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Lisbon and Jane arrive to canvass the scene of the Tolliver girl’s kidnapping. Now registered as a homicide, it’s their case. Unless the neighbor’s kid who found the body winds up being the killer as well. Jane watches as Mercy’s father, Morgan, makes a press statement. And how Mercy’s mother, Juniper, is more distressed around him. Jane makes an executive decision and, while Lisbon is distracted by the speech, goes into the house to make a pot of tea and a sandwich for himself.
When Juniper enters, he introduces himself and makes a cup of tea for her as well. He shows off his skills using what he’s deduced from the outside, photos inside, and the way the kitchen is arranged. She asks if he’s psychic, but he denies such a thing exists. In a calm voice, he asks her why she suspects her husband over the McClusky boy. She vehemently disagrees, trying to push away the teacup. Hands fidgeting. When Morgan enters, Jane stands to greet him.
“June. There you are. Hi. Who are you?”
“I'm the police. Did you kill your daughter?”
“How dare you?!” He asks, wrenching his hand away.
“I asked you a simple question, sir. Did you kill your daughter?”
“No, I did not kill my daughter!”
Juniper whimpers behind them, standing unsteadily.
“Now you get the hell out of my house! June? June, what's the matter with you?”
She looks back, and both men are staring at her with different expressions. She throws her hands over her face and runs out of the room. Morgan turns on Jane, demanding to know what gave Jane the right to come in here and accost his wife with these outrageous allegations. When Juniper returns, she’s armed with a gun. Jane steps away, hands raised in surrender, as Juniper shoots her husband several times.
She drops the gun and walks into the garden as Lisbon and a handful of officers run into the house. Jane claims to the agent in charge that it’s not as bad as it looks; she holsters her weapon and heads out to stop the wife.
Two weeks pass since the incident, and Jane remains on suspension. He stays home with Charlie and her caretaker, Carla Price. Carla understands the price of silence, of why it’s imperative that no one outside of the immediate family knows Charlie’s alive. In 2005, Red John brutally murdered Patrick’s wife Angela and left Charlotte on the verge of life. He likely meant to kill her as well, but something had interrupted his plans.
Jane’s not sure if he had simply come home earlier than expected or if a client had driven over for a reading. Whatever the reasoning, Jane cherishes it because that led to him being able to save his daughter. He called a doctor to the house, one who lives a stable life by not asking questions and simply accepting an abundance of cash to keep quiet. It had taken some time to find someone able to help her settle at the Malibu house. Not only that, but Charlie has grown to care about Carla like one of the family.
She sleeps in the guest house, and, for all intents and purposes, Carla is Patrick’s live-in therapist. They keep Charlie sequestered away, but sometimes they can sneak her down to the pier at night. Patrick has become less and less of a public figure, and when Red John is dead, Charlie will be free. Jane’s boyfriend Cho has his own apartment but sleeps over during cases that don’t take up all his time. He also keeps Jane updated with any news regarding the team – like new girl Van Pelt – or potential Red John cases. Like this new one, the CBI has caught.
“What do you know about it?” Jane asks, breath catching over the phone when his boyfriend calls to tell him.
“We’re about to board the plane now. There are two people, one named Greg Tannen, and one named Alison Randolph. Burn marks, blows to the back of the skull, bound, and stabbed. They were left on their beds, red smileys drawn in the room.”
“I’m on my way.”
Patrick hangs up the phone and his six-year-old daughter tuts at him like their roles are reversed. He raises an eyebrow, and she follows him upstairs for his wallet and jacket.
“You didn’t tell him thank you.”
“How do you know who that was? Or what we were talking about?”
“I know how your face looks when Papa Kim calls. All lovey and crinkly and stuff. But then your voice changed. It went from like you’re telling a joke or reading me a bedtime story into like, scared but also kinda mad but not mad at Papa Kim. But mad at something that he’s telling you. Like the Boogeyman who hurt Mama.” Charlie scrunches up her face as she explains.
“Very astute, Charlie,” Patrick comments with a soft smile and something else underlying.
She smiles at the compliment, and Carla walks over, placing a hand on her shoulder. Charlie wilts slightly.
“You need to thank him when you get there.”
“I will, Butternut.”
He promises the girl, kissing her forehead as he walks out the front door. A flight from Sacramento to Palm Springs will take three and a half minutes plus boarding time. If he takes a taxi from Malibu to Palm Springs and offers an extra fifty to step on it, he could meet them there for just under four hundred dollars. Once he reaches the city, he texts Cho for the address. As luck would have it, he’s just left the gate at the International Airport.
To: Jane
From: Cho
Riverside County Morgue. 800 S Redlands Ave.
To: Iceman
From: J
Ty bby
He’d like to think he’s made his boyfriend blush or at least smile, and that makes him smile in the backseat of the cab. Knowing he’s on his way somewhere that will put him on edge, it’s nice to talk to someone who understands him. Even if the humor is lost on others. He finds Cho walking up a path with Lisbon and Rigsby, handing over the money to the driver and joining them with a smile.
“Morning everybody. How was your flight?”
“Go away.,” Lisbon orders. “You're on suspension.”
“Mandated leave,” he differs, sidling beside Cho. “Ends next week.”
“So, come back next week.”
“Hot enough for you?” He ignores her.
“Which one of you jackasses told you? It was you, wasn’t it, Cho??”
“Yes, it was.”
“Of course, he called me.” He briefly links his pinky with Cho’s. “It's Red John. You can't keep me out of this. Why would you want to?”
Lisbon starts in on the same argument that they’ve had for the past couple of years, with his side being Red John is mine, and her side being Red John belongs to no one. Cho trails a finger around Jane’s wrist, silently urging him to stop, that this fight is getting him nowhere. And he concedes, Albeit reluctantly. They reach the morgue, and Lisbon tells him to come back next week because rules are rules. She turns to the nearest security guard as Cho and Rigsby hurry inside.
“Don’t let this man through.”
Jane whips out his mobile and goes over her head. He contacts Minelli, who listens to his plea and allows him on the case. He takes out his ID, and the guard also listens to Minelli and allows Jane inside. Minelli’s word over Lisbon’s. Jane quietly apologizes to her as he steps around her, standing beside Cho as the medical examiner explains how the victims died.
“Textbook Red John,” Cho mutters.
Price Randolph, Alison’s husband found the bodies coming home from the airport Sunday morning with his brother. He's a pro golfer. Cho twitches slightly, something Jane would have possibly missed had they not been so close that Jane hadn’t felt the tickle of Cho’s fingernails in his palm. The team throws out suggestions as to the connection between Alison and Greg. When Rigsby indicates they could be lovers, Patrick is quick to shut that down.
“No, he’s gay.”
The M.E. frowns and nods down the corridor, “Dr. Wagner might know what their relationship was. He's here to make a formal ID.”
Jane and the agents approach him, Lisbon taking lead.
“Dr. Wagner. Hi. I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon, California Bureau of Investigation. What's your connection to the victims?”
“Well, I work with Gregory, uh, Dr. Tannen. And the Randolph family are long-time clients of our practice.”
“Are house calls the norm at your practice?”
“No. Gregory and Alison were close friends.”
“Lovers?” Rigsby asks, glancing at Jane.
“No, he was gay. No, they were just friends. What in God's name happened to them?”
“Looks like Red John.” The tall agent mutters.
“Who’s Red John?” Wagner asks confusedly.
“We don't know who did this,” Lisbon answers shortly, trading a glare with Rigsby. “We'll be in touch, probably. Thank you.”
The three agents and Jane pack into the four-seated rental car. While Cho automatically takes the passenger seat – since Lisbon intimidates Rigsby – he takes out his phone to text Jane on the way to the Randolph house. The blonde man isn’t in the moment, sitting in the back with his mind on a past client. He was pretending to be a psychic before a live audience, everyone quiet and emotional while he fakes being in communication with Jenny’s father, apologizing for the pain he caused the family.
To: Jane
From: Cho
You’re here, not there
To: Iceman
From: J
How’d you know?
To: Jane
From: Cho
Saw your eyes gloss over in the mirror
I’ve got you
To: Iceman
From: J
You always know what to say, Kim
The ride isn’t long. Before too long, they’re standing before an overly excited CSI tech named Brett Partridge. He plays out what happened to the victims, staging how Red John was able to coerce Tannen and deal with Alison how he likes. The more Brett talks, the more Jane is sickened. Not by the portrayal of the serial killer, but by the energy he exudes. The wild, passionate energy he uses for this job.
“There she blows!” Brett leads them into the bedroom. “The classic Red John smiley face. Drawn in the victim's blood clockwise with three fingers of his right hand wearing a rubber kitchen glove. I'm stoked to finally see one in the flesh.”
To: Iceman
From: J
This isn’t Red John
To: Jane
From: Cho
Elaborate?
To: Iceman
From: J
Not showy enough
1st thing you see with RJ is the smiley
Then the body. Always
This is the opposite
Cho looks around the room, not paying attention to Partridge’s words or his depiction of the slaughter. He checks what Jane’s said and nods.
To: Jane
From: Cho
Do you want to leave?
Or work the case anyway?
To: Iceman
From: J
I’ll work it
But I need to get out of here
To: Jane
From: Cho
Bad memories?
To: Iceman
From: J
Partridge is a ghoul
If he doesn’t get horny reading Fangoria, I’m Britney Spears
Cho chokes on a laugh when he receives the text. Jane smirks slightly as he turns and walks out the door. Lisbon opens her mouth to call after him, but Cho beats her to it.
“Jane and I are taking a taxi to the sheriff’s office. He still hasn’t met Van Pelt.”
Lisbon rolls her eyes but nods and lets them leave. In the back seat, Jane reaches across the middle bump for Cho’s hand; the latter takes it. It’s calming to be able to reach out. To hold hands where no one can see or judge. They don’t face each other, and they don’t talk during the ride, but being with each other makes the men feel better about the situation.
“Good morning,” Jane strolls over to the young redhead while Cho goes over what he’s learned with the sheriff.
“Can I help you?”
“You must be Van Pelt. A pleasure. Patrick Jane.”
“Oh, hi!” Her voice warms instantly. “Good to meet you! Agent Cho said you'd left town.”
“No. Nowhere to go.”
“Okay. Uh...do you want that desk over there or this one? I mean, that one gets more light.”
“That one.” He flashes a smile. “More light, by all means.”
He shrugs off his outer jacket, draping it across the desk by the window. Cho collects a laptop from the man in charge so he, Jane, and Van Pelt can run through the crime scene footage from previous Red John cases. Each one shows the smiley face first and then the body. Jane flexes his hand below the desk, and his boyfriend reflexively catches it, squeezing it for comfort.
To: Boss
From: Cho
Went through tapes
This is a copycat
To: KC
From: Lisbon
Is Jane staying on?
To: Boss
From: Cho
Yes
To: KC
From: Lisbon
I sent Rigsby to talk with Price.
Meet him at the villa.
She adds the address, and Cho shows it to Jane, silently asking if he wants to tag along. He does and grabs his jacket. Tag is also there, both men watching and rewatching a video of Alison. Jane starts to wander while Cho and Rigsby dive into the grilling. When Price interrupts, claiming that Alison was a precious angel, Jane and Rigsby hide their smirks after Cho deadpans, “Yes, sir. Good-looking woman.”
The agents get an alibi for the husband: he was with a massage therapist, Lady something. Rigsby goes solo to the massage therapist after Cho sends the alibi to Lisbon. She sends him to Dr. Wagner’s office, and Jane can choose who he wants to tag along with. It’s Cho.
“Any ideas?” Cho asks as they exit the taxi.
They never talk about cases while riding public transportation. Red John’s minions could be anywhere, even when tackling imitators.
“Tag, maybe. But it’s more of a gut feeling. The way he was looking between Price and Alison when they were watching the video… they might have been lovers.”
“Might?” Cho asks teasingly.
“Might,” Jane agrees. “I don’t know everything off the bat.”
Cho chuckles slightly then holds the door open for the consultant. They make introductions again, and Dr. Wagner begins looking up records on his computer. Jane begins prowling through the office, curious about the African décor. Wagner explains how they’re a full-service private practice, delivering primary care, cosmetic surgery, psychotherapy, sports medicine, what have you.
“What’s the African connection?” Jane asks, prodding a mask on the wall.
“It's what this place is all about. Half of our profits go to building and staffing basic health clinics in poor African communities. Well, here we are. It's a thin file. Alison was a healthy young woman.”
“Psychiatric history?” Cho asks.
“She didn't have one.”
“STDs? Abortions? Unexplained injuries?”
“No. Aside from routine check-ups with me, it's all Dr. Tannen. All aesthetic work.”
Jane nods, maneuvering through the bookshelves. One title catches his eye: Personality and Deviance by Shlomo Glora Shoham. Cho continues his interrogation.
“How was her marriage do you think? Happy? Unhappy?”
“About six months ago, Dr. Tannen asked my advice. Alison had asked him to get her a year's supply of birth control pills off the books, which is strictly against the AMA code. I said sure, do it. I mean, better us than some Tijuana drugstore.”
“Why the secrecy?”
“Price Randolph had a vasectomy. April of '02.”
Jane chuckles to himself. He was right. Alison was having an affair, most likely with Tag. Wagner scrawls his name and mobile number on the back of his business card, handing it to Cho, and saying if there’s anything else he can do to call. Cho appreciates it, and Jane smiles placatingly. Cho takes out his phone when they climb into the taxi.
To: Jane
From: Cho
You’re antsy. Thoughts?
To: Iceman
From: J
He didn’t know who Red John was
To: Jane
From: Cho
A lot of people don’t
To: Iceman
From: J
Yes but he has books on criminal psychiatry that have chapters on him
And he’s the family doctor
It would be so easy for him to shift the blame on Tag
I almost thought I was right until I saw Personality and Deviance
Almost the entire book is about Red John killings
Cho catches Jane’s eyes in the rearview mirror and sends their conversation to Lisbon. Hours later, the team eats at a seafood restaurant for dinner. Jane and Cho like Wagner for it, while Rigsby thinks it’s the husband, Lisbon has her share of suspicions about Tag, and Van Pelt is focusing more on her food than the case. Jane removes an unused straw from its paper while Cho and Rigsby talk golf stats. He makes it follow his finger and has it roll across the table as though pulled by magnetism.
“How’d you do that?” Van Pelt smiles from across the table.
“Telekinesis.”
“He blew on it,” Cho answers from beside him.
“That is another way to do it.” Jane concedes with a small smile.
Van Pelt watches as he continues then clears her throat to ask a burning question.
“Mr. Jane, I have a question regarding your previous career path.”
Jane’s eye twitches a little, but only Cho sees. “Fire away.”
“When you met with other psychics, real psychics, could they tell you were just pretending?”
“There's no such thing as real psychics.”
“I beg to differ. My cousin Yolanda is a psychic.”
“Your cousin is deluded or dishonest or both.”
Rigsby feels the need to stop Jane’s warpath, but Van Pelt keeps pressing. She believes in her faith, but it’s getting Jane riled up. Cho silently moves his hand to Jane’s knee, squeezing lightly to affirm his side. Their heated exchange – which Lisbon completely ignores – concludes with Van Pelt shaking her head in pity.
“You poor, sad man. The kingdom of God is a real place.”
Jane folds his napkin on his plate and stands from the table, Cho’s hand falling to the side. “Okay. Later tonight when Rigsby asks you to come back to his hotel room...”
Rigsby chokes at the insinuation as Van Pelt raises both eyebrows with an excuse me, but Jane continues talking.
“… say yes. I know you were planning on refusing him very curtly. First week on the job, you want to set a tone. No money business. But why not? Rigsby is an excellent lover, I'm sure. Tough, but fair, right? Right?”
“The kingdom of God is a real place, Mr. Jane. And you have an immortal soul.”
Jane shakes his head. “Oh, I do so hope you're wrong.”
He and Cho walk into the elevator, leaving the others at the table. They don’t speak until they’re in their hotel room with the television on.
“You’ve got to stop letting them get to you, Pat.”
Jane’s shoulders slump at the familiar nickname, and he nods as they undress.
“I know. But psychic accusations. Red John copycats. It gets under my skin…”
“And I’m here to keep it at bay.”
The men undress into boxers and tank tops, turning on a documentary about cheetahs. Cho settles nicely against the pillows surrounding the headboard, and Jane settles between his boyfriend’s legs. Cho begins to play with Jane’s hair, and they fall into a soothing lull. At one point, Jane hums a lullaby under his breath, and Cho’s fingers start massaging Jane’s scalp as a response. Both men miss Charlie. Cho has fallen asleep when an envelope is slipped underneath the door. Jane carefully slips away and picks it up.
A red smiley face is drawn on the backside, and all the color drains from Jane’s face. He drops the envelope and throws open the door, not noticing when it hits the wall. He races after the person who left the letter, falling down the stairs in his haste. When he gets up, he runs to the parking lot, but the perpetrator is gone. He punches the wall outside the staircase and reenters the building. He meets Cho on the staircase and lets himself fall into the shorter man’s worried arms.
“What happened, babe?”
Jane lets out a slow breath and then explains the letter he saw. Cho’s breath hitches at the thought of Jane chasing down the criminal without a plan. Instead of voicing his opinion, he pats Jane’s back and speaks gradually but confidently.
“Where’s the letter now?”
“Hmm? I dropped it in our room.”
Cho nods and offers his shoulder to help Jane back upstairs. Back in their room, Cho picks up the letter from the floor and leads his boyfriend back to the bed. Once they’re sitting together, Cho opens the envelope, and they read the letter.
Greetings old friend. It's been a while. I hope you are keeping well. I am thriving and happy. I have 11 wives now and will soon begin courting number 12. Why can't you catch me? You must feel so powerless and stupid and sad. Oh well. All the best, Red John.
“I know you don’t want to hear it,” Kimball sighs, a hand on Patrick’s leg, “but it sounds like the real deal.”
Jane shakes his head and stands up. Cho watches him, thinking he might start pacing. Instead, he walks to the other side of the bed and digs through Cho’s pants. He pulls out the business card that Wagner gave him and returns to the bed.
“Look. The note is handwritten. So is Wagner’s number.”
The digraph is wrapped like a bubble on the ‘w’s, and the’2’s have loops on both the top and bottom of the numbers. All five times the number is used.
“Damn…” Cho sighs. “I’ll tell Lisbon first thing in the morning.”
The men set the evidence on the nightstand and return to their bed. Feeling protective after the note, Kimball decides to be the big spoon tonight. He wraps his arms steadily around Patrick, leaving a trail of reassuring kisses across his neck as he falls asleep.
They awake a little past five in the morning to a text from Lisbon.
To: Cho
From: Lisbon
M.E. found a hair in Randolph’s blood.
Matches the brother.
To: Boss
From: Cho
Wait.
We found new evidence last night.
To: Cho
From: Lisbon
Meet us downstairs by the restaurant.
Cho nudges his partner, knowing he’s awake. Jane doesn’t want to budge, but the events of last night wash over him, and he reluctantly moves to his feet. Before they leave the room, however, Patrick grabs Kimball’s hand, tugging him close.
“Thank you, Kimball.”
The Asian man isn’t quite sure what he’s being thanked for, but the question falls short on his lips when Patrick takes over. The kiss is soft but comforting and genuine, his calloused hands plastering Kimball’s back, pushing him as close as possible. Kimball sighs lightly into the embrace seconds before Patrick relinquishes his hold.
“You’re welcome, Patrick.” Kimball gives him a smile reserved for their privacy. “I’m here for you.”
The agent and consultant join the other agents downstairs and show their evidence. The letter and the business card. Not to mention the Red John chapters in the book he found. Not wanting to tear apart the victim’s family any farther, Lisbon agrees. Van Pelt takes the middle seat of the rental car on the way to Dr. Wagner’s office. Needing to take him in, they have no room in the car, Lisbon announces.
“We’ll take a taxi,” Cho tells her.
They can tell it isn’t what she wants, but she doesn’t disagree. Wagner is given the middle seat, and Lisbon sits alone in the driver’s seat. Cho and Jane arrive a little later, after stopping by a Starbucks for caffeine and a pack of donuts for a closed case.
“… the magician’s assistant,” Wagner is explaining in the interrogation room. “Just a distraction. If only Tannen died, the police would have been all over this place, wouldn't they? Truly, is killing two any worse than killing one? When so many lives are at stake. I don't think so.”
“He’s the poor, sad man,” Jane claims, sipping his tea through a straw, and spooking Van Pelt from behind her.
“Mister Jane, you startled me.”
“Just call him Jane,” Cho comments offhandedly. “He doesn’t like the ‘mister’.”
She ducks her head apologetically. “Sorry about that… Jane.”
He waves her off and gestures instead to the box on the table.
“Case closed donut?”
“We usually eat pizza,” Lisbon tells him, walking out with an arrested Wagner.
“Duly noted.”