The team stood a respectful distance from the funeral of Jason Sands, a wealthy man whose body had been found in a secret room in his home, having bled to death after being tortured. His office had been found empty, with evidence of a hostage situation, papers scattered all over the room and blood on the floor. Jane had found evidence suggested a hidden door, fashioned out of a bookcase. Jason Sands had escaped his captors and hid in the secret room, allegedly waiting for safety, but had bled out from his wounds in the meantime.
Appropriately dressed in black, Ronnie stood quietly next to her partner, smoothing down her skirt. Cho brushed a fallen leaf from her shoulder, casting observant glances around. Occasionally he'd lean in discreetly, pointing out a behaviorism or expression in the attendees that he found strange.
Around them, men and women in dark formal dress bustled around, offering their condolences to the tearful widow. Half of them seemed entirely too cheerful to be attending a funeral, though Ronnie assumed that he was successful enough that most of the guests didn't know him well personally, rather having been in business with him somehow.
Heading the crowd, standing before the closed casket containing her husband, Mrs. Sands' behavior struck Ronnie as odd, particularly the way she was keeping a tense and deliberate distance between herself and a suited man behind her. Cho pointed the same thing out to her soon after she'd noticed it for herself.
"Funerals are nice things," she decided softly.
Cho needed convincing. "How can funerals be nice?"
It certainly made no sense for a woman who couldn't bear to be in a morgue without becoming physically sick to decide she liked funerals.
"They're warm," she explained. "Killing a man is chilling; someone dying is emptying. Bodies are cold. Death as I know it is ugly and frigid. Funerals are...the after. The people who care are there for each other. The body is spoken kindly of. People process the death out of love. It's nice. It's nice to know that it's not just over when someone's dead." She gazed around, watching a few people hover near the casket, saying heartfelt goodbyes.
Death had never been handed to her in the form of a gentle memorial service. It had always been gunmetal and blood and steel. Funerals were nice.
Cho waited, thinking, eyes drifting from face to face, and then he just shrugged. "I guess."
Over to the side, unaware of their quiet comments, the team watched the service vigilantly. The investigation had hardly begun yet, and the likelihood that the murderer would show up at the funeral proved historically to be high.
"I look around. I don't see anyone here who could torture a man to death with pliers and a lit cigar." Rigsby muttered, hands in his pockets. He seemed to view the memorial service as a stuffy affair, a frustrated scowl tightening his features. He'd complained many times in the past about being forced to go to dozens of burials.
Jane, gazing around easily, responded simply, "Picture them naked and ravenously hungry."
The delicate and demure agent van Pelt reeled in disgust, eyes flashing to Jane. "Ew!"
Ronnie shrugged. "I've seen nicer people kill with a lot less." Her gaze dropped to her heels, shuffling them carefully beneath her. She missed the uncomfortable glances she got for that comment, instead choosing to tuck the loose ends of her shirt back under her skirt's waistband.
The team never knew if the things she said in passing counted as jokes, or even if they could respond. Lisbon's policy of not discussing personal lives prevented any of them from asking many follow up questions.
Only Cho and Lisbon knew her full story.
Attempting to defer the awkward attention, her partner added, "You know, strictly speaking, he wasn't tortured to death."
Ronnie nodded agreeably. "True, true."
"He bled to death on his own in his little hidey-hole there. Kind of has himself to blame then, huh?" Rigsby suggested wryly.
Cho nodded without reservation. "Mm, kind of."
Jane's attention had been caught by the auburn-haired widow, observing her curious behavior. "How does the widow check out?"
In front of him, Lisbon shot a look to the woman in question. "The night of the murder, she and her daughter were at a concert—'Peter and the Wolf.'" The boss gave a little smile, amused by the choice of entertainment.
"She have stubs?" Cho wondered.
"Yep."
"Is that the IRS breathing down her neck or an awkward cousin of some variety?" Ronnie asked, nodding to the object of the widow's apprehension.
"Yeah, that was my next question. Who's the suit hovering around her?" Jane nodded, perusing the food table. He handed Ronnie a handful of grapes, patting her arm kindly.
It always amused Ronnie how Jane would try to take care of her.
Lisbon watched him, curiosity in her eyes. "That's Michael Claymore Bennett III, Sands' lawyer. What about him?"
Jane turned back to gesture vaguely in the direction of the two. "The widow's scared of him, or..."
"Or?"
"Or he's reassuring her of something else that she's scared of."
Dissatisfied with the ambiguity, Cho exhaled thoughtfully and stole one of Ronnie's grapes. But he didn't eat it, he just rolled it between two fingers. "Which is it?"
Jane shrugged. "I don't know. Could be both."
"I vote scared of the stiff." Ronnie piped in.
Lisbon took her hands out of her pockets, turning away from the service. "Well, we can't question 'em here." She paused in front of van Pelt. "Let's go get started on Sands' computer files. You guys stay here till this thing's over."
Rigsby nodded obediently, hiding his disappointment in their departure moderately well. He treated poor van Pelt like a security blanket sometimes. "Yes, boss."
Lisbon smirked a little, flashing Jane a look. "You never know. Somebody might confess." Before anyone could respond, she turned and walked off with van Pelt.
Ronnie leaned in close to Cho, close enough that her arm pressed against his. "Lisbon likes Jane."
Startled, he stared at her. "What? No way." He looked to Lisbon, to see for himself, but whatever Ronnie had noticed remained lost on him. "No. She's basically a mother to him." He fixed his gaze ahead again, totally blind to what his partner saw.
Ronnie shrugged. "If you say so."
Rigsby watched Lisbon and van Pelt leave, his attention on the retreating form of the red headed agent as a low sigh wracked his frame. "Van Pelt, you're killing me." He forced himself to look away, snatching a piece of cheese off the food table.
Ronnie snickered quietly, elbowing Rigsby in the back, which he completely ignored.
Jane sidled in close to the younger man. "Can I ask you a personal question?"
"Nope."
Jane plowed on regardless. "Have you told her how you feel?"
Ronnie snorted. "Not likely."
Shooting her an unappreciative side-eye, Rigsby went for another piece of cheese. "She's a co-worker. It's against the rules. That's how I feel."
"Is that how he feels, Ronnie? I don't think so. That's not how you feel."
Rigsby sighed, feeling cornered. "I sent out the vibes. I got nothing back, okay? So I'm leaving them alone."
Baffled, Jane stared at him. "Vibes. Really? Vibes?" He glanced questioningly at Ronnie, who merely shrugged in response.
Cho, the only one of them still watching the crowd, weighed in at that moment. "That's where he stares at the back of her neck For several hours. Women love that."
Ronnie patted a hand against her own chest. "Love that."
"Oh, shut up." Rigsby grumbled, trying his best to steer them back to the murder case.
Jane had no intention of being distracted. "You gotta go get her, man. You gotta seduce her."
"Yeah, well, seduction's not my strong point."
Jane scoffed at him. "Man, seduction's easy once you know the basic principles."
"Oh, really? Well, I don't see a crowd of women following you around."
The consultant feigned befuddlement. "Why would I want a crowd of women following me around?"
Finally abandoning the food table, Rigsby settled into a stance beside Jane. "Okay. I'll bite. What's the basic principle?"
"Cost you a dollar."
Rigsby looked indignant rather than amused. "For what?"
"So you pay attention."
Without another word, the tall agent dug around in his wallet and fished out a single dollar bill, passing it to Jane, who pocketed it discreetly.
"Love and affection." Jane declared with finality, not to be persuaded otherwise.
Rigsby looked like he'd just been slapped in the face. "What?"
"Love and affection."
"Give me my dollar back."
"When you're seducing someone, what are you offering them? Love and affection. Who doesn't want love and affection? It's that simple. Right, Ronnie? Don't you agree?"
"Seriously, give me my dollar back."
Ronnie shook her head with another shrug, only wishing the sun would go easier on the crowd of people wearing all black. "Wouldn't know. Never been hit on before."
Cho glanced at her curiously, but said nothing.
Both Jane and Rigsby swung around to stare at her, aghast.
"What, never?" Rigsby repeated. "You've never been hit on, ever?"
Jane flapped a hand against the younger man's chest to quiet him. "No, no, wait. We're talking about seducing, not something so ridiculous as 'hitting on'; we're not children here. Look now—I want to demonstrate my point, and it involves betting you one hundred more of these dollars that I can seduce any woman here. But first:" he stepped in close to Ronnie, examining her closely.
Uncomfortable with the suddenly close proximity, she backed off a step, running into Cho, who held a hand to her back to steady her. By she time she'd moved out of his way, he'd readjusted and crossed his arms again.
"Ronnie, dear, you spend far too much time working. Before I show Rigsby how it's done, I'm going to start a wager among us." Jane swung himself away from her, clapping his hands and facing the guys. "Alright listen up. Here's the bet: the first person to attempt to seduce Ronnie—a cop? Someone from the gym? A suspect? Or a witness? I'll go first, I'm putting 50 on a cop."
Ronnie's jaw fell open. "Hold on, wait a minute."
"50 on a suspect," Rigsby put in excitedly, chortling at her discomfort.
Ronnie turned to Cho. "What is happening? Why is this happening?"
He glanced at her, and then at Jane. "Someone from the gym."
Betrayed, she blinked at him. "Unbelievable."
Jane's face lit up with glee. "Excellent, excellent. Alright, winner takes the pot and takes Ronnie here out to dinner." He patted her arm again fondly and rubbed his hands together.
Ronnie crossed her arms over her chest. "And if it turns out to be a witness?"
Jane shrugged carelessly. "Then you can have the pot. It's only fair, we are betting on your love life."
"What if nothing ever happens?"
He grinned cheerfully. "Then Cho will hit on you and I'll win the bet and take you to dinner."
"I hit on her and you're the one who takes her to dinner?" Cho questioned flatly.
Jane tucked his hands in his pockets. "Tough luck, pal. Alright, back to love and affection. Rigsby? Who am I seducing?"
Ronnie took the moment to slap Cho's chest, settling back on her heels. "You're all against me."
He actually rewarded her with a slight smile and a little laugh, still avoiding her eyes.
Rigsby got excited again, searching the crowd for a poor victim. Finally he stopped, an evil smirk crossing his face. "Okay. The widow."
Undaunted, Jane split, headed straight for Mrs. Sands.
They watched him go.
"Good job." Cho remarked sarcastically.
It took approximately forty-five seconds before security rushed in to remove Jane, spurring Rigsby to bolt across the venue to rescue him.
Ignoring the scene before them, Cho pivoted towards Ronnie. "You serious, you've never been hit on?"
"I'm built like an English Mastiff, Cho."
THE MENTALIST
Rolling up her sleeves past her elbows, Ronnie headed into the CBI breakroom, straight for the coffee maker. She'd changed into jeans, leaving her skirt and blouse in her locker until the next time she needed it, not even bothering to pack it up to take it home. The last couple of cases the team had had didn't require much more than a skeleton crew, which meant that she and Cho had been doing desk work for the past two weeks.
The sedentary life drove her crazy. Paperwork in the bullpen had dropped to an all-time low thanks to her need to avoid listless boredom, but if she looked at another case report which dated back over three months, she'd throw her PC out the window.
She poured her coffee, grabbed a protein bar out of the fridge, and trekked back to her desk.
Lisbon had just returned, looking remarkably more tense since Jane had come back from visiting Mrs. Sands to offer his apologies for hitting on her at her husband's funeral. The head agent had come to trade information with the team, hoping that Cho's research had yielded some results. Before asking, she offered what she'd learned from looking over the victim's computer files: "Looks like Sands was busy all right. He used to be huge, but he made some really bad calls in I.T. Over the past five years, his business has dwindled down to almost nothing. No clients. No income. There were indictments and injunctions and the whole nightmare coming, just down the road."
Ronnie sipped at her coffee, unsurprised. She perched herself on the edge of her desk, resting one arm across her thigh. Based on the digging she and Cho had done, Jason Sands seemed to have been anticipating his business to tank quickly. "Don't businesses usually have multiple voices of reason weighing in to avoid these sorts of things?"
Lisbon shrugged a shoulder. "Apparently not this one. He was headed for the gutter, big time."
"The strange thing is, until a couple of weeks ago, there was 10 million in his personal accounts in cash and bonds and stocks, most of it deposited over the last year." Cho said, gesturing to his computer. Even if the victim didn't have a head for business, he had the self-preservation to withhold personal funds.
That is, until he apparently spent them.
"His business is dead for years. Where do you get 10 million from?" Rigsby wondered, peering at the account information.
Van Pelt had other questions. "More importantly, where is it now?"
"That's what his killers wanted to know." Cho surmised. "Hey." He turned to Jane, who was sitting quietly on his couch. "Are you sure the widow doesn't know where it is?"
The consultant barely considered the question. "No, she's genuinely broke and genuinely scared."
Lisbon uttered a soft laugh, backed by a teasing grin. "You're not soft on her, are you?"
Ronnie shot Cho a pointed look, who deliberately ignored her.
"No. Maybe a little." Jane shrugged. "We need to talk to the lawyer. What's his—"
Instantly putting the brakes on Jane trying to talk to another prominent member of law enforcement, Lisbon interrupted him. "Bennett? We need to talk to him. You need to stay well away." Her voice caught a little, mind catching up suddenly. "Did you say maybe a little?"
Cho finally met Ronnie's eyes, wide and wondering. She sipped her coffee innocently.
Jane casually stretched out on his back on the couch. "She's a gorgeous, grieving widow. Of course maybe a little. Don't worry. It's not going to affect my work. I'm a law enforcement professional. Jeez." He gave a low whistle, like he couldn't believe Lisbon wouldn't get off his back.
Ronnie got up off the desk, moving closer to Lisbon. "I don't know, Jane. Jennifer Sands isn't some damsel in distress." She made a face at Lisbon. "You should have seen her when Jane talked to her at the funeral. She was all wide eyes and eyebrows."
Shoulders relaxing a little, Teresa Lisbon huffed out a laugh. "Oh, really?"
Ronnie made a face that confirmed that Jennifer Sands was every bit the piece of work that she had suggested.
Lisbon snorted, obviously more at ease. "Good luck with that, Jane." She turned on her heel, off to talk to the lawyer.
When Ronnie faced the team again, Cho and van Pelt were watching her, smirking. She shrugged one shoulder and nonchalantly brought her coffee to her lips, one eyebrow arched confidently. "Let's find the money, shall we?"
THE MENTALIST
When the team's lunch order arrived, Ronnie went downstairs to collect the burgers. The takeout bag was sitting on the desk just past the security checkpoint, drawing the young agent over to the corner of the room immediately. She grabbed the receipt checking the order before leaving.
"Agent Masters?" The receptionist spoke up hesitantly, startling the blonde.
"Yes?"
The receptionist handed her a white, unmarked envelope. The sight of it sent fear through Ronnie, her hands shaking as she reached out to take it. "This came for you about twenty minutes ago."
"Who brought it?" Lunch all but forgotten, Ronnie gripped the envelope in her fist. Her stare was harsh and intense, making the woman behind the desk nervous. "Who brought this and told you to give it to me?"
She shook her head, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know. A man came in, wearing a motorcycle helmet. He handed it to that security guard over there and told him to give it to you. He ran it through security and then brought it to me, and now you have it. I don't know who brought it, I'm sorry."
Ronnie spun on her heel, making a beeline for the security guard. "Hey," She glanced at his name tag. "Hey, Carter. Some guy in a motorcycle helmet gave you this?" She held up the envelope.
He squinted at her, nodding blankly. "Yup. Said it was for Ronnie Masters. That you?"
"Can you describe him? What did he look like? What did he sound like?"
Once the confused guard had vaguely described the guy as someone of medium build, just under six feet, with a low voice and motorcycle gear, Ronnie thanked him, scooped up the food, and made her way anxiously to the elevator. She should have expected another note. She should have known her mother didn't disappear on someone she had business to settle with.
When the doors had closed, Ronnie set the takeout bag on the floor and ripped open the envelope, using the tips of her fingernails to try to keep her skin oil off the paper. Just like the first note, the envelope contained a piece of copy paper with a few words scribbled neatly in the middle. Breathing heavily, Ronnie scanned the message once, and then again.
"You know what I do to people who rat me out. Remember what happened to Chiles.
-CM"
Pale as death, Ronnie brought the food into the bullpen, setting it on the table near the team's desks. Lisbon was still out talking to the lawyer, so the others had nothing to do but scrounge around trying to find Jason Sands' missing funds. Knowing her assistance wasn't strictly needed, Ronnie left the bullpen, going for the stairs. In a haze, brain foggy with terrible memories and an overwhelming sensation of dread and anxiety, Ronnie knocked on Agent Minelli's door.
He called for her to enter, looking up as she swept the door open.
The look on his face said he knew exactly why she was visiting. "Agent Masters," He greeted softly. "You've received another note, haven't you?"
She waved the envelope between two fingers, marched up and tossed it on his desk, and then threw herself back in a chair, exhaling heavily. "A security guard by the name of Carter received the envelope downstairs in the lobby at approximately 3:50 this afternoon. The courier was male, wore a motorcycle helmet, of medium build standing at almost six feet. I don't have anything more on him, but I imagine he was hired and knows nothing of the situation."
Minelli opened the note, reading quickly.
"That name you're going to want to look up for reference is Simon Chiles, circa 1997." Ronnie stared out the window, rubbing her palm over her knee. "I guess my mom found the transcripts of my interview and testimony, which would further supplement Cho's idea that she's got a man inside the CBI. She knows I told you guys everything."
Minelli dropped the paper on his desk and leaned forward, staring at her sincerely. "Listen to me, Masters, I want you to be careful. You're a smart girl, but you're reckless. Do me a favor and let your team help you. I need you to keep yourself alive while we track Carla down. We'll look into this message; I'll turn it in from here." He sighed, concern etched deeply in his tired face. "Have you told Cho about this note?"
She shook her head. "He's in the middle of working the Sands case."
"Go tell him; he's in the best position to help watch your back."
Ronnie got up, nodding quietly. She moved towards the door and then paused, turning back. "Sir..."
He waited, confused.
"I feel like I should say I'm sorry."
Minelli shook his head, standing up and circling around the desk. "Masters, your mother is a wanted fugitive. Even if you weren't working for the CBI, we'd still be running the case, looking for her. The fact that you're right here, compiling clues under our very roof, only makes the job easier. You have nothing to apologize for." He touched her elbow, walking with her to the door. "We don't get to choose our parents."