Chapter 4: Closing In

Monday

Lisbon's team had plenty to do. They were in good company, everyone having lost a week of work and a career's worth of security and self-confidence. Feeling vaguely violated, the CBI employees reclaimed offices and desks after the FBI's search for Blake Association materials. For the great majority of CBI staff, it was offensive and unsettling to suddenly be treated with suspicion, suddenly have a career of honest work dismissed as irrelevant – or worse – mere cover for crimes. Lisbon's team set it all aside and tackled their assigned tasks.

Once Lisbon was sure Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt were off to a solid start, she and Jane turned to their piece of the puzzle. Lisbon reluctantly allowed Jane to hypnotize her to try to recall details about the cars leaving on the service road after the explosion at Jane's Malibu house. She could provide a much clearer description of the vehicles – color, make, style – but only saw part of one license plate number. She passed it along for her team to check out – whomever had a lull or hit a dead end on other tasks. She and Jane then left for the long drive to Venice, California. They would see Sean Barlow the next morning.

Rigsby followed a hunch and looked into the SacPD cases and Sacramento FBI cases during Haffner's tenure in each organization. It took several hours before he found it. Haffner had worked an FBI case involving a serial killer active in several western states. The m.o. was particularly gory, involving women, a hunting knife, and lots and lots of blood. Interestingly, the first Red John murder (at least since 1988) occurred a few months after that case was closed. The similarities didn't make a splash in the media because the last several killings in the FBI case had occurred in other states. Red John, of course, was a California home-boy psychopath whose first "artistic" endeavor occurred in San Francisco.

Rigsby and Cho then worked the phones trying to unearth signs of life, any sign Stiles or Haffner was still alive. They enjoyed no more success than they did the previous week.

Van Pelt followed up on Jane's tip about Bartholomew Stafford. Not only did she find bits and pieces of the man's history in the US, her big break was tracking him back to the UK. Bartholomew Stafford was one of several aliases used by British national Brent Stiller. Stiller was the brilliant progeny of a genteel British family whose fortunes faded with the end of WWII. Nonetheless, he attended the best schools and started his career working for the British intelligence agency M16. Arrogance, a taste for unaffordable fine things, and a penchant for fraud truncated a promising career. Disowned by his family, he drifted from one shady - if not outright criminal - activity to another, changing aliases as often as others change hairstyles. Eventually, emigrating became appealing, a fresh start free from the threat of imminent arrest. His intelligence training and con man experience were excellent preparation for his US psychic-mentalist act, and later for his ascension to demi-god status as the leader of Visualize. His former UK associates proved invaluable for establishing a new identity. He never looked back.

Tuesday

Lisbon and Jane walked the broad Venice, California sidewalk bordering the ocean with a sense of deja vu. Garish signs and murals hawked a myriad of unlikely sights and improbable experiences. The crowds included every possible flavor of human age, race, and appearance. They entered the storefront boldly advertising "Mystic Truth" and "Psychic Adviser and Palm Readings" for divining past, present and future. Incense overwhelmed them and made Jane's eyes water. It took a moment to adjust to the dim interior after the brilliant outdoor sunlight. Marta's de rigueur smile faded when she recognized them. She sullenly asked them to wait while she fetched Sean Barlow.

"Patrick Jane! How nice of you to drop by. Twice this year – after a 30 year absence. And how delightful you brought the lovely Agent Lisbon again."

"Hello, Mr. Barlow–"

"–'Sean,' Patrick. No need to be formal."

"We would like a few minutes of your time."

"A few minutes after a five hour drive? You value your time too little, my boy. Come upstairs."

He gestured for them to seat themselves on the couch as they had last visit. Though not as dim as the storefront, the room also exuded a vaguely mysterious ambiance – dark wood, deep red walls and oriental rug, heavy damask fabric, flligree embellishments, interesting oddities associated with psychics and mystics. This time Lisbon felt less susceptible to Barlow's psychic persona now that Jane had figured out Red John's trick with the disk and a possible way Jane's "happy memory" had been discovered and used to target Eileen Turner. Her skin crawled as Barlow's friendly words and warm tone belied the enmity she knew lay just below the surface. She watched quietly as Jane and Barlow verbally circled each other, predators searching for weakness, for an opportunity to draw blood.

"So," opened Barlow, "has California's best CBI team determined who murdered my niece?"

"We're making progress, but no arrest. Yet. Perhaps you can help."

"You know I'm just a businessman, Patrick. And psychic."

"As a 'psychic,'" Jane's tone faintly implied the embedded insult, "perhaps you can divine the connections with Red John that got Eileen Barlow Turner murdered." Jane's slight emphasis on "Turner" was another barb. Sean Barlow had disowned Eileen when she married Roddy Turner.

Barlow frowned, a fake expression. "Oh, I'm sorry to be so little help. You surely need all the help you can get with these...cases." His dark eyes glittered, unwavering gaze fastened on Jane. That was the only tell at odds with his friendly voice and comfortable posture as he leaned back into his chair.

Smoothly, "Sean, you can help by remembering your past. 'The English Lord.' What became of him?"

Barlow shifted minutely. "Stage name, I take it? It sounds faintly familiar. But that must be from decades ago.'"

"Yes it is," Lisbon responded, giving Jane an opportunity to observe undistracted, "We believe he chose a new career path." Her mind flashed back to Van Pelt using that phrase with Jane during her first dinner with the team. She shook it off and refocused on what she was saying. "And he befriended the man who was...or would become, Red John."

Barlow clapped his hands together. Hearty. "Splendid. So all you have to do is find Red John's mentor, his angel, to find Red John?"

"Yes, that's all," Jane responded ironically.

"But isn't that exactly what you had to do...two months ago? When Eileen was murdered?"

"The task is unchanged. That doesn't speak to our progress."

Tiring of sparring, "Well, then you'll have to let me know when you accomplish something."

"You'll be among the first to know, Sean." Jane replied evenly.

Barlow turned his attention to Lisbon. "My dear, I fear you need a vacation or easier line of work. If I don't miss my guess, you've recently suffered a great fright, a terrifying ordeal."

Lisbon's eyes widened at the effrontery of the thinly veiled reference to her capture by Red John. Stiffly, "My work is very rewarding, Mr. Barlow. Especially when we apprehend killers." Face unchanged, Jane was amused at the utter failure of Barlow's attempt at intimidation. The comment only raised her hackles and increased her determination.

Barlow backed off with a faint smile, "You must take care of yourselves," he had broadened it at the last minute to include Jane. "Such a dangerous line of work."

"Sean, be sure to call us if anything comes to mind. We think our case will come together soon. I'm looking forward to getting Red John...and his associates." Jane handed him a card with his CBI phone number.

Barlow smiled and ushered them out.

Starting the five hour drive back to Sacramento, Lisbon glanced at Jane. Awake but tired – Did he ever truly sleep? – he seemed satisfied with what they had gotten from Sean Barlow.

"You seem pleased. What did you get from him?"

"He's always hard to read. But now that we know more, I got more. Barlow didn't do it but he knows Red John. And his angel, his protector." Jane shifted uncomfortably, easing some of the tension from the meeting and stretching long legs cramping again with another long drive added to yesterday's. "All the pieces fit so far. Stiles is Red John's mentor. And Haffner is Red John."

"How will we find them? Or him? We still don't have hard evidence on Haffner, either."

"He'll find us. Our meeting with Barlow guarantees it."

~.~.~.~

Lisbon and Jane arrived in Sacramento near the end of the work day. After checking for bugs, the team met in Lisbon's office with the door closed. They left their CBI cell phones in the bullpen. Lisbon tried to relax, but a rough current of anticipation permeated the meeting. After ten years and more than a dozen near misses, they were on the cusp of getting Red John.

Van Pelt was certain Stiles and 'The English Lord' were one and the same. She passed around a photo of Brent Stiller aka Bartholomew Stafford aka Bret Stiles as a young man. He was slight with above average looks, blue eyes, light red hair, almost 5' 10". Van Pelt passed around Brent Stiller's picture extrapolated to age 70 by the facial aging software program. The resemblance to Bret Stiles was pronounced. A wave of goose bumps passed over Lisbon's arms.

Rigsby offered his discovery of the gory FBI serial killer case that just preceded the start of Red John murders in 1998. He straightened a bit in pride as Jane breathed, "The trigger, I assume."

Cho reported that the details Lisbon recalled about the vehicles from Malibu and the partial license plate number were consistent with several vehicles owned by Visualize. The bad news was that they were also consistent with a few dozen registered vehicles that had nothing to do with Visualize. At least it didn't contradict Jane's theory. Other than that, he and Rigsby had found nothing confirming Stiles and/or Haffner were still alive. Finally, the Carson Springs Child Protective Services file had arrived on Hafenmaier. His fingerprints matched those of Ray Haffner.

Jane and Lisbon then briefed the team on their meeting with Barlow.

"So you think Red John – Haffner – will contact us?" Van Pelt asked, dubious.

Jane replied, "One way or another. We know too much for Haffner to ignore this. Haffner might be willing to disappear, but Barlow and Stiles won't want to. That is, if Stiles is still alive. The other possibility is Barlow rolls over, trades Red John for immunity."

"He'd give up Red John?" Lisbon asked in surprise.

"He'd give up his mother if it's in his interest."

"And Stiles?"

"If Stiles really is terminally ill, he'll just wait it out. Visualize lawyers can stall for years until Stiles dies of natural causes. Haffner and Barlow are the unknown variables here."

"So now what?" asked Cho.

"We hunt Haffner until we find him. Or, until Haffner or Barlow contacts us to make a deal."

"How do you see it going down?" asked Rigsby.

"Nothing's changed from when we all learned my seven suspects. Haffner wants to kill us - together, or, one by one - and then change his identity," Jane answered without emotion. Van Pelt felt a stab of cold, both at the thought of being a target and that Jane said it so calmly. She remembered to listen as Jane continued after sipping his tea. "The hunt would end. We don't have solid evidence that would stand up in court...yet. If Haffner disappears and there are no new Red John killings, the case dies. Red John wins."

"It's essential to work with a partner, all the time," Lisbon cautioned. "Be careful, not just here and in the field, but at home, too. We have targets on our backs 24/7 until we get Haffner." Her office phone rang. She recognized the number - AG's office. "Gotta take this." She stepped aside for a moment. Then she said, "I have to meet with Abbott and the AG's assistant handling the CBI right now. Everyone wrap up and go home. We'll figure out our next steps tomorrow morning." They straggled out of her office. Cho glanced at his watch and hurried away.

Lisbon put her hand on Jane's arm to stop him from leaving. She said softly so only he could hear, "Abbott is asking about Red John. How do we play it?"

Jane's eyes narrowed. "Stall but make it clear Red John is not Blake. If the FBI gets involved, we'll never get anywhere." He shook his head and dropped the mask hiding his dismay and weariness at this newest complication. "The delay and bureaucracy would screw up everything."

Lisbon left for her meeting. Jane sighed and walked toward the break room.

"Jane?" Van Pelt asked. She and Rigsby were straightening their desks and getting ready to leave.

"I'll get tea and wait for Lisbon upstairs. You two have done some great work. We're close, guys. Have a good night."

"Tomorrow, Jane," Rigsby responded, as he left with Van Pelt.

Cho returned fifteen minutes later, file folder in hand. The bullpen was deserted. Lisbon was gone but her briefcase and car keys were still on her desk. Checking the break room, he noted that Jane's cup and saucer weren't there and concluded Jane was still around. He climbed the stairs to the attic – his best guess at Jane's location.