Chapter 5: Test Case

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is directly quoted from The Mentalist Fugue in Red episode.

"Rigsby, I need some air. I'll be over there," Jane nodded toward a bench in the nature area.

"Sure, Jane. Just stay close, okay?"

Jane nodded and ambled off. Rigsby stayed to talk to the shift chief, Toby Rawlins. Probably has to smooth things over. He frowned, Rawlins was supposed to get hitched today. Postponed? Wise if they don't want their wedding forever linked to murder. The fire station adjoined the fenced nature area. Likely why I was attacked. Blocked the killer's escape route. Rigsby not-so-subtly positioned himself with a view of the single way out in front of the station. Colleagues or captors?

He approached a clump of EMT's and firemen. Saying his cell phone got ruined reminded them he'd almost drowned last night, deflecting their irritation. He exchanged bills for coins to use in the pay phone. Dinosaur. Not many left since cell phones got popular. Jane surprised himself with a surge of regret at having accused the man who'd saved his life. He impulsively offered to take them out drinking to apologize.

Fifteen minutes later Jane was seated on a bench overlooking the pond, back to the fire station. The water glittered placidly in the sunlight as foliage rustled in a slight breeze. Looks harmless enough. A chill slid down his spine at a momentary flashback: Under water, struggling helplessly, unable to breathe. He involuntarily inhaled and worked to calm himself. None of the firemen or EMT's did it. No guilt, 'least not about that. –Should I tell Rigsby? Teresa? Would they believe me? He set it aside.

He had failed to reach anyone. No surprise. Pete and Sam's land-line phone was disconnected. Last I knew, Pete and Sam wouldn't spring for a cell phone but maybe since prices came down... He didn't have anyone else's number, if they even kept the same number after he'd left. Calling the public number proved useless. When he got past the recording stating the carnival was closed till spring, the teenager who answered only knew the elder Ruskins had retired. She'd never heard of Angela or Danny Ruskin and Pete, Sam and Biltmore Nicky were unavailable. No way for them to call him back anyhow. Need to get a cell phone. Need to get a lot of things. Jane drummed his fingers on his knee. Blocked again. If this drags on maybe I'll go up to Carson Springs. ... Why can't I remember?! His forehead creased in worry. What do I remember? –Shakespeare, biology, geography, geology – all there. Nothing about me or what I've been doing. He sighed.

His thoughts drifted to the morning. So much for balls and bluster. 'Bluff and bravado' only applied if the act worked. Law-enforcement legend, eh, not so much. Still, I have some ideas about the crime. Both of them. Why light a fire in nice weather? Why didn't anyone else notice the fitted sweater on the man Satterfield rescued? Same build as the ATM robber too. Ordinary clothing but suspiciously coincidental. But why would he murder his rescuer? ... And what to make of Teresa's team? Rigsby's a prototypic cop. Square, straightforward, amiable. He smirked at the memory. Doesn't know how to take me. Pushed him to see how deep this 'colleague' bit goes. Wrong name, drooled all over his girl. Yet when Teresa said I'd be safe with Rigsby damned if I didn't read he'd protect me. Hell, even after I asked how to get to the redhead. Mr. Inscrutable is more complex. Guarded, street smart. Doesn't buy my line of crap, but respects – likes? – me anyhow. How's that work? Gingersnaps is gorgeous. Smart, sweet, but licking her wounds from some betrayal... Terminally earnest, wants to 'save' me. From what? ... Wondered if leering at her would get a rise out of Teresa. What the hell is our relationship? He swallowed. She was disappointed. He shook his head. Whole thing is awkward as hell. What am I doing hanging with cops? His thoughts were interrupted by sharp, quick footsteps muffled by forest duff. 'Sharp' indicated demeanor; 'quick,' stride and thus height. Teresa! Comfort and a sense of safety eased tension in his shoulders he hadn't even noticed. All because she came to my bedside?

Lisbon rounded the bench. "Hey," she greeted. "Feel safe out here alone?" She eyed the pond with a frown.

He dismissed it with a wave. "Fine. None of them did it."

Her expression brightened gratifyingly. Excited, "Really? You're certain?"

He nodded and explained, "Throw them off guard, accuse them of murder, and guilt would be obvious." She didn't bat an eye. He was again unsettled at knowing less than those around him. Damn my memory.

She sat. "Heard you riled 'em up in there. Sounds like the Jane I know."* Eyebrow quirked, "But you didn't tell Rigsby."

"Hmm.* Didn't know if he'd believe me." Yeah, Rigsby's so comfortable with me he called for reinforcements.

"Is anything coming back to you?"*

Sure. "Kids prefer cheese over fried green spinach."*

"Come again?"*

"It's an acronym for the seven levels of taxonomy – kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species."* And totally useless for solving my current problem.

"Impressive."*

Yes it is. How I make my living. "I can also name the geological time periods, the world's longest rivers by size, and the complete works of Shakespeare. In chronological order."*

"So the memory palace is intact."*

Surprised, "I told you about the memory palace?"* Never told anyone outside the carnival ... and you're a cop.

Reassuringly, "We're friends."* She paused. "The doctor says it's your emotional memories that are tripping you up. Does anything come back to you? Anything at all?"*

"No."* Won't whine about bad breaks. Though wish I remembered about her. Us?

Pointedly looking at his hand as he fidgeted with the gold band, "What do you remember about this?"*

"My wedding ring?"* He ignored dark shadows prowling the edges of thought. "No better way to gain a woman's trust than to wear a wedding ring."* Instant sympathy – bad divorce, pining for a lost love – romantic nonsense irresistible to female marks. "Except maybe buy a dog, but who wants that mess?"*

Disbelieving and chiding, "Okay. So you wear a wedding ring to get over on women?"*

"Worked on you."* Affection and distress flitted across her face. Bulls-eye. Then why hide behind the boss-consultant thing?

Turning to safer ground, "You remember the house fire we saw on the newscast? It was the only call that the victim responded to the day he was murdered. I'm gonna have Cho go and take a look at the house. I want you to go with him."*

"So it's his turn to babysit me now?"* though I do want look over that house ... and its owner.

"Well, somebody has to."*

Debatable. But, about that fire... "Pleasant weather. Has it been like this all week?"*

"I guess. Why?"*

So far it holds together. "Big elephants can always understand small elephants, because, Teresa, because."*

"Oh."* She frowned. "Oh! I get it. It's another acronym."*

"Mm."*

"Hungry?" Lisbon asked, rising.

Instant smile, "You buying?"

"After you eliminated 20 suspects, sure. There's a decent restaurant nearby." As they exited Jane looked around for Rigsby. She volunteered, "Rigsby went back to help with interviews."

They pulled up to a mid-range hotel with an in-house restaurant. Jane followed her to the door and politely held it open. He shepherded her in with his hand lightly on the small of her back. Attraction fizzed through him at the innocent contact. Whoa. How long has it been anyhow? Being lunchtime, there was a short wait. Ah. Just what I need.

Jane stepped out of line and over to the ATM in the hotel lobby. He fished the debit card from his billfold. With luck I'll get some cash, see what I have. He knew he'd have more hidden outside any bank, but that would have to wait till he could remember or visit his – wherever he was staying. Lisbon panicked when she noticed he'd stepped away, then calmed after catching sight of him. Her gaze didn't waver. She relaxed as Jane showed no sign of leaving.

Jane grimaced. Last try before I'm blocked. On a whim, he tried Angie's birthday. It was something he wouldn't forget but there was no paper trail that could connect her to him. He exhaled in frustration. Good going, Paddy. Locked out for 24. Knowing the pitfalls of ID's and passwords, he'd done an excellent job of thwarting himself. He softly thumped the ATM frame with a closed hand. Humiliating. One suit to my name and can't even feed myself, something he'd done for himself and Alex since becoming the Boy Wonder at age 10. Have to earn a few bucks till I can get into my bank account. Hm. Have a key, so probably have a car somewhere. Maybe I'm not dead broke – just broke. He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration and returned to Teresa's side as she reached the front of the line.

At her inquiring glance he commented, "No luck. Out-foxed myself in choosing a password."

Having seen him divine others' passwords dozens of times she couldn't see worrying about it. "You'll get access eventually. –Let's go, our turn."

They followed the hostess and Jane found himself resting a hand protectively on Teresa's far shoulder. He discretely slid into the booth before Teresa turned, saving himself from embarrassment. How can we be close but not close? Despite not knowing why, he reveled in the island of peace and security named Teresa in this now unfamiliar world.

Their server, Kandie, appeared with glasses of water. Lisbon looked up, waiting till she was ready to take the order. "Coffee with cream, burger medium everything on it, fries, and a salad with blue cheese dressing, please." She gave her menu to the server.

"And you, sir?"

"What's sriracha?"

"A spicy sauce. From China I think."

"Your sriracha burger medium-rare, jalapeno jack, tomato and lettuce, rings, and the tortilla soup. And black coffee," he ordered with a smile, relinquishing his menu. The woman returned his smile and flipped her hair, unconsciously coy.

Amused, "Sriracha sauce?"

"It's a whole wide world. Why not try new things?"

"Ever try tea?"

He shrugged diffidently. "Eh. It's okay. –Though I know a girl who drinks only tea."

"Oh?"

"Her mother was – is - English. Whole island's tea-obsessed." His gaze became distant and he smiled slightly. "Angela turns her nose up at tea in the US. Calls it colored water. Or worse." He returned to the present in time to notice a flicker of pain in Teresa's eyes. "What is it?"

Her eyes became flat, unreadable. "Nothing."

He looked at her intently. "All those thoughts related to me."

"Don't flatter yourself."

He leaned forward and put his hand over hers. She straightened but didn't pull her hand away. Voice silky smooth, "Just tell me what I've been doing. Save us both the frustration."

She looked back, green eyes limpid pools. "Doctor's orders. It's important your memories come back on their own."

Her mind's made up because she's protecting me. Misguided but hard to resist. Jane leaned back. "Bah. Frauds in white coats. –You may not believe it, but I know a bit about the human mind."

Her gaze melted into affection, "I do believe it. That doesn't mean Dr. Miller's wrong."

An image of a woman in a white lab coat with long, light brown hair flashed through his mind. Who? He shook it off and relaxed against the seat-back, his eyes trapping hers. He let a lazy smile grow.

Uncomfortable under his steady gaze, "Jane, knock it off." She looked down and started on her meal to escape.

"And why insist on that boss-consultant wall..." he mused aloud.

More sharply than intended, "You should know why."

Severe and pointed, "I don't know why. If I must manage without knowing my past, you cannot fall back on excuses I have no way of knowing." He rubbed his jaw, genuinely puzzled as he regarded her appreciatively, eyes dark. "You're unmarried, not in a relationship. What part of two consenting adults doesn't compute?"

A bite of burger provided a sorely needed moment to think. "It's complicated," she finally said.

"I'll figure it out."

Her look threw off fiery green sparks, "Trust me."

His eyebrows rose at the many-layered meanings of that, how she said it. Playing a game only I don't know the rules. His gaze lingered several seconds and then he turned to his own lunch.

A few minutes later he said, "Isn't that Cho?"

She twisted around and scanned the room without seeing him. Turning back, "I didn't–" She frowned at an onion ring now nestled among her fries. "You filched my fries! Buy your own."

He grinned as he popped one into his mouth. "You're buying." With mock hurt, "'Sides, I gave you a ring."

"Damned pain in the ass," she grumbled.

His smile widened, "And that is the first spontaneous, unguarded thing you've said all day." He motioned with his head, "Cho," and took a bite of his burger.

She scowled, "Fool me once–"

"Boss, Jane," Cho said sliding into the booth as Jane made room.

Lisbon laughed out loud as Jane, eyes watering, grabbed his water to quench the burn from the fiery sauce. "Maybe you should try caution."

Cho briefed Lisbon on the case while Jane recovered. Cho nodded in appreciation when she told him Jane thought the EMT's and firemen were cleared. Jane quietly finished everything except the burger. To his amazement he felt comfortable in their company, almost like he used to feel with Pete and Sam, Angie and Danny. After cutting lose from the carnival and being on his own for years he'd forgotten the simple pleasures of friends. Not that these are friends but something kept me working for the CBI for four years. They finished lunch. Lisbon had to return to the CBI. He and Cho were off to the burned house.

Jane studied his silent companion as Cho drove them to the burned out house. Collected, controlled. Invaluable friend, dangerous enemy. Smart and street smart. Competitive, too. Jane was surprised that Cho's regard for a con man, a grifter would be high enough to bother to compete. How 'bout that? Jane said, "You accept my reading about the firemen," question embedded in the statement.

Cho grunted. "You do it all the time."

Jane looked at him speculatively, "Gang banger turned cop. Ordinarily you'd be the last to work with me."

Paused at a stoplight, Cho turned to look at him directly. "Don't." After a second he added, "It's worked out." He refocused on driving and said not a word till they reached the house.

They disembarked, stretching after the long ride. Cho walked around to the sidewalk and paused, both looking over the burnt out shell.

"You take this side of the street. Find out if the neighbors saw the victim interacting with anyone suspicious during the fire."*

"You want me to go door-to-door like a salesman?"* Jane asked in amused disbelief.

"You do it all the time. You say it's one of the more interesting things about being a consultant,"* Cho replied, deadpan perfect.

Jane grinned in delight at Cho's attempt. "You're a clever one, Mr. Cho, and I'll do your bidding. But first I want to take a look at this burned-out house."* They walked nearer to the civilian talking with the LEO guarding the house cordoned by crime scene tape.

"When can I go inside? I – I need to get in there."*

Cho flashed his badge to the cop. "CBI, what's going on here?"*

The civilian near whined, "They won't let me inside my house."*

The officer rejoined, "It's a standard arson investigation. We'll call him when it's over."*

Higher pitch, desperate. "This is crazy. Why would I set fire to my house? Everything I own is in there. –My kid's childhood–"*

"-No one's accusing you, sir,"* the officer interjected, trying to dampen rising tension.

Jane interrupted genially, "I know you. I – I saw you on the TV. The fireman saved your life."* He extended his hand, "Patrick Jane."* And you're wearing another fitted sweater. Let's see how you react...

"Tom Wilcox."* The civilian shook his hand automatically.

Jane burbled on, oddly cheerful at the connection, "I almost died yesterday, too, but, uh, no news cameras. Do you know the man who pulled you from the fire was killed last night?"* he asked, eyes trained on Wilcox's face.

Glum, "Yeah, I read it in the paper. I didn't even get a chance to thank him."*

Cho asked, "Did you see the victim in conflict with anyone during your rescue?"*

"No, I was unconscious the whole time."*

Jane interrupted brightly, "Me too. The guy was behind me with my head under the water,"* Jane explained, mimicking his attacker's actions. Wilcox uncomfortably focused on Cho instead. Well then, two for two.

"How did you black out?"*

"Well, when the fire jumped the fireplace, I ran upstairs and grabbed all the valuables that I could, but the smoke was too thick, and I couldn't breathe."*

That all rings true, another puzzle piece. "Well, we both cheated death. That – that's just – that's remarkable. You know, we should get t-shirts made up."* Mr. Inscrutable didn't interrupt my riff, points to Mr. Cho. Maybe I can work with cops.

Getting agitated, "Well, I – I'm glad that you're happy, but I just lost everything that I own. I got my wife and my daughter in a hotel I can't afford. Nothing but the clothes on our backs."*

Practical, Cho suggested, "You can ask your insurance company for an advance on the claim."*

"My house isn't insured. I – I mean it was, but I'm a savings and loan officer, and ever since the banks collapsed, I've been out of work."*

Bingo! Motive plus means and opportunity for the ATM job. Something he had to hide from his fireman rescuer? Jane masked his delight and decided to invite himself to the Wilcox family. Lone wolf or family undertaking? "Well, let's forget about the t-shirts, then. Uh, Mr. Cho, let's say we give this poor man a ride back to his family. Come on."* Jane was pleased when Cho picked it up seamlessly.

They gave Wilcox a lift to the motel and chatted with his family for awhile. Jane relaxed and focused on Wilcox when it was clear Cho would give him free rein. The daily newspaper had articles on the house fire and murdered fireman, as well as the ATM job. Wilcox subtly reacted to both, as Jane expected. Mrs. Wilcox was a normal, loving wife and mother. Their little girl was kitten-adorable. Cute kid. Jane promised to look for her missing dolly at the ruined house, which would provide a convenient excuse to revisit Tom Wilcox if needed. Jane wrote off the pang at seeing the little girl as his usual affection for kids. Eh. Grow up in a carnival and you either love kids or hate 'em. Do miss that part of it though. He realized he actually would try to find the doll. Not the kid's fault her dad's a scumbag. He knew that first-hand.

Jane's appreciation grew when Cho asked nothing on the way back to the house. Huh. Not a bad group ... cops notwithstanding. The officer said the firemen had judged the house structurally sound enough to walk through. They ducked under the tape and nudged the broken door open. Jane waited as Cho gave the downstairs a thorough but fruitless examination. What Jane wanted to see was upstairs. What was so important Wilcox risked getting burned alive to get? They gingerly mounted the stairwell, staying close to the wall where the treads would be strongest despite fire damage. Guest bedroom, bath, girl's bedroom – another pang – and, master suite. Jane entered the master bedroom and poked around. He was attracted to a mound of cloth that was still brightly colored despite smudges of soot.

Cho spoke from the doorway, attention on Jane instead of the room. "What's your play here?"*

"I don't know what you mean."* Maybe I don't want to know.

"What are you trying to do?"*

"Well, bring a ray of hope to a family, I suppose. And help my friends solve a crime."* Pat, but true enough.

"I don't buy it."*

Why?

Cho continued, "You don't help us because you like us."*

"I don't like you?"* That was an unexpected splash of ice water. Actually I do.

"Well, you don't not like us. But you have deeper reasons for helping people. Without those reasons, you're a hustler. –So what's your play?"*

And there it is. Cop vs con man, the impossibility of anything real about some 'team.' Conning yourself, Paddy? A few pleasant hours are just ... a few pleasant hours. "You're wrong about me, Mr. Cho. I do like you."* True, but... "And I can assure you I want to help that little girl find her lost doll."* True and pointless.

Resigned to not getting a straight answer, "Okay."*

What about those 'deeper reasons'? Jane stopped and stared. Then he slowly reached toward the brightly clothed doll lying amid the rubble.

"What's wrong?"*

Why'd that sound sincere? "This doll. It reminds me of something. I can't – I can't quite–"*

"–It's your family."*

Hesitantly, "Yeah, my family. I can't believe I – How could I forget my family?"* Milk it for all it's worth.

"I'm sorry."*

Sincere again. Damn these cops. Screw them, get on with finding the cash. "Could you give me a minute, please, Mr. Cho?"* Jane asked with just the right amount of pain.

"Sure. I'll wait outside."* Cho stepped into the hall and closed the door.

Cho gone, Jane swiftly found the home safe and tried to figure out the combination, but soon gave it up as too slow. Find another way. Just ditch my warder. He silently ran down the rear stairwell and out the back door. He hopped a low fence out back and cut through a few yards to a business strip a few blocks over. He sighed in relief as he slid into the taxi seat. The sixty I lifted from Rigsby is enough to get me there. Pain in the ass if I have to accumulate another stake, but gotta start somewhere.

"Where to, Mister?"

"Where's the entertainment strip? Nightclubs, bars - up-scale."

"There's a lot around K and L streets, centered around 15th." He eyed Jane in the rear view mirror. "Gay? Dancing? Whaddya after?"

"Straight, mid-range, lots of women. Preferably something with a stage and shows. Not a dance club."

"You got it."

It was nearing the end of the business day. Clubs and bars would be gearing up for evening crowds, a perfect time for him to find the owners around. Jane had the taxi slowly cruise the area, stop when he ID'd a promising spot, and wait till Jane got done talking with the owner or manager. He hit pay dirt the third place. It was up-scale, trendy, a place women would be comfortable coming to, but quiet enough for a psychic act. His bespoke suit got him a chance to speak with the owner, fortunate since he didn't even have business cards. He "read" some flattering details to get the owner interested. Then his promise to triple female attendance in a week – which would more than triple male patrons – got him his shot. The scheduled entertainer, a comedian, had cancelled last minute. The owner promised Jane $300 each for two performances that evening, one at 8 p.m., one at 11 p.m. Keenly aware he had nothing but a few bucks left, he agreed. He'd eat for the next week and even pay back Rigsby (necessary if he wanted to keep working with the cops, avoid having p.o.'d cops on his tail). The pay for future acts would depend on how well Jane drew crowds, so he knew his fortunes would rise sharply once he delivered. That settled, he had the taxi drop him off at the firehouse. Several men from the "B" shift would join him that evening, his treat.

Since there were no calls for fire fighting, Jane sat and traded stories till the second shift was over. He amazed and entertained them with readings (self-edited to be fun) and they entertained him with real-maybe-embellished stories of derring do. They got to the bar an hour before Jane's first act, much to the relief of the owner. The firemen's comments about Jane's psychic abilities created buzz, in turn helping Jane get hyped for the act. A few beers into the evening and everyone was mellow.

It was his tenth and last reading for his first act when he saw Teresa and Gingersnaps enter. He finished the reading pretty much on autopilot, though the crowd would never know. Hugging his last read ensured good word of mouth among women about the new phenom – handsome, accessible, sensitive and psychic. The hug - breasts crushed against his chest while he rubbed the back of the young, grateful, not-bad-looking woman – affected him more than expected. Geez, this is ridiculous. I need to get laid. He closed out the act and rejoined his newfound firemen buddies.

Lisbon and Van Pelt pushed through the crowd to their table. "Hi. What are you doing?"*

Offended, "What's it look like? Business."* How do you think I support myself? "Excuse me. May I?"* Jane asked snagging another beer. Now if she were a little more approachable...

Gingersnaps reached over and took a card from the table. "This is Rigsby's card."*

"Yeah, just – you know, just until I get my own printed up."* The beer isn't helping me think. What's their problem anyhow?

Teresa bearded him. "You said at the hospital that you were dying to help. This is not helping."*

"I am. I'm investigating. I felt bad about the fish stunt I pulled on these boys, so, uh, I decided to take the 'B' shift out for a night on the town. – You know, make sure they're all innocent of murder."* Jane kept talking in hopes something would blunt her annoyance.

"Are they?"*

Jane turned and saluted the men with his beer stein, "They're the best of the best–"*

"–Yep! Yep!"*

"–You are the man, Paddy!"*

"Thank you,"* he answered their inebriated cheering. Jane turned to Gingersnaps, "Oh, by the way, he got the last round. Could you thank him for me?"*

Teresa stated forcefully, "We're going back to the hospital now."*

Jane took another swig. "I'm gonna take a rain check on that,"* far preferring his cheering, friendly firemen to Teresa's chilly voice of disapproval. "I got another show later. You should stick around. I'm best with the late crowd."*

Sarcastically, "Are you gonna make me call backup to get you out of this bar? Because I will do that, 'Paddy.'"*

Jane wilted, bowing to the pint-sized, irresistible force. "Gentlemen. The best of the best!-"* He took a last draught and gave a sloppy salute. Teresa grabbed his arm and hustled him out none too gently as the firemen yelled their parting approval.

"–Yeah, buddy!"*

"–Hey, Paddy!"*

"–Salute."*

"–Well said, my man, well said."*

"–Cheers."*

"–Cheers."*

Sandwiched between Lisbon and Van Pelt Jane's hand was conveniently close to Teresa's delicious ass. Lubricated by a few too many beers and unrequited lust, he grabbed her ass only to earn a bruise as she whacked his arm away. He had over an hour in the SUV to sober up and come down from his performing high.

Lisbon had Van Pelt drive on home while she walked Jane up to his hospital room.

Jane tossed his jacket on the chair when they entered the room. "I got it from here. Thanks."*

"I'll see you in the morning."*

"Uh, no. Actually, put a fork in it. I'm done. No more police work."*

"I understand. You can stay in the hospital until you get your memory back."*

He turned to face her, serious. "What if I don't get it back?"* What if this awkward mess continues? I'm not part of any cop team. "I talked to my paramedic friends. They told me that all I need to be released from this hospital is the signature from a responsible adult,"* he pulled out a wad of phone numbers written on scraps of paper and chuckled, "and I got some pretty tasty offers tonight. I'm telling you, this wedding ring–"*

"I can make you stay, you know. It's in my power to hold you as a material witness in a murder investigation."*

Entirely sober now, "Why would you do that? You think I can't see what's going on here? You people – you're – you're tiptoeing. You're dancing around some forgotten tragedy. I'm happy now. Just, just let me be happy."*

Lisbon's face fell. Barely above a whisper. "Fair enough. Look, I'll miss you but I'll leave you alone, okay?"*

Jane finished unbuttoning his vest and stripped it off. "Thank you, Teresa. I appreciate it."* He got into the bed and settled face down, back to her.

She swallowed the lump, focused on work to distract from personal disaster. "Any parting thoughts on the murder?"*

"Yeah, I figured out who killed the fireman."*

Surprised, "You did? Who?"*

"Jacket left pocket."* She dug out a newspaper section folded to the photo of the ATM robbery. "Kind of obvious, don't you think?"* he asked, still facing away.

"N-o-o."*

Sleepily, "You need me to spell it out for you?"*

Swallowing annoyance at his condescension, "Yes."*

Muzzily, "I suppose you need me to gift wrap the killer, too?"*

"You usually do."*

"My parting gift to you I will give in the morning. Good night."*

She bundled up his jacket and the article and plopped unhappily in the chair.

"There's room up here,"* he murmured, at which she rolled her eyes unseen.

She left soon after. Jane drifted, mostly asleep. I'll miss her too. ... No future with cops, bad fit. A fish and a bird ... but where could they live? ... He was relieved to have made his decision. He was a con man, would always be a con man. Prove Wilcox did it, get his stake, and move on. Interesting tale to tell, but no regrets.

So why don't I feel that way?