AN: Thanks for the wonderful response to the first chapter! I'm so glad you guys like where I'm going with this so far. Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter just as much. As anyone who's been reading my stuff for a while knows, I'm absolutely horrible at responding to reviews, so I apologize for being behind on that. But it's next on my list of things to do!
One other note: It's my headcanon that Jane and the team took down Red John in this universe sometime in December. Since this story takes place a little more than a year after the death of Red John, prepare to experience winter in Chicago!
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.
Chapter 2: The Armor Falls
The team landed at O'Hare International Airport just after noon local time. As they took their first steps outside, the Midwest winter air hit them, and Lisbon watched, amused, as Jane visibly recoiled from the shock of the chilling wind.
"When was the last time you wore a winter jacket, Jane?" she asked him as they made their way to their rental car, Cho following along in their wake.
A slamming car door echoed in the parking ramp, and the SUV that had been rented out to Rigsby and Van Pelt began to back out beside them. Cho got in the front seat, and Lisbon opened the door to the passenger side. Jane shot her a pensive look as he climbed in back, and Cho pulled the car out of the parking spot.
"A true down feather winter jacket?" he said, looking paler than usual and more than a little chilled. Lisbon was suddenly glad Van Pelt had had the foresight to suggest a last minute shopping trip for Jane and Lisbon the night before. The rather pitiful wardrobes they'd brought back from South America would not do for this trip to Chicago—not only were they unsuitable for the Midwest winter, they were also far too casual for FBI consultants.
Jane shrugged and zipped his jacket up. "I honestly can't remember. Must have been before I left the carnival."
Conversation died out on the way to the FBI Chicago field office, for which Lisbon was grateful: a first view of familiar landmarks precipitated a rush of unexpected emotions in her, many of which she didn't care to name. She didn't trust herself to speak.
Cho pulled onto I-90 to drive them into the city, and they drove for about twenty minutes in silence before Jane spoke up.
"The snow," he said, and there was something in his voice that Lisbon couldn't quite discern. "Is it always like this? All-encompassing? Just…everywhere?"
Lisbon turned around to get a look at his face, and she didn't need to call upon the lesson Jane had given her in reading microexpressions to determine what he was feeling.
His eyes were wide in childlike wonder, and she had to smile. "Yeah," she said, turning back to the front. "It's usually like this. You know, lake effect and all that. We had a lot of snow days because the school buses wouldn't be able to make it out to the houses. My brothers and I would spend the whole day having snowball fights."
She could practically hear the smile in his voice. "I could get used to this," he said.
Lisbon caught Cho's eye, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. "Wait until you have to start shoveling a foot of that stuff," said Cho. "I bet you won't think it's so pretty then."
The city gradually came into view soon after that, appearing out of the low-lying clouds which threatened further snow. They continued driving south, keeping a route parallel with Lake Michigan. The roads were slick but not unmanageable, and eventually Cho pulled into the visitor parking lot of the FBI field office.
The building itself actually reminded Lisbon of the Austin headquarters, with its gleaming glass windows and modern design. However, the team didn't spend much time admiring the view, choosing instead to hurry inside as the first snowflakes of the day began to fall.
Van Pelt and Rigsby were already deep in conversation with a tall, blonde woman built much like a supermodel. Rigsby waved them over, and the woman introduced herself as Agent Camille Boardman. Lisbon took one look at her, decided she was intentionally downplaying her looks, and knew they'd get along well. Agent Boardman led the team down a hall and up an elevator, then showed them into a briefing room.
"I've been in contact with Agent Abbott since this case was opened," Boardman said, taking a seat at the head of the table and gesturing for the others to sit as well. "And he knows about as much as we do here regarding our progress so far. However, there have been a couple developments this morning. First of all, Lansky—the mob boss who wants to deal—has agreed to be questioned by you and your team, Agent Cho. Not that he has much choice," she added with a wry smile, "considering he needs to play up his usefulness to the investigation into Robert Lisbon's death in order to have some kind of chance at cutting a deal."
"Second of all?" prompted Cho.
Boardman nodded. "We've been working on getting the victim's body exhumed," she began. Lisbon saw Jane's eyes flash towards her, obviously concerned with Boardman's casual use of the word 'victim' to refer to Lisbon's father. Boardman continued. "But that's no easy feat this time of the year, with the ground frozen nearly solid. At any rate, it's being taken care of—just taking longer than we would have liked. The forensic anthropologist working out of the Field Museum has agreed to take on the case; he'll be available to complete the autopsy, which we hope will take place tomorrow morning."
Cho folded his hands, and Lisbon glanced around the room at her team. They looked far more composed than she felt. She wiped the sweat from her hands on her trousers under the table.
"Is Lansky available now?" asked Cho.
Boardman nodded again. "He's in the interrogation room just across the hall." She paused before continuing. "Anything else you need?"
"Actually," said Van Pelt, "I was hoping to start going through some digital records. You have a desk somewhere where I could make myself at home?"
"Of course," said Boardman, and Van Pelt followed her out. Cho nodded at Rigsby as the door shut behind the two women, and they both stood up from their seats to make their way across the hall.
Lisbon blinked when she realized Jane was standing beside her. She felt off-balance, as though the entire world were hazy and she couldn't quite see where she was going. She looked around and was surprised to find that she and Jane were the only ones left in the room.
He looked down at her, concerned, but didn't say anything.
She shook her head to clear it. "Sorry," she said, standing up, and she followed Jane out of the briefing room to take her place beside him in observation.
Cho and Rigsby were already seated in the adjacent interrogation room. Cho flipped on the mic lying on the center of the table.
"I'm going to record this—for your protection and for mine," he said tersely, and Lisbon's eyes were finally drawn to the mob boss.
Her first thought was that he looked surprisingly normal. He had brown hair and brown eyes, a build that was neither slim nor heavy, and a face set with features that were handsome but not memorable. Lisbon put his age at mid-sixties.
Lansky nodded.
"So you want a deal, huh?" said Rigsby, pulling out a notebook and pen.
"Wouldn't you?" said Lansky, in a raspy voice that Lisbon usually associated with smokers.
"I wouldn't have put myself in a situation that required a deal to be made," said Cho easily. "What information do you have about the death of Robert Lisbon?"
Lansky leaned back in his chair, raising the front two legs off the ground. "Right to the point, aren't you?"
Cho and Rigsby said nothing.
Lansky touched the chair back down. "Lisbon's death—however many years ago it happened—was ruled a suicide. Hell, it looked like a suicide, even to me. But word gets around," he said. "I heard right after it happened that it wasn't what it appeared to be."
"And you kept this information to yourself for thirty or so years because…?" said Rigsby, failing to hide his annoyance.
"Because the guilty party is a Dellinger," said Lansky. "And I knew it would pay, sooner or later, to have some leverage on that family."
Jane looked over at Lisbon from their place behind the one-way mirror, confused.
"The Lanskys and Dellingers are rival mob families," she whispered. "Like the Capulets and Montagues, they go way back."
Meanwhile, Cho looked unimpressed. "I'm going to need more than that," he said.
Lansky leaned forward, his forearms now resting on the table. "Look, the story goes that Robert Lisbon's squad caught a fire in downtown Chicago at a known hangout of John Dellinger," he said. "Dellinger died in the fire—even though minimal damage was done. No other casualties. Dellinger's son, John Jr., began to get suspicious, so he looked into it. He got it into his head that Chicago Fire purposely let his father die in the blaze."
Rigsby spoke up. "Why would a firefighter let a victim die?"
Lansky smirked. "You may not have heard of the Dellingers, kid, but everyone else in this city has. They're thought to be behind one of the largest human trafficking operations in the Midwest. But they're smart—they don't leave a trace. Everyone wants the Dellingers dead, but no one can do a thing about it. Excluding Robert Lisbon, of course."
"So you're saying the firefighter recognized Dellinger and refused to pull him out of the fire?" said Cho.
"I'm saying Robert Lisbon was playing God. The wrong people found out, and that's what got him killed."
Lisbon hit the button to turn off the sound from the interrogation room. She'd heard enough.
Without hesitation, Jane pulled her into his arms in the darkness of the observation room. She resisted at first but after a few seconds crumbled against him.
She wanted to discount everything Lansky was saying. However, his words seemed to ring true.
Robert Lisbon had been a good father—for a while, at least. He'd loved his children, he'd protected them fiercely, and he'd taught them right from wrong.
But that had been before his wife had died. After that, he'd drunken himself into a stupor. It didn't seem much of a stretch to Lisbon to imagine her father—especially if he'd been liquored up—thinking he could play God. Robert Lisbon had always had a strong moral compass, and he'd instilled that same quality in his daughter. It was why she'd gone into law enforcement.
But if he'd been drinking—and he had been drinking—his ability to think critically and make decisions would have been compromised. If he'd been drinking, he might have thought he had the right to make life or death decisions for the greater good.
Damn it, thought Lisbon, and she took a deep breath, her nose pressed into the crook of Jane's neck.
"You don't think Lansky's right, do you?" said Jane softly.
She shook her head against him.
"Actually," she said, "I do."