Chapter eight
Patiently he had taken position outside the doors, watching them as they fell one by one.
He had gotten up fifteen minutes ago, excusing himself to go to the bathroom. He knew this building inside out, knew exactly where the ventilation system was and how he could manipulate it. Instead of sending his poison through the ducts, he had linked the second canister with narcotics, hooked it to the air vents and watched them pass out, one by one.
He had waited an hour, hoping and praying no one would return to the office. This was his chance and he knew it. Whatever screw up they had made in hospital would soon be corrected when they started to check everyone's blood. Tonight it had to be over.
He made it up to the attic floor where Patrick Jane was. Rigsby wouldn't be a problem.
Inside his room, Jane lay on his bed while Rigsby had taken the lounge chair, holding his gun on his lap. His hands were tapping impatiently on his legs.
"Rigsby, stop doing that," Jane spoke calmly with closed eyes.
"I haven't heard from her in about twenty minutes now. There's something wrong. There must be."
"Then call her."
Rigsby shot upright. "So you believe there's something wrong too?"
"I didn't say that. I said: If you're worried, call her."
"So you think I should call?"
"Rigsby, grab that phone and make the call, okay?"
Rigsby stood up, reached for his phone and called Van Pelt. He waited patiently, only to lose his patience when she wouldn't pick up. "She's not answering."
"Then call Cho."
Rigsby had already chosen Cho's number. "He's not answering either."
Jane sat up straight. "And Lisbon?"
"No answer."
"Okay, go downstairs and take a look. They might be having a cup of coffee."
"Not together, and they always take their phones. But I can't leave you alone. Lisbon said not to lose you out of my sight."
"I'll be fine for five minutes. Just hurry up. I'm sure it's nothing."
"Okay." Rigsby walked to the door. "Stay put and don't open it for anyone."
"Yes, dad."
Rigsby closed Jane's attic door behind him and headed for the elevator. Only to be knocked on the back of the head before he could turn to see who hit him. He sunk to the ground like a ton of bricks, without as much as a sigh.
His attacker stepped over him and waited, listening for noises. It was eerily quiet up here. Perfect.
Jane stood up now that he was alone and walked over to the small closet he used for his office clothes. Rummaging through his wardrobe, his fingers carefully touched the fabric of his suits. He leaned forward, smelling on them. They smelled the same as ever: Of dry cleaning. He liked that smell. And yet something was off this time.
He closed his closet gently and walked to one of the walls of his attic, touching the paint. On his fingertips, nothing remained. The walls seemed to be the same as usual. And yet it felt as if there was an extra thin layer of … something, on those walls.
He closed his eyes, taking in the air that came in through the ventilators that ran throughout the building. He smelled nothing. And yet it seemed as if they were pushing in more than air.
It was all around him. He knew that once he started putting two and two together. The break-in at Kate Lomax's house, the break-in at his attic he hadn't told Lisbon about. When he had noticed his door being opened, he had gone through his belongings and found nothing missing. But he knew someone had come in. He had smelled a faint aftershave, a smell he had also smelled in the bullpen. Tonight, he had smelled that scent again, on someone standing not too far away from him. It was of one of the four agents who had been examined at the hospital, the one being released because they hadn't found anything in his system. This agent had claimed to have been sick too, but it was just a ruse to get into the hospital and find out what the doctors knew.
As soon as Jane learned his blood had been squeaky clean, he had known it was him, but now to prove it. Jane remembered many small things now, all adding up. The man had been in their kitchen every morning, not to grab a cup of coffee but to listen to conversations. He had watched Jane and Kim Lomax together, always standing away from them, pretending to be grabbing a Donut or a biscuit. He loved vanilla/chocolat biscuits as well, had offered his own stash to her, poisoned, of course.
Jane sat down on a chair by the window and looked outside, at the clear night air, filled with beautiful stars. What a sight it was for his sore eyes. If he hadn't felt such a headache, he would have enjoyed it.
"I know you're there, Ivan," he spoke gently. "The game is over. I'm tired."
At first there was no sound but then the door to his attic room opened and closed again immediately. Jane turned on his chair and looked straight into the eyes of Ivan Jackson, CBI-agent, pointing a gun at him. Jane rose quietly, moving forward towards his colleague. "Hello Ivan. Have a seat."
"Jane." Ivan moved forward, holding his gun before him.
"Lower the gun, Ivan. I'm too weak to fight you. You could kill me in a heartbeat. Is Rigsby alright?"
Ivan lowered his gun slowly and tucked it away underneath his jacket. "He's going to have a headache by morning. Well, actually, all of them are."
"What did you do to them?"
"Tempered with the air vents. Don't worry, they're only asleep."
"Sit down." Jane pointed invitingly at the small table with two chairs as if they were friends. "Do you want some poison-free tea?"
Ivan slowly sunk down expectantly, shaking his head.
"Well, you don't mind if I have a cup, do you?" Jane walked to a separate table he used as kitchen area, let the kettle boil and returned with a hot cup of tea, his hands shaking as he held the cup. That didn't go unnoticed to Ivan, who visibly enjoyed Jane's pain.
"So," Jane said, sitting down carefully, wincing at every move. "You've poisoned this entire department, one by one, just waiting to see who will succumb first. Just for the kick of it?"
"How did you figure out it was me?"
"It was the thermos that gave you away. That, and your aftershave."
"The – my thermos?"
"You make your own coffee, don't you? You bring it with you in a thermos, from home. I didn't put two and two together at first because we didn't have a clue we were being poisoned of course, but when I started connecting the dots, that came to mind. And you should really change your aftershave when you break into someone's attic. Do you know how long that smell lasted here?"
"Always the funny man, hey Jane?" Ivan snarled, upset by Jane's behavior.
"Anyhow, the thermos did it. That's how you didn't get infected, like the rest of us, which came out when they drew your blood at the hospital. And when Lisbon has the test results back from everyone's blood samples, they will confirm that you will be the only agent out there who wasn't poisoned."
"I know," Ivan said. "But why did Bertram tell that bug story to everyone?"
"That was a ruse, Ivan. We wanted everyone out of there so you would come and kill me."
Ivan pulled up an eyebrow. "You wanted me to come?"
"Of course. How else to prove that you are one sick son of a bitch?"
Jane's killer leaned back. "So if you have it all figured out, tell me how I did the poisoning."
"You did it two-ways. You poisoned the water in the kitchen, adding more or less whenever you wanted to. Of course you helped matters a bit further by manipulating the air vents too. You did it very thoroughly and cleverly, targeting your victims. You added poison to Kate's daily biscuits, probably tampered with Janet Gray's perfume. And you poisoned Tom Peterson's cigarettes, knowing he was a chain smoker. You broke into Kate's house and tampered with her clothes and whatever else you could get your hands on, wanting her dead really quickly. And then you broke into my attic and did the same here."
Ivan relaxed as he leaned backwards. "I actually poisoned your kettle too. Added some extra lead on the inside walls. You must have noticed you were getting sicker."
"Why, Ivan?"
"Patrick Jane," Ivan spoke slowly. "You really don't know why, do you? You found out it was me but you don't know why or who I am."
"I thought you were a colleague. I've seen you around here for almost two years."
"I was your colleague. And before that, I was a father and a husband. Just like you. And I lost them, just like you. You, Patrick Jane, are my Red John."
Jane stared at him surprised and spoke slowly. "Who was your wife? What did I do to her?"
"Her name was Greta Mayes. Does that ring a bell?"
Jane's weariness didn't prevent his sharp mind from putting two and two together. He knew exactly who she was. She brought back memories he would never forget. "Yes," Jane said slowly. "I know who she was."
"Then you know why I'm here and why I want my revenge."
"Yes," Jane responded quietly, blinking as he battled fatigue and nausea, knowing he didn't have much time left. "And I don't blame you, Ivan. But it doesn't make it right to kill innocent people."
"How many people have you killed in your quest to find Red John, Patrick? What's wrong? Do your eyes hurt?"
"You know that they do. Tell me what you poisoned us with. The doctors couldn't figure it out. At least tell me what is killing me."
"It's called Antimony, a very strong lead that, if administered in large quantities, causes sickness, dizziness, nausea, heart failure, death."
"Why did you target these three people?"
"Because you cared for them and they cared for you."
"There are others who care for me," Jane whispered.
"Yes, there are. And they were lucky I didn't choose them. But I did that for a reason."
"What reason is that, Ivan?"
"I would love to see the look on Lisbon's face when she finds out that you are dead, knowing she was part of your death; I hate her for the way she sees you, the way she defends you and always stands up for you. I want see her and her damned team suffer, knowing they came too late. You should consider yourself lucky, Jane, that you died instead of them. I spared their lives, especially for you so they can spend the rest of their lives looking for me. Isn't that considerate of me?"
Jane smiled slowly. "Revenge doesn't bring satisfaction, Ivan. It just brings more distress. It kills you from the inside and leaves nothing but emptiness. I just thought you should know that."
"No, but we both know that it can also taste so sweet."
Ivan stood as Patrick Jane felt every hair of his body rise, praying silently someone would come to save him. But no one came and he knew he had lost the game. He was panting, unable to catch his breath as his stomach clenched and his heart pounded like crazy.
"Now, I have to get going, Mr. Jane, but I have a final present for you." Ivan grabbed him by the arm, shoving him to the ground, holding him down easily as he lingered over him. Then he grabbed a small vial from his jacket pocket, opened the cap and placed his hand on Jane's chin, going to force open his mouth. Jane's hands struggled to fight him off, only to have Ivan straddle him, pinning his arms and hands to the ground."
"No," Jane said. "You don't have to do this. I'm already dead."
"Just making sure, Patrick."
Jane was too weak to move another inch as Ivan poured the content of the vial into his mouth, closing it and preventing him from spitting it out.
"That's a good boy. Just swallow it. It'll make your death quicker and less painful." Ivan nodded contently as Jane swallowed, feeling the liquid slide into his throat, going directly for its target.
"It's all over you, Jane, and there is nothing you can do. Death will come soon now. I poisoned your walls, your clothes, your floor, your table, your chairs, your bed, your goddamned tea and your air. You've been breathing it in for days without knowing it. I want you to do die a painful death. So no matter how much you try to escape, you can't. And I hope that you remember my wife and know that you have brought this on yourself."
Ivan rose slowly and left, just like that, with no one to stop him, leaving Patrick Jane alone in his attic room to die. Outside, in the hallway, he stepped over Rigsby, walked calmly to the elevator, pushed the down button to the ground floor. He had expected to walk outside on a breeze. Instead, he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun, seeing Lisbon's face behind it. And behind here stood Gale Bertram, her team and agents with a major headache.
"If you move one muscle, you'll die," Lisbon snapped. "Where are Jane and Rigsby?"
Ivan slowly put his hands in the air and smiled. "You're too late, Agent Lisbon."
"I don't think so," Bertram said. "Paramedics are arriving right now. Shut up, Ivan."
Lisbon shoved him aside angrily, into the arms of two agents, stepping into the elevator with Bertram, Cho and Van Pelt, pushing the button to the attic floor frantically.
Patrick Jane had been in dire situations before and the one thing that always helped him was to stay calm. He let the dizzy spell pass over him as he lay on the floor, allowed his body to relax and forced his breathing to become calm again. He opened and closed his eyes as he stared at one particular stain on the ceiling and focused on that. Then he shoved two fingers in his throat, turned to his side and vomited.
Bile, liquid and tea came out but he knew he couldn't have had everything. After a few seconds the pounding of his heart subsided and he could actually feel cold sweat all over his body, sending him into a shivering spell. It alerted him, revived his will to live. Slowly he sat up, realizing that nobody would come to help him. He would have to save himself.
His hands leaned on the cold floor and he forced himself to take shallow breaths, knowing now that the poison was everywhere. He grabbed a table leg and pulled himself up, focusing on his wedding ring as focal point. There he was, standing up. Next move was towards the door.
He made his way very slowly towards the exit, shuffling like an old man would, opening the door calmly. There were about twenty steps to take towards the elevator. All he had to do was to take them, push the damned button and make it downstairs.
Slowly, one by one, he took these tiny steps, making sure he didn't overdo himself, walking them like a patient would do. His finger pushed the button; then he leaned over and vomited more bile, barely missing his shoes.
As the elevator door slid open, he fell forward, straight into her arms.
"Lisbon," he said hoarsely, holding tight. "Lisbon."
She couldn't have heard him at all as he silently pleaded for her help but suddenly she was there and she wasn't alone, grasping him tightly, allowing Bertram and Cho to take over, preventing him from falling on his face, lowering him gently to the ground just outside of the elevator. She had been coming towards him as he had been trying to find his way towards her.
He could see Van Pelt rushing towards Rigsby who was waking up with one hell of a headache.
"Jane, we're here," Lisbon said. "Stay with us. You'll be fine."
Bertram grabbed his phone. "Where are those damned paramedics?"
"Antimony," Jane whispered. "T – Tea, … air … clothes … vial – everything's poisoned with Antimony."
"We know, Jane. The coroner was able to analyze it. They have medication ready. You'll make it, Jane. Come on."
"My stomach. Pump my stomach."
"Jane. Just stay with us," Lisbon said, her hand resting on his face, patting it gently. She stroked his hair and he allowed himself to rest into her arms.
Then he slid away into darkness.