woman stops suddenly, frozen to the spot.
"You can't-" she begins, her voice a strangled gasp. Jane jiggles the knob and she nearly bounds to his side.
"Locked." Jane sighs, and the woman's eye twitches. She tries to pry his fingers from the knob, and he snatches them away, quickly as if in disgust. He turns to Lisbon, a full grown man tattling to mother. "Lisbon, she touched me! Probable cause?"
"Go ahead." Lisbon confirmed, folding her arms over her chest. "Ms Josnic, open the drawer."
"You can't make me."
"No, you're right. Jane, open the drawer."
"With pleasure." He says, his tone dark as he stares into the woman's eyes. He proffers a paper clip from his pocket, sticking it into the lock.
"Ok- Okay stop it. Stop it!" The lock clicks and the woman cringes back with the noise.
Jane does not stop. Lisbon stares unsurprised at the contents of the drawer. Jane tries hard to hide the way his voice quakes in rage "Anything to say?"
A strangled burst of giggles escapes her thin lips."Nothing." A sort of madness seems to take hold of her, hysteria dancing in her eyes. "Only: I don't regret it."
From behind the desk, Jane spots two round eyes. His breath catches in his throat as her lips begin to tremble. She turns her glassy eyes toward him, and his heart seems to stop, shrinking shriveling up in his chest like a dried out raisin.
He sits on the steps leading up to the porch, clasped hands covering the lower half of his house was small and sad from the outside. The white paint on the siding was flaked and water stained, some of it completely peeled off, showing the cement foundation beneath. He's chewing his lip absently as he watches the murdering mother disappear behind the slam of a car door. Her eyes peer out the tinted window, not seeming to focus on anything. She's in a state of shock almost - like the death had been a spontaneous accident and she was finding it hard to believe she was here, now, handcuffed in the back of a police car.
Jane hasn't uttered a word since the arrest, staring at an uncertain point in space as his mind wanders. He ignores Lisbon for a moment, who is waving an incessant hand in his face.
He swats at her lightly, and she stops finally.
"We're done here." She says carefully, not unkindly. Jane meets her eyes. He can't help what he knows sometimes. For instance he can tell immediately she's pitying him, but that didn't take a genius. He chooses to ignore this fact and fishes for something more benign, his lips curling up in amusement. Predictable Lisbon.
"Short case, huh? Doesn't feel so good even with that wretched woman gone." Lisbon nods sullenly. "You're planning to cheer yourself up at home in your pyjamas, rewatching old episodes of Gilmore Girls for the third time." Jane recalls in a teasing tone.
Her Pity is rapidly replaced by a flood of indignation as she quickly tries to deny it. "Ha-ha." She mocks. "You're just guessing, like usual." She says with a scoff, her arms folded over her chest defensively.
"Of course I am." He smiles fondly. Lisbon side-eyes him warily. It seems his pinpoint accuracy had put her a little on edge.
He sighs exaggeratedly as he pulls himself off the steps. Lisbon watches him dubiously as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and strolls in the direction of her minivan. "Come on Lisbon. Don't drag your feet."
Lisbon huffs, exasperated. She shakes her head, and her bewildered thoughts evaporate like puddles on a sunny day.
"Bite me." She mutters, not bothering to catch up. And she did not drag her feet.