It goes without saying: I don't own the characters.
I've gotten the overall plot planned out, and here's to hoping that the filler material (the most important part!) won't escape me.
Chapter One
It was two in the afternoon when the gentle commotion of an office (buzzing phone lines, the rustling of paper, the pattering of footsteps, hazy voices calling across short distances) floated into Jane's consciousness. He breathed in deeply and noted the comforting scent of leather, the faint hint of women's perfume, the sharp tang of starched collars. Without opening his eyes he stretched fully and luxuriously, smiling with the indulgence of an alley cat warming himself in the sunlight and making noise enough that Rigsby glanced up from his perch behind Van Pelt's chair and smirked.
Jane sat up and shook himself a little, as if to shake loose any lingering remnants of some unsettling feeling, and looked around the room. The Serious Crimes unit was quiet today. The three agents were seated in their respective desks and table corners, as still as figurines except for the nimble clattering of Cho's fingers across the keyboard and the movement of two pairs of eyes as they scanned across Van Pelt's computer screen. As he stood Cho looked up and nodded at him, quickly turning back into a still life. Jane decided to give it some time. He walked to the kitchenette, fetched a bag of cashews from the upper middle cabinet, and walked back. They were still at it.
"That bad, huh?"
It was Van Pelt's turn to look around.
"You're up," she said with a cheerful smile.
"The boss said to wait until she's back to prep you on the case. Apparently she wants to make the directions very clear."
"What's the case?"
Van Pelt hesitated, but Cho's voice rang out across the room.
"Age seventeen Caucasian female; apparent suicide by hanging. The family's connected to some guy higher up on the CBI food chain which makes it a delicate case."
Jane smiled.
"I see," he said.
Rigsby was looking at Cho with some surprise.
"Dude," said he, "she told us not to say anything."
Cho didn't look over.
"What does it matter? He's bound to find out sooner or later."
"That's okay," said Jane. "I'll pretend I didn't know a thing."
---
Lisbon dropped the file on the desk.
"It's a very delicate case. The victim is the daughter of a family friend of Arthur's."
"Ah," said Jane, nodding, "the big head."
"He's Minelli's boss," said Lisbon, turning to him. "And I cannot stress to you enough that you absolutely must not pull another one of your badly planned risky stunts. If you upset the victim's family in any way they're going to go above Minelli's head and there's nothing he or I can do about it."
"Meaning that I'll get you in trouble."
"Meaning that you need to use some common sense," countered Lisbon. "Please. Just for once could you please follow protocol? No bating, no hypnotism, no dressing up as a ghost and dosing suspects with gasoline."
"It was actually ether," said Jane sheepishly.
"Whatever."
Lisbon glanced around the group. The boys exchanged glances and Van Pelt was determinedly biting her lip.
"Just behave," she said, tossing a meaningful look at Jane before striding off to her office.
---
It had started to rain when their black SUV pulled up on the driveway. Van Pelt, Jane and Lisbon climbed out and hurried under the shelter of the porch, feet splashing slightly on the slick blacktop. Lisbon knocked three times. Glancing around behind him, Jane looked over the cheerful hedges and colorful flowers bordering the walkways. Bright red and yellow flowers swayed back and forth slightly in the wind, burdened down with the weight of the falling rain. A delicately painted mailbox; stone bird-wash with a handcrafted feeder.
The door opened and a woman with soft brown curls stepped aside, smiling sadly.
"Hi," she said, "You must be the CBI—please, come inside."
They entered, Lisbon making the formal introductions. Jane wiped his shoes carefully on the welcome mat before stepping on the wooden floor; it was beige with green lettering, Home At Last.
"—and this is Patrick Jane," Lisbon was saying.
Jane shook the proffered hand.
"Consultant," he said by way of explanation.
"Agent Rigsby and Agent Cho are currently at the crime scene but they are involved in this investigation as well, Mrs. Lanner."
"Oh, please," said the lady with a shake of the head, "call me Effie. My husband passed away quite a long time ago and I've always felt uncomfortable with that title. It's such a little thing, I know, but sometimes it's painful to recall even the smallest details of a life that doesn't exist anymore. Oh—I'm sorry, rambling off again. Won't you sit down in the living room? I've got some tea that's about to boil and you can ask any question you like."
Libson nodded and they moved down the hallway after Effie. The two women seated themselves around the small coffee table as they waited while Jane strolled slowly around the room. Pictures filled in the gaps of the room, filling silences with soundless laughter and dim corners with smiles. He paused before a photograph of four people—Effie with two young girls and a man. The four of them had on fishing caps and identical grins. The youngest girl's smile shone brighter than the rest, and she seemed to be on the verge of a fit of giggles. A smile tugged on the edges of Jane's mouth.
"Here you are," said their hostess, wielding a tray of cups and saucers that she immediately began to distribute to murmurs of thanks.
"Was this your late husband?"
Effie looked up to see Jane pointing to the picture in his hand. She nodded.
"Yes, that was Jim. And those are our two daughters, Carol and Veronica."
Jane pointed to the girl in the blue t-shirt.
"Is this…"
"No, that's Carol. The one over there—yes, that's her—that's Veronica."
She paused, and smiled somewhat painfully.
"She was a very bright, wonderful child. So full of life."
Lisbon jumped in.
"Was she having a difficult time recently? Did she say anything or do anything in the past that might have indicated she had been experiencing some suicidal tendencies?"
Van Pelt looked over the rim of her saucer. Effie was shaking her head determinedly.
"No. No, she was a very normal, happy person. She had her problems, of course she did; who doesn't at that age? But she was a happy person. She liked to draw and had a bunch of friends and her family who loves her—
She paused, jerking her head as if to get rid of a pesky insect.
"Loved her."
A movement on the upper floor landing caught Jane's eye. A girl around twenty-three walked slowly to the edge of the staircase and hesitated there for a moment with her hand on the railing, looking down at the knot of people gathered in the living room.
"Mom?"
Effie turned around.
"Oh, hello dear. These are the people from CBI I told you would be coming."
The girl moved down the stairs, eyes surveying each stranger in turn.
"You should have told me," she said, "I want to help find out whoever did this to Vi too."
Jane stepped forward and took her hand.
"Hi Carol. My name is Patrick Jane and I'll be one of the people helping you find out the truth behind your sister's death."
They shook, and Carol eventually nodded and pulled her hand back, looking away.
"Good," she said.
"Do you mind if I borrow your daughter for a while as Agent Lisbon asks you some questions?" Jane asked.
"Oh, of course not. Go ahead," said Effie.
Carol looked at him. Jane smiled kindly.
"After you," he said.