A/N: Sorry for the delay. I hit a bit of a wall and went all crazy with the editing, so my apologies! Chapter 3 will be up quicker *fingers crossed* Thanks as always to my speedy beta Lysh and to everyone who has read/reviewed/favourited. Cookies for Yana, Cat, Amber, Crystal, Tracie, Kathi-Ann, June, Lynne, phoenixmagic1, Div, anthropologist and mtm. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own pens and pencils but not the Mentalist. Yes my disclaimers are becoming less witty in my old age...

Chapter 2: Her Likeness

He stepped out of the vehicle, a cool breeze ruffling his curls as a hand guided him safely onto the sidewalk. Once he was steady on his feet, he stretched his arms above him, taking in a deep breath.

"Ah, thank you, Alonzo."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Jane. Would you like me to help you to the door?"

"No, thank you, I'll be fine. You go and take care of that lovely wife and daughter of yours."

Reaching into his pocket, Jane freed a wad of bills and placed them into Alonzo's open palm.

"Uh, Mr. Jane, th-this, this is way too generous…"

Smiling brightly, Jane had already begun to walk away, leaving only with a small wave at the flabbergasted cabbie. He made his way down the cobblestone path towards what he assumed was the entrance to the prestigious Donovan Institute. In his mind, he could picture the pristine slate exterior, Romanesque pillars, glass windows from floor to ceiling. To say that the building was impressive would have been a complete understatement. It had presence, he could feel it. He ambled inside, a whoosh of air rushing by when the automatic doors opened and closed behind him.

"Oooh, fancy," he admired before he was greeted by a cherry voice.

"Welcome to the Donavan Institute. How may I help you?"

He maneuvered himself until his cane hit a large solid object, picturing a bright eyed blonde seated behind a round desk island constructed from stone and glass. It took him half a second to realize he had imposed the likeness of his late wife on the young, impressionable receptionist and another second to recover from his momentary slip in concentration. Mustering his most disarming smile, he felt along the countertop, stopping when he made contact with an embossed metal placard which read, A. Riesler.

"Hello, Miss Riesler, my name is Patrick. I'm looking for a Dr. Franklin Greene."

"I'm sorry, but Frank isn't in today."

"Oh, I see," he said, feigning disappointment. "Is one of his colleagues available perhaps? It's of the utmost importance that I speak with someone from Frank's department."

"The associate dean is in his office right now. What exactly is this about?"

"Important business," he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Confidential business, actually."

"Confidential," she echoed softly.

He mindlessly traced the letters on her nameplate and wasn't even aware of it until she covered her hand atop his. Delicate, long fingers gently curled around his palm, a perfect pedigree for a virtuoso pianist. Immediately, he pulled away.

"So," he said breaking the silence, "if you could just keep my presence here between you and me, Miss Riesler…"

"Please, call me, Lexi."

"Lexi, what a lovely name."

"Thank you," she replied with a flirtatious giggle.

He fought the instinctive urge to run. She even laughed the same way his wife did.

"Dr. Horowitz is down the hall, last door on the right. I can take you there…"

"No need," he insisted. "I can find the office myself. It was very nice meeting you, Lexi."

"Likewise, Patrick."

With a parting grin, he held out his cane and started down the corridor, relief flooding his entire body. He figured he didn't have a whole lot of time before the cavalry would arrive to collect him, so he had to move quickly. He didn't make it very far when he heard two distinct voices caught in a heated argument.

"It's not right and you know it."

"Why the Hell do you care if he gets the grant?"

"He's a good man."

"Oh. Oh, I get it, you've developed an inane crush on him too, haven't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Declan."

"Ridiculous? Now that is a great word to describe his proposal. Did you bother reading it at all or are you so in love with him that you couldn't even see it was utter garbage?"

"I hate to say it but I have to agree. Utter garbage."

Jane grinned, sensing two sets of eyes on him. One belonged to an older gentleman, who he assumed was the esteemed Dr. Horowitz and the other, an unfamiliar woman. Inside the office, the air was filled with chalk dust, musky books and a light floral fragrance.

"Who are you?"

Horowitz's voice was gruff with just a hint of an accent. Eastern European, if Jane had to warrant a guess.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? The name is Patrick, Patrick Jane. I'm with the C.B.I."

He held up his ID, dramatically tracing an arc in the air.

"C.B.I.? What has Frank done this time?"

"Frank hasn't done anything, Dr. Horowitz, aside from being a corpse at the city morgue."

Jane first heard the strangled sob of the woman, followed by the sound of her expensive heels clicking against the tiled floor as she brushed past him, fleeing the room.

"That was unnecessarily cruel."

Simply glad that he was alone with Horowitz, Jane shrugged his shoulders.

"Just telling it like it is."

"Frank's dead."

Horowitz's question came across as a somber statement.

"As a doornail."

The professor sighed and shuffled across the room. His heavy footfalls echoed inside the tiny office. Suddenly, he paused in mid-stride.

"Are you blind?"

"Yes I am."

"Huh," he grunted.

Turning around, Horowitz dragged a pair of chairs towards Jane.

"Thank you."

"Sure."

Jane cautiously eased himself down onto the seat placed in front of him.

"Ah, comfy."

He ran his fingers along the wooden carvings engraved into the armrests, feeling an intricate design of crosses and stars.

"So what happened?" Horowitz asked rather anxiously.

"Happened?"

"Frank, what happened to him?"

"Oh, he was murdered."

A tense silence befell them.

"Judging by your lack of emotion with regards to your colleague's untimely demise, I take it you and Frank weren't exactly faculty buddies."

"The guy was an arrogant prick."

"Care to elaborate?"

"He drove my secretary, Alicia, up the wall, planning these outrageous field trips for his students. Behind my back, mind you. And then, he had the audacity to expect the department to flip the bill. Cairo, Athens…"

"Jerusalem."

"Yes, how did you know that?"

There was an almost imperceptible hitch in Horowitz's voice.

"It doesn't matter," Jane waved off, filing away the professor's intriguing reaction. "Where were you between six and nine o'clock this morning?"

"Hold on a minute, you can't possibly think that I had something to do with Frank's murder?"

"You just admitted you hated the man. I believe that's what cops like to call motive."

"I did not hate Frank. He was a pompous thorn in my side, yes, but killing him over money? That's just preposterous."

"Oooh, good word. Preposterous."

"I think we're done here, Mr. Jane."

"Not so fast, Declan. May I call you Declan?" Jane didn't give Horowitz time to respond. "You did hate Frank. Let's not try to deny it. He's the fresh, handsome, hotshot professor that all the students loved and the faculty admired. You, on the other hand, are the cranky, ancient old coot that everyone despised. And you most definitely hated Frank for that."

"Jane?"

Putting on a brilliant smile, he craned his head towards the sound of his name.

"Rigsby, Cho, glad you could join us," Jane greeted cheerily as he turned back towards Horowitz. "You know, Declan, Lexi is a sweet gal, but she's a horrible security guard."

"Please take this man and leave. Now."

"We apologize for Mr. Jane's actions," Cho said diplomatically.

"He does but I don't," quipped Jane. "I think one of you should arrest him."

"Jane, we don't have any reaso…"

Rigsby was cut off by a loud crash. A noisy scuffle ensued before Jane heard the metallic click of handcuffs. When the dust had settled, Jane stood up and clumsily held out his arm, finding Rigsby's shoulder.

"Was that reason enough for you?"

TBC...

Chapter 3 Preview

"You need to quit feeling so guilty."

"Excuse me?"

"Hunter's death, you need to quit feeling so guilty. Naturally…"

"You know, putting an entire country between you and me is sounding more appealing by the second."