Chapter 13: The Jane Deduction
October 15, 2008 - Morning - CBI Headquarters
The couch was mine at six forty-five AM.
I stretched across the brown leather, laptop balanced on my stomach, reviewing Miranda's case file for the third time. The bullpen was empty except for a janitor vacuuming in the distance and the perpetual hum of fluorescent lights.
Jane arrived at seven-thirty.
He didn't protest when he saw me occupying his territory. Didn't make a joke or stage dramatic outrage. Just grabbed a chair, dragged it next to the couch, and sat down.
Then he stared at me.
Not reading—just observing. Clinical. Analytical. The kind of attention that made skin crawl.
I kept my eyes on the laptop screen. "Can I help you?"
"You're investigating something off the books." His tone was conversational, almost friendly. "Something personal. Probably related to the woman you're seeing."
My fingers stopped typing. The Red Herring Projector activated immediately.
[ **WARNING: ACTIVE ANALYSIS DETECTED** ]
[ **RED HERRING PROJECTOR: MAXIMUM OUTPUT** ]
[ **JANE ATTEMPTING COMPREHENSIVE READ** ]
[ **ENERGY: 65/100** ]
"He's fishing. Stay calm."
"That's quite the assumption," I said.
"It's a deduction based on observable evidence." Jane leaned back, fingers steepled. "You've been staying late at the office when there are no active cases. I checked—you accessed the cold case database four times last week. And your attention is divided in a very specific way. You're looking for something."
The accuracy was unsettling. I closed the laptop, sat up, met his eyes.
"Even if I was, why would it concern you?"
"Because I'm curious. And because..." He paused, expression shifting to something almost vulnerable. "Because investigating cold cases for personal reasons is dangerous. Emotionally, psychologically. I have experience in that area."
[ **ANALYZING: PATRICK JANE** ]
[ **CONFIDENCE: 47% - STILL LOW** ]
[ **WARNING GENUINE: 89%** ]
[ **PERSONAL TRAUMA REFERENCE DETECTED** ]
[ **SUBJECT PROJECTING OWN EXPERIENCE** ]
[ **ENERGY: 63/100** ]
"His family. He's talking about Red John without naming him."
The observation room felt smaller suddenly. Jane's usual playfulness had evaporated, replaced by something raw and honest. This wasn't curiosity—it was concern.
I made a decision. Limited honesty, carefully controlled.
"Someone I care about lost a family member. Unsolved case from years ago. I'm looking into it quietly."
Jane's expression softened immediately. "Ah. The noble knight protecting his lady's honor."
"Something like that."
"What happened to the family member?"
"Murdered. 2003. Local police investigated, case went cold after six months."
Jane nodded slowly, understanding more than I'd said. "And you think you can succeed where they failed."
"I think I can try."
"Be careful." His voice dropped, deadly serious. "Cold cases are cold for a reason. Sometimes it's because evidence was lost or mishandled. But sometimes it's because the killer is very, very good at what they do. The kind of person who doesn't make mistakes."
The weight behind those words was immense. Jane wasn't just giving advice—he was sharing hard-won knowledge from his own hunt for Red John.
"I'll be careful," I said.
"Will you?" He studied me. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're becoming emotionally invested in solving this. And emotional investment clouds judgment. Makes you vulnerable."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Always." A sad smile. "My wife and daughter were murdered by a serial killer. I've spent years hunting him. And I can tell you with absolute certainty—this path you're on? It changes you. Make sure you're ready for that."
The confession hung between us. Everyone on the team knew Jane's family had been murdered, but he rarely discussed it openly. This felt like trust, or at least acknowledgment that we were fighting similar battles.
"I appreciate the warning," I said quietly.
Jane stood, reclaimed his couch by sitting at the opposite end. "For what it's worth, I hope you find answers. Both for yourself and for her."
"Thanks."
"Now get off my couch. You've had it long enough."
The moment broke. I laughed despite myself, gathering my laptop. "It'll be mine again tomorrow."
"We'll see about that."
October 17, 2008 - Afternoon
The wealthy victim's financial schemes were labyrinthine.
Donald Whitmore, fifty-six, found dead in his home office with a knife in his back. The initial investigation revealed shell companies, offshore accounts, and a dozen people with solid motives for murder.
Lisbon assigned the case to Jane and me specifically. "You two actually cooperate when you're not fighting over furniture. Let's see what you can do."
We worked the case like a surgical team.
Jane read the suspects—their body language, verbal tics, emotional states. I ran the data through the System, analyzing financial patterns and deception markers. Where Jane saw human behavior, I saw numbers and probabilities. Together, we built a complete picture.
The wife was the obvious suspect—Whitmore had been planning to divorce her, cutting her off from millions. But Jane's read of her grief was genuine, and my Lie Probability Gauge confirmed it.
[ **ANALYZING: MARGARET WHITMORE** ]
[ **LIE PROBABILITY: 18% - MOSTLY TRUTHFUL** ]
[ **GRIEF: AUTHENTIC** ]
[ **FINANCIAL CONCERN: PRESENT BUT SECONDARY** ]
[ **ENERGY: 59/100** ]
The business partner showed different patterns. Nervous, evasive, constantly checking his phone. Jane noticed the micro-expressions when discussing recent transactions. I noticed the financial transfers that didn't match his stated timeline.
"He's hiding something," Jane said.
"Embezzlement," I confirmed, pulling up account records. "Two million over eighteen months. Whitmore discovered it three days before his death."
We brought the partner in. Jane performed his usual magic—building rapport, creating false security, then dismantling it with surgical precision. I provided the hard evidence, each financial discrepancy highlighted and irrefutable.
The confession came in under two hours.
Lisbon watched from the observation room, arms crossed, expression approving. When we emerged, she actually smiled.
"You two actually work well together when you're not fighting over furniture."
Jane grinned. "Oh, we're still fighting. We're just professionals about it."
"The couch war continues," I confirmed.
Rigsby laughed from his desk. "They solved a murder in thirty-six hours and they're still talking about the couch."
"Priorities," Jane said seriously. "The couch is important."
The bullpen settled into comfortable chaos—paperwork, phone calls, Van Pelt arguing with someone about evidence logs. Normal CBI operations. But something had shifted between Jane and me. The rivalry was still there, sharp and entertaining, but underneath it was something closer to mutual respect.
He'd trusted me with his family story. I'd trusted him with my off-books investigation. The foundation for actual partnership was forming.
October 17, 2008 - Evening
My phone buzzed at seven PM.
Lorelei: Found three similar cases from 2002-2005. All have the same signature elements. This is a pattern.
I stared at the text. Three more cases. The pattern was bigger than I'd thought, stretching back further, encompassing more victims.
Me: Can we meet this weekend? I want to show you everything.
Lorelei: Saturday? Your place?
Me: Absolutely. I'll have everything organized.
Lorelei: Thank you. For doing this. For caring.
Me: Always.
I set the phone down and pulled up the encrypted files. Five victims total including Miranda—spanning 2002 to 2005. All women, all murdered in similar fashion, all with cases that went cold.
Red John's work. I knew it with the certainty that came from fragmented show knowledge, even if I couldn't remember specific episode details.
The System provided analysis without prompting.
[ **PATTERN ANALYSIS: 5 CONFIRMED CASES** ]
[ **GEOGRAPHIC SPREAD: NORTHERN CALIFORNIA** ]
[ **TIME GAPS: 6-14 MONTHS BETWEEN MURDERS** ]
[ **VICTIM COMMONALITY: PENDING INVESTIGATION** ]
[ **RECOMMENDATION: SEARCH FOR CONNECTION BETWEEN VICTIMS** ]
[ **ENERGY: 56/100** ]
"The women's shelters. Lorelei mentioned Miranda volunteered. Need to check the other victims."
I spent the next two hours cross-referencing victim backgrounds. Two of the other women had volunteered at domestic violence shelters. A third had worked as a counselor at a women's crisis center. The pattern was emerging.
Red John targeted women who helped other women. Who provided safety to those fleeing abuse. The cruelty was deliberate, symbolic.
"He's not just killing randomly. He's sending a message. Punishing those who protect others."
My phone buzzed again. Text from Jane: Whatever you're working on, remember—obsession is a double-edged sword. It can drive you to success or destroy you. Often both.
I didn't respond. The warning was clear, well-intentioned, and absolutely accurate. I was becoming obsessed with preventing Lorelei's recruitment by Red John, with solving Miranda's murder, with changing a timeline I barely understood.
But what choice did I have? Let events play out as canon dictated? Watch Lorelei become Red John's accomplice years from now, then die trying to help Patrick Jane?
No. Not if I could prevent it.
The System chimed softly.
[ **QUEST PROGRESS: PREVENT LORELEI'S RED JOHN RECRUITMENT** ]
[ **STATUS: 51% COMPLETE** ]
[ **INVESTIGATIVE PARTNERSHIP: ESTABLISHED** ]
[ **PATTERN IDENTIFIED: SUCCESS** ]
[ **NEXT MILESTONE: IDENTIFY VICTIM CONNECTION** ]
[ **ENERGY: 54/100** ]
Saturday couldn't come fast enough. Lorelei and I would go through every case file, looking for the connection I knew existed but hadn't yet proven. The women's shelters were the key—I just needed to confirm it.
And then we'd start narrowing down suspects. Finding patterns in the pattern. Getting closer to a killer who, in canon, wouldn't be caught for years.
"I'm coming for you. And you don't even know I exist yet."
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