Rigsby finished up at Price Randolph's home and took off fairly quickly to submit the findings to a report. He'd been itching to leave since they entered the house where Red John may have reappeared, and it took little suggestion to get him to agree to doing the paperwork subsequent to the interview.
In accordance to their findings, Price Randolph didn't seem remarkably guilty, even if he did pose a remarkably irritating presence. Still, he would remain under suspicion.
Ronnie and Cho left the home in the second rented vehicle, rolling the windows down and enjoying the summer air flying past at sixty.
Ronnie settled into the vinyl bucket seat with a soft sigh, rolling up her shirt sleeves and taking down two buttons from her restricting collar. Not long after being recruited for the CBI, she'd learned that being on the road provided the only place of true comfort and happiness. Never stuck in one place, always a new view to see, and if it ever got stuffy, she could always roll down a window.
Her soul took flight a little, sitting there beside Cho.
It went without saying that being on the road with Rigsby had no such affect and actually quite ruined the experience for her.
Setting one elbow up on the sill, she shot a look over at her field partner. Cho had ditched the jacket, tossing it in the back seat, and was left in a short sleeve button-up and tie, looking remarkably more like himself than he had that morning. He had one hand up on the wheel, braced on the window sill, the other one resting easily in his lap.
They took the drive in silence, both their minds fixed diligently on the case. Having two bodies always added a whole slew of new possibilities to motive. Maybe the second person was intentional, maybe they were an accident, maybe they were a distraction, maybe they were unaccounted for in the original plan.
That detail stuck in Ronnie's mind more than anything. If Red John killed the victims, why kill the guy if he wasn't romantically involved with the woman? Usually the murder came of jealousy of some sort, but the victims weren't having an affair. It just didn't make sense that Red John would kill anyone except for a deliberately intended target, and his MO had been females to that point.
In her unprofessional opinion, she felt comfortable pinning the blame on the jerkish husband.
Ronnie rubbed a hand over her face thoughtfully. Her job at the CBI put her most often in the position of being an extra man for firepower or leg work, and her brainpower was rarely called upon. She preferred it that way, but that didn't mean she didn't try to puzzle through their cases as they came along.
"I wish I had Jane's brain," she muttered when they pulled up to the sheriff's office.
Cho rolled up the windows and unbuckled his seatbelt. "No you don't." He got out of the car, meeting her eyes over the roof. "He's brilliant but he gets punched more than anyone."
She blinked at him. Neither of them could deny that she didn't have the disposition, nor the job, to make friends as it stood. In fact, her job largely entailed getting punched.
He realized what had her hung up and he turned away, waving his hand at her dismissively. "You don't want his brain. Trust me."
That night, the serious crimes unit sat around a large table stacked high with lobster.
Ronnie sat next to Cho, silently chewing away.
"I like the husband for it. He hires some hooker he knows to create an alibi, flies home, fillets the spouse, flies back again. It's a classic, elaborate and clever, but ultimately stupid, plan." Cho suggested, busily working his lobster fork.
"Have you looked at his PGA tournament record?" Jane wondered, spotting another seemingly irrelevant detail in his mental map of the case file.
Cho thought for a minute, recalling, and then shrugged. "Not bad. 6 mill career earnings."
Not bad, Ronnie sneered inwardly. She wondered what life would be like with something higher than a law enforcement salary. Maybe she could finally afford something better than her dump of an apartment.
"For coming in second and third. You put him on the 18th tee with a big win on the line, like night follows day, he'll shank it. He's a choker. He doesn't have the nerve to kill his wife. Didn't do it." Jane answered dismissively.
"Are you suggesting we drop a prime suspect because he's never won a major?" Lisbon retorted.
Ronnie thought that maybe someone so frustrated about being 'bad' at golf might just take out his frustrations on his unsuspecting wife.
"Oh, no, no, no. I'm just making idle conversation." His words didn't diffuse Lisbon's irritation as much as he probably thought they did, but he'd already turned his attention to playing a trick with a straw, making it follow his finger down the table.
Ronnie caught van Pelt staring, looking childishly delighted.
Jane did it again with the straw. Cho glanced over, unimpressed, and focused on finishing his meal. Ronnie cast a cursory glance around the restaurant before downing her glass of water.
Finally, curiosity getting the better of her, van Pelt wondered, "How'd you do that?"
Jane grinned like a child who had caught a squirrel. "Telekinesis."
Ronnie rolled her eyes just as Cho said flatly, "He blew on it."
Deflated, Jane shrugged. "That is another way to do it." His eyes caught Ronnie's and he shot her a wink before reaching for the pitcher of water and refilling her glass.
"Thanks," she murmured, reaching for a piece of bread. When she glanced up again, he was still watching her.
"You seem disheartened, Ronnie. Did everything go alright at the Randolph's?" He lifted his chin and lowered his voice, wondering sincerely as his eyes tracked her's searchingly.
Ronnie quirked an eyebrow and lifted her refreshed glass to her lips. "It went fine. He may not be guilty, but he's certainly a piece of work."
"He talked to her like she was a dog." Rigsby butted in, mouth full of lobster.
Ronnie's expression closed, displeased with the revelation to the team.
Jane's eyes flicked to Cho, who was still eating, and then back to Ronnie. "Well that wasn't very nice of him."
She ripped into the bread. "Doesn't make him a murderer."
Cho put his fork down and wiped at his lips. "No. Makes him a douche."
Ronnie smirked a little as van Pelt raised a question about Jane's past, distracting him entirely.
THE MENTALIST
Cho showed up at Ronnie's door in the middle of the night. When she opened up, she found him standing there in a matching blue pajama set, his hair ruffled and pillow mussed.
She yawned, leaning against the door frame. "What? I swear, Cho, I didn't steal your buckwheat pillow thing."
He glanced over her white short-shorts and gray tank top before hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "Someone left a note for Jane. Looks like the killer."
She nodded, snatching up her card key and leaning out to follow him, but he put a hand up to stop her.
"You're going like that?"
She looked down at herself, wondering if she'd accidentally pulled her shirt off in her sleep. It'd happened before.
All of her clothes were accounted for. "Yeah? You've got nothing to say to me, Cho, you look like my grandfather."
He ignored that jab and pointed over her shoulder to the oversized zip up hoodie that she always wore to the gym. "Put that on."
When she stared at him blankly, he paused a little, realizing what he'd said. "It's...cold. I'll wait for you." He grabbed the door out of her hands and pulled it closed.
She snorted, yanked the hoodie off the hook, and joined him in the hall. "It's seventy degrees out here, Cho."
THE MENTALIST
"Greetings old friend. It's been a while. I hope you are keeping well. I am thriving and happy. I have 12 wives now and will soon begin courting number 13. Why can't you catch me? You must feel so powerless and stupid and sad. Oh well. All the best, Red John." Van Pelt read the letter, already in an evidence bag, and dropped it on the table.
Sitting on one of the chairs in Jane's hotel room, Cho commented, "That sounds like the real deal to me."
Ronnie sat on the arm of the chair beside him, trying to refrain from making a comment about the state of his hair, and instead looked to the consultant to see if he thought the same.
"Sounds like Red John. It's not. Red John wouldn't risk capture just to taunt me." Patrick Jane met Lisbon's eyes, looking plenty haunted.
Rigsby, not thrilled about being awakened, questioned, "So the real killer is trying to throw us off track?"
"Cho, Masters, find out where Price Randolph was a half an hour ago. Rigsby, I want you to check the hotel security camera." Lisbon ordered, moving towards the center of the room, towards Jane. She glanced at van Pelt. "Get those over to forensics."
That was the last Ronnie heard before she and Cho left the room, closing the door behind them. "I'll check the cameras." Ronnie muttered, shuffling back towards her room. Her bare feet on the worn, rough hotel floor felt dirty and gross, like fifty years of bacteria from all over the country cultivating in a few carpet fibers. She wished she'd brought slippers.
Cho followed behind her.
The CBI laptops were split between Ronnie's and van Pelt's rooms, but she had the tech she needed to get access to the cameras they'd placed around Randolph's home.
Nearly an hour later, Ronnie straightened, closing the laptops. Reviewing the tapes at five-times speed had scrambled her brain and strained her eyes, but she found no evidence that anyone had moved to or from the Randolph house at any point within the past six hours.
She stretched, exhaustion seeping into her muscles. "No joy, boss," she muttered, turning to address Cho.
An hour ago he'd perched himself on the foot of her bed, barely fully seated, but at the moment he was sprawled on his back, one arm out to the side and one arm laying across his chest. He gave no response, sound asleep.
Ronnie sighed, poking at his knee grumpily. She'd so been looking forward to curling up on those big clean sheets.
She shot a quick text to Lisbon and then tossed her phone and her hoodie to the other side of the bed.
In the morning, Cho awoke, comfortably rested, to find Ronnie curled ill-fittingly in the sour-smelling chair, one leg hanging over one arm of the chair and her head bent terribly against the other.
THE MENTALIST
Ronnie spent most of the next morning rolling out her back, shoulders, and neck. She'd arrived at breakfast with the team with her head cocked stiffly to the side, a pained hiss escaping her lips every time she turned her head to the left.
The team assumed she'd fallen asleep at her laptop.
Cho hadn't apologized for crashing in her room. He'd risen from bed, lifted her from the godforsaken chair and set her down on the mattress, flipping half of the blankets over her, and then left the room to shower in his own bathroom.
She'd stirred enough to realize the hands were his, enough to know that he'd given her bed back at six thirty in the morning, and then had bitterly gone back to sleep.
"Did you sleep wrong, Masters?" Rigsby guessed, teasingly giving her forehead a push when she seemed to be sinking into her coffee cup.
The force on her head sparked a twinge in her abused neck, eliciting a sharp gasp.
"Let her be," Cho warned Rigsby, sitting next to the unhappy woman and smoothing down his tie.
Van Pelt leaned in to Ronnie. "I have painkillers and some muscle relaxers if you need it."
Ronnie moved to nod but quickly changed her mind. "Thanks, I'll take whatever you've got."
Cho reached into his pocket and pulled out a relief patch, extending it to her. Ronnie pushed his hand away, in part because she had no intention of letting him get away with the innocent charade, and partly because she knew he kept those on him for a reason.
"It's not an injury, Cho, I've got my roller." And after breakfast, in the van on the way back to the sheriff's office, Ronnie used her foam muscle roller to try to get the tension out of her back.
Cho would pay.
THE MENTALIST
Cho turned a laptop towards Tag Randolph, showing a blown-up hair follicle. Ronnie stood against the wall in the interrogation room, watching the interview. It was the lead from forensics' latest find.
"It's yours, Tag. Amazing, huh? Science." Cho's voice was flat and unenthused. He placed his forearms up on the table, leaning in lazily to get an eyeful of the suspect before him.
Price's brother sputtered indignantly. "This is insane. I didn't...I didn't kill Alison."
"How do you explain your hair in the envelope?"
"Either it's a mistake, or...or I'm being framed." Tag tried desperately, clinging to some slipping hope.
Ronnie crossed her arms over her chest, eyebrows furrowing at the tilt in his voice.
"Who would want to frame you? We don't want to, if that's what you're thinking." Cho pushed, looking for a hint, for the slightest little admission. "Who would want to frame you, Tag?"
"My brother."
Ronnie realized it just as Cho asked, "Why would he want to do that?"
"Alison and I were lovers."
Cho and Ronnie left the interrogation room soon after that. "He's got just as much motive as his brother does; I still think he could be lying." Cho muttered under his breath.
Ronnie didn't have the brilliant, critical, deducing minds that the detectives on the team had. Most days she was barely following their trains of thought. But as much as she openly bowed to their expertise, she couldn't help but wonder to the contrary. "I don't know, Cho. Both Price and Tag seemed cut up about Alison's death...if they were lying they were good. On the other hand, if they thought Alison was having another affair, she could have been caught in the crossfire of one of them and her alleged lover."
Just under an hour later, Price Randolph and his lawyer marched into the sheriff's office, both of them seething.
Cho intercepted them first, a few feet ahead of Ronnie. "Mr. Randolph, good—"
"Cut the crap. My brother's done nothing. You scumbags haven't got the stones to come after me, so you go after my family. That is flat-out persecution." The victim's husband snapped.
Ronnie stepped up closer to Cho, immediately on the alert.
Price Randolph's eyes snapped to her as though he hadn't seen her before she moved. "Why don't you back up before I make you? Jeez, always with the staring." He rolled his eyes and gestured aggressively like pushing her away.
Price's lawyer tried to talk him down, only to be interrupted by Cho.
"Mr. Randolph, rest assured there's no intent to persecute you. We scumbags are holding your brother because we have physical evidence linking him to the crime, and potential motive in that he states whenever you weren't around, he was banging your wife like a big bass drum." Cho stared at the offending man, never backing down even when Price guffawed in his face.
"Tag and Alison?"
"That's what he states. He further states it was you that killed Alison, and you're now trying to frame him in revenge." Cho remarked simply, unbothered.
"What did you say? What? You're just saying that because I hurt your girlfriend's feelings—"
Ronnie smirked, amused at the desperation that both brothers apparently shared, only to be waylaid when Rigsby came through at that moment, escorting Tag through the hall.
Price went off like a wild animal, lunging and screaming at his brother. Cho stood directly between the rabid man and his brother, already moving to restrain him, but Ronnie had other ideas. Quick on her feet, she slipped in front of Cho and barreled into Price's chest, shoving him backwards into a wall as Rigsby and van Pelt pushed Tag towards the door.
"You treated her like trash!" Tag screamed. "What did you expect?"
Price thrashed against Ronnie, throwing an arm out and catching her on the cheek with his fist, causing her whole face to burn instantly. "I didn't expect my little brother to bang my wife, you little punk bastard!"
Ronnie's eyes smarted as she tightened her hold on the livid man, relieved when Cho appeared at her side with his cuffs, seizing Price's arms.
She let him haul the man off to the policemen who rushed in to assist, cupping a hand to her face tenderly. She should have expected that from Randolph; he'd shown himself to be on a hair trigger on day one, but she'd let her guard down anyway.
Cho circled back to her, hands on his hips, brow furrowed slightly. "What was that?" He demanded, staring at her as she shrugged.
"A freaking circus, I'd say." She grumbled, stretching her jaw.
He pointed back towards Randolph. "I mean you jumping in like that. I thought we understood each other, Masters."
She lifted an eyebrow, dropping one hand into her pocket. "You gonna start ordering me around like a dog, too, Cho?"
That caught his tongue for a second, long enough for her to sidle past him and land a slap to his chest on her way. "Come on, I'm starved." Her low laughter reached his ears as he was left standing in the hallway, heart racing.
THE MENTALIST
"So." Ronnie Masters sank into the aisle seat beside Cho, a deeply exhausted sigh escaping her lips. "Dr. Wagner then, huh?"
Cho shifted his shoulders, his eyes already closed in preparation of napping for the hour-and-a-half flight. "Seems to be."
Ronnie poked him in the ribs, finally earning the opening of one eye. "Thank you," she said, returning her hands to her lap and folding them comfortably.
"For what?" He returned tonelessly, closing his eyes again.
"For everything."
end of episode one