Chapter 5: First Day at CBI - Part 1
The CBI bullpen hummed with controlled chaos.
Phones rang, keyboards clacked, agents moved between desks with files and coffee cups. I stood at the entrance in Aunt Helen's designer suit—charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, probably worth more than most agents' monthly rent—and felt every eye in the room track my arrival.
Teresa Lisbon looked up from her desk, gestured me over. Her team clustered around her like planets orbiting a star.
"Everyone, this is Detective Tedd Colen," she said. "Transferred from Sacramento PD by Governor's recommendation. He'll be working major cases with us starting today."
Wayne Rigsby stood first, offering his hand. Big guy, solid grip, genuine smile that reached his eyes.
"Welcome aboard. Rigsby."
[ **ANALYZING: WAYNE RIGSBY** ]
[ **FRIENDLINESS: GENUINE 83%** ]
[ **SIZING YOU UP: MILD** ]
[ **NO HOSTILITY DETECTED** ]
[ **ENERGY: 94/100** ]
Kimball Cho nodded from his desk, didn't stand. The acknowledgment was minimal but felt respectful somehow.
"Cho."
Grace Van Pelt practically bounced over, blonde ponytail swinging, hand extended.
"Grace Van Pelt. It's nice to have another detective on the team!"
Her enthusiasm was infectious. I shook her hand, returned the smile.
And then Patrick Jane unfolded himself from the brown leather couch.
He moved like a cat, all languid grace and predatory focus. Three-piece suit, vest unbuttoned, that same curious expression from last week plastered across his face. He extended his hand.
"Patrick Jane. Consultant." His smile was sharp. "I'm very interested in what makes you special."
Our hands met.
The System exploded.
[ **WARNING: OBSERVANT SUBJECT DETECTED** ]
[ **RED HERRING PROJECTOR: MAXIMUM OUTPUT** ]
[ **ANALYZING: PATRICK JANE** ]
[ **ERROR: CONTRADICTORY DATA** ]
[ **CONFIDENCE: 34% - CRITICALLY LOW** ]
[ **SUBJECT ATTEMPTING ACTIVE READ** ]
[ **DEFENSE PROTOCOLS: OVERCOMPENSATING** ]
[ **ENERGY: 91/100** ]
My face betrayed me. I felt the muscles twitch, pulling my expression into a smile when I meant to look serious. Then my eyebrows furrowed inappropriately. Then I smiled again, wider, like a malfunctioning animatronic.
Jane's eyes narrowed. His grip on my hand tightened slightly.
Lisbon stepped closer. "Colen? You okay?"
I forced my face neutral through sheer willpower, released Jane's hand.
"Fine. Just... first day nerves."
[ **RED HERRING PROJECTOR: STABILIZING** ]
[ **ENERGY: 89/100** ]
"That was a disaster. Jane knows something's wrong now."
But when I looked at him, his expression had shifted from suspicion to absolute delight. Like he'd just found a new toy.
"First day nerves," he repeated, still smiling. "Of course."
He didn't believe me for a second.
Lisbon clapped her hands once. "Alright, everyone get settled. We've got a fresh case."
The moment broke. The team dispersed to their desks, and I claimed the empty one next to Rigsby. Jane returned to his couch, lying down with hands folded, but his eyes stayed on me.
"He's going to be a problem."
The murder scene was a mansion in East Sacramento, gated community, the kind of house that screamed old money. White columns, manicured lawn, circular driveway with a fountain. Crime scene tape marked the entrance.
Victim was Gerald Morrison—no relation to Detective Morrison from my old precinct—fifty-eight, investment banker. Found in his study with a single gunshot wound to the chest. The wife discovered the body when she came home from her book club.
We stood in the study while techs processed the scene. Blood pooled on the expensive carpet beneath the leather chair. The desk was neat, organized, nothing disturbed.
Jane wandered the room like he was shopping for furniture, touching things, examining photographs. Lisbon shot him warning looks, but he ignored them.
I activated the Profile Generator on the widow—Claire Morrison, sitting in the living room giving her statement to Van Pelt.
[ **ANALYZING: CLAIRE MORRISON** ]
[ **CONFIDENCE: 73%** ]
[ **GRIEF: GENUINE 87%** ]
[ **FINANCIAL RELIEF: 62%** ]
[ **STRESS MARKERS: HIGH BUT CONTROLLED** ]
[ **MARRIAGE SATISFACTION: LOW (HISTORICAL)** ]
[ **ENERGY: 86/100** ]
"She loved him once, but that died years ago. And she's relieved about something—probably money."
Jane stopped in front of a bookshelf, pulled out a romance novel, flipped through pages.
"They slept in separate bedrooms," he announced. "For at least two years."
Lisbon turned. "How do you know that?"
"Her book club selections." He held up the novel. "All romance, all about rekindling lost passion. And the master bedroom has no personal items belonging to her—no jewelry box, no lotions, nothing. Guest room down the hall has all her things."
Cho checked his notepad. "Victim's financials show marriage counseling payments. Started eighteen months ago, stopped six months back."
Jane smiled. "They gave up."
I looked at the desk, at the framed photos. One showed the couple twenty years younger, genuinely happy. The recent photos had space between them, bodies angled away from each other.
"The marriage was dead," I said. "But she didn't kill him."
Jane's head snapped toward me. "And how do you know that?"
"Careful. Can't reveal the System."
"Her statement mentioned book club ended at nine. Body was discovered at nine-forty-five. Unless she hired someone, the timeline's too tight for her to have pulled this off and maintained composure."
Lisbon nodded. "Alibis check out. Five witnesses place her at the book club until nine-fifteen."
Jane circled back to me, studying my face with uncomfortable intensity.
"Interesting. You reached the same conclusion about the marriage that I did." His tone was light, but the question underneath was sharp. "Different reasoning, but same result. That's... unusual."
[ **RED HERRING PROJECTOR: ACTIVE** ]
[ **SUBJECT ATTEMPTING DETAILED ANALYSIS** ]
[ **DEFENSE HOLDING BUT ENERGY COST INCREASING** ]
[ **ENERGY: 83/100** ]
Rigsby cut the tension. "So if not the wife, who?"
The investigation pulled us back into motion. We spent the next four hours interviewing colleagues, checking financial records, and running down leads. Gerald Morrison had enemies—business rivals, angry clients, an ex-partner who'd sued him three years ago.
Jane performed his usual magic show, reading people like open books, making connections that seemed impossible. But I kept pace. The System fed me data—stress levels, deception markers, emotional states—and I translated it into investigative insights.
By the time we arrested the ex-partner that evening, Lisbon was looking at me differently. Respect mixed with curiosity.
We returned to headquarters at eight PM, exhausted but satisfied. The case had closed clean.
I made my move while Jane was getting coffee.
The brown leather couch sat empty, and I knew from the show this was sacred territory. Nobody sat on Patrick Jane's couch. It was an unspoken rule, something the team had learned through trial and error.
Which made it the perfect place to establish dominance.
I dropped onto the leather, leaned back, and pulled out my phone. Casual. Comfortable. Like I owned the place.
Jane returned three minutes later, cup in hand, and froze.
"That's my couch."
I looked up, feigning confusion. "I don't see your name on it."
Rigsby's typing stopped. Van Pelt's phone call paused mid-sentence. Cho's eyes shifted from his computer screen to us. Even Lisbon glanced over from her office.
The entire bullpen held its breath.
Jane's expression cycled through surprise, annoyance, and then—unexpectedly—delighted amusement. He set his coffee on the nearest desk and sat on the couch's armrest, deliberately crowding into my space.
"Interesting choice," he said softly. "Most people respect boundaries."
"I'm not most people."
"Clearly." His smile widened. "Though I have to wonder—is this confidence or ignorance? Did you not know this is my couch, or did you know and decide to challenge me anyway?"
[ **ANALYZING: PATRICK JANE** ]
[ **CONFIDENCE: 41% - STILL CRITICALLY LOW** ]
[ **AMUSEMENT: DETECTED** ]
[ **CURIOSITY: MAXIMUM** ]
[ **CHALLENGE ACCEPTED: CONFIRMED** ]
[ **ENERGY: 80/100** ]
"He's not angry. He's intrigued."
"I knew," I said, meeting his eyes. "I decided it didn't matter."
For a moment, nobody moved. Then Jane laughed—genuine, warm, the sound filling the bullpen.
"Oh, you're going to be fun." He stood, grabbed his coffee, and gestured magnanimously at the couch. "Enjoy. But tomorrow, we'll see who gets here first."
He walked away whistling, and the bullpen slowly resumed normal function.
Rigsby leaned over, voice low. "Nobody sits on Jane's couch. Ever."
"I just did."
"Yeah." He grinned. "I noticed. You got guts, Colen."
Van Pelt approached, eyes bright with barely suppressed laughter. "That was amazing. He looked so confused."
Lisbon emerged from her office, arms crossed, but her expression wasn't angry—just evaluative.
"My office. Now."
I followed her in, and she closed the door.
"You've been here one day," she said, leaning against her desk. "And you're already starting wars?"
"Not a war. Just... establishing that I'm not intimidated."
She studied me for a long moment. "Jane doesn't work well with people who treat him like he's fragile. He needs push-back. Someone willing to call him on his bullshit."
"That's why you brought me here?"
"The Governor brought you here. But if you can handle Jane..." She shrugged. "That makes my job easier."
[ **ANALYZING: TERESA LISBON** ]
[ **APPROVAL: 67%** ]
[ **TESTING YOU: ACTIVE** ]
[ **PROTECTIVE OF JANE: CONFIRMED** ]
[ **ENERGY: 77/100** ]
"I can handle him," I said.
"We'll see." She opened the door, dismissing me. "Good work today. First case closed clean. Keep that up."
Back at my desk, I packed up for the evening. The bullpen had mostly cleared out, just a few agents finishing paperwork. Jane had reclaimed his couch, lying with his eyes closed, but I knew he wasn't sleeping.
The System provided a summary without being asked.
[ **DAY SUMMARY: FIRST CBI CASE - SUCCESS** ]
[ **PATRICK JANE - SUBJECT REMAINS UNREADABLE** ]
[ **CONTRADICTORY DATA SUGGESTS EITHER MASTER DECEIVER OR GENUINE ANOMALY** ]
[ **RECOMMENDATION: TREAT AS PEER, NOT DATA POINT** ]
[ **PROFILE GENERATOR ACCURACY: 69% (STABLE)** ]
[ **ENERGY: 75/100** ]
I smiled at the screen. The couch war had been deliberate, calculated. Jane needed to see me as an equal, not another subordinate who deferred to his genius. And judging by his reaction, the plan had worked.
Tomorrow would be interesting.
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