A/N: With thanks to Guest, idonthaveaname, WeBuiltThePyramids, Lauren, MissDonnie, ljp42, mylla88 and MerriWyllow for reviewing part two.
x tromana
Part Three
When the phone call came through from Rigsby, confirming that both Sarah and Benjamin were alive and well, Lisbon let out a sigh of relief that she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. It didn't necessarily mean they were out of the woods yet; the connection between the Coulsons and Rigsby's family were all too apparent. However, it meant they had a chance to keep them safe, to ensure that no harm came to them. That was better than any potential alternative they could have considered. Van Pelt appeared just as relieved when Lisbon passed the message onto her; that was understandable. She knew that the woman was still quite close to Rigsby and doted upon his son. If anything had happened to either Sarah or Ben, Lisbon didn't know if Van Pelt would have been able to cope. She'd been scarred by Red John enough as it was.
Cho joined them at the widow's workplace, having gleaned very little information from the grocery store. It turned out that it had been Julie Coulson herself who had bought the powdered milk and potato chips, not Red John. The killer had just picked up the prop at the crime scene and used it for his own needs. Red herrings like that irked a little; then again, this was feeling more and more like a treasure hunt as such. Lisbon dreaded to imagine what they would discover when they reached the proverbial 'x' that marked the spot.
The receptionist at Russet Inc. was diligently helpful, just as expected, if a little confused as to why somebody like Bob Coulson would require a visit from the police. 'It's confidential' may have brushed aside the awkward questions, but Lisbon knew that it never stopped people wondering why. Sooner, rather than later, the news that Bob's wife had been brutally murdered and his daughter had gone missing would spread like wildfire. In a way, it made the investigation marginally easier. If people had information they could share, they'd be more likely to come forward. However, in actuality, it made things a lot more difficult for one reason or another.
Just as they entered Mr. Coulson's office, he held up a hand to silence them as he quickly finished up his telephone call. With a smile, he turned to face Lisbon before proffering a hand which she shook firmly. He seemed to be in good spirits, which made Lisbon feel all the worse. However much she was going to turn the man's life upside down, she knew that it was something she needed to do. It was crueler to withhold the truth from him, than it was to tell him. And besides, Bob Coulson was still a person of interest. In theory, he could even have been Red John himself, though Lisbon knew, deep down it was unlikely.
"I don't have long," he spoke confidently, jerking his head in the direction of the door. "How can I help you, Agents?"
Van Pelt took the initiative to close the door and offer them some privacy, though it was clear that Coulson was less than impressed at her actions. Lisbon didn't bother to fight with the man; middle management types were all the same – had ideas above their station. They were often the worst people to deal with in cases, but that didn't change the fact that they had a job to do.
"You may want to sit down," Van Pelt started.
"Didn't I already say I haven't got all day?"
"We need to ask you a couple of questions about your wife and daughter," Lisbon said quietly.
"Why?"
"Your wife's dead," Cho said bluntly and Lisbon glared at him.
Though she didn't mind him breaking the news, he sometimes lacked the tact required when informing somebody that their loved ones had died. However, she had a feeling that it was probably exactly what Coulson needed; otherwise, he wouldn't have taken them so seriously. Lisbon remained silent as the man finally took Van Pelt's advice and crumpled into his chair in a boneless heap. It took him a few more seconds to actually process the news.
"How?" he gasped.
"We believe that Red John might have been involved."
"Red John, the serial killer? No," he said, disbelieving. "No, why would he want to kill somebody like Julie? Everyone loved Julie."
"That's what we want to find out."
"And what about Susie?" he asked, almost aggressive in his tone. "Who's looking after her?"
"I'm sorry, but it appears that she has been kidnapped."
"How can you be sure?"
Lisbon quickly and concisely relayed the brief notes she'd gathered from questioning the neighbors. That Susie Coulson had been seen carried away by a masked man wearing a baseball cap. She'd been sleeping; looked peaceful, according to the two people who had actually paid any attention. It was them that had reported that something suspicious had been occurring at the family's residence and thus, his wife's body had been discovered so soon after death.
When Coulson asked if a ransom note had been received yet, Lisbon confirmed that it hadn't. Rigsby was keeping an eye on things on that front and hadn't heard anything. She doubted that one would ever surface; as far as she was concerned, the girl was most likely already long dead. This was Red John; he didn't mess around with kidnapping when he could just as easily kill. The only thing that made her cling onto a shred of hope that there may still be a chance of finding Susie alive was the fact she hadn't already been killed when she'd been taken away from the crime scene.
However, she didn't pass the hopes or fears she held onto the girl's father, either way. It was for the best that he found his own way to cope with such a difficult situation. Coulson clearly was struggling with the two blows they'd just dealt him. He'd gone from displaying a cool, confident demeanor to simply not knowing how to react in any way.
"What's in the safe?" Cho suddenly asked.
All eyes were drawn to the safe which was clearly displayed in the wall behind Coulson. Lisbon knew that during the questioning, he'd taken it upon himself to play Jane's role in a room – to look for the details that didn't quite match up with everything else. She knew that he'd learned a lot from their consultant and in a way, Lisbon was pleased about that. Just so long as he didn't pick up any of Jane's bad habits and started bending the law to breaking point to solve cases, she didn't mind. However, being just that little more observant than they'd previously been would never hurt.
Coulson balked at the question, clearly not expecting to be asked such a thing. It had clearly been one of the last things he'd been expected to ask. After all, what did it have to do with the death of his wife and kidnapping of his child?
"Why?" he eventually asked dubiously.
"It looks like it's been tampered with," Cho answered back.
Lisbon immediately scrutinized it and she immediately came to the same conclusion. There were certain marks over the safe's door that simply should not have been there. She smiled slightly; it was small observations like that which made Jane so useful to the team. And at least it proved they didn't need him to make breakthroughs in a similar vein to which he did.
"Um, just some money and a prototype engine we've been working on," he answered with a frown. "Oh, and a bracelet from Tiffany's I am – was – going to give to Julie on our wedding anniversary."
"Can we take a look inside?" Lisbon asked. "Just to check it's still all there?"
Coulson nodded, but pulled on his jacket at the same time. "Sure. The keys are in the top left hand draw. I need to go and talk to Julie's sister."
"Thank you," Lisbon said as the man started heading towards the door. "And I'm very sorry for your loss."
As soon as they heard the door slam behind them, Van Pelt made a beeline towards the desk and dragged the draw open. Immediately, she frowned before trying to rummage deeper into it. Lisbon hadn't said a word, but as far as she was concerned, leaving the keys in a draw right beside the safe lacked a considerable amount of foresight. It was practically asking for it to be broken into. Already, she doubted that everything would be intact, despite Coulson seeming to believe it would be.
"Let me guess," Lisbon said after Van Pelt slammed the door shut aggressively. "No keys?"
"No keys," she confirmed dourly.
Cho was back to scrutinizing the security on the lock. As well as the padlock, there was a coding system, which Coulson had forgotten to inform them about in haste of sharing his bad news with the other relatives. If only he'd bothered to wait a few minutes and actually do the job for them instead of rushing off, it would have been a hell of a lot easier. She slid her cell phone out of her pocket and immediately dialed Jane's number. He was a pro at picking locks and guessing codes. It wasn't breaking and entering, she told herself; they'd been given permission to have a look.
"Jane? It's Lisbon," she said, marginally irritated about it going to answerphone yet again. "If you were going to guess the code on a safe, where would you-"
"Got it," Cho interrupted.
She wheeled around to see the safe door wide open and the padlock lying on the floor. Lisbon made a mental note to have words with Cho about his ability to pick locks; she hadn't known that he'd had those skills in his arsenal. The fact that he'd guessed the code troubled her until she saw the receipt lying on Coulson's table. So, it had doubled as Rigsby's zip code as well as the key to getting into the safe. That was understandable.
"Never mind," she said promptly and ended the call.
xxx
When his cell phone went off – yet again – Jane ignored it. He knew exactly who it was and once more, was more than happy to pretend that Lisbon wasn't calling him. Instead, he remained engrossed in Angela's diary, reading about her hurt, her frustrations, how she had slowly fallen in love with this mystery 'James' figure and wondered if it were possible to love two men at the same time. Jane racked his brains as he tried to work out just how Red John had managed to get a hold of Angela's diary. Had he stolen it when he'd killed them, and Jane simply hadn't noticed that it was gone? Or had Jane himself thrown it away in a fit of rage and Red John since scavenged it up to use in this house project of his?
Sometimes, he was glad that he couldn't remember the worst days of his life, but on other occasions, it simply frustrated him. He simply didn't know if it had been his own folly which had assisted Red John's task, and therefore, he had no one but himself to blame (once more). Then again, the contents of the diary had been his fault. If he'd been as attentive to her and her needs as he should have been, then he wouldn't have received this terrible news that changed his whole perception of his relationship with his wife here and now.
It was the sound of the lock on the door clicking open that dragged Jane out of his wife's old diary. Red John had clearly decided that he'd read enough and therefore, that he was ready to move onto the next room. Instead of placing it back down into the open drawer, Jane slipped it carefully into his pocket. Whether or not Red John had stolen it from his family home, or the trash can, it was technically his possession. He'd inherited everything from his wife when she'd died and therefore, he wanted to keep it close to him.
Not because he liked the content, or the secrets that she had somehow managed to keep from him, but as a reminder.
Of his folly.
Of the same mistakes that he had made time and time again.
That he should always appreciate the women who faithfully stood by his side and never take them for granted.
And that his skills were not always as accurate as he thought they were.
He left Rainbow Rabbit in situ, however. In a way, it felt like he belonged in this room, on the replica bed he had once shared with his wife at home. That, and the thought of keeping a possession of Charlotte's, his precious little girl's, so close to him physically hurt. There had been so much that she could have done and so much she would have given to the world. However, Red John hadn't even given her the opportunity to bloom and grow into the wonderful woman that she should have been. That, of course, would have been Angela's doing, too. Jane could never have taken any credit for their daughter's upbringing; he had been too busy earning money to keep a roof over their heads (and stoke his own ego at the same time.)
With some level of trepidation, he headed towards the third door. He dreaded what was behind this one. Each case that Red John had especially selected seemed to cut that little bit deeper into his soul and twist the knife around to make that wound all the deeper. Jane would have thought that Angela and Charlotte's death would have been the pinnacle - but apparently, he was wrong. Then again, he didn't need his skills to know that there were cases that had really hurt since their deaths. Sam Bosco, whose only wrong-doing was taking over the Red John case when the Serious Crimes Unit had been temporarily removed from it. Then there was Jared Renfrew; the man who could have so easily brought down Red John from the inside. And Kristina...
His blood ran cold. Kristina Frye was the proverbial black sheep of Red John's victims. The only one to technically still be alive, despite her conviction that she had already 'passed on'. Jane stared at the door for a good long while, as if that would help him decipher what was hidden behind it. On a whim, he rested a hand against the wood and placed an ear firmly against the door in attempt to hear if there were any signs of life within. Of course, all he could hear was the rain that was still pounding on the rooftops. Figuring that the room had most likely been soundproofed, he placed a shaking hand on the doorknob and opened the door.
When he saw Kristina herself actually sitting in the middle of a replica of her lounge, Jane was only faintly surprised. Not that she was one of Red John's chosen 'special cases', but that she herself was actually present. His breathing rate immediately quickened as he took steps towards her. Jane had kept in contact with the psychiatric unit she had been shipped off to after the CBI had finished questioning her. As it was her dalliance with him that had been partially responsible for her ending up in a catatonic state, Jane had felt obliged to take a note of her recovery. Besides, he'd had the shrinking suspicion that Red John wasn't done with her. That when she'd started to show signs of recovery, her life would have been at risk once more.
It was only a small comfort that her doctors had continually informed him that there was never any progress in her condition. And yet, here she was. Most likely because Red John had had acolytes working within the mental institution and they were able to safely smuggle her out of there and into this house.
She remained as unresponsive as ever. Kristina hadn't even appeared to notice that she had company, never mind the fact that it was Patrick Jane in the room with her. Instead, she sat quietly on the couch, with her hands folded neatly on her lap. Unblinking, she stared off into the middle distance with an impassive expression written on her features. Behind her was the infamous smiley face - a feature that Jane knew for a fact was not present in Kristina's plush home. On the coffee table directly in front of her were a single unlit candle and a lighter.
Jane knew exactly what that signified and exactly what he was meant to do.
However, he couldn't resist the temptation to at least try a few other methods of rousing her from her trance. Jane knew for a fact that the suggestion that had been implanted on her was deep; that trained psychiatrists and hypnotists hadn't been able to break it, even after years of working with her. He was also more than aware of just how dangerous it was to try and break a trance without knowing precisely what the trigger was. All of that didn't stop him from trying. After all, she had been like this for years and this was the first time that she had been left (somewhat) alone in his company. Jane didn't doubt that Red John was watching his every move from somewhere close by, possibly in the attic - the only unnumbered room - and waiting for him to find out everything he needed to from Kristina.
Eventually, Jane relented and returned his focus to the candle. He knew for a fact that faking a séance was the only way that anybody had been able to successfully talk openly to Kristina. Carefully, he fingered the lighter and it didn't take long for him to allow the warm glow of candlelight to filter into the room. Jane took a deep breath, closed his eyes and focused on what he was about to say next. For years, he'd made his money by staging séances and pretending to contact the dead, but now, whenever he did so it made him feel sick to the stomach. Like there was something innately wrong about it. He knew that it was mostly because he could now see the repercussions of the life he'd once led, when back then, all he'd cared about was the cash and the fact that people loved him for it.
Now, he was going to have to put one of the dirtiest of his tricks into action in order to actually be able to find out whatever it was that Red John needed him to.
"Kristina Frye, are you there?"
"Hello, Patrick," she said softly and a slight smile suddenly appeared on her gently lit features. "It's good to hear your voice again. It's been far too long."
"You're not dead, Kristina."
"You're sweet," she answered back with a laugh. "You need to stop living in the past and learn to accept your gift."
He took hold of her wrist and was rewarded with the reassuring thrum of a steady pulse. Kristina remained oblivious to the fact that he was touching her and instead continued to stare pointedly at him. At least she was actually willing to look him in the eye, even if she was still convinced she was dead, he decided. It gave the conversation they were sharing some level of normalcy, if nothing else. Even so, he wished he could have seen at least a tiny bit of progression in her condition. For years, she had remained in this catatonic state and nobody had been able to do a goddamn thing. Despite the fact that her obliviousness had probably saved her in the long run, it didn't make it any easier to deal with.
Jane thought seriously for a second. What was it he had to learn from Kristina? Every crime scene that had been replicated had some sort of revelation hidden in it. The diary that rested heavily in his pocket was evidence enough of that. Slowly but surely, his eyes were dragged away from Kristina's face and back up at the leering eyes of the blood red face on the wall.
"Why did he want to 'kill' you, Kristina?" he blurted out, unable to stop himself from asking the question.
"I loved you, Patrick," she answered back softly. "And that is why I had to die. Why else would he have killed me?"
