Case # 3: Red Matter - and Shatter

Author:G. Waldo
Rating:Adult. Angst. Violence. Set post Red Matter, naturally.
Characters:Jane/Lisbon friendship, Jane/Cho. Adult but no smut.
Summary:Red John sets something in motion that drives Patrick Jane to a desperate act, and Jane turns from the hunted into the hunter.
Disclaimer:Not mine though I wish he was.
Words: This will be a longish fic'. Those among you familiar with me know that means 20,000 words-plus. I have tried to stick to canon (other than the eventual Jane/Cho) as much as possible while still freely exploring my own ideas.

*I know this story was supposed to feature Kristina Frye, but I had a better idea!

It was low and angry and nurturing and beautiful and it registered on your skin. It followed you. It was the growling baritone of a stalking jaguar in the Amazon forest. You didn't see it, but you heard it; you felt it. It was almost sexual.


Jane took his time circling the hotel room of the victims, pausing only once to draw back the opaque plastic sheeting the police had draped over the mutilated bodies. The victims themselves were two policemen – male partners who had been having weekly romantic meetings behind their spouse's backs.

From above the bed a smiling blood-drawn face mocked them and the investigators alike from the wall. A cheap hotel-room lamp had been placed to shine upon the face, the blood of its mask now drying from red into dull brown. "When were the bodies discovered?" Jane asked Lisbon, who was in the room with him examining the scene and, he knew, keeping one eye him as well.

"Coroner said they've been dead thirty to thirty-five hours." Lisbon answered, glancing into the bathroom looking for what she didn't know. Like a stray dog Red John had killed and moved on over a day ago but Lisbon always found herself asking the same question anyway - "So, you think copy cat or the real deal?"

Jane answered quietly. "Red John. Real deal." He looked at the covered bodies. "Real as rain for them."

Lisbon knew Red John left nothing behind at any of his crimes scenes that would translate into usable evidence. After twelve years of tracking his kills and hunting the killer himself, the authorities had exactly no concrete notions as to Red John's identity. They had a type O blood sample and a DNA profile but no suspects against who either could be matched. The blood was simply a drop of blood, labelled and filed away, the DNA like-wise, a lonely string of mute genetic material.

To an onlooker it would appear that Jane wandered here and there in the room without direction, but Lisbon knew it was a misleading behaviour. Jane almost always saw things that more seasoned detectives missed. Rarely did his eye miss, or misinterpret, a clue. Being a former carnie conman Patrick Jane may have started out his professional life in a totally unrelated field, but after working with him for nearly four years Lisbon had come to understand that he was a natural born detective. "Anything else?"

Jane kept looking over at the bodies obscured beneath the blood –streaked plastic. "Two policemen. Lovers." He said. "Not Red John's usual victims of choice."

"I know - a little weird."

"Hmm." Jane seemed profoundly sobered by the death scene. He was also the world's most queasy detective, who hated the sight of blood.

"You think he's trying to say something?" Lisbon wasn't exactly thrilled to be in the room either. Her memories of Red John's voice and the odour of his sour breath were still vivid in her mind and nostrils. Her experience under Red John's cruelties had been terrifying and, regrettably, unforgettable. And every time she closed her eyes the things he had done to Jane while forcing her to watch was foremost in her nightmares.

Jane completed his scrutiny of the room. There were no family pictures to look over here, no personal items other than the small over-night bags the two lovers had brought with them, and nothing that stood out as out-of-place or unusual. It was a hotel room, nothing more. Except for the imprints in the carpeting that indicated a long dresser had been fairly recently moved out and a smaller one put in its place.

The manager hung in the doorway, grumbling about not being allowed to go home and eat his own dinner. In answer to her last question - "I have no idea." Jane said. "But two dead, gay, policemen lovers? Seems like he's already said a lot."

Jane asked the grumpy hotel manager. "Excuse me, Mister Ewashen is it?" Jane pointed to the carpet marks. "When was this dresser changed out? There are marks here where a larger one used to be."

Ewashen walked inside a bit to see where the investigator was pointing. "Not sure - couple of weeks ago maybe. I'm just the manager. The staff usually takes care of that stuff."

Jane nodded. "Then we need to talk to the regular staff please – all shifts."

Ewashen stuck his fists in his pockets. "You mean you need their phone numbers and all that?" His stomach growled.

Jane glanced at the reluctant man, growing impatient. "Yes, that's exactly what I need - and a complete list of all the hotel guests who stayed here over the last three weeks. Would you please get those for us? Thank-you."

Lisbon moved over to stand beside Jane, asking quietly. "What are you thinking? What's with the dresser?"

"I'm not sure if that's anything but I'd like to know if these dead policemen stayed here regularly and who might have rented the rooms on either side."

It was a sound idea. Lisbon took out her phone. "We're in for a long night. Take-out pizza okay with you?"


Lisbon and Jane spent the better part of the next day interviewing hotel guests, most of them over the phone and the hotel staff in person either at the local police station where the captain had been kind enough to provide an office for them to set up in, or at the hotel itself.

Lisbon poured a strong mug of coffee of questionable age and added double sugar and creams to make it palatable. Jane, sipping on his carefully brewed tea (the teabags of which he had brought with him from Sacramento), made a face at her concoction. "I don't know how your kidneys get up every day."

"Today my kidneys need the boost as much as I do. Forty-nine interviews, twenty-seven in person, and no one saw or heard a thing."

Jane stared into his tea. "We've come to expect nothing less from Red John." He didn't sound convinced.

"You saw something in that hotel room didn't you? Something I missed and you're keeping it from me? Jane – we talked about this..."

"I didn't see anything you didn't see."

"Which is another way of saying you inferred something we both saw - very cute. What did you infer? It was the dresser, right? The killer took the old one because it had some evidence on it or something? – that has to be it."

Jane gave a one elbow shrug. "Cheap hotel, cheap rooms, cheap furniture, all probably wholesale discount, mass-purchased twenty years ago..." He stopped stirring his tea; the spoon paused above the cup, suspended in mid air.


Jane dropped the spoon and left his tea behind. "We have to go back to the hotel."


"Just come on, you can call the manager on the way."

"Jane, it's after midnight, the manager's probably home asleep."

"Then I'll call him. Let's go." He took her elbow, encouraging her to accompany him out of the office and down the three front steps of the police station to his car.

Lisbon let him open the door for her and she climbed in. Despite herself, she dialled the manager at his home. "There's no answer."

Jane climbed in behind the wheel. "Never mind, it's okay. We can handle this ourselves."

"Handle what exactly?"

But Jane kept his own counsel until they arrived back at the dingy one level motor-inn. Lisbon followed him to the door with the police tape stretched across its entrance that said NoEntry.

"Okay, we're here. Now would you mind telling me what we're doing here?"

Jane did not open the door to the crime scene. Instead he moved to the door on its left and tried the knob. It turned and he opened it slowly, peeking in through the crack, but it was impossible to see anything so he switched on the light. The room was empty. Jane looked around for only a second or two before closing it again.

Then he did the same with the next door down, only this time it was locked. The next door wasn't and when he switched on the light, a man woke up from sleep and demanded to know what the hell he was doing.

Lisbon reached out and grabbed the door knob saying "Sorry, sir! Sorry" into the room while averting her eyes to the man's nudity. She pulled the door shut again. To Jane "What are you doing?"

Jane only pointed. "Try those other doors. It's a crappy motel, some of the doors won't be locked or the locks'll be broken. See if any furniture has been moved. Look for furniture imprints - carpet marks. We need to know which dresser is set against which wall."

Baffled, Lisbon watched as Jane opened door after door, sometimes finding the rooms empty, sometimes waking up patrons, or disturbing others in the midst of private activities and who then cursed a blue streak at him before he managed to see what he wanted to see before closing the door again. In one room, the patrons didn't wake up initially, so Jane brazenly turned on the lights and had a more leisurely look-see. They only began to stir to life and curse at his fleeing back when he was already on his way out, and Lisbon thanked her last lucky star that was, after four years of Patrick Jane, still miraculously shining down on her, its light an enfeebled flicker in an overwhelming sky.

Lisbon gave in and did her best to assist Jane in his weird endeavour but managed to accomplish it without waking anybody. In truth, only one of the rooms on her side that wasn't locked had anyone in them, and luckily that person did not stir.

Jane finished with his doors and broke the tape across the crime scene room, waving at Lisbon to join him. Lisbon followed him in while Jane switched on the lights. The room was illuminated by two feeble lamps from the side tables but it was enough light for Jane who spent a few seconds looking at one side of the room, then the other. Just as Lisbon was about to ask him one more time for the reason behind his actions, Jane pointed to the small dresser, and then the other one across the room that was larger; longer and wider. "I was wrong before. The larger dresser wasn't replaced. These two dressers have been switched."

Lisbon remembered the carpet marks, the imprints where a larger dresser had been and now where a smaller one sat. "Yeah? So?"

"So why would the staff switch them? It leaves unsightly carpet marks. In all the other rooms, the dressers haven't been moved. Why these two?"

"So you think - ?"

"Yes, I think Red John." He said in answer to her question that he hadn't finished hearing. Jane walked to the larger dresser. Putting his hands at one end and bracing himself, he pushed and it budged a little, then he pushed steady and slid the empty dresser aside enough to show where the imprints from where the smaller dresser's edges used to stand that until this moment had been hidden beneath it. "You see? This one used to be over there, but in all of the rooms I checked, it's the other way around. Someone moved this larger dresser here and the smaller one there."

It was interesting and just the sort of thing Jane would notice. Most people would dismiss it as just what Jane had suggested – something old being routinely replaced by something newer. Only Jane would take a seemingly innocuous thing as the question of carpet marks to its chaotic end by making them into a mystery to be solved, and then attempt to solve that mystery by barging in on unsuspecting naked hotel guests to check his theory against the other, innocent and undisturbed furniture.

Only Jane would be that pestiferous. But Lisbon still wasn't sure it meant anything. "Why would Red John want to move furniture?"

"Maybe so we would notice. Help me." Jane said and pushed to move the larger, heavier dresser further over. Lisbon joined in and together they shoved it right against the outer wall.

When Jane turned back around to look, Lisbon followed his gaze. Behind the larger dresser, taped to the wall in a neat row, were photos of the CBI Homicide team members. A smiling face drawn in red felt pen had been scrawled over each of the faces in the photos, including Jane's photo and her own.

Lisbon closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Whaddya' suppose Tahiti's like this time of year?"


"You're all in danger."

Van Pelt, not one to strongly voice her opinion whenever Jane had the floor simply because she found Jane a difficult man to out-shout, said "But that's always been the case." Looking at Jane - "Right?" The pretty red-headed agent now looked at the faces of each of her colleagues in turn. "I mean, haven't we all been in danger from Red John since..."

"Since Igot here." Jane finished the uncomfortable truth for them. "To answer your question, Grace, yes. Red John doesn't like for me to have friends."

It wasn't in keeping with the situation to voice it but Lisbon was gratified that Jane felt that way about the team. In the long, painful climb from his past, it was a healthy beginning. Lisbon was in agreement with Van Pelt. "Since when is that anything new to a CBI agent?" She pointed out. "The murders of the two policemen are another Red John game-play and we accept that for what it is. We move on with the investigation. I don't see how this theatrical ploy changes anything."

Jane was seated on his couch with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together. The couch was his habitual hang-out within the CBI offices and was starting to show its age, slouching right along with him. But Jane treated it like an old friend. It was where he caught cat naps during the day to make up for his chronic sleepless nights, a thus far never-ending insomnia with which he appeared to be afflicted.

"How can you say that?" Jane asked Lisbon, his voice tight with tension. "This is the first direct threat he has made against the members of this team and you're shrugging it off like it was a joke. Red John does not make idle threats. He stirs up terror and then he follows through with murder. It's what he does."

Lisbon could see what sort of case they were all in for. If there was one thing that drove Jane to reckless endangerment of his own life, it was when someone he cared about was threatened. When Kristina Frye had been taken by Red John, it spun Jane into a twister of black emotions. "I know it's no joke but what do you expect us to do, Jane? Hide? Run away? We're CBI agents. We investigate and hopefully catch the bastard. That is what we do."

Jane could see he wasn't going to get anywhere with his boss on the matter, not that he could come up with any viable alternative to hiding or running away. "Then we need to double up. Don't go anywhere alone – pick a partner." Jane in fact stood and took Grace's hand, pulling her to her feet and then sitting her down beside Rigsby where he put her hand in his, gripping their linked fingers in his own fists and though to cement them together.

Rigsby and Grace looked at each other and then at Jane. As most guys went, Jane was more physically expressive than most, but this was a grave sort of desperate contact he had just enacted. It was as though his hands had pleaded with theirs to see the danger the way he did, and to be convinced of it. And holdon.

Jane looked at Lisbon and then to Cho and although not taking either of their hands, he pointed to them with a finger, back and forth. "You each need to stay with a team member, each of you – twenty-four-seven - you can't be left alone. Anyone."

Lisbon exchanged telling looks with Cho. She asked Jane "For how long? We can't live or function as a team like that, not beyond maybe a few days, a couple of weeks maybe, and then what?"

Jane looked at her, his eyes darting between her and the floor, the couch and back to her. "I'll figure something out."

Then Lisbon asked "And what about you?"

Jane looked at Lisbon. "Until then I'll – I'll hire a body guard. I'll be fine." He nodded as though saying it would make it so.

Lisbon had expected as much. Jane ran shaky fingers through his blonde hair and Lisbon knew in every way that he did not only believe Red John's threat was real – and honestly there was no reason not to – but that Jane was deeply and thoroughly terrified by it – and by Red John. Considering his encounters with the killer, she could hardly blame him. Lisbon's cellular phone rang.

She stood to walk to her office for some privacy. As she passed Cho, she covertly tapped his elbow to get him to follow. Cho waited behind for a moment and said "Excuse me." heading off toward the Men's room, but instead of going inside he took a detour to Lisbon's office. As the blinds were closed on her office windows, no one would be able to see their private conversation.

Cho stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "You wanted to see me?"

She did not mince words. "What should we do about Jane?"

Cho understood. Jane on a Red John case was Jane obsessed, taking risks and endangering himself and the team, and sometimes making the kinds of mistakes that had before nearly cost him his life. "I think we should do what he wants – for now." It was the simplest solution and the one that would ensure the safety of all members of the team.

Lisbon nodded. That had been her decision, too. By the time she had walked into her office, it seemed the obvious one. Somehow they needed to keep Jane under control and out of danger. Secretly as a group they had all agreed to take care of him; protect him, and granting his request, if only temporarily, seemed the only feasible way to do that in the particular situation I which they found themselves. "If it's okay with you, I want Jane to stay with you." She said knowing Cho cared about Jane as much as she did, maybe more. "I can crash at Tommy's. I don't care what Jane says, I don't want some rent-a-cop stranger watching his back."

She sighed deep and long, confiding in her most level-headed agent. "And Cho - off the record - we're doing this to keep Jane on a short, controlled, for lack of a better word – leash, because we both know Red John left those pictures more to screw with Jane's head than as a threat to us."

"If we guessed that much about the photos, then Jane probably has, too."

"Yeah, but the difference is he'll ignore it and get himself killed. Short leash."

Cho nodded. "Agreed." A thousand scenarios about how in the next few weeks this could, and probably would, go wrong passed through his mind. Jane, a man with no real ethical commitment to the law, a free man who had made his own rules for most of his life, a man who disdained the confining collars of society - wearing a leash. Good times.


Lisbon came back from a meeting with Bertram and announced to her team "Listen up. Bertram signed off on the working, travelling and pretty well everything else in teams – that was a verbal sign-off, nothing on the record, okay, so don't anyone make me regret this by charging into anything alone. Clear?"

Lisbon next looked directly at Jane who was leaning against Cho's desk with his arms crossed in a way that seemed, she thought, entirely too self-righteous. "And Jane, you'll be teaming up with Cho, no argument - got it?" She walked over the protest he was about to make by raising her voice and ignoring his expression. "'Cause if not this whole thing is a no-go." She gave him a few seconds to say any word at all, and he looked away, for once declining to stand his ground.

Lisbon looked at them all once more. "No questions? Good." She said. "That's settled. Now we still have an investigation to do – so let's get to work finding Red John the serialand cop-killer. Rigsby, Van Pelt - anything on the other hotel guests?"

Van Pelt opened her own file where the data from the interviews Lisbon and Jane had done in San Jose she had compiled. "Most of the guests were one-nighters, and most could be eliminated as couples traveling alone or with children, families who stayed a maximum of three nights, and by the way, it seems that everybody lied about something. Mostly stuff we don't care about like someone cheating on a spouse with a hooker or dealing drugs from the hotels and motels in the area.

"But there were four other possible suspects based on the night they stayed over – in this case the Saturday night/Sunday morning of the murder, and the hotel rooms booked. One of those rooms was booked by two men two doors down from the crime room, one guy of who spent the night gambling at a local casino, leaving the other alone in the room.

"The other two guests were single males in their late thirties who each rented a room on either side of the crime room. One of those men lives in San Francisco, the other in San Jose. I figure we should check out this last guy first since he owns a house in San Jose and if so, why would he be staying at a hotel? And because he rented the room next door to the crime scene two nights in a row prior to the night of the murders –where, according to the night staff, on those nights he had in at least three to six "visitors"." Van Pelt made bunny-ear finger quotes in the air.

Lisbon nodded. "Cho, you and Rigsb-" She stopped, suddenly remembering their partnering-up agreement. "I mean Cho, you and Jane go bring this guy in. And Van Pelt, check this guy for a criminal record. Prior to the interview I want to know everything, and I mean everything about this guy. Let's get some ammo on him first."


"You want to tell us who your visitors were, Mister Coates?" Van Pelt asked.

Jane listened to her and watched the interviewee's reactions and expressions – or lack there-of. Van Pelt would swear Jane could sense a suspect's body temperature and feel his heart rate from across a dining hall. Jane hung by the wall, lurking in the room very much, Van Pelt thought, like a spider, patiently waiting for the prey to walk too close.

Van Pelt was certain that every nuance on the suspect's sweating face; every random eye-movement, and each unexplainable twitch of his frazzled nerves were noted and mentally filed away by Patrick Jane, to be later dissected like a lab frog. It was one of the reasons Van Pelt found it so difficult to talk to the man – she always had the queer feeling that Jane already knew what she was thinking anyway.

She didn't dislike Jane; he had more than made up to her for horse incident, topping off a verbal apology by bringing her a chocolate horse decorated with gumdrops and Jelly-Belly's. The gesture had revived her good will toward him. But she still didn't completely trust him either. With Jane, you never knew exactly where you stood. Not really.

"Answer the question." Jane said to the man.

Coates looked over at Jane with blunt disdain, his face silently asking the question: WhyisEliotNesshere?

Van Pelt read from the file before her. "You're a hustler, Mister Coates, isn't that correct? Women and men pay you to have sex with them. But you usually work out of a hotel in Oakland, not the Budget Inn Motel in San Jose, so why the sudden change?

Mister Coates, a black, good looking man in his early twenties sat back and crossed his arms. He was sweating but trying not to show the fear that came with it. "New owners there, so I had to switch. I also moved to San Jose five months ago to be closer to the action. More clientele, better money."

"And what about the night these murders happened? Thursday of last week? You were there, the register shows it. You signed the book and your customer paid for it on his credit card, yet you claim to have heard nothing."

"That's right, I heard nothing. Me and him was...kinda busyif you get my meaning."

Van Pelt did not give up. "You have a history of violence, Mister Coates. Four years ago you were convicted of assault in the first degree. You nearly killed a man in a bar fight by slashing his throat with a knife. You then dipped your finger in his blood and drew what you later described to the arresting officer as "war paint" on your face."

"A mistake. I was drunk and he owed me money. Pissed me off."

Jane asked from the wall. "You almost killed a man for money. How much?"

Coates turned his head away from the investigator who for the whole interview had been leaning against the wall so still and quiet.

"How much, Mister Coates?" Jane walked to a chair and angled it so he could see Van Pelt out of the corner of his eye but for the most part face the suspect and study him with an intensity of focus that soon had the man squirming. "No, because I'm really curious. I know what it is to take people for money, believe me, but I've never tried to murder anyone for it, so tell me, really - what sum is worth a man's life? Hmm?" Jane asked, watching, waiting. "A hundred dollars? Two hundred – a thousand?"

Coates' knee was swaying back and forth beneath the table.

"Are you nervous, Mister Coates? Did you think we were just going to believe you and let you go? You're not that stupid, are you? I mean, you're clearly not a genius but you were next door, onewallawayall night long, while two policemen were getting their throats slashed by a known serial killer. And you claim you heard..." Jane shook his head in the negative "nothing.Not a peep. Not a peep from a sheep of Little Bow Creep."

Coates looked back at Jane but where Coates was sweating and his knees were twitching, Jane was as cool and calm as a glassy lake. Coates looked over at the pretty red-head who had stopped talking. "Is he screwed on right, lady? I already told you – I didn't hear nothing."

"Didn't hear anything." Jane corrected him. "Anything. Don't throw insults at me until you learn how to speak properly."

Van Pelt jumped in. Jane had that look in his eye, the look that said he was fantasizing about doing some serious physical damage to their suspect before it could be proved he was a suspect. "Mister Coates, were you not also prosecuted on a charge of attempted rape of a minor six years ago?"

"Which was thrown out." Coates said, regaining some of his composure and a good share of smarm. "No evidence. 'Cause I didn't do it."

"Well, you weren't convicted," Jane argued, "but you certainly did it." He smiled, one not meant to charm or distract, merely to mock.

Van Pelt recognised that specific Jane-smile, it was the only one she hated.

"Come on, Mister Coates, be honest." Jane continued. "You have a chance to redeem yourself here – a little. Tell us the truth. You heard everything that was going on – oh you might not have perpetrated the crime or participated but you heard it for sure, only you were in the middle of a business transaction. Money was on the line."

"Redeem myself?" Coates appealed to Van Pelt. "Is he serious?"

Van Pelt had no idea what to do. She glanced to her right where behind the two-way mirror she knew Cho and Lisbon were watching and listening. Maybe they'd come and put a stop to the interview before Jane went too far - as it seemed to her he was already dancing on the edge of.

"Sure I'm serious." Jane said, his voice growing low and dangerous and Van Pelt recognised the timber of it. It was Jane's hypnotist voice - the one Jane had once upon a time used to manipulate whole crowds of people. And Jane could alter its resonance to achieve almost any end when speaking to a group or to an individual. It was low and angry and nurturing and beautiful and it registered on your skin. It followed you. It was the growling baritone of a stalking jaguar in the Amazon forest. You didn't see it, but you heard it; you felt it. It was almost sexual.

"See, one day you'll be eighty years old and sitting somewhere, maybe in a nursing home but more likely in a jail cell, and you'll be remembering this day. Thisday where you could have helped solve the murder of two policemen brutally murdered in their beds. You could have." Jane underlined. "You could have," Jane repeated again "but instead you choose to ignore the gurgled screams and the strange thumping and went about earning your living.

"You'll sit in that wheel chair or lie on that death-bed and realise "I couldhave become fully human again that day, instead of staying the heartless, cowardly, barely-human thug I am now. I couldhave done something for someone else for the first time in my life. I could have redeemed myself."."

Jane stood up, pushing back is chair with more force than was necessary, and walking to the door. "Redeemed." Jane said, taking once last look at their suspect, and then dismissing him from his thoughts. "It's a good word, isn't it?"


On the other side of the glass, Lisbon turned to Cho "Keep an eye on him."

Cho found Jane in the kitchen boiling water for what Cho suspected was badly needed strong tea, and biting his thumb-nail. "The guy's no prince, but he probably had nothing to do with the murders." Cho had listened to Jane's speech about redemption with burning fascination. It was no great stretch to infer that Jane had probably been speaking of himself as much as Coates.

"None of them did the killings, but one of them helped Red John."

"How can you be so sure?"

Jane poured steaming water into a teapot. "Because O'Laughlin, Rebecca, Sherriff Hardy, Stiles, Todd Johnson - I could go on."

"No, I got your point." Cho pulled put a chair and took a load off. "We have two other witnesses – "


"Whatever. Two others to interview. One of them might have heard or seen something."

Jane sat opposite Cho with tea-in-hand. "Oh, there's my Cho – the optimist. You're very good for me Cho."

Cho wasn't about to rise to what could be verbal bait on a hook. "Oh? How so?"

"You remind me not to be so gloomy."

Hm." Cho wasn't sure what to make of it. "Weird. But good. I'm glad you're at least considering that you could be wrong about Coates."

"I didn't say I was wrong, I'm just determined not to be so gloomy about being right."

"So you think Coates is another agent of Red John's?"

"Maybe not an agent but certainly a helper. I think Red John paid Coates to pretend to be deaf and blind."

"But Coates had visitors into his hotel room, if there was something to see or hear one of them ought to have noticed."

"Coates had guests in and out. He might have warned Red John when to be quiet and when to...indulge himself."


"Oh, knock on the wall, a phone call, there are ways to do these things."

Cho conceded it was odd that Coates heard nothing but he could simply be lying to save himself time in court. Like many street walkers and druggies, he didn't want to be bothered by the murder of two strangers, let alone cop strangers. Cho said as much to Jane.

"Sure, it's possible. Coates may not be a willing Red John agent but I believe he saw or heard something and soon we're going to learn that I'm right."

"I'm almost afraid to ask-"

Jane sipped his tea, sighing. It was good to sit and talk with Cho, and drink tea. One can easily do without so many of the daily pleasures in life as long as one had the little moments. "Red John will tell us."