A/N: Though it is possible with OCR, to my knowledge banks do not record the serial numbers of money deposited in or dispensed from ATM's. Artistic license.


Chapter 6: Case Closed

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

Thoughts of the day swirled restlessly as Lisbon drove home from the hospital. Jane was trying this morning. He was performing to impress us. It was okay when we talked at the firehouse, lunch was good. I praised his readings of the firemen! I know he wasn't thinking of leaving at that point. What the hell changed so Jane gave up on us? Was I too blunt turning down his ... his overtures? Can't be it. Did Cho say something?

She turned off the main thoroughfare onto side streets. Oh, joy, then I find Darcy in my office after lunch. Red John killed Jane's family but she won't drop the idea Jane's working for him. Does she have an ounce of sense? She must've bitched to Wainwright ... or Bertram. I get a lecture from Wainwright about my threatening to go after the FBI if she approaches Jane while he's messed up. A-n-d Wainwright offers to talk to Jane, try out his pop psychology nostrums. Over-educated, too little experience, and no sense at all! They'd make a great couple, she thought sourly. Lisbon pulled up to her townhouse and parked. She pressed palms against temples, feeling like the throbbing would split her head asunder. Did Darcy get to Jane, upset him? If I believe Sophie, trying to break Jane about Red John could push him over the edge. What part of 'Jane. Does. Not. Remember. ANYTHING.' can she not understand? –But when? Jane was with Cho, then ducked out. Must have arranged that gig before going to the firehouse. Heard them talking about him reading them... So Darcy probably didn't have contact. She shook herself out of her musings and gathered her things.

Lisbon bolted the door, threw keys on the foyer table, and unstrapped her Glock. She kicked off her shoes and leaned against the door. After a minute she pulled the drapes closed and went upstairs without turning on a light. The black townhouse perfectly matched her mood.

She stripped and showered, again leaving lights off. Hot water poured over her. The day's uncertain start had disintegrated into disaster. She rubbed shampoo through her hair, trying to rub away the headache that hadn't let up since Darcy. Lisbon heavily stepped out of the shower and dried off. She donned her night tee, brushed her teeth, and pulled damp hair into a ponytail so it wouldn't hopelessly tangle over night.

After setting the alarm she got into bed and tried to settle in. Lack of distraction breeched the last barrier to her deepest fears. Jane's done with law enforcement. With us. ... Me. What am I gonna do? 'I'm happy now. Just, just let me be happy.' Dear God, I promised to leave him alone. How could I not? He only suspects, deduces the tragedy. The slaughter of his family is worse than anything he could imagine. I've been pulling him away from the edge for years. Every Red John murder, his grief and guilt, every disappointment when we miss. Over and over. Yet he's better. Likes solving cases. Made friends with the team, with me – despite trying to push us away. To 'protect' us. Jackass. Some smiles are real.

Cold fear cut through her. So he's gonna leave without his memory coming back. But it will. Can he cope? Seems okay, even if he's different from our Jane, the real Jane. What, what if I took up with him? He wants– Crap. He wants sex. Could I build on that, at least keep him in Sacramento? Keep an eye on him, look out for him? A voice that sounded remarkably like Sophie Miller disrupted that thought, And when he realizes he abandoned revenge for fun and games, what then? She almost yelled aloud, What if a perp goes after him or Red John decides to screw with him? She swallowed and whispered aloud, "Or worse?"

The ease with which Jane ditched Cho drove home the reality: She couldn't "make" him do anything. Jane had to want to stay. Or she could try tracking him, keeping tabs - and likely fail. There was no keeping him against his will. Exhausted, frustrated and depressed, she caved and took a sleeping pill at 1 a.m.

Lisbon sat in her office finishing paperwork. It had been four months, a week, and two days since Jane left the CBI and disappeared. Life went on. People kept murdering. The SCU kept solving murders. Her phone rang.

"Lisbon. ... Yes, the Red John case is still open. ... The face painted in blood is his signature. Can you email a photo?" She gave her email address and a moment later was looking at an all too familiar symbol painted in blood. "Looks authentic. My team can be in Reno in–" she glanced at her watch, "two hours. ... Anything on the victim?–"

Cho knocked, then entered without waiting. "Boss? Van Pelt got a message from 'Dr. Joe' – Red John!"

Lisbon frowned, trying to listen to both conversations. "–Didn't realize there was another photo." She clicked on the second attachment. Her phone dropped from numb fingers. She clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming or vomiting or both.

"Boss?"

"Red John killed Jane."

Lisbon walked the long, therapeutic-green corridor, dread growing with every step. The psychiatrist stopped at a locked door with a small safety-glass window. He was speaking but Lisbon heard only nonsense words, noise. Peeking through the window her eyes found the figure huddled in a corner, white pants, white socks no shoes ... white straitjacket. The padded room was white, white, white, stark under recessed fluorescent lights. Only the confusion of too-long blond curls relieved the sterility, his skin nearly as pale as the clothing and walls.

"Can I talk to him?"

"You can try. He hasn't said a word in the two weeks since he was admitted."

"Does, does he have to be in the ... straitjacket?"

"For his own safety. He tore his wrist with his teeth. Drew a smiley face in blood."

The two year old erupted in giggles as they tickled their son. Lisbon laughed in delight, not noticing her husband's sudden attention to the newscast. '...special on the serial killer, Red John. We'll go over...' Lisbon lunged for the remote and clicked it off.

Too late.

Jane stared unseeing at the blank screen, breathing heavily, mouth slightly open. He staggered a step and fell into the easy chair, tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked at her with rage and betrayal on his face...

Lisbon bolted upright, shuddering at half-remembered nightmares, groggy from the sleeping pill. She felt her way to the bathroom in the dark, so tired it felt like her bones were melting. She cupped her hand and drank, then splashed water on her face. Sleep's impossible. Need to figure out what to do. The sun wasn't even up, but she dressed and made coffee.

It was 7 a.m. when she tapped on his hospital door.

"Come in."

Jane was dressed and up. Lisbon noted the breakfast tray was untouched except for a small plate with crumbs and an empty coffee cup. "Jane, you said you'd help us take down the murderer?" she broached hesitantly.

"Yes I will." He looked tired as he glanced at her affectionately. "He tried to kill me too. I have a personal interest in him going down," he added with a shudder. "How's this work?"

"Com'on, I'll sign you out. Team's coming in early to plan the op."

Lisbon and Jane arrived at the bullpen and were met with three agents' unfriendly stares focused on Jane. Van Pelt looked disgusted, offended even though last night's sleazy behavior hadn't been aimed at her. Rigsby pointedly tossed Jane's $60 IOU on his desk as he walked past. Cho just stared, expressionless. Lisbon checked Jane's reaction. Nothing. Not even trying, and her heart sank. She long ago realized Jane was almost instinctively charming, reflexively engaging. It had become a habit, a default that made his life easier because people liked him. New record. Everyone p.o.'d at the same time. Won't help keep him here.

Her team assembled around the conference table. "Jane, tell us."

He was all business. "Tom Wilcox is your murderer." The four exchanged glances. "So broke he dropped his house insurance. Motive: Money. Means: An S&L officer who knows security measures for banks and ATM's. Opportunity: Any night an ATM would be stocked with cash." Coldly, "I was right about him being an amateur."

Rigsby challenged, "That's the ATM robbery. The fireman?"

"Wilcox put the ATM money in an upstairs safe. It was a warm morning. He lit a fire to burn the evidence - his clothing and lucha libre mask. When the fire got out of control, he rushed upstairs to get the money. Maybe he forgot he had the mask in his hand, maybe he took it because it didn't completely burn. Passed out from the smoke. Enter our victim, Fireman Satterfield."

Cho picked it up, thinking it through as he spoke. "Satterfield rescued Wilcox, but Wilcox was afraid the fireman saw the mask. The mask would link him to the ATM job. Robbery and murder since the security guard died."

Van Pelt added, "We need one or the other to connect Wilcox to the robbery. –The mask's distinctive and banks just started recording serial numbers of the money used to stock ATM's."

Rigsby, no longer antagonistic, "But how do we connect him to Satterfield's murder?" He swallowed and almost looked apologetic, "Or the attack on you?"

Relaxing a trifle Jane answered, "Wilcox is no hardened criminal. If he's nailed for the ATM job he'll confess to Satterfield's murder, especially if you offer a lighter sentence or something."

Cho offered, "Maybe we should get bloodhounds to search that nature area for the knife or anything Wilcox might have dropped. We have Wilcox's scent for them to home in on. –Or, it might be in the pond. Small body of water, divers might find it."

Puzzled, Jane asked, "What good is that?"

Patiently, "Fingerprints may survive immersion in water, especially for a short period. Worth a shot."

"Ah."

Lisbon spoke for the first time, "You're sure it's Wilcox?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay. Ideas for locating the money or mask?"

Surprisingly, Jane offered. "Let me talk to him – alone, before any arrest. Act now. He'll leave after he gets the money from his house safe."

A crease appeared between her eyebrows. "Not with a murderer."

Jane shrugged. "I'll approach him at the motel. He has a young daughter. Doubt he'd have a gun around her. And what's he going to do? Shoot me in broad daylight in a motel parking lot?"

She frowned at him. "He wouldn't be the first amateur to panic and do something stupid–"

Smoothly, "-Which is all the more reason to do it my way. I can control the interaction, control him."

"Okay." Decision made, "Van Pelt, call SacPD and verify Wilcox was allowed into his house. Also check with the motel, make sure he's still there and ask what the check-out time is. Then organize a search for the knife soon as we get a piece of clothing from Wilcox. Cho, Rigs, get ready for the take-down. Jane, I want you to wear a bulletproof vest and a wire–"

"-No. Ruins it Wilcox notices."

She took a breath. "-Jane-"

Intensely, "I have a stake in this. He walks if we can't find the money or mask. Do it my way."

After a long moment, "Okay. Jane, we'll be stationed around the lot. We need a signal when to move in. –Run your right hand through your hair?" Jane nodded. Severely, "And if there is even a hint of threat, yell and get the hell outta there."

He grinned, "Yes, Mother," and her chest hurt at the teasing response she had so missed the last few days.

Forty-five minutes later and it was all over. Wilcox was arrested with $37,000 in a duffel bag. The team returned to the CBI. Lisbon went to her office to check phone messages and surreptitiously call Dr. Miller. Cho and Rigsby escorted Wilcox to an interrogation room and left him to worry a bit. Van Pelt quickly confirmed that several serial numbers matched the stolen ATM money, though about twice as much had been stolen as was in the bag. That information was gold that the men would use to good advantage in breaking Wilcox. Van Pelt took an item of Wilcox's clothing and left to start the hunt for the knife in the nature area. Jane disappeared for several minutes, only to join Lisbon in the observation room as Cho and Rigsby started their interrogation. Jane watched Cho closely, admiring his skill, then turned to Lisbon.

"Gift wrapped with a bow, my parting gift."

Her heart clenched painfully, though she worked mightily not to show it. "You need to go back to the hospital."

He frowned, "Why?"

"Get Dr. Miller to release you. You'll need a 'responsible adult.'"

Jane half smiled, "And I care if Miller releases me because?"

"He'll have the PD initiate a search if he thinks you're a danger to yourself."

"You're kidding."

"Out of my hands. Do you want every PD in the country looking for you?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, clearly considering it a nuisance. "Okay." He turned.

"Wait." He paused. "Stop by after. Paychecks are delivered Friday afternoon."

It was his turn to frown. "Can't it be electronically deposited?"

"Sure. Once you set it up. Couple hours in HR and two-week lead time."

He sighed. "I'll stop by after Miller." He left.

Lisbon sank onto a chair while monitoring the interrogation with half her attention. She'd given Miller a heads up about Jane in desperate hope he could convince Jane to stay. That didn't have great odds. If Miller doesn't succeed, then what? I promised Jane. And I am going to break that promise. God help me, I cannot see any way around Jane having to remember. She was nauseated knowing she would soon deliver him back to guilt and grief and obsession. Not remembering would be worse.

Wilcox confessed to the ATM job a scant fifteen minutes after Cho and Rigsby revealed the serial number evidence. He refused to say anything about Satterfield until Van Pelt returned with a glove the dogs had found in the forest. She still had hope the divers would find the knife in the pond. Cho pressed and Wilcox confessed to murdering Satterfield. Thoroughly unnerved, he even admitted trying to drown Jane.

Wilcox sullenly added, "If I'd finished the job with that sonofabitch I'd be half way to Montana."

Rigsby looked up from his notes. Mildly, "Care to rephrase that?"

Angry, combative, "Hell no. That guy took half the ATM money. Crooked as hell. You should be ashamed of working with a thief."

Cho said expressionlessly, "That's rich coming from a murderer. Maybe you'd just like to smear him since he nailed you."

"You're all dirty cops, you–"

Rigsby roughly hauled him to his feet. "We're done listening to you." He handed him off to the uniformed officer outside the door.

The three agents gathered in the bullpen, relaxing a moment after having closed the case before starting their write-ups. Wilcox's accusation hung in the air.

Rigsby, "You don't think–"

Cho shook his head without saying anything, not "no" but "don't know."

Van Pelt said, "Jane wouldn't, I mean after all these years... Our real Jane wouldn't."

Reaching into his drawer for a bag of chips, "Where is Jane anyhow?"

Lisbon walked up at that moment. Neutrally, "Jane is getting the hospital to release him. He'll stop by after."

The redhead frowned prettily in confusion, "'Stop by'? He's taking the rest of the day?"

"He says he's done with law enforcement."

"But – but–"

Cho weighed in, "Boss, it's not safe. He still doesn't remember."

Lisbon first looked at Cho, then at the other two. "I am open to suggestions." After a moment, she turned and went back to her office. She had a call to make, this time to the other Dr. Miller.