Chapter 3: What a Tangled Web...

Jane

A few hours after the team meeting Jane was driving north to Oregon. The team would do the grunt work in checking out McAllister, Stiles and Haffner better and faster than he could. He needed to talk to Pete Turner. A phone call would be quicker, but in-person was better for reading people, not to mention pressing them to talk when they didn't want to. Plus, he could talk to Samantha and Roddy if need be.

The Citroen pulled into the fairgrounds parking lot in late afternoon. It was Wednesday and the carnival had just arrived. Everyone was busy setting up for opening day on Thursday. Jane found Pete where he expected him, overseeing the assembly of the rides and carny infrastructure.

Finished swearing at recalcitrant bolts and hunks of metal, Pete's gaze was caught by the incongruous sight of a man in a three-piece suit in the summer heat at a carnival.

"Paddy!" Pete called, walking over. "What brings you up to–" he paused a moment to recall just what town they were in, "Medford?"

Jane trotted over only to be crushed in a bear hug, dwarfed by Pete's height and bulk. "I knew you couldn't manage without some intelligent guidance. I came to supervise."

"Yeah, you Janes always talk a good story but you're allergic to real work," Pete grumbled, wiping the dust off his hands with a rag. "C'mon, Sam will make you some iced tea." He called to the other man working on the ride, "Mark. Finish this up and take a break. I'll be back after dinner."

Jane, Pete, and Sam sat around the patio table outside their Airstream trailer. Sam poured tea for all three, taking stock of Jane as she handed out the glasses. It was two months since she'd last seen him but he seemed years more tired, more worn.

"Patrick, why are you here?" Sam asked after taking a sip of tea. "You finally want me to do your astrological chart?" she smiled.

Jane tilted his chair back, ignoring her effort at the light touch. "Eileen," he answered.

"She was killed two months ago, Paddy. What's changed?" Pete asked soberly.

"That's the problem. Nothing will change till I get Red John. Eileen. Angie and Charlie. And 20-odd others over the years. It's been a decade since Angela and Charlotte were murdered. You know I don't give up."

Pete and Sam exchanged glances. "That's some pretty heavy artillery, Paddy. What exactly do you want from us?"

"Information I can't get anywhere else."

"I told you everything I know when you started looking into LeeLee's murder."

"I have better questions now."

"You saw Sean Barlow?"

Jane nodded. "Uh-huh. He didn't do it."

"What then? I don't know anything about Red John."

"Pete, I'm more convinced than ever there's a connection. I'm pretty sure Sean Barlow isn't Red John, but he's tied into it somehow. Talk to me about the '60's. What were Sean and Alex up to back then?"

Pete hunched his shoulders uncomfortably, trying unsuccessfully to relieve tension. He shrugged. "Sean and Alex always had their schemes."

"What schemes. And who else?"

Pete looked away and sighed. "Sean Barlow was always in tight with the IRA. You know that, right? Alex. Well, Alex went along. Sean always took lead and your father followed."

"What's the story of 'The English Lord'? How did he fit in?"

"I'm surprised you even know about him, Paddy."

"My mother and father talked about him when I was a kid. Never met him. How did he fit in?"

Jane pinned Pete with his gaze. Pete sighed and finally answered. "Bartholomew Stafford. He came over from Britain in the mid-'60's. I'd guess he was about 25 at the time. Mentalist. Psychic. Con man. He traveled with the carnival for awhile. He and Sean hit it off. Sean handled the shady IRA deals. Stafford gave him access to the UK – something Sean couldn't do because, y'know, Irish versus the Brits."

"What happened after the '60's?"

"He disappeared. There was some rumor about him and a religious scam. He just stopped showing up. That's all I know, Paddy."

Jane took a deep breath. "What about Stafford and my parents?"

Pete looked at him levelly, then dropped his eyes and mumbled, "Don't know about that. He just hung around with Sean and Alex."

"And my mother, Mary?"

Pete shook his head and shoved his chair away from the table, getting up. "I've gotta get back to work, Paddy. Carnival opens tomorrow and there's a lot to do."

"Just one more thing," Jane said. Pete paused. "Do you recognize either of these photos?" Jane laid photographs of Stiles and Haffner on the table.

"Don't know the young guy. The older one could be Stafford, but it's 40 years, Paddy. Not sure." Sam looked at the pictures as well, but had nothing to add.

Jane said softly, "Thanks, Pete, Sam. You know this won't go further."

Sam went into the Airstream with the glasses. Pete looked at Jane again. "You know Sean Barlow blames you for Jimmy, right?"

Jane froze. Jimmy was a name, a person he hadn't thought about for over 25 years. He swallowed. "Thank you. Say 'bye' to Sam for me." Pete extended his hand. Jane took his hand and pulled him in for a hug as well, then turned and walked away. "I'll be in touch...when this is finished." he said over his shoulder.

~.~.~.~

"Jane, finally!" exclaimed Lisbon as Jane stepped into her townhouse Thursday morning. "Grace uncovered some promising infor–"

Jane shushed her and led her outside for another walk to the gazebo. Lisbon continued talking quietly as they walked, "Cho and Rigsby just eliminated McAllister as a possibility. Van Pelt dug up some promising info. What have you been up to?"

"I went to talk to Pete."

"Isn't he traveling the summer carny circuit?"

"This year they're traveling the coast. I was able to meet up in Oregon."

"Long drive. Was it worth it?"

"You first. What did Van Pelt, Rigsby and Cho find out?"

After Lisbon filled him in, Jane talked about his conversation with Pete.

"Pete's the only one who could tell me about Sean Barlow."

"You still think he's involved?"

As was typical, Jane answered with a question. "What do we know about Stiles?"

"Involved with Visualize since the '70's. Powerful, secretive. Rumored criminal activities, but never able to prove it. And we know nothing before the '70's – other than that he emigrated from the UK sometime."

Jane took a deep breath. "We may have a lead now. I remembered Sean and my father talking about a former carny mentalist, 'The English Lord.' Guess who."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. When I met Stiles I pegged him as a con man. Maybe I was more right than I thought. If the two really are the same man, back then he went by Bartholomew Stafford. He emigrated from the UK sometime in the '60's. Pete remembers him thick as thieves with Sean Barlow. Sean kept in contact with friends in Ireland and was deeply involved with the IRA. The IRA has since disbanded politically. However, the network that funded the IRA was involved in crime and with other terrorist organizations. The money side of the IRA is still active. My father and Sean stopped talking openly around me when I was 11 or so, but Sean's criminal sidelines go back 45 years."

"What does Stiles have to do with that?"

"Stiles took control of Visualize around 1976, right?" Lisbon nodded. "Where did he get the money to grow from a few hundred followers to millions in just 20 years? It takes money to recruit followers, reform messed up kids, buy those farms. Not to mention bribing police and politicians. I think Sean helped fund Visualize early on."

"Why would Barlow do that? What's in it for him?"

"Excellent question. Sean would see it as an investment. Sean would appreciate Stiles's talents and UK connections. Being Irish, Sean could never make UK connections without someone like Stiles. Maybe Stiles cut him in for a piece of the action – small initially, huge down the road."

"How does all this connect to Red John?"

"Not sure. Yet. - I'm feeling my way. It looks increasingly like Haffner is Red John. Stiles would know about that. Haffner certainly could have been at that farm back in 1988. So Haffner joins Visualize and gets cleaned up. He becomes an enforcer for Stiles, and eventually becomes a protege. If Haffner really is Red John, he's smart enough to impress Stiles. Maybe become the Visualize heir apparent."

"Thin."

"Not so much. Stiles talked a good game about knowing about Red John. Stiles told me Kristina's location. How could he know that? And Stiles knew I manipulated Red John to kill the San Joaquin serial killer Panzer."

"So now what?"

"Did Cho ever get the DNA analyses from Forensics?"

'Not yet. We're all back on duty on Monday and I can put some pressure on."

"What have you been up to?"

"I've been following what Abbott's up to. He won't win any congeniality awards, but he seems straight and competent. Minelli suggested I trot around and remind everyone how great we are," that earned her a rare, real smile from Jane, "so we'll have support when we need it. And we will need it, no matter how Red John goes down. Minelli says the governor and AG want a new head for the CBI ASAP. But they're scared witless of choosing some Blake Association member. Everything's on hold till Abbott does more to mop up Blake."

"Of course. Where's that leave you?"

"I have no idea. But we need to get as much done as possible before things change again. I don't know how much running room I'll have once we get a new CBI director."

"We're close, Lisbon. Maybe this week."

"Jane–" He looked up and she continued. "I want Van Pelt to put traces on our burner phones. I'm afraid Red John might come after us."

Jane frowned and Lisbon's stomach churned unpleasantly as she recalled their argument in the desert diner. Was that really just weeks ago?!

"I would have given my right arm to know where you were when Red John called on your phone. Can she do it securely? It just makes us more vulnerable if Red John can tap into the traces for our locations."

Relieved, "I think she can. Let's meet in the park outside the CBI, 8 a.m. on Monday. I'll call the team. We need to go over all the facts and lay out our next steps."

Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt

The 62-year old woman sat down heavily, shoulders bent from too many years, too much worry about broken homes, broken parents and, especially, broken kids.

"Mrs. Tilman, how long have you been working for the Carson Springs CPS?" opened Cho.

"Since 1976."

"Do you remember a boy named Raymond Hafenmaier? CPS gained guardianship after his mother died. No one could locate his father."

She frowned, then sighed. "I'm not sure. There have been so many kids over my 30 years here."

Van Pelt caught Cho's eye and he nodded fractionally. "Does this picture remind you of anyone?"

Tilman's face brightened in recognition. "I think so. I think he might look like that 30 years older."

Van Pelt placed the younger Haffner picture, extrapolated back by the facial aging software. "Is this the boy you remember?"

"Yes. Yes, that's definitely him," Tilman said.

"What can you tell us about him, m'am?" Rigsby asked politely.

Tilman sat back and thought a moment, frowning slightly. "He came to us after his mother was murdered," she said forcefully. "Terrible crime. You're right. The father wasn't in the picture since he was born. Unfortunately, it was all too common. A mother too young. No husband, no father in the picture. Mother repeatedly neglected and beat the child. If I recall, she got into drug abuse, too. And then she was stabbed to death. The boy found her when he got home from school."

"How was he when he was under CPS guardianship?" asked Cho.

"Troubled. He was sent to several different foster homes. It wasn't because we wanted to move him around. The foster families just couldn't deal with him. He was moody, sometimes violent. One family had a teenaged daughter and were very worried about her safety. –A murder like that scars a boy forever, you know," she added, with a touch of defensiveness for her former charge, even after 30 years.

"What happened to him?"

Sadly, "He aged out of the system at 18." She added, brightening, "I think he eventually got his GED through us, though," grasping for anything positive she could remember.

"Was he particularly close to any of the CPS staff?" asked Van Pelt.

Tilman didn't answer for a moment, shifting uneasily in her chair. "Uhh, personal relationships with our charges are against the rules, but he seemed to be close to Miriam Gottleib. Miriam was a clerk here while she continued her education by taking part-time college courses. You know, she was the director here until –until-" her face fell thinking about Gottleib's death just two months earlier.

"Yes, m'am. We know she died recently," Van Pelt interrupted kindly. "I don't mean to be upsetting, but can you tell us a little more about Ms. Gottleib's relationship with Hafenmaier?"

"Oh! I think he changed his name, before leaving. Privacy. Um, I think Miriam was attracted to Raymond and he was to her, as well. The age difference was only a few years. Strictly against the rules but nothing ever came of it. He left and I don't think she heard much from him other than a card a few times a year."

"Is there anything more that comes to mind about Raymond Hafenmaier?"

"I'm sorry. Not really. Just that he seemed quite troubled. I hope he has done well for himself."

"Here's our phone number. Please call if you think of anything else. We will appreciate getting a copy of Hafenmaier's file as soon as it can be retrieved. Thank you for your time," Cho finished up.

The Team

Lisbon's team assembled in the park across from the CBI building at 8 a.m. on Monday morning. They all remembered to leave their CBI cell phones in their cars before gathering.

Lisbon summarized, "Based on the three-dot tattoo, we know Bertram, Smith, Partridge and McAllister were or are Blake Association. Bertram is still on the run. Smith is now in Federal prison. The Austin FBI agents are doing a good job and no one's silenced Smith yet. Partridge is dead and it appears McAllister is as well. The information Cho and Rigsby uncovered means McAllister isn't Red John, regardless. Kirkland is dead at Smith's hand. That leaves Stiles and Haffner."

Cho interjected before they focused on the main suspects, "Jane, you think Kirkland killed Jason Lennon, right? Kirkland was about to torture you to get your list of Red John suspects. Why would he kill Lennon rather than get him to identify Red John?"

"We're not sure what Lennon told Kirkland. Lennon died shortly after he came out of a medically induced coma. If Lennon was killed in the hospital, Bob Kirkland didn't do it. Before Bob Kirkland got around to-" Jane swallowed before he was able to continue, "torturing me, he told me he had an identical twin brother, Michael. Bob said Michael had become a follower of a charismatic criminal who Bob thought was Red John. It could be Bret Stiles instead of Red John, but no matter. Bob Kirkland wanted to nail Red John. Michael Kirkland, whether Visualize or Red John supporter, would want to protect Red John. If Lennon was killed, Michael Kirkland likely did it."

They sat back, heads abuzz with yet another wrinkle, yet another complication. The case was ridiculously complicated. They were inclined to reject the elaborate theories, except no one had anything better to offer.

"Jane, how could Stiles and Haffner survive the explosion?" Rigsby asked. "The Malibu PD found burnt lumps believed to be their bodies."

Jane leaned back and took a breath before answering. Lisbon thought with surprise that it was under two weeks since Jane had been caught in that explosion. She suppressed a shiver.

"There were two explosions. The first was a flash bang concussion grenade. It knocked everyone unconscious without doing permanent damage. I believe Haffner or Stiles had an ally. He helped Stiles and Haffner out of the building. Then he dragged Bertram, Smith and me out of harm's way. He planted two bodies before the real explosion. It would be easy enough to spread DNA trace around to suggest that two of the corpses were Haffner and Stiles."

"Why not kill Bertram, Smith, and you?"

"Misdirection. Leaving Bertram and Smith alive gives us someone to chase. Once the bodies were swapped and Bertram, Smith, and I were dragged into another room, the deadly explosion was set off. Everything in the main room was burned to a crisp. Voila. No one hunts a dead man. Red John is free."

Lisbon shook her head, "Wish we could confirm that."

Jane frowned, thinking. "Lisbon, you arrived just before the main explosion, right?" She nodded her head. "That means you were driving up the service road shortly before then. Did you see cars leaving?"

"Yeah, I did. I can't remember license plates or identifying details, though."

"Let's talk about that after we're done here. Maybe I can help you remember. Then we could trace the plates." Lisbon shrugged uncomfortably, but didn't reject his suggestion outright.

Jane then filled the team in on his Sean Barlow and Bret Stiles information and speculations. "This is our last, best chance to get Red John. Either he'll create a new identity and disappear. Or, he'll come after us."

This was Jane's play and he laid out the next steps. "I'll work with Lisbon and see if we can ID the car leaving my house before the explosion. Cho, see if Forensics has those DNA analyses. I kept the teacup when Stiles was in for questioning. Lisbon got Haffner's coffee cup before the Malibu meeting. I want to see if they're related." Cho frowned. Jane had given him three DNA samples for analysis. What was the other one?

Jane continued. "Van Pelt, you search for old carny advertisements or show leaflets for performances of 'The English Lord, Psychic and Mentalist.' Also see what you get on 'Bartholomew Stafford' both here and in the UK. Rigsby, you and Cho keep trying to see if there's evidence Stiles or Haffner is alive. Also, Carson Springs CPS is supposed to have pulled Hafenmaier's file by now. Finger prints could confirm that was Haffner. That could be the Red John connection to CPS and the Eileen Turner murder. Lisbon, you and I should take another crack at Sean Barlow." He looked around. "Anything more?"

Lisbon added, "Yeah. Van Pelt, go ahead with the GPS traces on our burner phones. I want to be able to locate everyone if Red John goes after us. No one," she added, glancing at Jane, "goes in the field alone."