Chapter 7 – You Never Know

He was running through his wife's old notes on the Red John case over and over again. Even though she'd had to admit she was no real psychic after her spectacular failure with the serial killer, he still knew she'd always had a good running knowledge of psychology in order to better pull her act.

Red John is as elusive as a shadow. He's one of those nondescript men that always go unnoticed, and that's one of the reasons he started killing. He wanted the world to notice him, but at the same time it's useful that people never seem to remember anything about him after a casual encounter.

An elusive shadow. Had he believed in ghosts, Jane would have definitely gone for the theory that the serial killer might be one of them.

It was true that no one ever seemed to notice him in the vicinity of the crime scene. And they had no evidence whatsoever that could help them narrow down the search.

They were still groping in the dark after years of investigation, even the CBI seemed to have made little to no progress ever since they had taken over the case.

In the end he flipped the small notebook closed and wandered off in search of an invigorating cup of Earl Grey. He furrowed his brow as a white envelope slipped out of the cupboard where he kept his favorite brand of tea.

His heart picked up speed as he noticed there was no address on it, just like had happened on a previous occasion. He wasted no time and tore it open.

Dear Mr. Jane,

I've been disappointed that you disregarded my last message.

Your wife has a beautiful son now, I think you wouldn't like it if something happened to him. He's the half-brother of your late daughter after all, and I know how much of a knight in shining armor you are.

I've seen it with my own eyes that you can never resist the call of a damsel in distress. I hope you won't allow for your poor wife to be deprived of yet another child.

A moment later he burst into Lisbon's office; she didn't even yell at him when she saw the look on his face.

"Red John?" she asked, though she knew the answer already.

"He sent me another message. He says he will hurt my wife if I refuse to play along with his game."

Jane ignored the small pang of guilt as he purposely failed to mention the child. He'd never told Lisbon about his existence, and for some reason that he couldn't quite place he didn't feel like doing it now.

"The FBI is already keeping a discreet eye on her, as Red John probably knows. He would never run the risk of being caught red-handed; I think he's just enjoying the effect his threats have on you."

He took a deep breath and sunk onto her couch. Of course Lisbon's argument made perfect sense, he didn't know why he had never taken into account the possibility that the law enforcement would do their best to try and protect every likely target of the serial killer.

Still, his wife had been right, Red John was so elusive that he could slip unnoticed even by trained professionals like the FBI. And it wasn't only about a damsel in distress this time, there was also an innocent child to add to the mix.

His head reeled as something clinched inside his mind, something he had failed to notice before. In his letter Red John had mentioned seeing him rush to the defense of a helpless woman, and all of a sudden he remembered an episode that dated back to his carnie days.

He had been looking for Angela after a show, when he'd heard her cry for help. A drunken client was nothing but persistent in trying to get more out of her than a simple reading, and he didn't think twice before knocking the guy to the ground.

As they walked away they'd ran into a stranger who patted them on the back and congratulated him for being the perfect gentleman who'd just saved his lady's virtue.

Such a phrasing had sounded odd to him even back then, not to mention the fact that the stranger hadn't moved a finger to help Angela himself. But now…

"I think I know who he is."

"What?"

Lisbon was staring at him as if he'd suddenly gone crazy. He knew it was a very long shot, but he had a hunch that his sudden inspiration might be correct after all. The man he recalled looked nothing but elusive, and he would have never remembered about him if it hadn't been for such an unexpected coincidence. However, he was pretty sure he could still identify him after all those years.

"I need someone to draw an identikit picture for me. I'd bet my bottom dollar that I've met Red John in the past, and my memory palace has never failed me so far."

xxx

Lisbon stared in surprise when a name popped up on her computer screen at long last. She hadn't dared to hope that their identikit would actually fit someone in the databases that the CBI currently had access to, but it looked like she was wrong after all.

In no time she and Jane were out of the office and inside her car. The DA had promised that the arrest warrant was on its way, it would be in their hands before they reached their intended destination.

There were a lot of questions that a certain Mr. Jackson Brown had to answer to, hopefully once he was safely behind bars. She prayed to God that it was for real this time, and that the serial killer was going to be only a bad memory in the nearest future.

They were already halfway to Mr. Brown's residence when Jane's cellphone rang.

"I'd better take this one," he said.

She simply nodded, then turned her eyes back to the street.

xxx

He'd never been more torn in his entire life. On one side there was the serial killer that had murdered his daughter, on the other his wife being rushed to the ER halfway across the country.

A shattered Danny Ruskin begged him to come over the phone, he tried to tell him he was in the middle of a police operation but didn't have the heart to turn him down in the end.

Lisbon herself told him he had to go, so he simply got out of her car and called a cab. Then he jumped on the first flight to Iowa, and now he was there at Angela's bedside.

It wasn't anybody's fault, the other driver had had a stroke and his car had crashed against hers. Luckily she had left the kid at home with her brother, otherwise he would probably be dead by now.

The doctor told him there was little chance she would survive, but she could still recover consciousness before the end, and he hoped he would be able to talk to her once more.

The last time he'd seen her they had parted in bitterness, he didn't want her to leave this world without knowing that she was forgiven. It had taken him way too long to understand it, but now as he was standing beside her deathbed he knew he'd never stopped loving her in spite of everything.

He had been blind, but he could see again at long last.

"Patrick," she breathed softly at some point during the night.

He covered her hand with his own and squeezed it gently. "I'm sorry, Angie. I've said some horrible things, but I didn't really mean them."

"It's okay. Just – promise me – one thing."

"Whatever you want."

Her face was pale and scarred, but she looked at peace at last.

"I'd like to be – buried – beside Charlotte," she managed to whisper eventually.

His eyes filled with tears at her request. "And you will be."

She smiled softly. "Love you, Patrick. Take care of my child."

Then her eyes closed one last time, and he allowed grief to take over him at length. He'd just lost another person he deeply cared about, he didn't know how he was going to withstand the inevitable heartache after all he'd already been through.

The hospital staff didn't dare to interfere with his mourning until the first light of dawn began to filter through the blinds.