A/N: I hoped to get further with this chapter, but unfortunately ended up with something of a cliff-hanger. More soon...
Chapter 46: Psychic!
A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted from The Mentalist Byzantium or
Brown Shag Carpet/White Orchids episode scripts.
FBI, Austin, Early Morning Wednesday
"Media are pushing this story hard. Serial killer. Four dead in one week including the psychic. The local paper's insinuating we let him get killed because he embarrassed the FBI." Pike locked eyes with Tork. "Rick, this is your make or break. Solve it now and you've got the job. It drags on or goes cold, there's no way Schultz approves hiring you."
Tork pressed his lips tight. "Got it, Marcus."
"What help do you need?"
Tork replied unhappily, "Problem is lack of leads, not manpower at the moment."
"Get to it, then."
Tork left to go over the autopsies, case notes, everything before meeting with his team first thing.
Pike rubbed his face, tired before the day even started. He wanted Rick to get the job, but Tork'd have to do the heavy lifting. Pike was at capacity getting familiar with all Austin teams and cases. He wouldn't jeopardize his promotion to hold Tork's hand. Pike rose to get coffee and start his daily rounds. He noticed a slight, comely figure at the window when he entered the bullpen. Pike stood alongside, looking down at TV satellite trucks and reporters in the parking lot. Most agents brushed past and refused to comment, so reporters nabbed the 'man-on-the-street' who predictably thought a serial killer at large was a terrible thing. What a surprise. "Circus out there."
Lisbon glanced at him. Dryly, "Yeah. High profile case," thinking of McTeer and Red John.
"It's mostly the serial killer. Jane's history doesn't help."
She tensed but neither commented nor looked away from the window.
Reaching a decision, Pike moved a half-step closer and said, "You don't have to be tied to that circus – to Jane." He couldn't see her frown. "I think you're a good agent." He generously added, "Tork thinks so too."
Now she did turn. "Yeah?"
Pike mistook her half smile for pleasure. Earnestly, "Really. You could have your own team in a couple years. I'd get Jane transferred, out of your hair and mine." Lisbon stared at him without expression. "Think about it," he said with a warm smile. Pike walked away.
Lisbon stared at his back, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. She rubbed her temples at the sudden headache.
"Lisbon. Wylie," Tork barked. "Get the others and let's get started. Fish bowl."
Team members seated themselves around the conference table. Jane took a chair last.
Tork began, "Four dead this week, nine total. Forensics matched the rifling from the bullets that killed the Osborne's to the others. Two fingernails ripped off, same as the others. This serial killer's more active than ever. And we got the press on our asses. Austin is freaking out and this case even made national news. What do we know?" He looked at Fischer to start.
She skimmed her notes. "The oldest body was Gordon Jeffers, a homeless African American man from Austin, late 50's, disappeared about a year ago. Two TABC store clerks in the South Congress area recognized the computer reconstruction of facial features. The next oldest corpse, was Samuel Sutherland, 68, Caucasian, also homeless. He disappeared about seven months ago from Southeast Austin. His food stamps card gave us the ID. Next, dead about four months, was James Green, age 47, Caucasian drifter from Omaha. He had a stolen credit card hidden in the sole of his shoe." She looked up. "Plastic card, plastic shoes; didn't rot. That linked him to some B&E's. There was a warrant out for his arrest. Next, dental records gave us positive ID's on the last two from the burial site, Jorges Ortega and Maria Juarez, ages 20 and 21. They were foreign exchange students from Guatemala who went missing two months ago. College students Portman, 19, and Brooks, 18, both Caucasian, were killed Saturday at a make-out spot in the park. Gabriel and Ree Osborne last night makes nine." She looked up. "I've talked to relatives and friends. No apparent connections among them. The killings are coming faster–"
"-And more reckless." Jane said slowly, "These look like murders of convenience-"
"–Hold that thought, Tork interrupted. "Let's get the rest of the info on the table first. Lisbon, what do you have?"
"Each victim was killed by a gunshot wound to or near the heart. A fingernail was taken from each, so far as decomposition allowed us to tell. After last night, I checked back and each had a puncture wound in the crook of the elbow, like for donating blood. I mean, the recent ones. The buried victims we couldn't tell, the bodies are decomposed.* Too soon for autopsy results on the Osborne's, but the tox screens on Portman and Brooks came back negative." She looked up. "That suggests the killer wasn't injecting anything."
"Which brings us to you, Wylie. You check with Quantico? And what was that on the Internet about using human blood?"
The lanky blonde hurriedly swallowed two ibuprofen with his drink then spoke. "Quantico can't detect a pattern among the victims either. The MO doesn't match murders in any other databases. –I, uh, spent some time on the net last night to see why anyone would want human blood." He colored faintly. "There's some theories on line. The most popular theory is he's a vampire ... of some sort."*
Tork exhaled in annoyance, "Not sure that's helpful."*
Jane mused, "Maybe it is–"*
Wylie, "Really?!"*
"Well, he is taking blood from a corpse.* And he has to work for it – not as easy as ripping off gruesome trophies. He must need it for something.* That would explain the absence of connections between the victims, the lack of a pattern. The murders aren't driven by who they are so much as what he needs from them: Blood."
Tork, "Ignoring the vampire crap, think it's connected to the occult?"
Lisbon said thoughtfully, "He believes in psychics, that's why he went after Gabriel.* That's why he was – offended? – disappointed? enough to carve 'fake' in his arm."
Wylie offered, "I can search for stores that sell stuff related to the occult here in Austin. Maybe they have, mailing lists, records of seminar attendees, repeat customer discounts, whatever. It's got to be a pretty specialized interest so maybe they all know each other."
Glad to have another angle to tackle, Tork ordered, "Wylie, go ahead with that. Fischer, check out whatever he turns up. Lisbon, you and Jane talk to Austin PD. See if they have anything on local cults–*"
Jane interjected, "–and non-traditional religions."
Tork glanced at him in irritation and continued, "–and ask Homeland Security if they have anything useful in their databases on the occult angle.*" Then he looked at Jane. "If he's interested in psychics, you could lure him out."
Face absolutely expressionless, "Uh, not a psychic.*"
"You can fake it, right?* Hell, you're already all over the media as 'the FBI psychic.' You could say you can communicate with the afterlife using your spiritual – whatever.* If he's into that he'll show himself if you're–"
"–Bait!" Lisbon finished with a frigid glare. Scathingly, "Let's round up some fortune tellers too and make it irresistible! What part of 'Jane. Is. A. Civilian.' doesn't compute, Tork? Our perp's killed nine - aiming for ten?"
Looking decidedly ill, Jane said, "I'm right here, guys. You can talk to–"
"–Can it, Lisbon," Tork said angrily, rising and leaning over the table toward her. "The Son of Sam killer sent letters to two of the writers who wrote about him.* This kind of thing really worked!*"
Fischer said quietly, "Last time Jane tried something like that it didn't go well."
Tork stopped dead. "Oh." He licked his lips. "The wife and kid."
Jane abruptly rose and left. The door banged gently against the wall.
Lisbon echoed into the silence, "Yeah, the 'wife and kid.'"
Austin, Wednesday Afternoon
Tork gathered the team at the end of the day for an update. Everyone filed in and sat, carefully acting like the morning hadn't happened.
"Wylie?"
"I found some exclusive chat rooms devoted to the dark side of the occult world – 'black arts.' They're all anonymous. After I told the SIG's–" at Tork's raised eyebrows he added, "–special interest group hosting sites they'd have to release all the names if I got a warrant, they agreed to give me real names and contact information for any 'guests' within a hundred miles of Austin. Press coverage on the killer actually helped get their cooperation."
"Any names?"
Wylie nodded. "Three." He handed the list to Tork. "Fischer and I also checked Internet listings related to the occult in Austin. Two-dozen hits. Jewelry, life counselors, bookstores, wholistic healing, tarot card readings," Tork motioned impatiently for him to get to the point and Wylie hurried to finish, "massage salons – real massage, not a, uh, euphemism, - and, products used in magic and occult ceremonies and potions. We narrowed the list to the handful that actually sells things and Kim checked them out."
Fischer picked it up. "I went to four shops. The owner of the last one, Exotic and Rare Occult Products, said some customers buy sacrificial animals for occult ceremonies. She gave me a list of customers interested in human blood in return for 'fixing' a citation for inhumane treatment of livestock. She gets expired human blood from blood banks. She did say one guy – no name – had stopped by a couple of times. He wanted fresh human blood, no older than a few hours. Creepy."
Interest piqued, "Description? Anything?"
Fischer grimaced. "General. She's extremely near-sighted but doesn't wear glasses because they don't fit her 'image,'" she said sarcastically. "All she could give me was Caucasian male, 30-to-50, brown and brown, clean-shaven, average height, average weight, ordinary clothes. Drives a red pick-up. Comes in every few months."
Lisbon asked hopefully, "Credit card receipt? Security camera?"
Disgruntled, "Pays cash. The recording over-writes every two weeks."
"Figures," Lisbon said under her breath.
Tork waved at Lisbon and Jane. "What did you get?"
"Jane and I checked with the PD. They mentioned occasional calls about animal sacrifice, but nothing on human blood. They gave us the names and locations of seven leaders of fringe religions."
Jane reported, "The seven have small followings – no more than 20. They know their followers well. All are convinced none of their followers could be a serial killer."
Skeptically, "They're sure, huh?"
Jane shrugged, "They were telling the truth. So far as they know, no one in their groups is our man. A loner would fit a serial killer profile better than a joiner. If we push we can get lists of the followers but it's probably a dead end."
Tork sat back, frustrated and disgusted. "So we got a 'Mr. Average" driving a red pick-up in Texas who's worth checking out except we can't find him. We have a list of customers who buy expired human blood. And we have three names from a freak chat room. Okay, tomorrow we check out the names. You check back with the kook religious leaders and ask if anyone drives a red pick-up. A-n-d, I am open to suggestions." He looked around and noted how tired they were from the previous night. "Get a good night's sleep. This'll be intense till we catch the wacko and we damn well better do it soon."
Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Wednesday Evening
Jane followed Lisbon in and closed and locked the door. She put on coffee and tea without saying a word. Still tired from Tuesday, Wednesday had only added to it.
Getting home had been a nightmare. Reporters in the FBI parking lot were determined to get something from the latest hot media target – Patrick Jane. Despite refusing to comment and keeping his head down to foil good photos, the crowd made it impossible to get to their car till Lisbon took lead and elbowed her way through. The small, slight woman made it unlikely any reporter would formally complain regardless of sore ribs, bruised ankles or stepped-on toes. Driving to their apartment took twice as long because Lisbon had to lose two reporters who tried to tail them.
Lisbon set their drinks on the table and sat opposite Jane. She regarded him soberly, finally spoke. "Gabriel's suggestion is messing with my head." Jane looked up, eyebrows raised in silent query. "Thought his 'number three' prediction might refer to our wanting a baby. My period started today."
He shook his head biting his bottom lip. "That's – I'm sorry."
She said harshly, "Stupid," and sipped her drink, wincing as hot coffee hit the temporary crown.
"No, no it isn't. We can't help reacting to something like that."
She didn't know whether the "like that" was the suggestion ... or another failed month. The moment of silence dragged till both started at once
"–You know, I–"
"–Lisbon, we –"
Their laughter finally lightened the moment.
"What, Teresa?"
"You go first."
He took a deep breath. "We should talk about the FBI. Future plans." She nodded, face expressionless. "Look, I was working on the assumption you wanted out of the FBI. I expected the idea of having a child might be ... difficult. Didn't expect leaving the FBI would be."
She looked away, sipped more coffee before responding. "I feel like I'm stepping off a cliff. Free fall." She shrugged. "I've thought about having kids. I know I can handle that–"
He tilted his head, "–Even as an agent?"
"Well, yeah. There are policies covering pregnancy and maternity leave. I've talked with friends – women – in law enforcement who've done it." She caught his gaze, "And I know without a shadow of a doubt you will be a good father. Again."
Jane blinked in pleasure/pain. He unexpectedly rose and put left over sweet rolls in front of them, figuring the sugar spike would ease both mood and fatigue. He sat again, puffing his cheeks out as he exhaled slowly. "Teresa, this will be on your terms. You are in control, here."
A line appeared between her eyebrows. "You patronizing me?"
"No. This is easy for me, I want to chuck the bureaucracy. It's different for you. –Talk to me."
She licked her lips uncomfortably then spoke. "I've worked since I was 15, had to. When the CBI fell apart I couldn't even get another job," she said intensely.
Slowly, calmly, "Do you see it's different now? Blake is over, has blown over. Hightower's already offered you a job, right? Minelli has contacts. Mancini. Even Abbott would give you a glowing recommendation now." He ducked his head to look into her eyes.
She took a deep breath. "Maybe." She caressed his cheek. "I need to think about it." She rose, "Dinner?" Conversation over.
They turned in early after the day's emotional beating.
FBI, Thursday Morning
Morning brought more bad news. Pike had Lira pass along three daily papers to Tork, each headlining the serial killer. Two carried front-page stories about Garbriel Osborne and mentioned the Patrick Jane angle. The press had rediscovered the Red John case and had begun comparing the two serial killers. The case saturated local TV and radio.
The previous evening a man scavenging trash cans was shot after being mistaken for the serial killer. A sleeping woman home alone was woken up by banging by the side of her house. Fearing someone was trying to break in, she grabbed her gun. There was no answer when she called out and she shot through the door. The scavenger didn't speak English. The Austin PD was being flooded with calls from citizens fearing the serial killer. Tork requested the call log and had Fischer start double-checking to verify that there was no connection to their target.
Tork's team pursued the leads identified the day before. Three followers of the fringe religions drove red pick-ups but were ruled out. One was a 70-year old woman, one was severely disabled with rheumatoid arthritis, and the third had been deployed overseas in the military till six months ago. Fischer and Tork ruled out two of the participants in the occult black arts chat room because they had iron-clad alibis for one or more of the murders. The remaining participant looked promising ... until his "real" name and address proved to be fake – someone who had died a decade earlier.
The day got worse.
Austin
A landscaping employee reported the front door of a home standing open – especially suspicious with the day's sky-high heat and humidity that foretold of rain. The PD checked and discovered another victim. The FBI team arrived and trooped into the living room to the body.
Having arrived first, Fischer read the notes she took from the first-responder LEO. "Susan Hermann, gunshot wound to the chest apparent COD. ME says TOD was sometime between 11 pm and 1 am last night, one fingernail ripped off. Her husband is away, neighbor wasn't sure if it was business or personal travel."
Tork looked down at the corpse. "Didn't hide the body. Left her where he killed her."
Jane said, "He's getting bolder.* He knows we're on to him and left her out for us to find.*" Jane moved away to look over the house, keeping within earshot of their speculations.
Fischer pointed to the woman's arm. "Another puncture wound. This is a residential area and it takes time to drain blood from a corpse. Definitely taking bigger risks."
Lisbon said seriously, "Bigger risks, murders closer together, three recent double murders. He's ramping up to something–"
Jane pivoted, gripping a framed photo, "Where's the daughter?"
"Daughter?" Fischer said with a frown.
"In all the family pictures!"
Lisbon pried the frame from his hand and the agents crowded around. A blond, blue-eyed girl of five looked out from the collage of photos. A strong family resemblance left little doubt it was the couple's daughter.
"–Oh god–"
"-Sonofa–"
"–We didn't know there was a–"
Hand against the wall, Jane staggered a step till he regained his equilibrium. He dashed up the stairs.
"Lisbon!"
She found him lying on the floor peering under the bed in what was obviously a little girl's room.
His voice calm and soothing, "Come out, sweetheart. The police will keep you safe. Your father will be home soon to take care of you..."
Two hours later the team was headed back to the FBI. The girl had been asleep upstairs during the murder. She discovered her mother's body in the morning and hid when the police and others came. The woman's husband arrived an hour later. His reaction ground home the devastation the serial killer was inflicting on Austin.
FBI, Austin
The team glumly regrouped a little before quitting time as the bullpen was emptying out. Lisbon pulled the lid off her steaming take-out coffee as Tork began to lay out the next steps. She had taken the five minutes for a drive-through mainly to get tea for Jane. The girl's resemblance to Jane's murdered daughter and his initial fear she was killed had hit him hard.
Lisbon took a mouthful of coffee. Her agonized scream, "Arrgh!" shocked everyone. She clutched her face, reacting to searing pain, head bent over her desk. Jane hovered, unsure what to do as she moaned and rocked back and forth in agony.
"What's wrong?!" demanded Tork. "Lisbon, what is it?"
Trying to regain her composure, she sucked in air and instantly moaned and grabbed her cheek again.
Jane answered while rubbing her arm in a useless attempt at comfort. "She has a temporary cap. Needs to be fixed now!"
Tork looked at Jane. "Call her dentist and get her in." To Wylie, "Call a cab – she can't drive in this much pain."
Jane looked up from his call and said, "Dr. Zelazny can squeeze you in. Let's go."
"Jane, I need you on this case," Tork ordered.
Jaw clenched, Jane stopped in his tracks, "I–
"–No!" Lisbon managed. "Cab's fine. Stay and get the bastard. Can't do anything at the dentist anyhow." Tears glittered at the corners of her eyes.
"Cab'll be here in five," Wylie reported.
Jane took a breath. He took her arm as she unsteadily headed to the elevator. "Be right back," he threw over his shoulder.
Jane returned ten minutes later, just in time to catch the tail end of Pike's address to the team.
"...city's in a panic. Whatever it takes, you will catch this killer and you will do it soon. Tork, tell me what you need. Blank check." Tork stood silent and shamed. Pike turned and left. Now after hours, the floor was deserted except for Tork's team.
Tork gathered Fischer, Wylie and Jane around.
"What do we have? What next?"
Fischer shook her head and spread her hands. "Stake out that occult shop. Find out how he paid his internet bill and see if we can track him even though his name and address are fake. If he pays with a check, maybe we can get a print."
"Get on it."
Wylie looked down and said, "I can look into the abandoned house. Owner died ten years ago, so it'll be slow. Maybe we can do more on the PD log of callers who thought they saw the killer. Real long shot though."
"Go ahead."
"Jane?"
Jane frowned, mouth a grim line, and shook his head.
Tork turned and paced in frustration then wheeled and pointed at him. Angry, "You could stop this guy! I know, I know your family's murder was horrible. Why's it okay for other women and maybe kids to be killed? What kind of heartless bastard are you?" Urgently, "Go on air and reel this sonofabitch in, dammit!"
They froze. Tork, stiff with anger. Jane, pale and white-knuckled gripping a chair back. Fischer and Wylie wide-eyed. The HVAC kicked in, the woosh of air sounding like a tornado. A cell phone trilled in a desk drawer 40 feet away.
Jane blinked and took a shaky breath. Face revealing nothing, voice clipped, "I'll do it. When, where?"
Tork launched into a frenzy of action. He dug around in a folder and triumphantly pulled out a page. "Fischer call this radio show and tell 'em yes for tonight. Six p.m. Wylie, do whatever you need to trace calls from the show. I got a warrant when those chat room guys said they all listen to this 'Night Talk' show." He looked at Jane who was several shades paler than usual, "Jane, tell me what you need – anything – to sucker this guy in." Tork took a step back and faced the group, "It's gonna work like this. Jane's on the show, hopefully gets a call that looks like our perp. Jane keeps him on, drags it out while Wylie traces it. Fischer and I go and grab the bastard with PD back-up."
Fischer, "What about protecting Jane?"
Tork motioned with his hand dismissing any problem, "I drive him to the show. I'll arrange a PD detail for security during the show. –If we get the perp, no more threat. –If not, I'll take Jane home, have a detail guard his door." Tork looked at Jane again. "You willing to stick with it? If it doesn't work tonight, go on other shows?"
Quietly, "I'm all in."
Tork nodded, eyes over-bright. "Good. I respect that."
Fischer, Wylie and Tork tackled setting it up in the 40 minutes they had. Jane got tea in the break room and sat quietly on his couch, calming and centering himself to be able to focus on performing.
Tork left with Jane for the ten minute drive. Fischer loaded her SUV with Kevlar vests, night vision goggles, extra ammunition clips, communications equipment, and an assortment of firearms, then took a seat near Wylie's desk to wait for the show, to hope for the killer to call and be traced.
Wylie finished his preparations just before the show. He tuned on a computer at an adjacent desk to hear the radio show while keeping his free for tracing and tracking.
Night Talk Radio Studio, Austin
Jane nodded to the LEO posted by the door, glad to be out of the oppressive heat. Heat lightening shimmered in the distance, arcing from a solid blanket of low lying of dark clouds. He walked into the radio studio, at once jazzed and on edge about the coming performance. A frisson lanced through him at the thought of nailing this serial killer, edged with black anger and fear recalled from the show with Panzer ... and the one that got his family killed. Jane shoved it aside to focus. He sat down, the host-interviewee set-up familiar from hundreds of interviews during his psychic years.
The host extended his hand. "Dan Glover, glad to have you Patrick. –You're familiar with the set-up I see?"
"Yep."
"All right. I'm going to throw you a few questions to set-up who you are, draw listeners in. Uh, our audience is interested in the occult, psychics, stuff like that. They're also really good at detecting phonies." Jane smiled slightly at the not-so-veiled threat. "'Kay. Just keep the ball in the air." He glanced up at the countdown to air time: Five fingers, four, three...
"Dan Glover on KPQC welcomes you to Night Talk, where we explore all possibilities without being limited to the conventional. Like you, I'm impressed with how little we know of our vast, unexplored universe, physical and metaphysical. –Tonight we have special guest Patrick Jane, the FBI psychic working to nail Austin's serial killer. The killer murdered one of our most talented local psychics, Gabriel Osborne, a few nights ago. Some of you may recall Patrick Jane from his acclaimed TV show, Beyond the Veil, before his family was killed by a serial killer in California. There are no coincidences. Whatever dark and evil currents bring him to face another serial killer, Austin is fortunate to have his help at this time. –Patrick, welcome."
"Pleased to be here, Dan."
"I'd like to talk about the hunt for a man who's murdered a number of our local citizens, but first I have to ask, what is a psychic? What is it you do? – Patrick? Patrick?"*
"Yeah. Uh, Dan, sorry I was distracted. There's something on your mind. Your wife, uh, just had a baby, a girl I believe?"*
"Who told you that?!"*
"You did. Uh, her, her name begins with a vowel, a – a – Alexa, right?"*
"That's right!. –So, that's how you do it?"*
"That's how I do it, yeah."*
"I swear no one told him anything. Back after this commercial message."
Glover grinned across the table at Jane. "Hell of a good start, Jane. –How did you know?"
Jane just smiled.
"Back with Patrick Jane, the psychic working with the FBI. Patrick, please tell the audience more about your role with the FBI."
"I'm not a detective. I do police work. I'm just trying to help my colleagues understand this man."*
"How would you describe him?"*
"Well, obviously he's very angry, in a lot of pain. –I – I think he's trying to get in touch with someone from the other side."*
"What makes you say that?"*
"He kidnapped and killed a psychic. Why else would he do that?"
.
.
.
"We have another call here from – Lazarus? –Lazarus, welcome to the show."*
"Lazarus. Interesting name,* Jane began.
"He rose from the dead."*
"So I heard. What's your question, Lazarus?"*
"What else do you know about the man the FBI is hunting?*"
"Well, I can't tell you everything I know.*"
"Why not?"*
"It's an on-going investigation. The case is still open. Why are you interested? Do you have information on the man?"*
"You're the one who knows everything."*
"I never said that."*
"No, but you claim to be in contact with the spirits.* If you're not, why would the police want your help?*"
"I get the feeling that you know more about this case than you're saying. If that's so, then you should probably share.*"
"Why?"*
"So we can catch him."*
"What if I don't want him caught?"*
FBI, Austin
Tork, Fischer and Wylie looked at each other.
Fischer, "This could be the guy."
"Yeah, maybe. -Text Jane, make sure he keeps him talking, 'kay? -Wylie, how long to trace the call?"
Preoccupied, "Give me another minute," he said, fingers playing the keyboard like a virtuoso. Then he stopped, simply waiting for the software to lock onto the signal. "Got it!" Wylie hit 'PRINT' and handed the page to Tork. "GPS coordinates and driving directions. –Something interesting-"
Distracted as he donned his vest, "What?"
"He's not calling from a cell phone, he's calling from a land-line normal phone.*"
"So long as we know where he is." They tuned back in on the radio show.
"..."He was a complete fake. You could practically see it written on him."*
"That's it!" Tork exclaimed.
"We never made that public," Fischer seconded, predatory gleam in her eyes.
"Let's go!"
Tork and Fischer left at a run. Tork was already calling to give the Austin PD the location.
Wylie puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. Then he dialed while continuing to listen. He put the call on speaker, "Dave–" unsurprised that his IT buddy was there after hours.
"-Hey, Coyote. What 'cha need?"
"Pretty sure Jane lured out the serial killer. We didn't release what was written on Gabriel's body. No one knows that except us and the killer.*"
"I've been listening, got that. Why ya callin' me?"
"Can you cover my desk? I'm scared as hell about Jane being left with just a cop there."
"Sure. Forward it to my computer. I'll babysit till you call me."
"Thanks. Owe you." Wylie forwarded control of his computer remotely over to Hastings. He dialed Lisbon while continuing to listen to the show.
Night Talk Radio Studio, Austin
...
"Thank you for holding through our commercial break, Lazarus. When we left, you suggested you dealt with another psychic who wasn't on the up and up. You a skeptic now?*"
"No. I believe in spirits. Very much. Just not everybody who claims to be in touch with them is."*
Jane resumed the conversation, "Any spirits in particular?"
"You tell me. Who wants you?"*
"Me? Doubt it – nobody."*
"There must be spirits in your life."*
"Well, fortunately, they leave me alone. –You still haven't told me whose spirit you're trying to connect with."
"Have to go now. Bye."*
"Hold on. Lazarus? Hello?"*
Glover smoothly picked it up. ""It seems the caller is gone. We're going to take a minute for station identification. We'll be right back with Night Talk on KPQC."
Jane pulled his headset off.
"Wait! Thought you were staying for the full show."
He shook his head. "Done. Thanks," he said and walked out. The cop posted at the door nodded and Jane dropped down on the waiting room couch.
"Hear anything?"
Cop grinned. "They don't tell me nothin'."
Jane's cell rang. "Yeah?" He put it on speaker while he poured tea from the beverage station.
Agitated, Tork practically yelled, "He's not here, he rigged a phone. We don't know where he is. I don't know what he's doing but I don't like it.* You stay there till I come get you, clear?"
Disappointed, voice gray, "Yeah." Jane disconnected the phone and said to the cop, "Heads up. Perp's still out there."
"Just stay inside here, Mr. Jane." He unsnapped his holster and made sure the exit door was locked.
Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin
Lisbon swore mentally at the trill of her cell phone. She pulled herself up off the couch and dropped the ice pack on the tray. "Coming, coming," she grumbled, annoyed that she'd left her cell on the counter. She'd expected them to work late, but was beginning to wonder when Jane would call. Normally stoic, dental pain was one thing that really got to her. She opted for general anesthetic after Zelazny told her the irritation and swelling would make things extra painful. Delaying the permanent cap had made it much worse.
"Lisbon," she mumbled, sounding like her mouth was still packed with cotton. "What?!" She put her cell on speaker so she could get her shoes and gun while talking.
"Jane did the radio show tonight."
"Wylie, start at the beginning."
"We've got nothing, no good leads. Tork guilted Jane into going on radio and TV shows as a psychic."
"Sonofabitch!"
"–Jane agreed. He– Anyhow, Jane was on the Night Talk show and we're sure he was talking to the serial killer."
"Get on with it!" she urged tightly.
"Traced the call, Tork and Fischer went to the location with PD back-up. It was a set-up – just a server forwarding the call."
"Where's Jane?!"
"He's at the radio station till Tork picks him up."
"Alone?!" she yelled.
"There's a cop posted. Sorry I'm bothering you but I just have a bad fe–"
"Wylie, get here and pick me up. We're going there now!"
Relieved, "Good. I just turned into your complex."
Lisbon ended the call, grabbed her jacket, and ran out the door. She gritted her teeth only to swallow a yelp of pain, then took the five seconds needed to lock the deadbolt. She hated the delay, but it would be terminally stupid to find a serial killer waiting inside later.
She yanked the SUV door open and slid in. "Move!"
Wylie sped off, fat raindrops splatting against the windshield as the threatening rain finally began.