Author's notes:
Thank you to two great writers and friends, make-mine-a-kiaora and Sue Shay, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.
I do not own the TV show The Mentalist and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.
Chapter 13 - "King Of Pain"
Teresa Lisbon marveled once again at her young officer, Henry Karson. He had matured so much, yet he retained that boyish enthusiasm now on full display. As he spread maps, printouts, and scribbled notes across the side table, he looked over his shoulder at Teresa and her husband.
"Chief, Professor. Come see. I know where the drone is coming from."
Teresa smiled at Henry as she and Patrick hurried over to the table. The young officer held aloft a stack of printouts in one hand. In his other hand he clutched a city street map. Red ink lettering marked the map, and highlighted streaks covered sections of it. He rocked back-and-forth on his feet trying to control his energy. Patrick put his hand on Henry's arm to still him.
"How many cups of coffee have you had, Henry?"
"Not sure, Professor. I quit counting after five."
"What have you got?" Teresa asked.
"I went back through all the 911 calls for the last three months and pulled out any description that could remotely sound connected to the drone - flying objects, strange noises, glimpses of someone or something outside a window," said Henry.
"You did that by hand?"
"Yes, ma'am. First I tried to use the computer system and then a spreadsheet. But it didn't work for what I needed. I had to interpret each description in each call to see if it could tie to the drone."
"This took a long time, didn't it?"
"Yes, ma'am. And a lot of coffee too." He frowned. "You guys won't tell Annabelle how much I drank, will you? She says I get too much caffeine as is."
"Your secret's safe with us, Henry," said Patrick.
"Thanks." Henry folded out the street map in front of him. "Look at the patterns I found." He glanced over to Patrick. "Professor, you always say to look for patterns. When I plotted all this data, I found some."
Henry pointed to three highlighted groups of dots.
"Tell us what we're seeing, Henry."
"Yes, sir. The blue highlights are the ones around the apartment building, what we've focused on all along. The green is a path the drone seemed to be taking the last few days." Then Henry thumped his index finger in triumph on the third group. "The yellow highlights show where the drone came from."
Teresa stood in wonder while Henry beamed like a high school junior at the science fair.
"This is amazing, Henry. So what's here at the end of the trail?" She pointed to a clump of dots.
"That big house on the edge of town."
Teresa recalled seeing a mansion-like house while driving through town when she first came to Cannon River. High fences circled the building, and it looked like a fortress from outside. She decided that whoever lived there wanted privacy above anything else.
"Do you know who's there?"
"No one from around here nowadays. Old Man Hodges, I mean Avery Hodges, a local guy who owns Hodges Trucking, used to live in it. But he sold it. The real estate records show that eighteen months ago someone named Dirk Trumble bought it."
"Dirk Trumble? The Dirk Trumble?"
Teresa turned around when she heard the surprise in Capp Grainger's voice.
"Ma'am, is he some movie star or something?" Henry asked.
Patrick joined Teresa and Henry in looking at Capp.
"No, he's bigger than that. Or least he was," she said.
Capp moved to the computer on Teresa's desk and made a few clicks. Then she nodded her head for Teresa and Patrick to come over. With a pen, she pointed to the headline of a four-year-old Journal of Global Commerce article she had pulled up on the screen: "The Man Who Invented The 21st Century."
Teresa and Patrick looked over Capp's shoulders and read the article. In another portion of the screen, Capp busied herself with a search for something else. Soon she raised a second article.
"Check this out. It's from three years ago."
Teresa saw the headline, "CEO Trumble Announces Pending IPO for EvaCorp."
"Do you know if Trumble's company went through with the IPO, Capp?"
"Yeah, EvaCorp did. All of us in our agency kept track of that company."
"Why?" asked Teresa.
"Saying that Dirk Trumble and his people invented the 21st Century only exaggerates a little. They've created a lot cutting edge devices over the last decade. Stuff like robotics, comm networks, optics." Capp circled around the desk. "And they make these too." She lifted up tail of the drone to display the nameplate: EvaCorp.
"What's Trumble doing in Cannon River of all places?" Teresa could almost hear the gears turning in her husband's mind as he asked his question.
Capp returned to the computer to tap out a few more keystrokes.
"I don't know that, Archie. But there's this." Capp thumped the computer screen.
Teresa and Patrick looked at a two-and-a-half-year-old article on the screen: "EvaCorp Announces Departure of Trumble, Messerly Named New CEO."
"How old is Trumble?" asked Teresa.
"Forty if even that," said Capp.
"Not old enough to retire."
"No. Especially not someone as dynamic as him. Here's his photo from just before the IPO."
Dressed in a stylish blue suit with bright red tie, Dirk Trumble cut a dashing figure in the midst of a group of Wall Street analysts.
"Interesting," said Patrick.
"The reason I know about this is because of Herb, a guy I work with," said Capp. "He invested a lot of money in EvaCorp. The stock tanked when Trumble left."
"So his departure must not have been planned."
"No, and all of us that worked with Herb heard him whine for months. Big baby. It's taken two years for EvaCorp to regain it value."
"Why did Trumble leave?" asked Teresa.
"Don't know. You never heard anything about Trumble except for his work. For all I know he could have been like one of those guys or gals that leads a double life."
Teresa chuckled to herself when she saw Patrick fidget.
"Ah, yeah, could be." He recovered quickly then looked to his wife. "Teresa, how do you feel about us paying Mr. Trumble a visit?"
"Let's," Teresa said as she slipped on her jacket.
Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon stood outside the three-meter high wall that surrounded Dirk Trumble's house. Casting a glance at the intercom button beside the entrance gate, Teresa raised her eye brows as she looked at her husband. Patrick nodded in reply and she pressed the buzzer on the intercom.
No response.
Teresa pressed the buzzer again.
Still no response.
Teresa looked at Patrick again. He waved his hand. She pressed the buzzer a third time.
Static sounded on the speaker then cleared.
"Yes." The gruffness in the voice sounded like an old man ready to chase some kids off his front lawn.
"Sir, is this Mr. Dirk Trumble?"
"Why?"
"I'm Cannon River Police Chief Teresa Lisbon. My consultant Professor Archie Marbray is with me. We'd like to ask Mr. Trumble some questions about a case that we're working on."
"You can come in. I'll open the gate. But don't drive your car in. I don't want any vehicles in the compound. It disturbs the solitude."
A high-pitched chirp signaled that the gate had unlocked. Teresa pushed it open, and she and Patrick walked through. Once inside, the gate slammed shut behind them. As they walked across the pavement to the house, Teresa pointed out several surveillance cameras. In trees, atop poles, and on the house, they all rotated to follow Patrick and Teresa.
As they walked further, Teresa pointed to an open area in the rear of the house. Two large slabs of pavement stretched across the expanse. One slab lay bare; the other had a helicopter sitting on it.
A noise around their feet got Patrick's attention. Glancing down, he saw a gaggle - how many? - of small box-shaped robots on wheels swarm around himself and Teresa. They looked like a pack of metallic beagle puppies trailing their master.
"We've attracted a crowd, Teresa," he said as he tapped the nearest robot beagle on its snout.
As soon as Patrick's shoe altered its course, the robot whirled, rotated, and shifted back so it once again pointed toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Teresa do the same thing. After tapping aside the robot with her shoe, it self-corrected as well.
"Persistent little buggers, aren't they?" Teresa said as she looked over at her husband.
"Yes, we all are." Patrick and Teresa both jumped when the same gruff voice that greeted them at the gate spoke from the snout of the lead robot.
"Okay, that's creepy," she said.
Patrick bent over the lead robot.
"Take us to your leader, Mr. Robot."
It whirred.
"Follow me."
With the lead robot in front and the others trailing behind them, Patrick and Teresa walked to the house. Once inside, the robots dispersed and they stood at the front of a long, narrow corridor. A chilling breeze made Patrick lift his collar.
"Please come down the hallway," said a voice from a speaker above the door. Patrick and his wife exchanged glances and hesitated to move. "Don't worry. I don't bite."
After a moment's hesitation, they walked ahead.
Painted metallic gray, the walls along the corridor held no life. Rather, they seemed to sap the energy of anyone unfortunate enough to be inside them, Patrick and Teresa included. Ahead he spied a series of giant photographs printed on high quality canvas and hung in a row. As he and Teresa came even with the photos, they slowed to inspect them.
The first photo made a stark contrast to its drab surroundings. A young couple on a sunny day stood arm-in-arm in a parking lot in front of a bright yellow Volkswagon Beetle. In the background, other young people bustled back and forth. It took Patrick a moment to put the scene in context, then his mind clicked. What he was looking at was a scene on a college campus, one like Deverell.
Patrick looked closer at the couple. Even a casual viewer could see the affection they had for each other - the tender grip they held each other with, the leaning of the woman's head on the man's shoulder, the curl of their lips upward as they looked ahead. Then Patrick realized something - the man in the picture was a younger Dirk Trumble.
The second photo showed the same couple at a beach. In swimsuits, they walked toward the camera with surfboards tucked under their arms. Again, the nearness of their bodies to each other betrayed the affection between them. The same yellow Beetle sat parked behind them.
In the third photo the couple had aged a few years. The tone changed as well. In a small office cluttered with papers, computers, and other gadgets, the pair stood arm-in-arm again. Trumble stared straight at the camera dressed in an open-collar blue shirt and tan pants. It was as if his gaze could melt steel. By his side, the woman looked at him with the same joy she had in the previous photos. On the wall of the office, the photo of the couple from the college parking lot hung - Patrick recognized the yellow Beetle.
Judging by their faces, the fourth photo captured a moment in the couple's lives from a few years later. With a valet in uniform behind them, Trumble and the woman stood in front of the yellow Beetle at the entrance of a hotel, the "Crestmont" according to the marque above them. Here their attire differed from the other pictures. The woman wore a long royal blue evening gown, and Trumble sported a tuxedo. Holding hands, they gazed at each other with broad smiles.
Engrossed by the first four scenes, Patrick paid no attention to the fifth photo. Then he and Teresa came even with it. A gasp escaped his mouth as his body recoiled. The yellow Beetle stood alone in the night, a mangled wreck. Swaths of charred metal stretched across its side. Stray wisps of smoke rose from the front.
Patrick and Teresa exchanged glances. The fifth photo had the same effect on her as it did him - revulsion. He saw her shudder.
Motion at the end of the corridor pulled their attention. A man stood with his hands on his hips. Raising one arm, he beckoned them forward. As Patrick and Teresa neared the figure, Patrick experienced yet another shock. He recognized Dirk Trumble from the photos. But now deep wrinkles and crevices lined the man's face. Capp had pegged his age at forty. This man scowling at Patrick and Teresa looked far older.
"Chief Lisbon and Professor Marbray I presume. Chief, you said you wanted to talk with me about a case."
"Yes, sir. We are investigating drone sightings in Cannon…"
As Teresa and Trumble talked, Patrick observed the man. What he saw made Patrick shudder as Teresa had before. The vacant expression that glazed over Trumble's eyes covered an inner pain. Gone was his happy expression from the photos; what remained shared the same gray mood as the walls. On top of that, Patrick got the distinct impression that his and Teresa's presence added to his dour state.
"…and Mr. Trumble, are you familiar with the River Manor Apartments?"
Patrick saw Trumble's eye twitch.
"Chief Lisbon, I limit my contact with the outside world. I prefer to stay here in my compound."
"You never go out?"
"As little as possible. I fly my supplies in once a week from Oregon via helicopter. Perhaps you've seen the landing pads out back. Also, I fly in a cleaning and maintenance crew once a week from Idaho to tend to the needs of the house and grounds. Other than that I reside here by myself."
"Do you ever drive?" asked Patrick.
Trumble turned to glare at him.
"I drive as little as possible. I do not like to drive."
"So you don't have a car in the compound?" asked Teresa.
"I have one somewhere. A Chrysler or Honda or Volvo or some such. I forget which. My people from Oregon deposited one here for me awhile back."
Patrick glanced once more at the photographs before he asked his next question.
"Are you a widower, Mr. Trumble?"
"I am, as you likely already guessed, Professor."
Patrick and Teresa's eyes met, and he hoped he conveyed an unspoken message. As it turned out, he did. Teresa addressed Trumble.
"Mr. Trumble, your helipads in the back are quite impressive. Next year's police department budget has funding to build one of our own. We'll start construction soon. Mind if I take a look at yours?"
Trumble waved his hand.
"By all means, Chief. Please go ahead. And don't worry about those robots that follow you around outside. I set them in surveillance mode. They are not lethal at present."
Teresa excused herself and went out back. The robot beagles converged into a pack that rolled along behind her as she walked across the yard. Patrick saw her look down and laugh at the throng. Once she left his sight, he turned back to Trumble.
"I was widowed myself," Patrick said.
When he heard that, Trumble's demeanor softened.
"So you know what it's like, Professor?"
"I do."
Trumble bade Patrick to walk with him over to the five photographs. He inhaled a deep breath like he was trying to summon a hidden reserve of strength. His hands began to shake.
"Evangeline was not only my wife. She was my joy, my anchor, my whole existence."
Patrick swept his hand in front of the first four photos.
"I can see that, Mr. Trumble. It's obvious she felt the same way about you."
"We met in college. Nothing could keep us apart. We supported each other and lived for each other. The day we met she sang to me and every day after that. Good day or bad , she graced my ears with the beauty of her voice. She sustained me, and I lived for her comfort." Trumble sucked in an even deeper breath as he waved his hand in front of the fifth photo. "Then this happened."
"Tell me about it, Mr. Trumble."
"We had achieved so much together. I built EvaCorp, and my wife honed her beautiful voice. When the company issued its IPO, all the sacrifices that she and I made through the years meant something at last. All the time apart we endured, all the ups and downs of daily life we dealt with, all the heartache and risk we had faced would pay off."
"But…" Patrick said.
"But, Professor, one cruel twist of fate came at the end. During all our time together, I had never recorded Evangeline's voice. I was selfish. I never wanted to share the beauty of that sound with anyone else.
"I can understand that," said Patrick.
"Evangeline wanted to pursue a music career but held off to support me. She never once complained. Not once. She loved me. But I knew she ached to sing in public."
"What happened?"
"The IPO was the light at the end of the tunnel for us. It meant I could step back. Someone else could run things. Evangeline and I would be free. Free to share her talents with the world."
"I'm not sure that I follow what…" Before Patrick could finish his thought, Trumble cut him off.
"Professor, I had booked time in a recording studio, brought together an orchestra and producer, and hired song writers and arrangers to craft music for her to sing. Evangeline would have the best of everything. Our focus shifted from me to her."
"And then…"
"And then, Professor, we were leaving our house to go to the recording studio. I took one last call from my second-in-command at EvaCorp. It was a minor design problem, something I'd dealt with a hundred times before. Small in the big scheme of things."
"And?"
"And…and…and." Trumble choked up. "I sent Evangeline on ahead in her old Beetle and told her I'd follow when I got off the phone." Trumble broke down. "And when I followed ten minutes later, I found this." With one hand he covered his face and with the other he waved at the fifth picture.
Despite the wall that he built in dealing with suspects, Patrick gave in to a sudden impulse. He patted Trumble on the shoulder.
"I've felt the pain you've gone through," Patrick said.
Trumble shook his head.
"No one knows, Professor. No one knows the pain I suffer. Either Evangeline would not have died if I had gone with her or we would have died together. If only I had not be so centered on my own success."
Patrick himself took a deep breath.
"Mr. Trumble. Dirk. Someone told me a long time ago that I should move on, start a new life. Eventually I did."
"I should do that too. But I can't, Professor. I can't." Trumble shook his head.
"Pity, then." The conversation with Trumble had drained Patrick but he forced himself to ask something that lingered on his mind. "I have one more question, Mr. Trumble."
"What?"
"Are you familiar with Perk Perez?"
In an instant, Trumble's expression changed from sorrow to anger.
"Professor Marbray, do you remember me saying that I flew in my supplies from Oregon and my staff from Idaho?" asked Trumble.
"Yes," said Patrick.
"I neglected to mention that I fly in my lawyers from Boston. Our interview has concluded, Professor. I trust that you and Chief Lisbon can let yourselves out."
"We will."
"Please exit with speed. I yearn for solitude again."
Trumble turned away to walk up a flight of stairs. Patrick walked back down the corridor and out the door. Once in the yard, he found Teresa, the pack of robots squeaking behind her. Without words, they made their way to the front gate. Again, a high-pitched chirp signaled that they could exit.
Teresa didn't know what to expect when Patrick returned from his private conversation with Trumble. Still, his somber mood surprised her. The silence between them on the grounds of the compound continued until they got inside her squad car and closed the doors. Teresa reached to Patrick to grasp his hand. In response he squeezed hers.
"Trumble's behind all this," he said.
"I figured as much." The empty stare on his face frightened her. "Are you alright?"
In one of those sudden motions that she had only partly gotten used to over the years, Patrick pulled Teresa into a tight embrace. As awkward as these impromptu hugs were, she had come to know the best response. While holding him, she patted his shoulder. They remained in their silent embrace until Patrick brought his lips beside her ear to whisper.
"Thank you, Teresa. Thank you for saving me."
Teresa and Patrick barely had time to get out of her squad car back at the station before a crowd of people spilled out the front door to greet them. Grace, Wayne, Kimball, Henry, and Capp rushed across the parking lot followed by several officers on the day shift. The others glanced at Henry as if they elected him their spokesman. He stepped forward to Patrick and Teresa.
"Pardon my language, Chief, but all hell has broken loose."
To be continued.
Author's notes:
Sting wrote "King Of Pain," and the group the Police recorded my favorite version on their album, Synchronicity.
Up next: "Something's Gotta Give"
