A few days later, Lisbon was as good as new and had thrown herself wholeheartedly back into the case. She'd been tirelessly running down leads, trying to track down anything she could on Janine Taylor and Kellan Howard. So far, however, she hadn't found anything solid.
"Dammit," she said, hanging up her phone. She looked over at Jane, who was reclining on her couch. "The State Records office has no birth certificate on file for a child born to Janine Taylor. No marriage certificate for Janine Taylor, either."
"Hm."
"So we still have no idea of what his name is, or what his father's name might have been."
"That's too bad."
"I bet he had Rebecca Anderson go into the system and erase any evidence of the birth certificate."
"Possible," Jane agreed.
"But then what about his social security card?" Lisbon mused aloud. "You need a social security card when you're applying for a driver's license, and you often need it when you get a job for your I-9 form. You know, employee eligibility forms. And you need a birth certificate to get a social security card."
"True," he said absently.
"Maybe he kept the social security card after he had Rebecca Anderson destroy the original record of the birth certificate?"
"Maybe."
"Do you think there's a way to track down someone's birth certificate from their social security card?"
"No idea."
"Course, that's kind of a moot point, since we have no way of finding the social security card without the birth certificate," she reflected.
"I suppose."
"Maybe I'll put Van Pelt on it. She might be able to figure out if there's some way of tracking down a social security card if you know the person's mother's name."
"Van Pelt certainly is very industrious with such things," Jane agreed.
Lisbon wasn't really listening. "Then again, he might have destroyed the social security card, too. Maybe he's been living under an assumed identity for so long he doesn't ever use his real name for anything."
"Or multiple identities," Jane put in.
"In which case it's going to be damn near impossible to find him," she groaned.
Jane shrugged. "Well, we won't be any further from finding him than we are now."
Lisbon got a stubborn set to her jaw. "No. He can't be that good. We have his mother's name. There has to be a way to track him down from that."
"We can only hope so," he said distractedly.
Lisbon looked back at him. "What's with you? You don't seem that interested in this whole Janine Taylor angle."
"I'm interested," he assured her.
"You've barely been paying attention to a word I've said."
"I'm listening. I'm just thinking about something."
"What's that?"
He shook his head. "I'll tell you in a minute. Please, carry on."
"I want to hear your take. What do you think about the mother?" she prompted him.
"I think she was depressed," Jane told her.
Lisbon blinked. "Based on what?"
"You know that movie Cho told us about?"
"What movie?" Lisbon said blankly.
"The Ingmar Bergman movie. 'Port of Call.' Made in 1948."
"What about it?"
"I watched it."
"You watched it? Where did you watch it? You don't even own a TV."
"I know a guy at the Tower Theater. He owed me a favor, so he agreed to play it for me."
"What kind of favor could you possibly do for someone who works at an old theater?"
"I told him how to get the woman of his dreams to go out with him."
"And it worked?"
"They've been happily married for three years now."
"So you cashed in the favor to watch 'Port of Call?'"
"Yup."
"When was this?"
"Not too long ago. I would have invited you, but I believe that was the day you told me you would shoot me if I darkened your doorstep one more time without permission."
Lisbon flushed, remembering losing her temper with him and his overprotectiveness one day when she'd found him lurking around her apartment shortly after he'd received the stuffed lamb, keeping watch for potential intruders. "Sorry about that. I guess I should have listened to you about that damn lamb after all. I know you were just trying to look out for me."
He raised his eyebrows. "Does that mean I'm re-invited to the home of Teresa Lisbon?"
"You always invite yourself," she reminded him. "I'm merely lifting the ban."
He looked pleased. "Excellent."
She tried to steer them back on course. "What does any of this have to do with some old movie?"
"The main character is depressed. She has a history of being indiscreet with men, and she's trying to reinvent herself, but mistakes from her past keep coming back to haunt her."
"This is the one who draws the smiley face on the mirror?"
"Yes."
"The upside down one. So it's really frowning?"
"Right."
"So what does the smiley face mean, in the movie?"
Jane shrugged. "It's really kind of an enigmatic moment in the film. It's not connected to anything else that happens. She just draws the face on the mirror and leaves the room."
"And that's it? It's never referred to again?"
"No."
"You think Red John saw this movie as a kid or something? Maybe around the time his mom died?"
"I don't think so. I'm reasonably certain that he would have seen it as an adult. Perhaps some time in his early twenties. I think that quiet, melancholy moment struck a chord with him. I think he connected to that moment in the film, that it reminded him of his mother in some way."
"How do you know that?"
"I don't, of course. It's just a guess."
She stared at him. "And because of this, you think Red John's mother was depressed?"
"Pretty much. It would make sense, don't you think? If his mother was mentally ill, there might have been times when she was unable to connect with him emotionally, times when she effectively abandoned him to fend for himself. It's likely that experience alone would have left him at least somewhat psychologically damaged to begin with. But to then lose his sole source of emotional support, however imperfect, to a violent death-" Jane shook his head. "It's no wonder he ended up a sociopath, really."
"How the hell could you possibly conclude all that from thirty seconds in a movie that was made over fifty years ago?"
He shrugged again. "It's just a feeling I have."
She shook her head. The way Jane's mind worked really was a complete mystery to her, even after all this time. "Okay. But until we come up with a scrap of evidence that could possibly confirm that theory, do you have any thoughts on the somewhat more immediate issue of determining Red John's identity?"
"As a matter of fact, I have."
"Great. Let's hear them. Do they have to do with his mom?"
"No."
"Kellan Howard?"
"No."
"What, then?"
"I've been thinking," he said slowly.
"Yes?"
"I think I should go back to San Angelo."
"San Angelo?" Lisbon repeated. "What for?"
"I want to talk to Drake Plaskett."
"Now?" she said incredulously.
"You seem to have the latest leads well in hand. Maybe it's time to circle back to some of the older ones." He stood up and stretched. "I should probably get on the road if I'm going to make it there by this afternoon."
Lisbon frowned. "Doesn't Drake live in a different town than his parents?"
"Yes, but he's back home visiting them this week."
"How do you know that?" she demanded.
"I called him and asked if I could come see him, and he said yes, but that if I wanted to do it this week, I would have to come to San Angelo because he was in town visiting his parents."
"Well, you sure kept that to yourself," she said, annoyed. "You weren't going to tell me?"
"I'm telling you now, aren't I?"
Lisbon didn't appear to be mollified by this. "I can't believe you're choosing now, of all times, to do this."
"Right now you're chasing a paper trail," Jane pointed out. "That's hardly one of my strong suits. You don't need me for that. Call me when you're ready to entrap someone."
"Still," she grumbled. "It's been ages since you discovered the connection between Drake and Hardy."
"I told you I needed to think about things before I'd be ready to go back there."
"What are you hoping to find out at this point?"
"I'm curious about Drake's relationship with Hardy. It still seems strange to me that he never picked up on Hardy's fixation on his little sister."
She shook her head. "All right. If you think it's worth driving up there, I'm not going to stop you." Lisbon was annoyed to find that after weeks of Jane's insufferable hovering, she found she wasn't wild about the idea of him being so far away, even for half a day. She was worried about letting him go anywhere alone.
"It shouldn't take long," he assured her. "I'll be back tonight."
She looked a little uncertain. "Do you want me to go with you?"
"No, you're needed here. I'll be fine. Divide and conquer, right?"
"Right," she echoed, and watched him go.
Xxx
"Mr. Jane." Noah Plaskett greeted him when he opened the door. He extended his hand. "Good to see you again."
Jane eyed the extended hand warily. "Thank you for having me," he said, shifting the box he held under one arm and shaking the proffered hand. "Pardon me for bringing up a sore spot, but to be honest, I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome. You and I didn't exactly get off on the right foot, if you recall."
"You saved my daughter," Noah said. "That's the only thing that matters, in my book. I never got a chance to thank you properly for that."
Jane shook his head. "No thanks necessary."
"Well, you have my thanks anyway. Please, come in."
Jane entered the house. "Is Maya around?"
"No, she has her own place in town. She's working tonight, so she won't be out here today."
"And Mrs. Plaskett?"
"She's at the store right now, but she'll be back shortly."
"I'm sorry to miss Maya. I'm afraid I won't have time to stop by and say hello, but I have something for her," Jane said, indicating the box he had in his hands. "Would you mind giving it to her for me?"
Noah looked at the box. "What is it?"
"It's a camera," Jane informed him. "There's a shop about halfway between here and Sacramento that sells vintage cameras. The guy who owns the place fixes them up himself. I thought Maya might like to have this one."
"That's very kind of you. She mentioned something about photography to her mother and me recently. She's thinking about going to school to study it."
"Good for her."
Noah took the box and set it on the hall table. "She told me she saw you and Agent Lisbon not too long ago."
"Yes, we were following up on some leads regarding the Red John case."
"I hope Agent Lisbon is doing well."
"She is." She was certainly doing a lot better now that she wasn't being poisoned anymore, anyway.
Noah led him into the living room. "Please give her my regards."
"I will." Jane looked around. "Is Drake here?"
"He's in the kitchen. Drake!" Noah called. "Mr. Jane is here."
Drake appeared in the doorway. "Hello." He, too, shook Jane's hand, and invited him into the living room.
The three men sat down on the same red and white gingham couch Jane and Lisbon had sat on about a hundred years ago when they had first come to the Plaskett home searching for clues about Maya's disappearance.
Drake looked at Jane expectantly. "What can I do for you, Mr. Jane?"
A glint on Drake's ring finger caught Jane's attention. "You're married now," he observed.
Drake smiled. "Yes. Two years now."
"Drake and his wife have a nine month old son," Noah informed Jane. "Ethan."
Jane smiled at Drake. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," Drake said. "Mirasol took him back east to visit her parents this week, so I thought I'd come down here and spend some time with my folks while they're out of town."
"Do you have children, Mr. Jane?" Noah asked.
Jane's smile faded. "I had a daughter. She and my wife were killed about ten years ago."
"An accident?"
"No. Red John killed them, just like Emma."
"I'm sorry," Noah said somberly. "I didn't know."
"You've been hunting him all this time?" Drake asked, fascinated.
"Yes. That's why I'm here, actually. We're taking a second look at all the leads in the case."
Noah frowned. "What could Drake possibly tell you about any of that?"
"I understand you were friends with Ted Hardy for awhile," Jane said to Drake. "I was hoping you could tell me a little about your relationship with him."
"Sure," Drake said, looking a little uncomfortable. "We were friends."
"The two of you were close?"
"Yeah, I guess. We hung out a lot."
"What did you do together?"
"We played basketball sometimes. Or played Call of Duty on the computer. Our favorite thing to do was to go out hunting."
"Did you spend time with any of his other friends?"
"No. He had his friends at the station, but I never hung out with that group. It was always just me and him."
"Did you ever meet his family?"
"His family?"
"Yes, did he ever talk to you about his dad?"
"No. He never talked about his parents. He talked about his uncle sometimes, though."
Jane frowned. "Did he?"
"Yeah. He wanted me to meet him, actually. We were supposed to go up to his cabin in Redding for a weekend sometime."
"You never went?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"We had an argument. After that, we didn't really see each other anymore."
"When was that?"
Drake thought. "About a year before Emma was killed, I'd say."
"That would have been a few months before Hardy staged the break in to plant the surveillance equipment in Maya and Emma's room, right?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"What was the fight about?"
"It's… it's kind of hard to explain."
"What do you mean?"
Drake shifted uncomfortably. "I'd really rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."
"Please. I know it may be difficult, but it could be important."
Drake looked at him unhappily. "You really think it could help you find the man who killed Emma?"
"I don't know," Jane admitted. "It's a long shot. But at this point, I'm pretty much willing to take just about any shot I can get."
Drake sighed. "All right."
Jane waited, but he didn't continue. Drake glanced at his father and looked away.
Jane turned to Noah smoothly. "Mr. Plaskett, would you mind excusing us for a moment? I think Drake might be able to speak more easily if he doesn't have to worry about your reaction to what he's about to tell me."
Noah looked like he was about to object, but after a look at his son's face, he conceded. "Very well," he said, disgruntled.
He stood, hesitated, and patted Drake on the shoulder awkwardly. "I'll be in the other room if you need me," he said gruffly.
Drake attempted a smile, but didn't quite manage it. "Thanks, Dad," he said, avoiding his father's gaze.
Noah left the room, and Jane turned back to Drake. "So how did the argument start?"
Drake sighed again. "Ted invited me to his place one night. Said he had something to show me, but wouldn't tell me what. So I went over to his apartment."
"And?"
"He seemed excited about something, but like he was trying not to show it, you know? It was weird."
"Go on."
"First thing he does is offer me a beer. I said no because I was driving, and he got all flustered. He gave me a hard time about it. Told me to lighten up and stop being such a prissy son of a bitch. Then when he saw I was getting annoyed, all of a sudden he started being really nice again. He apologized, and told me he wanted to show me something."
"Show you what?"
"That's what I said. He didn't really answer, just gestured for me to follow him into the guest room."
"What was in there?"
"Not that much, really. Normally he used it as a game room, but he'd taken a lot of the furniture out and he'd covered the walls in red. He'd draped the room in red cloth from floor to ceiling. He called it his Red Room."
"His Red Room?"
"Right. He seemed pretty proud of it. He asked me how I liked it."
"What did you say?"
"I asked him if it was too late to get the money back from his decorator."
"Bet he didn't like that," Jane commented.
Drake shook his head. "Have you ever been in a room that's entirely red? I mean completely red. No white or anything. It does strange things to your mind."
"Like what?" Jane asked, interested.
Drake looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure how to describe it. It's like it makes you feel like you want to either have sex or kill someone, one or the other."
"Sounds intense."
"It was. He'd even covered the windows with the red cloth, so the room wasn't even getting any normal light. He just had a few candles around. To be honest, the effect was pretty creepy."
"What else was in the room?"
"Two chairs, a table, and a projector."
Jane frowned. "A projector?"
"Yeah. Like for a slideshow."
"Was that what he wanted to show you in there? A slideshow?"
"Sort of. There was music playing—Bach, I think—and he asked me if I liked the music. Then he started talking to me in this real soft voice. Like I was his pet or something and he was trying to calm me down. It was almost like he was trying to put me in a trance or something. I was pretty weirded out by this point- I had no idea where this whole thing was going. I decided to play along for the moment, at least until I could figure out what his game was. He told me to sit down, so I took one of the chairs. He made me stare into the flame of one of the candles he had in there. He kept repeating the same words."
"What was he saying?"
"He was saying he had the key. The key to my dreams. He kept repeating it, over and over. The key to my dreams. All I had to do was take it. If I would just take the key to my dreams, I would have everything I ever wanted. It was only after he'd been talking to me like that for maybe ten, fifteen minutes that he turned on the projector."
"What was on the projector?"
Drake shifted a little in his seat. "A bunch of photographs."
"What kind of photographs?"
He sighed. "Look, Ted knew me pretty well. I confided in him. He knew things about me that no one else did."
"Such as?"
"He knew the thing I wanted most in the world was to be an airplane pilot. To be able to lift off the ground and leave everything behind while you soared among the clouds."
"What else?"
"Nothing very interesting to anyone but me," he said bitterly. "He knew I'd had a thing for this girl Rose Barclay forever. She was smart, beautiful, sweet. We were in high school together, but I was a couple years older than her. She got a job as a teaching assistant at the elementary school here in town so she could save up for college."
"Let me guess—the slideshow included photographs of Rose Barclay."
"Yes. And of airplanes and pilots." He hesitated. "But there were also other ones."
"Other photographs?"
"Yeah."
"Of what?"
Drake looked conflicted, as though he wasn't sure he wanted to share this detail. "Of women."
"Women other than Rose Barclay?"
"Yes. Dead women," Drake said uncomfortably. "Women who'd been cut. Stabbed. Women who looked like they'd bled to death."
"What was your reaction to all this?"
"I was angry."
"Why were you so angry?" Jane asked.
Drake looked angry now, remembering. "Because I didn't appreciate being the butt of an elaborate practical joke!"
"A practical joke?"
"Yeah. I'd been through hazing in my fraternity in college, but come on. The guy was almost thirty, for God's sake. He was too old to be pulling that kind of crap. Plus, what was it an initiation for? Hanging out with his dumb cop buddies? No, thank you. I wasn't interested. And I was pissed as hell about the pictures. Was he trying to shock me with photographs he'd gotten from crime scenes? If so, it didn't work. I was disgusted that he'd taken them from the police station for some ridiculous practical joke he and his friends were playing on me. And the ones of the airplanes… those were just cruel."
"How so?"
Drake touched his chest. "I have a pacemaker," he said flatly. "I was born with a congenital heart defect. I had open heart surgery when I was five, and I'll have a pacemaker the rest of my life. Ted knew that—he'd seen the scar. He knew damn well that I'd never meet the physical requirements to be a pilot, not with this piece of machinery in my chest."
"What about the ones of Rose?"
Drake looked away. "The pictures of Rose—they were really intimate. Pictures inside her room, of her sleeping, getting undressed… those were the worst."
Jane frowned. "How did he get them?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Drake said scornfully. "He knew I was in love with her, and he seduced her just to spite me!"
Jane thought about this. "In the pictures, was Rose ever looking at the camera?"
"No, I guess not," Drake said, frowning. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Jane sat back. "He didn't seduce her. He was spying on her, just like he did to Maya and Emma. He had a surveillance camera in her room."
Drake looked outraged. "Are you serious?"
"Perfectly. The pictures were entirely for your benefit—he only took them so he could have them for this little slideshow he put on for you. And he may have known about the pacemaker, but he didn't know the FAA wouldn't have granted you a pilot's license because of it. He thought he was showing you your heart's desire."
"Be that as it may, I still didn't appreciate him going to such extreme lengths to have a joke at my expense," Drake sniffed.
"It wasn't a joke," Jane informed him. "It was a test. One I'm pleased to note that you failed spectacularly."
Drake gaped at him. "A test? What kind of test?"
"Those pictures of the women who'd been stabbed—they weren't random crime scene photos that he swiped from the police station. They were pictures of Red John's victims. When he put those photos in with the ones of the planes and of Rose Barclay, he was trying to see how you'd react to the idea of going to extreme lengths to get what you wanted in life. If you'd be willing to sacrifice for it. He wasn't making fun of you. He was trying to recruit you."
"Recruit me for what?" Drake said blankly.
"Recruit you to be one of Red John's disciples, like him."
"He was trying to get me to join a serial killer?" Drake said, aghast.
"In a nutshell, yes. You weren't so far off when you said it was an initiation—but it wasn't to the cool kids' clubhouse—it was to a very exclusive, very dangerous secret society. More of a cult, really."
"Why would he think I would ever join that man?" Drake said, horrified. "Even before he killed my sister, I would never want to be part of anything that did those horrible things to women."
"He was grooming you," Jane said. "He'd spent a lot of time with you over the years, and he wanted you to be part of a club he believed made you special, elevated you above the common man. To him, this was like letting you in on the best secret in the world."
"What happened then?"
"Nothing. I left, and Ted went to Redding without me the next day."
"You were supposed to go to Redding with him that weekend?"
"Yeah. I don't think it was a very good trip, though. He came back with a black eye."
Jane looked at him sharply. "Did he say what it was from?"
"No. I knew about the black eye because I still saw him around town, but I never talked to him about it. I didn't want anything to do with him after the stunt he'd pulled on me. I barely ever spoke to him after that."
"You never told your family about what happened?"
"No. Obviously they noticed I wasn't spending time with him anymore, but I didn't tell them the details. At the time, I was convinced he was laughing about the whole thing with his buddies behind my back. I didn't want my family to know what a fool he'd made of me."
Noah re-appeared in the doorway. "Everything all right in here?"
Drake smiled tightly. "Everything's fine, Dad."
Noah watched his son. "Did you get everything you needed, Mr. Jane?"
"Yes, we're finished," Jane told him. "Drake has been very helpful."
Noah nodded. "Drake, your mother's home from the store," he informed his son. "Will you help her bring in the groceries?"
"Sure, Dad," Drake said, looking relieved to escape the conversation.
He got up and went into the kitchen to help his mother, leaving Jane and Noah alone in the living room.
"He's a good kid," Jane commented.
"Yes," Noah acknowledged. "We've had our differences over the years, but ever since Ethan was born, it's somehow been easier to overcome them. For both of us."
"A new child can be a wonderful binding agent in a troubled family," Jane agreed.
"I suppose we are that," Noah said with a frown.
"You should be very proud of Drake," Jane told him.
"I am," Noah said, a little defensively.
Jane shrugged. "All right. I'm not too sure he knows that, though."
Noah regarded Jane with an expression that was half resentful, half curious. "What did he tell you?"
"He told me about a falling out he had with Ted Hardy that ended their friendship."
"I gathered that, thanks," Noah said, annoyed. "I meant, what was the argument about?"
"It's not important. It's the result of the argument that is important in this case."
Noah scowled. "What was the result of the argument, then?"
"The result of the argument was that your son had a very lucky escape."
"Escape from what?"
"He didn't know it at the time, but Ted Hardy was trying to convince him to join Red John. And if your son was a different kind of person, it might have worked."
"Join Red John? Join the man who killed my daughter?" Noah said angrily.
"Yes."
Noah sat down heavily on the couch and stared at his hands. "Was he trying to take all my children from me?" he said morosely.
Jane frowned, but didn't answer. He stood up and wandered over to the fireplace, studying the pictures on the mantelpiece. He could tell Noah Plaskett was eager to see him on his way. He'd probably already learned everything he could from Drake at this point, but he found he wasn't quite ready to leave yet. There was something bothering him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He looked at a wedding picture of a handsome young Noah with a beaming young Arden on his arm. "You look very happy in this photograph," he commented.
Noah looked up. "What?"
Jane nodded to the photograph. "Your wedding photograph. You both look very happy."
"We were," Noah said. "Our marriage hasn't always been the smoothest, but it was still the best decision I ever made." He shook his head. "Sometimes I don't have the faintest idea why she ever agreed to go along with it."
"I know what you mean," Jane said, thinking of his own wife. And Lisbon. She wasn't married to him, of course, but in his darker moments, he often wondered why she put up with him at all.
That line of thought was too depressing to bear thinking about, so he moved on to the next picture on the mantelpiece to distract himself. A picture of Emma and Maya with their arms around each other. They must have been about six years old at the time, grinning identical toothless grins at the camera. Next to them, there was a school photograph of Drake when he was about ten years old, looking solemn in a plaid button down shirt. Poor Drake. Jane could see the loneliness surrounding him even then. It must have been awful for him to lose Hardy as a friend, even if he was the one who ended the relationship. He'd inherited his father's pride and wouldn't stand being made to appear a fool. That pride might have been what saved him, in the end, but his salvation had still come at a terrible cost.
It was fine now, though, he reassured himself. Drake had a wife and child who loved him. He seemed happier than he'd ever been. Red John had lost that particular round.
He moved to the next photograph, an older picture of two young men in army fatigues, smoking cigarettes in a place that looked dusty and hot. "I didn't know you were in the army," Jane said idly, looking back at Noah. Noah must have been about thirty in the photograph. The man next to him looked younger, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five.
"Eight years with the Army Corps of Engineers," Noah confirmed.
Jane had forgotten that Noah was an architect. "Any interesting projects?"
"Built a lot of schools and hospitals," Noah said with a shrug. "When I returned to civilian life, I found I preferred designing single family homes. I can't deny having that experience with the army was a huge help when I started my own business, though."
Jane looked back at the photograph. "Who's this in the picture with you? Looks like he was a good friend."
"That's Tom Cassidy," Noah informed him. "And yes, he was a good friend."
Jane stared at him. "Tom Cassidy? The man who was sheriff here before Hardy?"
"That's right," Noah said with a frown. "I didn't know you'd ever met him."
Jane shook his head. "I didn't. One of Hardy's colleagues mentioned him to me. Did you two grow up together?"
"No, we met in the army."
"What brought him out here, then?" Jane asked curiously. "No offense, but San Angelo isn't exactly a bustling metropolis."
Noah shrugged. "After he was released from the army, he was having trouble getting a job. He wrote to me and asked if I might be able to help him. I pulled a few strings, got him on the police force here. He became sheriff about ten years later."
Jane frowned. "Why was he having trouble getting a job? Don't veterans have preferential hiring status?"
"Yes, but only if they are honorably discharged," Noah said.
Jane was surprised. "Cassidy was dishonorably discharged?"
"Not exactly. He received what's called an 'other than honorable' discharge."
"What exactly does that mean? I've never heard of it."
"Similar concept to a dishonorable charge, but less severe. It's an administrative action for circumstances when a member of the service is deemed to have behaved in a way that does not meet the standard of conduct expected by the military."
"Why did the army kick him out?"
"It's a long story," Noah said in a tone meant to discourage further inquiry.
Naturally, Jane ignored this. "I'd like to hear it, if you don't mind."
Noah sighed. "I was on assignment in this godforsaken stretch of desert when a local woman was killed. She was murdered quite violently. It caused quite a stir. Her family was convinced one of the men from our camp killed her. I'm sure you can imagine what a nightmare that was for the army. It was close to causing an international incident, let me tell you. The army was on its back foot for quite some time, trying to figure out what had happened."
"What did happen?"
"The girl's brother accused a young man in our unit of the crime. The brother was quite upset about it. He said he'd seen the man in town, watching his sister when he was off duty."
"Did you know the man in question?"
"I knew him," Noah said, his voice thick with disgust. "He was a kid, only twenty years old. A hotshot who'd graduated from Stanford at the age of 19 with a degree in civil engineering."
"I take it you didn't get along with him."
"I had to work with him fairly closely on the project we were on. He was the chief engineer. I got to know him a little, but I never liked him much."
"He was made chief engineer when he was only twenty years old?"
Noah nodded. "He was a genius at engineering. There's no doubt about that. He'd designed the plans for his part of the project in record time, and he'd come up with some pretty innovative ideas that were going to save the army a fair amount of money. The higher ups were very impressed with him."
"But not you."
"Like I said, he was a great engineer. But he was arrogant. Too enamored of his own intelligence to bother with common decency towards us lesser mortals."
"So he wasn't popular in the unit?"
Noah's mouth was drawn in a tight line. "You live in close quarters in the army. It's hard not to develop camaraderie with a group of men you spend twenty four hours a day with. Don't get me wrong, he could be charming when he wanted to be. It was just that most of the time, he didn't bother. He only turned it on when he wanted something. The officers liked him well enough, but I don't think there was a single man in the unit who would have called him his friend, and that's saying something."
"What was his connection with Cassidy?"
"When the girl's brother accused a member of the U.S. military of killing his sister, a full investigation was launched. Cassidy was one of the men on sentry duty the night the girl was killed, and he was called in for questioning. He told the investigating tribunal that he'd seen this man leaving camp after hours on the night in question, heading towards town, and that he'd come back three hours later. Cassidy informed them that he had a disheveled appearance when he returned, and that he had a scratch on his neck, consistent with one who had been in a physical altercation of some kind."
"Sounds suspicious."
"Exactly. And it got worse. The next day, the guy came to Cassidy and asked him to say he hadn't seen him that night. Cassidy was wary, naturally, and reported this incident to the tribunal."
"What happened next?"
"The man in question got very angry at Cassidy. He told Cassidy he would pay for betraying him. Like Cassidy owed him a damn thing," Noah snorted. "I never could figure out why he asked Cassidy to lie in the first place. They weren't friends, and it turned out he had an airtight alibi for the whole thing, so why bother?"
"He had an alibi? What was it?"
"There was footage of the guy at the project site during the time frame that Cassidy had said he was out of camp. It turned out he was working late and never went out of camp at all that night."
"How did you know the footage wasn't faked?" Jane wanted to know
"Faked?"
"Yes, how do you know it wasn't footage of someone else? Or that it was of him, but taken at a time other than when the murder happened?"
"All the tapes back then were time-stamped, and his face was clearly visible in the footage. Security cameras recorded the date and time along with the footage."
"Hm. What was Cassidy's reaction to the whole thing? Did he take the threats seriously?"
"He seemed uneasy about the whole thing when he told me about it, but I told him not to worry about it. The kid was young and impetuous—he was blowing off steam. No way was he going to follow through on any of the nonsense he was shouting about. Even if he'd had the guts to do it, I figured he was too smart to come after Cassidy when it would have been so easy to trace any kind of retribution back to him." He shook his head. "Turns out I was only half right about that."
"What do you mean?"
"A few days after the girl was killed, the girl's brother hanged himself," Noah told Jane. "He left a note that stated that he was the one who killed his sister in the first place. Given that, and the security footage, the military dropped the investigation into this man I'm telling you about. Everyone figured that was the end of it, but this guy, he was still pissed as hell at Cassidy. Once he was cleared of the murder, he turned around and insisted that Cassidy be discharged for conduct unbecoming to a member of the United States military. He said that Cassidy purposely made up the story about seeing him leave camp that night to slander his name and ruin his career. He made a huge fuss about it, and the investigators into the incident were forced to hold a hearing on the matter."
"And Cassidy was discharged as a result," Jane concluded. He thought for a moment. "What was your role in all this?"
"My role?"
"Yes. You must have had some part in it."
Noah shrugged. "I didn't have much to do with any of it. I spoke on Cassidy's behalf at his hearing, that's all."
"What did you say?"
"I told the investigators that I knew Cassidy, that I could vouch for his character. I knew a few of them, and I knew my word would carry weight with them. I told him that Cassidy would never act in a way that was less than honorable. I said Cassidy must have made a mistake about seeing him that night, but that the man accusing him wasn't without culpability, because I knew for a fact that he had asked Cassidy to lie for him and that he had threatened Cassidy when Cassidy refused. I asked them which was more honorable—a man who made one honest mistake, or one who made threats to get his way and sought petty revenge when he didn't get it?"
"They still discharged Cassidy after hearing your testimony?"
"Yes. But not dishonorably, which is what the guy was after."
Jane's mind was working rapidly. "What was the project you were all working on? The reason you were all out there in the first place."
"It was an irrigation project," Noah told him. "It was an arid area, and we were trying to make sure the local farmers had an adequate supply of fresh water to support their crops."
Jane frowned. "Do architects usually work on irrigation projects?"
"Not always, but they can," Noah said. "This one involved the construction of a dam. It was a little outside my field of expertise, but I was asked to help on this project partly because I already had a fair amount of practical experience by that point in my career. This young man who was put in charge of the design may have been a genius, but the army still wanted someone with more experience to oversee the project as a whole, make sure the practical details were taken care of and that the project stayed on track."
A dam. Jane inhaled sharply. He crossed the room and sat down next to Noah, feeling as though he had just entered a state of shock. "Tell me about the young woman," he said urgently. "The one who was killed."
Noah looked taken aback by the intensity of his interest. "Her name was Leila Ahmadi. I guess she was known as something of a local beauty, but I never saw her for myself. She lived with her parents, had two brothers and four sisters. I didn't know much about her, beyond that."
"How was she killed?"
"She was stabbed to death." He grimaced. "I didn't see the body, of course, but I heard it was pretty gruesome."
"Yes," Jane said softly. "I can imagine."
Noah looked very far away for a moment. "One detail always stood out in my mind. The killer… her brother, I mean… he painted her toenails in her own blood. That always seemed very strange to me. Polishing one's nails is not a common practice in that part of the world."
The bottom dropped out of Jane's stomach. He seized Noah's arm. "Are you sure? That her nails were painted in blood, I mean? Are you absolutely sure?"
Noah blinked at him. "Reasonably sure, yes. One of the men investigating the death told me about it in confidence, but I don't see any reason he would have had to lie about that. Why do you ask?"
"Why?" Jane repeated. "Why? Because that's exactly what was done to my wife and to your daughter, that's why. My God, how could you not make the connection? How could you not have mentioned this when the initial investigation was being held?"
Noah went pale. "You're telling me this happened to Emma? That someone painted her toenails in her own blood?"
Jane stared at him. "You didn't know?"
Noah shook his head. "I—I never looked at the body. I couldn't bear to see my little girl like that."
"And no one told you," Jane realized. After all, it wasn't the sort of detail a morgue attendant would point out to a grieving father.
"No." The truth was dawning on Noah slowly as he processed the significance of this fact. He turned to Jane in shock. "You think it was the same man? That the same man who killed that girl all those years ago killed Emma and took Maya?"
"I'm absolutely certain of it," Jane said.
"But the brother—"
"Framed and murdered so he'd stop causing trouble," Jane said. "I'd stake my life on it."
Jane watched as the full force of this revelation hit the other man. Noah's hands clenched into hard fists. "That son of a bitch," he said savagely. "I'm going to kill him."
Naturally, Jane sympathized with this sentiment, but there was another question that was bothering him. "Why do you think he took such a big risk?" he wondered aloud. "He couldn't count on you not seeing Emma's body after she was killed, and you're one of the only people in the world who could have told everyone his real name. After everything he's done to avoid detection, how could he make such a huge mistake as to expose himself to you by killing your daughter the same way he killed that girl in the desert? He must have known you would make the connection eventually."
"He didn't know," Noah said, dazed. "He wouldn't have known."
"What do you mean?" Jane asked.
"The details of the murder weren't shared within the unit. Everyone was so worried about word getting out about a member of the U.S. Army had been accused of murdering a local girl that the investigators locked down all the details of the investigation. I only knew about the toenails because I knew one of the investigators, and he told me about it in the strictest confidence. No one else in the unit ever knew about that fact."
"My God," Jane breathed. "That was his big mistake. His huge, defining mistake. He assumed he was free and clear, that no one would ever know the truth about what happened in the desert. He was arrogant enough to think that he could do the same thing to your daughter, and that no one would ever find out the truth."
Noah frowned. "I've read about Red John in the newspapers. The articles never mention that he paints his victims' toenails. I'm sure I would have made the connection earlier, if they had."
"Details like that aren't usually shared with the press," Jane said. "But as it happens, painting the toenails isn't part of his usual mode of operation. He did it to my wife, and to Emma, but in both of those cases, he was breaking pattern."
"Why would he break pattern for Emma?" Noah asked. "It doesn't make sense. If he thought I knew about the toenails, he wouldn't have wanted to risk it for fear I would realize who he really was. But if he didn't think I knew about the toenails, what was the point of doing it at all?"
"He has a twisted sense of humor," Jane told him. "The idea of forging a connection between your daughter and the incident in the desert that caused you to humiliate him would have appealed to his ironic sensibilities, even if no one knew about it but him."
"Humiliate him?" Noah repeated. "You think he killed Emma and kidnapped Maya as revenge? For what, telling a bunch of men in uniforms that my friend wasn't a liar?"
Jane nodded. "I do."
"But—I was barely involved! Cassidy was the one he threatened."
"He got his revenge on Cassidy, too," Jane said. "He ruined his military career, and I'm convinced he arranged his death here in San Angelo all those years later."
Noah looked thunderstruck. "The accident? You think he caused the accident that killed Tom?"
"Caused the accident to kill him, or to cover up the killing."
"Why didn't he just come after me?" Noah said, looking tortured. "Why did he have to come after my children?"
"In a way, I think Red John believed what you did to him was actually worse than what Cassidy did. Cassidy refused to lie for him, and didn't back down under pressure, but you went in front of a group of men who he wanted to find him impressive and made him look petty and childish. For him, that was your unforgivable sin. He knew you well enough to know you wouldn't be afraid of facing him yourself, so he had to devise an alternative if he wanted revenge. So he decided to take your children from you."
Noah gripped Jane's shoulder painfully. "Do you think they're still in danger? Is he still planning to come after them?"
"No, I don't," Jane assured him. "I think he's given up on Maya and Drake." Which was odd, now that he thought about it. Why would Red John go to so much trouble to take Maya and groom Drake as one of his disciples and then give up entirely when Hardy was caught? Did he think that to continue pursuing them was too great a risk? Or was there some other reason?
"Are you sure?" Noah said, frantic.
"No, I'm not sure," Jane admitted. "But if he were going to come after them again, why hasn't he done it already? What would he be waiting for?"
Noah's breath evened out slightly, reassured by this logic. "I don't know."
Jane thought about the implications of what he'd just learned and realized that Noah and his family would be well-advised to stay on their guard. "Now that you mention it, though, you could all be in danger now that you've told me this. You mustn't let anyone know I've spoken to you, do you understand? Don't let Drake tell anyone I've been here, either. The man you knew in the army isn't such a lone wolf anymore. He has a network of followers who seem to pop up in the most unexpected places. And trust me, you do not want word getting back to him about what you've just told me."
Noah shuddered. "I believe you."
"Keep your family close, Mr. Plaskett," Jane advised.
"I will," Noah promised. "You can count on that."
"Good. Now, I need you to tell me one last thing before I go."
"What's that?"
Jane could hear his heart beating in his ears. "What was his name? What was the man's name?"
Noah exhaled a deep breath, and the seconds it took for that breath to escape through his teeth felt like an eternity to Jane. "His name was Russo," Noah said at last. "Jonathan Russo."
