A/N: As a reminder, Becker was the doctor whose death was investigated by the team last August. He was killed by David Townsend, the man also implicated in the death of Sofia Morrison, a waitress and former intern at Visualize. David Townsend was shot during the investigation of Becker's death. Visualize is somehow mixed up in it all.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist (or Ferris Bueller).
2013
Tuesday, May 14
8:09 am
Cho's coffee was getting cold.
"Well then get me your boss…You said you weren't authorized. So get me your boss…Do you want some Aleve?...ALEVE…I've heard it's good for joint pain…You will when I rip your arm out of its socket…"
Lisbon sent Cho a sidelong glance over Rosie's head. Jane almost smiled as he studiously mixed hot water into his hotel-grade instant oatmeal.
Cho slammed the phone down and spun on his heel to compose himself before turning to face them. "Noon. We can go."
Lisbon blinked. "To review the casefile."
He nodded. "To offer insight." His face pinched in frustration. "Damn!"
2012
Thursday, August 16
4:49 pm
"He liked basketball," Van Pelt commented over a box full of David Townsend's belongings. "Signed jersey." She sighed. "Don't you guys find this a little weird?"
Cho peered at the jersey. "No."
"I mean, looking through his stuff."
"Why? We do it all the time." Rigsby tossed an old newspaper clipping into the box with a pile of tax returns.
"Yes. But…he's so normal."
"What were you expecting? Severed head in the refrigerator?"
"No, of course not. But maybe something to indicate that the person living here was a hired murderer."
Rigsby shrugged. "That's probably why Stiles chose him as his cleaner. It's the normal ones you've got to watch."
"And nobody wants an obvious hit-man." Cho labeled another evidence box and slid it over to Rigsby.
Van Pelt paused. "I wonder why they killed him this time. They could have just gotten him off again like they did with the Morrison case."
"Probably used all of his free passes. Maybe they were tired of bailing him out."
Rigsby shuffled through another desk drawer. "Yeah, but it didn't seem like they cared if he got caught, just as long as he didn't end up in jail and could keep tying up their loose ends. And it's not like it takes a lot to get someone off on a technicality."
"Or hire a sniper to kill them."
"But then you have to hire someone to replace the person you killed." Van Pelt turned to Rigsby. "And, you're right. It almost seemed like they wanted us to catch him that first time with Sofia… Maybe that's how it worked: they get Townsend to kill whoever it was they wanted gone, then have it set up so there's no way he couldn't have done it, then, after the case is closed, get him off. The investigation's already over, no more digging. They give us the answer so we don't go looking for it where they don't want us."
Cho nodded. "Could be."
"It's your week to make Jane tea, right?"Rigsby commented, studying a pack of pens before shoving them back into the drawer.
"Yes. Why?"
Rigsby grinned. "He's rubbing off on you. Pretty soon you'll be insulting the DA and accusing Cho of having an affair with Minelli."
"And getting punched in the nose," Cho added, brushing by with an evidence box.
"Do you want us to get you a couch?"
Taking the next box, Van Pelt silently followed Cho, biting her lip to keep from smirking.
"Cloth or leather? Grace?... Anyone? Bueller?"
2013
Tuesday, May 14
12:02 pm
There was a crack in the window.
"You can see here," Detective Alexander Gorman gestured to the computer where a grainy surveillance tape stumbled across the screen. "Mr. Wayne Rigsby enters the 7th floor of the Norton Research Wing via the south elevator at 6:41 pm on Saturday May the 11th."
It spun out in delicate lines across the pane, like the silk of a spider's web.
"At 6:42 he enters the office of a Dr. George Romero, oncologist. The father-in-law, a Mr. Amos Van Pelt, informed a uniform that Mr. Rigsby was dropping off insurance forms for a Mrs. Joanna Van Pelt, who was participating in a drug trial run by Dr. Romero."
Lisbon reached out a hand, absently, to trace the shimmering streaks. The glass was cold against her fingertips.
"At 6:47, Mr. Rigsby exits the office and continues down the hall before stopping outside another office, waiting 37 seconds, and entering. This second office belonged to a Dr. Edgar Flanders, a senior member of the psychiatry department. We were unable to determine Mr. Rigsby's reasoning for entering the office."
Having brothers, she had encountered many a cracked windowpane in her lifetime. A baseball, a tin can, James' pet rock…yet, unlike the impressions left by those projectiles, this particular fissure seemed to have no point of origin, no obvious beginning, and no delineation of its end.
"At 6:51 pm Mrs. Grace Rigsby enters the 7th floor via the south elevator. A message left on her father's phone at that time confirms plans for dinner at seven o'clock that evening and her intent to enter the building to see why her husband had not yet returned to their vehicle. At 6:52:03, Mrs. Rigsby can be seen entering the hallway housing the offices of Drs. Romero and Flanders."
Gorman glanced back at them before pausing the tape. "The rest is—"
"Play it."
The sergeant observed Cho, whose own eyes were fixed stonily on the screen. "Are you sure—"
"Just do it."
Just a tangled net of paper-thin wires brushing out a haphazard pattern beneath her hand.
The screen turned a brilliant white, blazing in the dimly-lit room like the muzzle flash of a handgun at night. It leaves spots in her eyes, even as she willed them to remain fixed on the broken glass. They disobey.
Gorman continued. "At 6:52:24 an explosion originates from the front office of Dr. Edgar Flanders. At 6:53:07 smoke obscures the cameras' view of the hallway. Paramedics arrive 6:55. Cameras back 6:56:22. Tape ends 6:59:37 pm."
Silence fell heavily as they watched grayscale flames and the hazy outline of a fireman's helmet, only barely visible against a backdrop of smoke and the shadows of fragmented furniture.
"I am sorry for your loss."After allowing them a moment, Gorman switched on the lights, returned to his desk, and flipped open a manila folder. "Now, the tapes give us no reason to believe that Mr. Rigsby left Dr. Flanders' office before the blast. The forensics guys tell me the DNA should be back by tomorrow. That said, is there anything you can tell me about him that would help in identifying his remains? Anything he kept with him, a wedding ring, maybe, that would have been—"
"Flanders was his advisor."
He said it like he was proclaiming the discovery of a new world. Lisbon, still struggling with the dense air, tore her eyes from the screen to stare at Jane.
"Edgar Flanders was Becker's research advisor."
2013
Wednesday, May 8
3:32 pm
Rigsby walked purposefully toward Lisbon's office.
"Need something, Rigsby?"
Lisbon's voice came from behind him, and he spun to face her.
"Boss? Grace and I were wondering…well, her mom got into that research trial and Grace wants to go and see her before it starts."
"When do you need to leave?"
"This Friday. But Boss, the problem is that with everything going on…we're going to be at the hospital most of the weekend and Grace doesn't want her dad to have to chase after Rosie on top of everything else and…well, our babysitter Francine's brother's getting married Saturday and Elise is back from New York so Grace didn't want to ask Cho and…we were wondering, would you take her?"
Lisbon blinked. "Me?"
Rigsby cleared his throat. "I mean, it's fine if you don't want to, but we just thought—"
Shaking her head, Lisbon interjected. "No, of course I'll take her. I just…wasn't expecting that, was all."
"Yeah, sorry about the short notice, but we just needed to know so we could arrange things for the weekend."
Lisbon nodded.
"And we'll pay you, of course."
"That's not necessary."
"Are you sure?"
"Rigsby, I don't need you paying me so you can go visit family."
He eyed her apprehensively. "Boss, I think—"
"Rigsby, I don't know if you missed it, but there's this thing called I am your boss. It means you have to do what I say. And if I say you're not paying me, you're not. Got it?" She raised an eyebrow at him.
Rigsby grinned reluctantly. "Got it, Boss."
"Ok. Good."Lisbon continued past him into her office, where she let herself smile at the retreating back of a most relieved Rigsby.
2013
Tuesday, May 14
12:14 pm
Jane paced in front of the screen still frozen in a colorless blaze. "That Becker case. Last August. Becker studied abnormal psychology for his doctorate. Dr. Edgar Flanders was his major advisor."
"Jane, I—"
"No, don't you see? That's why Rigsby went into that office. He remembered the name."
Jane scuffled over to Gorman's desk and all but snatched the casefile from the detective's hands. "Did you even look into this?" He glared at Gorman's startled expression.
"Jane."
He whirled on Lisbon. "I think he should."
"Jane…" Lisbon placed a tentative hand on Jane's sleeve. "He's dead," she whispered, mind questioning even as she spoke the words. "Rigsby's dead."
A cool flame sparked in Jane's eyes as he removed his arm from her touch. "Ah. Yes… closure. How nice for you, dear Lisbon. I'd appreciate a little more time, myself, if you don't mind."
As Jane watched, the little part of Lisbon that had grown familiar to him in the past years withdrew in on itself, leaving a wave of emptiness in her eyes that would have seemed like a cool glare, had it not been for the small intake of breath that came with it. He forced himself to hold her gaze, unrelenting, until she finally turned away. Maybe it was better this way. He didn't know what more he would have to do to get to the truth.
"I would like to see the crime scene now."
2013
Friday May 10
4:48 pm
Lisbon sat on the cool linoleum in her small kitchen wishing she could remember where she had put the adhesive for the last baby lock. She had only set it down for a second while she cleaned the cabinet door and now it was nowhere to be found. Glancing up at the clock, she realized they were supposed to come almost twenty minutes ago and settled for tying the cabinet shut with some kitchen twine. As she was replacing the spool in a drawer, the doorbell rang.
"Hi. Sorry we're late. The printer broke when we were printing the boarding passes and Rosie spilled juice all over her dress." Van Pelt stepped past Lisbon into the apartment, Rosie on one hip, backpack balanced on the other. Rigsby followed, laden with a diaper bag and some sort of rectangular case.
"Hi yourself," Lisbon said, somewhat taken aback by the sheer amount of equipment they were expecting her to use over the next two days. "You need to use my printer?"
Van Pelt shook her head. "No. It was just out of ink. Thanks, though." She let a relieved grin slip across her face. "And thanks so much for doing this. I really—it really means a lot."
Lisbon returned the smile. "I think we can handle a couple of days to ourselves. Right Rosie?"
The little girl nodded vaguely, fingers in her mouth, still unsure of the situation.
"Ok. Is there anything I should know?" Lisbon asked, gesturing for Rigsby to hand her the diaper bag.
"Well, she's already had her bath, so that's done. She'll eat pretty much anything except spinach and cauliflower. Just make sure to cut it up small enough. She can use a fork—"
"We packed some of her dishes," Van Pelt cut in. "Oh, and there are Cheerios and Goldfish in little plastic bags for snack. Just make sure she doesn't dump them on the floor and then eat them afterwards."
"Oh, and carrots." Rigsby frowned. "She doesn't really like carrots."
Lisbon nodded, trying to keep a straight face.
"She takes her nap at two. After that she likes to watch Mr. Rodgers. It's still on PBS. Channel—Oh, Wayne. Show her the crib."
"Right." Rigsby set down the rectangular case. "Porta-crib. Pretty easy. All you do is unfold it."
"Just make sure you remember to put the mattress in the bottom."
Lisbon wrestled unsuccessfully with a smirk. "No. I wouldn't want to forget that."
Van Pelt continued. "Oh. And she likes a story before bed. She can tell you which one she wants. We packed a couple in her backpack. Just don't let her bring them in the bathtub. Or—"
Lisbon looked at the clock. "Grace. I think I can handle it. Don't you need to get to the airport?"
Van Pelt checked her watch. "Oh, you're right," she acknowledged, though she made no move to leave. Her eyes traced the metal bookshelves holding Lisbon's CD collection, then the couch, and finally the luggage on the living room floor before coming to rest on the top of Rosie's head.
Meeting her gaze gently, Lisbon stepped forward. "We'll be fine. I promise."
Van Pelt cringed. "I know. It's just…I worry too much, I guess."
Rigsby coughed.
After shooting a playful glare at her husband, Van Pelt addressed her daughter. "Alright, missy. You be really good for Lissa, ok?"
She received a solemn nod.
"Ok. Now give Daddy a hug."
2013
Tuesday, May 14
1:09 pm
Even after three days, the singed smell of smoke still hung heavily in the air. Jane stepped carefully under the crime scene tape that separated the hallway into its two personalities: the pristine white and the blackened inferno. He forced himself to look into the inferno.
"You ok, Mr. Jane?" a young man called over his shoulder. Marquez, Arson Specialist was embroidered across one side of his jumpsuit.
Jane nodded.
"Yeah, that's where the woman was. EMS said smoke inhalation, but she'd have had a good knock on the head too… Ok, so we're stepping across where the office wall used to be." Marquez gestured to a pile of rubble at his feet. "And there's where the blast originated. The bomb was wired to the drawer of a filing cabinet. Whoever did this really didn't want their tarot cards read. One pull on that handle and everything…the cabinet, papers, furniture, this old trophy thing…basically shredded."
They picked their way to where the back corner of the room used to be. For now, there was a blue tarp hanging to mark the separation between the front room of Flanders' office and the adjoining private conference room.
"Alright. So the Doc was probably about here, filing some paper." Marquez stood a few feet from the tarp. "And your guy was maybe five feet behind him, closer to the door here. But that didn't really matter once this thing detonated. Generated its own shrapnel. Like I said, everything shredded… Sorry, man."
Jane waved him on.
"Just about the only thing not really touched by the blast was that old closet over there. Metal door." Marquez maneuvered his way across the room and grinned as he opened the closet to reveal several expensive-looking suit jackets—a little sooty, but otherwise in relatively good condition. "Saved his Armani coats…not that he'll be needing them."
Jane stepped closer to the closet. "Hypothetically, a person in here could have survived the bomb?"
Marquez shrugged. "Hypothetically…I guess. A little deaf and banged up, but…sure, I guess, hypothetically they would be ok. But…look, my buddy's the ME. There were two bodies in here. Not that I could tell, of course, with all the….But if Danny says there were two bodies, there were two bodies. I'm sorry, man. Your friend's dead."
Jane grinned mechanically. "That's what they're telling me."