Chapter Eleven: Going Down
Rigsby yawned hugely as he meandered into the office. Slanted rays streamed in through the windows, making everything glow scarlet. Cho sat alone at his desk, reading a file.
"Hey," said Rigsby.
"Hey," Cho replied, not looking up.
Rigsby checked his watch, then squinted into the blinding sunset. "I can't believe the sun's going down…"
"Unlike how it usually stays up all night," Cho stated flatly.
"I meant already. I can't believe it's going down already. It used to stay light 'til at least eight o'clock."
Cho said nothing. Rigsby wandered over to his friend's desk. "What're you working on?"
"Cardelli's arrest report."
"You let him go, then?"
"Yep."
"Huh." Rigsby started to fidget, nudging paperclips around on Cho's desk.
"You smell like horse," Cho commented.
Rigsby frowned. He pulled his shirt collar to his nose and sniffed deeply.
Cho gave him a flat look.
Rigsby stopped sniffing the shirt. "So, uh…any luck with the homeless guy?"
"He saw a black Crown Vic pulling out of the alley at ten-thirty on the night of the murder."
Rigsby considered this. "That's pretty close to the estimated TOD. It could be something. Did he get a plate number?"
"No."
"Did you tell Lisbon about it?"
"Her phone's off."
"Oh."
Cho turned a page and kept writing.
Rigsby glanced over at the empty couch. "You heard anything from Jane?"
"No."
"Yeah, he's probably still on his way back. It's like, a three-hour drive…"
Cho said nothing.
Rigsby stopped fiddling with the paperclips. "So, uh, you want to go get something to eat?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully.
Cho continued to stare at the report for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Okay."
Rigsby grinned.
XxXxXxX
The gunman pulled the trigger at the exact same instant Jane dove for the master bedroom.
The bullet shrieked by Jane's left ear, passing so close and so loud it took half his hearing with it. He half-ran, half-staggered into Paul and Laura's room, their daughter still in his arms.
Jane slammed the bedroom door tight – a feeble moment's worth of extra protection – thrust Penny into a corner behind the shield of the bed, and then grabbed the first suitable object that crossed his eye-line: a shiny brass wastebasket.
Balls of crumpled white paper fell like hail from the trashcan as Jane hefted it high and chucked it at the closed window.
The gleaming can exploded right through the glass and landed outside, on the roof of the addition. The wastebasket wobbled on its side for an instant, and then began to roll, tumbling out of sight off the steep edge of shingles.
Jane rushed forward and started kicking away glass shards that still clung to the window frame, barely aware that he was tromping all over the first draft of Paul Jorsten's eulogy.
Out in the hall, there was a low groan as something slapped heavily against the closed door. A hand, searching for the knob…
Jane stopped kicking and raced over to grab Penny. It was hard, taking the time to lower her carefully through that jagged hole with the sound of a rattling doorknob loud in his good ear. But he managed it – Penny was deposited on the rough grey shingles outside without so much as a nick.
She clung there, huddled and staring at him, until Jane ordered her to climb down:
"Just get to the edge and wait for me to help you," he instructed, as the door burst open behind him. Two shots rang out, missing high and wide.
Penny flinched at the noise and began a rapid descent, moving sideways like a crab along the treacherously slanted surface. Jane scrambled out after her.
He sliced his right palm on a crescent shard in his haste to escape the third shot, and crimson instantly blossomed from the wound, followed by a flash of pain that made him gasp. Dripping red, Jane edged his way down the incline.
Broken glass crackled under his shoes for the first several feet, but then he was free of it, and gritty shingles clung firmly to his soles, allowing him to be steady and swift the rest of the way down.
Palm throbbing, Jane arrived at the spot where Penny waited. Her blue eyes flicked fearfully back and forth between Jane and the twelve-foot drop.
"It's all right," he assured her. "Take my hand, I'll lower you down."
Jane proffered his uninjured left hand, and, after a swallow and a shiver, Penny took it.
The instant his fingers closed around hers, Jane had a wild urge to let go. Her hand was freezing, and it shot a bolt of horror right through him – memory of another tiny, ice-cold hand in his. Jane squeezed his eyes against the flashback, fighting the impulse to fling Penny's hand away.
The wave passed in half a second. Then Jane was back in the here and now, lowering a copper-haired child off the edge of a roof. Both of her hands were gripping his, now, small, chilly fingers digging into his skin. The weight of her tugged at his shoulder socket, and Jane had to reach out with his bloody hand to steady her.
When he was bent at the waist, hanging as far over the precipice as he could without falling, Jane told the dangling girl to let go.
Fresh anxiety flooded her blue eyes. Her fingers bit harder into his flesh. She was still a good six feet off the ground. Jane could see her bare toes squirming…
"It'll be all right," he repeated, staring right into those terrified eyes. "I promise. Just let go."
Cold, clutching fingers released him. Penny hit the rocky dirt below with an audible thump. Brown dust clouded the air as she struggled back to her feet, undoubtedly sore but not seriously injured.
Jane withdrew his upper body from the precarious edge and began to turn around, preparing for his own drop to the earth.
A sharp, thunder-crack assaulted his right ear. Jane hunkered low on instinct, cowering against sandpapery shingles while his eyes searched wildly. He spotted a dark silhouette shifting behind the broken window, and the brief metal flash of a gun.
It was only then that Jane registered the pain – a strange burning across his hip, like a line drawn with a fire poker.
Shot – he'd been shot. He was –
Another bullet hit the roof, mere inches from Jane's clinging fingertips, exploding rough bits of wood and shingle right in his face.
Jane's lizard brain took over. He pitched himself off the roof.