Chapter Two - Visions of Red Dancing in His Head

It was an overcast day, clouds looming overhead and threatening cold, steady rain. Corin stepped over the curb, pulling her thin overcoat tighter around her in the chilly blast of air whipping around her in short bursts.

'Hey." She turned around at the voice behind her and found Wayne there, just stepping into the grass. He was by her side in a couple of more steps.

"Hey." She returned softly, switching the little, green tree from one hand to the other as she leaned in to hug him. He slid an arm around her shoulder and then they paced themselves across the ground, needling their way in and out of the slabs of marble without saying much at all.

Corin sighed when they stopped. Wayne blinked, torn by a new pang of grief mixed with anger and guilt as he watched his sister kneel down and swipe her palm across the marble slab. Then she secured the little tree there, in the holder. It sat there, upright, the tiny silver bells glinting flecks of dimmed sunlight. She brought her fingers to her mouth, kissed them and then placed them on the slab, carefully tracing over the letters.

She blinked and then rose, clamping her fingers around Wayne's when she'd felt him taking her hand. They stood there together for a few minutes, looking over the spot, and then he kissed her on the head. "Come on. We should go."

"Yea." She nodded tearfully, which prompted him to wrap his arms around her for a minute or two, and then he nudged her back towards their cars.

Wayne watched her pull out, thinking how unfair it was, and would rather have followed her home instead of heading back to the CBI. He'd ridden back with the group after they'd picked up Santa Claus, and then he abandoned them in the parking lot, retrieving his own car so that he could meet Corin.

He chuckled thinking about it. Santa Claus. He didn't know what was more amusing, the idea of a psychopath Santa, or Jane's expression when the guy stood up and declared he actually was the jelly belly in the flesh.

He let this thought ride with him, trying to blot out the nag in his gut, on his way back to the CBI office.

"Well? Anyone else dead yet?" He mused, striding up to Van Pelt, who was busy researching files on the computer.

She scowled without looking up. "Not funny. But no."

He threw a glance toward the interrogation rooms. "They still in there?"

"Yep."

"Huh." He added, impassively, and then strolled towards the interrogation room. Cho was there, staring through the one way mirror.

"Did he cough up the reindeer ?"

"Nope." Cho answered so straight-faced, Rigsby wondered if he'd even gotten the joke. But then he added, without so much as even turning his head. "Maybe you could give it a try, he might find some familiarity with the red nose and all."

"Dude, that joke's way old." Rigsby whined, but then he stared into the glass hoping to get a glance at his own face. Sure the nose was a little sore, but still red? "Whatever, so what exactly did we find out?"

"Nothing much really." Cho shrugged. "Howie hired him after the last guy showed up to work drunk. "

"Work?"

"Yea. Seems Howie was a rather eccentric old fart. Took this Christmas stuff a little too seriously."

"What do you got against Christmas?"

"Aside from otherwise ordinary people morphing into greedy, hateful moron's who beat each other up over a giggling Elmo, while going into debt buying gifts for people they don't even speak to, much less like, and their kids loads of cheap shit that winds up in the trash the next day, and then gorging themselves on a crap load of food that they don't really even enjoy … I don't have a problem at all …It's spectacular!"

Rigsby blinked, stunned at Cho's ability to deliver such an oration in what seemed like one long uninterrupted stream of breath, as he continued to stare through the window, never changing his dead-faced expression. Rigsby then frowned and responded. "Sorry I asked. Yeesh."

Alvin Howard was a self made man. He owned two hotels which had been successful up until the latter part of the previous year. Business was down and was at risk of going under. He kept up his usual holiday cheer, regardless, decorating his hotels and of course his home - for which he'd become well-known.

Cho was right when he said Howie took Christmas seriously. Every weekend, starting right after Thanksgiving, he set up a live nativity and hired a Santa Claus to accompany his sleigh. He'd even managed to score a couple of reindeer to top off the fun. It was safe to say, Howie loved Christmas.

Chris took over the role of Santa literally five minutes after the drunk, fat man was fired. He was a nasty old lush, whom Chris determined, after they'd passed each other on the street, unfit for playing nice with the children.

Chris and Howie became fast friends and it wasn't long before Chris was living there with Howie. He'd won over Howie's sister as well, but the brother- in- law was a different story. He was skeptical, accusing him of aiming for Howie's checkbook.

The night of the murder, Chris was sleeping in his room when he heard a strange sound. He stepped out into the hallway, and was moving towards the front of the house when he felt a pain in his head and then everything went black.

Lisbon asked him if Howie had any enemies or if, while living with him, had he noticed any animosity between him and anyone in particular.

"No." Chris responded considerately. "He was a good man, thoughtful and kind. It's a shame that someone could do something like this to him. He was a sweet boy too, he'd give away almost everything I gave him."

"Oh boy, here it comes." Rigsby commented, watching Jane move from the corner of the room and sit himself beside Lisbon. He shuffled his weight in the chair, folded his arms in front of him and then leaned forwards. Lisbon shot him a 'please behave' sort of look and then he settled his eyes into Chris's.

"So, you're Santa Claus, huh? Portly old geezer from the North Pole, lives with elves, goes flying around at night shoving your lard-ass down dusty old chimney's? How exactly does that work anyway? Do you just suck in your disgustingly fat old gut? "

"Oh Patrick." Chris laughed. "You were a good boy. Funny. Always getting into some kind of trouble. I always liked you."

"Right." Jane rolled his eyes.

Then Chris sighed. "I'm sorry. I had such a difficult time finding you, you were moving around so much with your father."

"Ahm! " Jane held a finger up abruptly. "You can stop right there."

Lisbon gave a start. His tone even took Cho and Rigsby by surprise as he straightened himself. His eyes narrowed subtly. "You're not fooling anybody old man. I see you. "

"Um, Jane."

But he ignored Lisbon as he usually did when he was ready to deliver one of his sharp-edged, tactical speeches. "Give it up, Chris - or whatever your name really is. This isn't Miracle on twenty-fourth street, nobody's gonna buy the whole insanity bit. "

"Thirty-fourth street."

"Sorry?" Jane tilted his head.

"Miracle on Thirty-Fourth street, I think."

"Oh." Jane smiled. "My mistake, So it is. Santa watches TV? How's the reception at the North Pole?"

"Yes, I do actually." Chris admitted. "And it depends, sometimes very good, sometimes not so good. But please Patrick, don't let me stop you. Say what it is you mean to say."

And Jane was intent on it. "The brother in law was right wasn't he? All the evidence points to it, literally right down to the blood on your hands. Howie's blood. So, make it easier on yourself and confess. You killed Alvin Howard you sick ol' bastard, didn't you?"

Chris dropped his eyes, shaking his head slowly, and when he raised them again, they were glistening. He sighed, a sharp sadness in his voice. "I don't know what happened to you Patrick, but I hope you find some peace. Alvin Howard was a good man, kind and generous. He didn't deserve this. But I couldn't kill anyone … You should know that. "

Jane rose abruptly. "We're done here."

Cho and Rigsby moved when Jane came barreling through the door, Lisbon hot on his heels. "We're done here? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Jane flipped around. "How long can we hold him?"

"Without charging him? A couple of hours maybe. Why?"

"Why can't we charge him? He was found on the murder scene with the victims blood all over him."

"Well, first …" She responded, detecting a certain disappointment in his demeanor. " I don't think that man back there could kill a bug. Secondly, I think we should interview the sister and brother- in- law. "

She stared at him a moment, and then added. "He really got under your skin, didn't he? "

"Sorry to interrupt." Van Pelt stepped up to the two of them, handing Lisbon a folder. " You might wanna talk to the banker as well."

Jane eyed Rigsby's thin little tree, tilting his head as he questioned. "What's so special about the banker?"

Lisbon glanced over the file before replying. "Oliver Potter. Looks like he and Howard were having problems. Potter was threatening to take the hotels from under him."

"Um. This is a joke right?" Jane sputtered, staring blankly at Lisbon.

"What?"

"Potter?" He snorted and then flicked a disbelieving glance around the room. "Seriously, are we on TV?"

'Okay, Okay, yes, I see the ridiculous irony, but still, there it is. Okay? Look, Van Pelt and I will take on the sister, why don't you and Rigsby talk to Potter since you did such a good job on Santa?"

"Funny." He sneered.

"Jane? What'd you do to Santa?"

"He made him cry." Rigsby answered Van Pelt. He and Cho were just returning from the interrogation area.

"Really? " She gasped. "Jane! You made Santa cry? How could you do that?!"

"First." Jane responded. "That's a suspect back there, and probably the killer. Second, there's no such thing as Santa Claus."

"You poor sad man." Van Pelt patted him on the head, while tossing her eyes over to the skinny green tree perched sadly on Rigsby's desk.

"The North Pole is real, and reindeer do fly."

"Oh I do so hope not." Jane groaned, watching Van Pelt and Lisbon exit the building.

A/N - I would have had this out sooner, but I got stuck somewhere in the middle, unsure of who dunnit and how to set it all up. I also know it's a shorter chapter, but it felt like it needed to end here.

I can't complain over eight reviews. Thank you so much! A couple of you have had me laughing - Santa killed somebody? LOL!!! So funny.

Thank you so much IdleCrush, you are so cool! Thank you also to Cessations, Some crazy girl who likes pie, Tpel, Langfieldl, Ellipsis9, MauriceJayo, CSI-MM, DarkAmazOn, Nsane1, and CharmedDaughterForever. I hope you keep reading and enjoying the story!

Here's to more Mentalist fanfics, and more holiday tales too!