Fic: Legendary part 7
Part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here, part 4 here, part 5 here, part 6 here
Last night I was convinced that it was a fluke that Red John had killed my neighbor. That it was just a new ploy to get at Red John. The balance had been restored to the universe. My “relationship” with Jane was back to what it had always, and then this. I couldn’t drive to the crime scene. Cho drove. I’d seen what feels like a million crime scenes in my life and very rarely have I felt sick, but this is one of those rare times. I was glad that I hadn’t been the one to get the call. I don’t know that I would have handled it very well.
We pulled up to Volker’s house, big and imposing on a hill. How the hell did Red John get in here? Someone must have seen him. There was no way that he could have gotten through an eight foot brick wall and a locked gate and a security system and who knew what else to kill this man. Maybe it wasn’t Red John after all. The local cops could be wrong. It could be a copy cat. It could be anyone, it could be. But somehow I know it’s not.
None of us speak as we get out of the cars. Rigsby drove here with Van Pelt and Jane. I couldn’t be with Jane right now. I’m sure he’s feeling worse that I am. Red John is supposed to be his. Red John is supposed to taunt him, not me.
But killing Volker, that wasn’t a taunt. It seemed almost like a gift. We didn’t have to go to court. We didn’t have to hope that a jury believed my story, or Jane’s story, or the story of a scared little boy who thought that his mother had been killed. It was almost as if Red John had known that our chances of keeping Volker in jail longer than a few days was next to none.
“Ready to go in?” Jane asked; his voice too casual. I was worried about him. This wasn’t good for him, the change of pattern. Red John had never done anything like this before, if I could change it I would.
“I’m sure it’s not really Red John.” I said, as we feel into step next to each other.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re right.” He was a horrible liar sometimes.
“It’s probably just the local cops over reacting after the case a few days ago. I’m sure it’s nothing.” I was grasping at straws. I could feel Jane slipping and I needed to keep him grounded.
“It’s never nothing where Red John is concerned.” Jane said, walking faster to get in front of me.
“Are you guys the CBI?” The uniform cop standing in the foyer of the house asked as we came near.
“Yeah, that’s us.” I answered tiredly. I didn’t bother to introduce myself; this cop wouldn’t remember it anyway. If he was like the typical beat cop he just wanted to get out of here and go home where he thought he was safe.
“The body is in here.” He said, gesturing to a room off the main hallway. All of us followed him, and while I couldn’t speak for the rest of the team, I was stilling myself against the sight I knew would assault us the second we stepped into the room.
The door was open and the first thing I saw was the smile, painted in blood, on the spins of books on a shelf behind a desk. Then I saw Volker’s body, still sitting in his executive desk chair, slumped and almost sliding out. He had been shot. That much was clear. But I wasn’t sure if it was the gun shot wound to his chest, to the innumerable knife woods that had been the final death blow. There was a lot of hate behind this killing. I wondered if it was just a coincidence that Volker had been Red John’s victim, maybe Volker had done something to piss of red John, maybe it was all just a coincidence.
“There are no coincidences where Red John is concerned.” I really hated it when Jane read my mind.
I torn my gaze away from the scene in front of me and turned towards the rest of the team which had spread out into the room behind me.
“Rigsby and Cho, you go out and see if y0ou can find someone to talk to who might have seen something, anything, last night or the night before. Neighbors, security, anybody. He had to have planed this, someone might have seen him. Van Pelt; there has to be some sort of security system here, find out who to talk to about getting whatever security footage or codes or whatever so we can see how he got in here.”
They nodded, and mumbled, and moved out of the room, all too eager to leave me and Jane and what was sure to be an awkward situation.
“There was a lot of hatred in this murder,” Jane said as he wandered about the room that probably served as Volker’s office.
“There’s always hatred.”
“This is different.” Jane said, stepping up to the desk in front of Volker. “Red John was trying to send a message.”
“Oh?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear reason Jane thought there was a message.
“Red John doesn’t usually use a gun. It’s not his style. He likes the feeling of control that using a knife can give you. A gun…it’s too quick, too messy.” Jane was looking at the body on the bed and I was trying not to care that he seemed to have such an intimate knowledge of the way that Red John thought.
“So, killing men isn’t his style either. Maybe Volker did something to piss him off.” I had started to look at the things around the room, I wasn’t nearly as observant as I should be, and I thought that looking at books and paintings was a better use of my eyes than staring at the bloody broken body of my former nemesis.
“He did.” Jane said, sounding very sure of himself.
His response caused me to spin to face him. I looked at Jane as though I thought he were crazy. “If Volker had been speaking out about Red John I’m sure we would have heard about it.”
“Oh, no, my dear. Volker didn’t speak out against Red John. Oh no. He did something far worse. Volker enraged you. He consumed your time and your energy. Volker took you away from other cases and other people. If Red John has really moved his affection onto you, then this is a gift to you. And a message. Red John doesn’t want someone taking up your time that he doesn’t feel is worthy of it.” There was a manic look to his eyes and a touch of panic almost in his voice.
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Other than I knew that I had to keep Jane from convincing himself that Red John had shifted his focus. “Volker distracted you too. I’m sure that’s all this is about. You are right that Red John saw Volker as sapping resources that would have normally gone to search for and fight him.”
“Oh, Lisbon. Are you really that naive?”
I didn’t even have a chance to respond before Jane was out the door and gone. I wasn’t sure if I should go after him or not.
I watched as the team arrived. Across the street in a cable TV van. No one the wiser to the man in a jumpsuit and tool belt. I hoped that she liked my gift. I took a swig out of the disposable coffee mug in my hand. The liquid had long since gone cold, but I wasn’t really drinking it. I can tell a lot about a person by the way that they walk out of one of the houses that I’ve visited. This would be no different. I needed to know that she got my gift. That she knows how much I did for her. I killed the one man that meant more to her than me. I killed the one thing between me and her. The one man that she had bunted. I should be the one she hunts. Not that scum.
I saw Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, leaving the house. They looked morose, sullen, put upon. Sent to do the work of peons. They seemed happy to go. The have no love for me. Not like my precious Teresa. Off to do the hopeless task of finding me. Of finding some shred of hope that they can catch me.
I looked down at a cell phone that wasn’t on. I know what I look like from the outside, a man eating lunch, waiting for the time to overcharge someone for services they don’t even want. I’ve played this role before. Many times. I know that I will be ignored, just a piece of the scenery.
Then my old friend Patrick Jane. He didn't look happy. That made me sad. My gift to Teresa should over joy him. I knew there was no love between my gift and my friend, but this anger, this betray, doesn't seem right. He should be happy that I have taken an interest in such a woman as Teresa Lisbon. There hasn't been a woman who has captivated me like she has in quite a while.
And then I watched as my Teresa come out of the house. She looked annoyed, not pleased like I had hopped. I wondered if my gift had caused a rift between my friend and my love. There had been a petty sort of contest between them, if I recall. A superficial sort of attraction that seemed to do nothing more than distract them from me. I watched as They talked, there seemed to be a heated discussion going on, but I wasn't able to hear them. Not that it mattered. They had received my gift, and that was what I had intended. I put down the cell phone and started the van. I wasn't needed hear any longer.
part 8 here
Last night I was convinced that it was a fluke that Red John had killed my neighbor. That it was just a new ploy to get at Red John. The balance had been restored to the universe. My “relationship” with Jane was back to what it had always, and then this. I couldn’t drive to the crime scene. Cho drove. I’d seen what feels like a million crime scenes in my life and very rarely have I felt sick, but this is one of those rare times. I was glad that I hadn’t been the one to get the call. I don’t know that I would have handled it very well.
We pulled up to Volker’s house, big and imposing on a hill. How the hell did Red John get in here? Someone must have seen him. There was no way that he could have gotten through an eight foot brick wall and a locked gate and a security system and who knew what else to kill this man. Maybe it wasn’t Red John after all. The local cops could be wrong. It could be a copy cat. It could be anyone, it could be. But somehow I know it’s not.
None of us speak as we get out of the cars. Rigsby drove here with Van Pelt and Jane. I couldn’t be with Jane right now. I’m sure he’s feeling worse that I am. Red John is supposed to be his. Red John is supposed to taunt him, not me.
But killing Volker, that wasn’t a taunt. It seemed almost like a gift. We didn’t have to go to court. We didn’t have to hope that a jury believed my story, or Jane’s story, or the story of a scared little boy who thought that his mother had been killed. It was almost as if Red John had known that our chances of keeping Volker in jail longer than a few days was next to none.
“Ready to go in?” Jane asked; his voice too casual. I was worried about him. This wasn’t good for him, the change of pattern. Red John had never done anything like this before, if I could change it I would.
“I’m sure it’s not really Red John.” I said, as we feel into step next to each other.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re right.” He was a horrible liar sometimes.
“It’s probably just the local cops over reacting after the case a few days ago. I’m sure it’s nothing.” I was grasping at straws. I could feel Jane slipping and I needed to keep him grounded.
“It’s never nothing where Red John is concerned.” Jane said, walking faster to get in front of me.
“Are you guys the CBI?” The uniform cop standing in the foyer of the house asked as we came near.
“Yeah, that’s us.” I answered tiredly. I didn’t bother to introduce myself; this cop wouldn’t remember it anyway. If he was like the typical beat cop he just wanted to get out of here and go home where he thought he was safe.
“The body is in here.” He said, gesturing to a room off the main hallway. All of us followed him, and while I couldn’t speak for the rest of the team, I was stilling myself against the sight I knew would assault us the second we stepped into the room.
The door was open and the first thing I saw was the smile, painted in blood, on the spins of books on a shelf behind a desk. Then I saw Volker’s body, still sitting in his executive desk chair, slumped and almost sliding out. He had been shot. That much was clear. But I wasn’t sure if it was the gun shot wound to his chest, to the innumerable knife woods that had been the final death blow. There was a lot of hate behind this killing. I wondered if it was just a coincidence that Volker had been Red John’s victim, maybe Volker had done something to piss of red John, maybe it was all just a coincidence.
“There are no coincidences where Red John is concerned.” I really hated it when Jane read my mind.
I torn my gaze away from the scene in front of me and turned towards the rest of the team which had spread out into the room behind me.
“Rigsby and Cho, you go out and see if y0ou can find someone to talk to who might have seen something, anything, last night or the night before. Neighbors, security, anybody. He had to have planed this, someone might have seen him. Van Pelt; there has to be some sort of security system here, find out who to talk to about getting whatever security footage or codes or whatever so we can see how he got in here.”
They nodded, and mumbled, and moved out of the room, all too eager to leave me and Jane and what was sure to be an awkward situation.
“There was a lot of hatred in this murder,” Jane said as he wandered about the room that probably served as Volker’s office.
“There’s always hatred.”
“This is different.” Jane said, stepping up to the desk in front of Volker. “Red John was trying to send a message.”
“Oh?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear reason Jane thought there was a message.
“Red John doesn’t usually use a gun. It’s not his style. He likes the feeling of control that using a knife can give you. A gun…it’s too quick, too messy.” Jane was looking at the body on the bed and I was trying not to care that he seemed to have such an intimate knowledge of the way that Red John thought.
“So, killing men isn’t his style either. Maybe Volker did something to piss him off.” I had started to look at the things around the room, I wasn’t nearly as observant as I should be, and I thought that looking at books and paintings was a better use of my eyes than staring at the bloody broken body of my former nemesis.
“He did.” Jane said, sounding very sure of himself.
His response caused me to spin to face him. I looked at Jane as though I thought he were crazy. “If Volker had been speaking out about Red John I’m sure we would have heard about it.”
“Oh, no, my dear. Volker didn’t speak out against Red John. Oh no. He did something far worse. Volker enraged you. He consumed your time and your energy. Volker took you away from other cases and other people. If Red John has really moved his affection onto you, then this is a gift to you. And a message. Red John doesn’t want someone taking up your time that he doesn’t feel is worthy of it.” There was a manic look to his eyes and a touch of panic almost in his voice.
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Other than I knew that I had to keep Jane from convincing himself that Red John had shifted his focus. “Volker distracted you too. I’m sure that’s all this is about. You are right that Red John saw Volker as sapping resources that would have normally gone to search for and fight him.”
“Oh, Lisbon. Are you really that naive?”
I didn’t even have a chance to respond before Jane was out the door and gone. I wasn’t sure if I should go after him or not.
I watched as the team arrived. Across the street in a cable TV van. No one the wiser to the man in a jumpsuit and tool belt. I hoped that she liked my gift. I took a swig out of the disposable coffee mug in my hand. The liquid had long since gone cold, but I wasn’t really drinking it. I can tell a lot about a person by the way that they walk out of one of the houses that I’ve visited. This would be no different. I needed to know that she got my gift. That she knows how much I did for her. I killed the one man that meant more to her than me. I killed the one thing between me and her. The one man that she had bunted. I should be the one she hunts. Not that scum.
I saw Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, leaving the house. They looked morose, sullen, put upon. Sent to do the work of peons. They seemed happy to go. The have no love for me. Not like my precious Teresa. Off to do the hopeless task of finding me. Of finding some shred of hope that they can catch me.
I looked down at a cell phone that wasn’t on. I know what I look like from the outside, a man eating lunch, waiting for the time to overcharge someone for services they don’t even want. I’ve played this role before. Many times. I know that I will be ignored, just a piece of the scenery.
Then my old friend Patrick Jane. He didn't look happy. That made me sad. My gift to Teresa should over joy him. I knew there was no love between my gift and my friend, but this anger, this betray, doesn't seem right. He should be happy that I have taken an interest in such a woman as Teresa Lisbon. There hasn't been a woman who has captivated me like she has in quite a while.
And then I watched as my Teresa come out of the house. She looked annoyed, not pleased like I had hopped. I wondered if my gift had caused a rift between my friend and my love. There had been a petty sort of contest between them, if I recall. A superficial sort of attraction that seemed to do nothing more than distract them from me. I watched as They talked, there seemed to be a heated discussion going on, but I wasn't able to hear them. Not that it mattered. They had received my gift, and that was what I had intended. I put down the cell phone and started the van. I wasn't needed hear any longer.
part 8 here