Chapter 5.
He's at my mercy now; I've bound him to a chair and covered his eyes in a thick cloth, there's no way he can identify me. Searching his pockets I found his phone and a laminated card that identifies this man as Patrick Jane, a consultant for the CBI. It must be pretty big if they've got the CBI involved in all of this.
Jane stirs, groaning in pain as his shoulder is bent back in an awkward position; he's able to move his hand to feel the thick roped looped around him, and to top it all off, he can't see and the air smells foul.
"Hello?" he groggily asks.
"Hello Patrick," the man replies, his voice a lot deeper than normal to disguise his voice.
In his head, he quickly runs a comparison with the seven Red John suspects; it is not a match to any of them.
"Who are you?"
The man pauses for a moment, and then says "Venom."
"And what's your real name?"
"Ah, I'm not that stupid Patrick," he laughs.
"So, why do you do this Venom? Do you know these men personally?"
"Why would I want to know these dogs?!" Venom spits.
Knowing that he has struck a nerve, Jane presses on.
"I mean, the way you kill is very up close and personal, most killers prefer a gun; for a quick and easy kill."
"I like to see the light leave their eyes, the pain they feel as they suffer, the fear as they know that they are going to die."
"Why?"
"It's what they deserve."
"Why?"
"A man who beats the woman he is supposed to love, to protect, to cherish, should be made to suffer."
"That is not for you to decide, that is for a judge and jury," Jane reasons.
"No, they are easily corrupted; it's too easy for the son of a bitch to get off without so much as a warning."
"Aren't you corrupted?"
"Far from it," he smiles, "nobody pays me for the hit."
"So you're a good Samaritan?"
"Yeah, I guess you could call me that."
"So, why do you use snake venom? It's very unusual."
"Unfortunately, this is where the conversation ends, I have one more kill and then it's over…well, for now at least."
I pull the syringe from my backpack and approach him, he struggles as I get closer, he can hear me coming.
"Wait, please, just wait," Jane begs.
But the man doesn't stop, and plunges the syringe into the top of Jane's arm. He sucks in air to ride through the pain as something enters his system. Noises around him echo like he has a bucket on his head, the tinny sounds fade and he passes out.
It was Grace's idea to track Jane's phone's GPS, which subsequently leads them to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city; some twenty blocks from the last place he was seen. Only a small team of8 had been assembled to rescue Jane, smaller numbers make it easier to move around the area without the possibility of being spotted. Not knowing whether the suspect is still in the vicinity, each member keeps extra vigilant on the approach; firearms sweeping side to side; each foot placed with care. They approach the warehouse's large iron door, it easily slides open, rattling on its hinges; Teresa slides it open enough so they can fit through the gap with ease. Lisbon leads the way, followed by Rigsby, then Cho, then Van Pelt, the remainder of the officers linger back checking the exit and dispersing in pairs into the rooms that sit on either side of the corridor. They silently give the signal 'all clear' and continue onto the next until they reach two flights of stairs; one leading up onto the second floor, the other leading to the basement. Lisbon tells the other four officers to take the second floor and if it is clear, to join them in the basement. They all nod and silently climb the old wooden staircase; the other four descend down the matching staircase, being cautious not to step on the rotten parts of each step. When they reach the bottom, they flick on their torches and scan the area, their eyes take time to adjust to the enveloping darkness. Cho goes first, as he holds the largest gun, followed by Rigsby; Teresa and Grace hold back a little, only armed with their pistols. There are various rooms leading off the main corridor, just as they were on the main floor; but all the doors are closed, one by one, they efficiently search each room carefully, though none of them have been disturbed for years. The further down the corridor they go, the worst the stench becomes; it begins to dawn on them that, apart from Jane and the suspect, they may not be alone. Finally, they reach the last room, the door seems a feeble barrier between them and whatever lies behind, but it stands solid against the brute force of Cho and Rigsby when they try to pry it open. Kimble and Wayne look at each other and back away from the door, subconsciously knowing the other's plan.
"One, two, three…" Cho whispers.
Both of them kick the door, which splinters in two and falls within a cloud of dust to the floor. The group of agents enter the room quickly, the noise would have spooked the suspect and he could be getting away. The light of their small torches is meagre compared to the vastness of the room; they fan out, covering as much ground as possible. Four lights suddenly appear behind them; the rest of the officers had found nothing on the second floor and have followed Lisbon's instructions. A door slams from the other side of the room, they pick up the pace, heading in the general direction of the noise. It is then that one of the other officers, Officer James Carter, runs into something on the far left hand side and yelps; bringing up the torch to examine the object, he comes face to face with a man bound to a rusty metal chair, his eyes covered with a scrap piece of material, golden hair smothered down and littered with debris. The rest of the party all look across, but it is Lisbon who moves first, sprinting towards them, her heart in her mouth. Knowing that the suspect is fleeing, she shouts to the rest of the team, "GO! GO! I've got him!"
The others dash across the room, avoiding obstacles such as decaying boxes and broken water pipes. Lisbon removes the blindfold and unties the rope, but he does not stir.
"Jane?" she places her hand on his cheek, "Jane…"
He remains still.
"JANE!" She lightly slaps him.
His body jerks, before his eyes open, "Lisbon?" he murmurs.
"Oh thank God!" she smiles, taking him in her arms, "you're okay."
He places his arm around her, "yeah, I'm good," his voice still croaky,
"Don't do anything like this again."
"I won't," he replies, before kissing the side of her head, "I promise."