A Mentalist fanfiction (Patrick Jane)

Oh Dear - A Mentalist fanfiction (Patrick Jane)

LISBON'S P.O.V

“Okay guys fill me in on yesterdays suspects – and where the hell is Jane?” I snapped, glaring at his empty couch and then around at my team members.

“Called to say he was taking a personal day,” Van Pelt answered eagerly from my side, and something in my stomach twitched at the fact that he hadn't called me, but the office. “Something about pursuing an independent line of investigation.” She imitated his airy posture and I smiled briefly. Then I realized what she'd said and rolled my eyes wearily.

“That means trouble. If he calls anyone with a stupid plan, tell me first and don't do anything.” Everyone nodded and I sighed. Jane will trick someone into something somehow.

“Uh, boss?” I snapped my attention to Rigsby and away from pending doom as I raised my eyebrows.

“Yeah, our suspects. Can we get to Montoya?” I asked, glancing over to Cho who I imagined had the most information on him.

“No,” Cho stated, and I nodded sadly, “His house is totally swept and empty and we can't find any traces of where he may have gone, train or plane tickets bought in cash recently, nothing.” I sighed.

“And Waller? Rigsby, Van Pelt, did you manage to pump any information out of him?” I faced Rigsby as I said this, because he looked desperate to help, and waited with an air of expectancy.

“Only a repeat of what Summer said; Charlotte's been big on the cocaine scene for months now boss, there's nothing that points to her sister being a user except for the fact that traces of it were found all over and throughout her body. She was a well and true and addict. He alibied out for the murder, but we're working him for the name of Charlotte's dealer.”

“Good,” I muttered, “Charge and book him for the lab in his house when you're done. Oh...” I thought for a second, “Wait until his lawyer's here. I don't want a mess.”

“Sure thing boss.” Rigsby pushed up from his chair, leaving his jacket swinging over the back, and strode purposefully towards the interview rooms.

“Anything on Norwell?” I said in an almost whiny tone, desperation coloring my voice without my permission. “What did you get at her house?” Cho looked back into his notes briefly.

“Someone had been there recently, took a rucksack and clothes. We're running anything that looked disturbed since our first search for prints, in case she had an accomplice in her escape.” My mind flashed to Jane momentarily and I pushed that thought away; I had said I believed him, and I meant it. “Do you want to release a statement to the press that we're looking for her, maybe a picture?” I chewed my lip.

“I'll think about it. Were there any signs at her place as to where she's gone?”

“Nope,” Che muttered, popping the 'p' slightly, and I suddenly realized that he was giving off a tiny vibration of happy vibes, rather than his usual deadpan. I hid a small smile but otherwise had no reaction.

“Charlotte kept a low profile her whole life, wasn't really the type to mingle.” He said the word as if it were foreign. “It looked like she hardly knew anyone, let alone had a close friend that she could go and stay with.”

“All the same...” I murmured, eyes sweeping over Jane's empty couch and my team members thoughtfully. “So we're back to square one. No leads, no suspects, no new information.” I frowned irritably.

“Well...” Spinning to look at Van Pelt, her expression changed abruptly to sheepish, almost embarrassed. “There's Jane's theory.”

I could already feel a head ache.