Paint It Red, Black & Blue
Chapter 3
California is a big state. Sacramento, the capital, is north of center, and nothing, not even San Francisco, is less that a 3 hour drive along innumerable interstates. Sometimes, in high profile cases, the CBI team was allowed to use the helicopters, as they were by far the most efficient mode of transportation across the vast Golden Bear state. They crossed mountains and deserts and vineyards and farmland with equal ease.
Unfortunately, fetching a wayward consultant from a 'resort and spa' didn't qualify as a high profile case, so Rigsby and Cho had to put in the mileage, drive the long hours, in yet another black SUV. It was early afternoon when they pulled into the Calistoga Canyon parking lot and immediately spied the missing car amongst all the others.
Rigsby slurped down the last of his Big Gulp. "Lisbon's gonna kill him."
"Yep," said Cho, slipping his new shades onto his eyes and getting out of the car. Rigsby grinned. Jane had surely decked him out last night, new suit, new shades, and apparently, a new attitude to boot. The agent had it all going on. All he needed now was a woman.
He joined Cho at the SUV. Cho was already examining the door, where a faint but new scratch had been left, approximately waist height. Hands on hips, Rigsby scanned the area, taking in the sports cars, luxury sedans, SUVs. Not a clunker in the bunch. Tough economic times had obviously not reached the Calistoga Canyon Resort and Spa. He glanced down at his feet.
"Look," he pointed. "Something got broken."
Cho bent down to retrieve the small pieces of black plastic. "Cell phone?"
"Could be anything. Let's go see if he checked in."
Cho straightened, scanned the ground as well, but the gravel was hard packed and reasonably clean. Made sense they would have a groundskeeper. If there was anything here, it was long gone by now. "Right. Let's go."
And for the third time in as many days, they headed under the archway of the Calistoga Canyon Resort and Spa.
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The front desk was quite literally a desk in the front. The lobby was spacious - gleaming ceramic tile, adobe brick accents, white washed walls, rich furniture and lush floral arrangements everywhere. The very picture of the opulent South West. The Bell Captain sitting at that desk had been extremely helpful, fawning even, and Rigsby was convinced he was gay.
"He's not here," said Cho into his phone. "At least, he hasn't booked in using his own name."
"Did anyone see him leave?" It was Lisbon on the other end, her voice still matter-of-fact. "What about Frick or Katie or the bartender?"
"We've asked to speak to them. The bartender gets on at 4:00. Frick and Katie are coming down."
Rigsby grinned. "Making up is hard to do…"
Cho grimaced. "We found something in the gravel –"
"Oh, yeah." Rigsby turned to the man at the desk. "Has anyone turned in a cell phone? From the parking lot? In one piece or many…"
The attendant smiled. "Oh yes. A cell phone and a set of keys…" He reached into one of the desk's carved drawers. "This morning one of the custodial staff found them in the parking lot by one of the cars."
Rigsby grabbed them, holding them up so Cho could see. Cho rolled his eyes. "Yeah, phone and keys here. Okay, we'll keep you posted." He folded the phone and slipped it into his pocket.
"There's a State ID number on these keys," Rigsby was saying as he leaned over the front desk. "You didn't think to phone it in?"
The young man shrugged. "Calistoga Canyon is an exclusive resort, sir. We get all kinds."
"Losing their keys?"
"I have a monogrammed pair of boxers in this drawer too, Officer. Do you want me to report those as well?"
"Funny."
"Creepy," said Cho. "Who monograms their underwear?"
"As I said," the Bell Captain smiled again. "We get all kinds."
"Great." And the two agents waited patiently for their crimson Casanova and his lady love Katie and cursed the day they met Patrick Jane.
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Patrick Jane cursed the day he met Chirarli Arlov.
No, that wasn't quite true. Arlov was a shark, that much was true, but he was what he was and there was no pretense to anything else. It was actually the Morreau. He cursed the day he first saw the Morreau, with her golden gilt frame, Mona Lisa smile and green silk dress. Oh yes, and the red hair.
No, no, actually, it was Caid. A.P. Caid, who cared more for his lost painting than lost son-in-law. Or was it Stevie, the grieving daughter, who truly loved a man no good for her, and somehow made him better for it? That was probably it, the need to prove that the love of a good and honest woman can make any man just want to be better.
Deep down, he knew he ought to be cursing himself, his own bloody arrogance. Did he honestly expect to rob a Russian mobster without consequence, and the answer to that was, of course, yes. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. It was the rush and the consequences be damned. Consequences never bothered him. There was no consequence higher than the one that had already been paid. Been there. Done that. Bought the T-shirt, tore it to pieces, painted it with red.
The sun was blazing down on his neck, unprotected head, chapping lips. It was causing his waist-coat to literally suck to his back and chest, sweat acting as a sort of glue. Every muscle in his body ached, groaned from maintaining this very same position for what seemed like days, although he knew he had not lost consciousness, so it was only 6 hours at best. Still, Lisbon had always chided him for not being able to sit still for minutes let alone hours, claimed he had ADHD or something like it. Therefore, this was somewhat of an achievement, if he thought about it.
And there was nothing else to do but think.
Arlov had spent the better part of the day conducting business via his cell-phone and laptop. He had the freedom to get up, stretch his legs, have a drink, munch a caviar-laden cracker, read a novel, take a nap. He was even gone for a while, one of the buffoons always standing in front or behind him, ready to grab him by the collar and chuck him over the side into the water. The boat was rocking gently, moored as it was somewhere off the coast of America, and right now, with the way he was feeling, the water was sounding good.
"How are you feeling, little rabbit?" Arlov again, and he knelt down to face him. He had a glass of sparkling water in his hand. It looked very good. The icicles clinked and called to him. Beads of condensation ran down the length, dripped off Arlov's fingertips to puddle on the deck floor. Jane's autonomic nervous system responded by causing him to swallow, but there was nothing in his mouth to swallow.
Arlov grinned.
"You want it, yes? Just ask, little rabbit. Just ask and I will give you water."
Jane said nothing. This was nothing more than a heightened game of Simon Says meets Russian Roulette, and he had no idea how to play. Arlov was capricious. There was no reason with him, only want.
"No? Too bad. It's good, see…" He raised the glass to his lips, drank it all down, sighed sweetly when it was done. He stood up. "Next time, yes?" And reached down, patted Jane on the head, and walked away, barking in Russian to the buffoons elsewhere on the boat.
Jane let out a deep breath. Yes, he most definitely should be cursing Chirarli Arlov.
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"Oh him, yeah I saw him last night… uhm, in the bar…"
The crimson Casanova himself, Paul Frick, was standing with one arm wrapped around the blonde woman's waist and the other one holding a cocktail with a little umbrella in it. Katie, for her part, was on cloud nine, alternately kissing him on the cheek and leaning her head on his shoulder. Cho rolled his eyes. True love blew big chunks sometimes.
Rigsby had his notepad out. "And…?"
"And that was it. We talked, you know, mano a mano, about the ladies. I tried to talk some sense into him, but well, you know, some guys, they like their balls and chains…"
Katie giggled and slapped him on the chest. He nuzzled her neck.
"But I left him there, ask the bartender. I had…" Again with the nuzzling. "…other matters to attend to…"
"I think I'm gonna puke," grumbled Cho, under his breath.
"And so," urged Rigsby. "What time did you last see him? Approximately."
"I don't know. Maybe around 10:30, closer to 11:00? What time did we book into the room, Katie-pie?"
"Hmm, yeah, about that. I was kinda busy…"
"Swept off your feet."
She giggled, so that her answered sounded like a horse whinney. Heeheeyeah…
Rigsby cleared his throat. "So, the last time either of you saw Patrick Jane was around 11:00 last night?"
They both nodded. "Can we go? We have a lot of catching up to do…"
"Heeheeyeah," Katie again, and together they turned and headed off, Katie throwing a wink and a thumbs up sign back at Kimball Cho before disappearing down the hallway.
"Okay," said Rigsby. "Let me get this straight. Love and Affection, alternating with Contempt, Control and Excitation."
"I hate you," said Cho. "I'm going to check out the bar."
"Sounds good."
And they plodded off, two very single men, towards the surprisingly high female population of the Calistoga Canyon Resort and Spa pool-side bar.
End of Chapter 3