Chapter 11: Building Connection - Part 2
October 6, 2008 - CBI Headquarters
The cold case database was a digital graveyard.
Thousands of files, decades of unsolved murders, rapes, disappearances. Each entry represented someone's worst day frozen in bureaucratic amber. I scrolled through 2003, searching for a specific name while pretending to research a current case.
The bullpen hummed around me. Rigsby argued with a witness over the phone. Van Pelt typed furiously at her desk. Jane occupied his couch, reading what looked like a romance novel. Normal Tuesday afternoon at CBI.
My screen showed entirely different work.
Miranda Martins. Age 28. Found dead in her apartment in a small town called Citrus Heights on March 14, 2003. The case file loaded slowly, images appearing in painful increments.
The first crime scene photo made my stomach drop.
She was positioned carefully. Too carefully. Arms at specific angles, body arranged with deliberate precision. Not the chaos of a crime of passion, but the calculated staging of someone treating murder like performance art.
The System activated automatically.
[ **ANALYZING: CRIME SCENE DOCUMENTATION** ]
[ **VICTIM POSITIONING: RITUALISTIC ELEMENTS DETECTED** ]
[ **PROBABILITY: 78% - MATCHES DOCUMENTED SERIAL KILLER PATTERNS** ]
[ **CROSS-REFERENCING SIMILAR CASES...** ]
[ **ENERGY: 76/100** ]
Three more cases appeared in the System's analysis. Different victims, different years, different locations across California. But the positioning was similar. The staging deliberate. And none of them officially connected.
"Red John. This is his work. I know it is, even if I can't remember the specifics."
The fragmented show knowledge provided confirmation without details. Patrick Jane had hunted Red John for years, tracking patterns local police missed. These cases would eventually be linked, but not yet. In 2008, they were just unsolved murders in a state full of unsolved murders.
Miranda Martins had been raped and killed. The local police had investigated for six months before closing the case. No suspects. No witnesses. No forensic evidence that led anywhere.
And her sister had been carrying that weight for five years.
I downloaded the file to an encrypted drive, closed the database, and returned to my actual case work. The knowledge sat heavy in my chest—Miranda's murder was Red John's work, and I had no way to prove it.
Not yet.
October 8, 2008 - Evening - Sacramento River Waterfront
The sunset turned the river gold.
Lorelei walked beside me along the waterfront path, hands in her jacket pockets, hair catching the last light. The date had been her suggestion—somewhere casual, away from expensive restaurants and The Sterling Room's formality.
We'd grabbed coffee from a cart and walked, just talking.
"Your couch war is still going?" she asked, laughing.
"He moved all my desk supplies one inch to the left yesterday. I didn't notice until I tried to grab my stapler and it wasn't where my muscle memory expected."
"That's diabolical."
"He's a diabolical man." I sipped my coffee. "But I retaliated. Replaced his tea with decaf."
Her laugh was genuine, unguarded. "You're both children."
"Absolutely. It's surprisingly fun."
The System tracked her emotional state constantly, providing data I was trying to ignore so I could just enjoy the moment.
[ **ANALYZING: LORELEI MARTINS** ]
[ **RELAXATION: 82%** ]
[ **GENUINE HAPPINESS: PRESENT** ]
[ **TRUST LEVEL: 51% (INCREASED FROM 47%)** ]
[ **ROMANTIC INTEREST: DEEPENING** ]
[ **ENERGY: 72/100** ]
We found a bench overlooking the river and sat. The conversation drifted from work to Sacramento to nothing important. Comfortable silence filled the gaps between words.
"Yesterday was my sister's birthday," she said quietly.
The shift in tone was subtle but unmistakable. I set my coffee cup down, giving her space to continue.
"She would've been thirty-three. I always wonder what she'd be doing. If she'd be married, have kids, hate her job." Lorelei stared at the river. "Instead, I just... wonder."
[ **ANALYZING: EMOTIONAL STATE** ]
[ **GRIEF: ACTIVE** ]
[ **SEEKING COMFORT BUT NOT PUSHING FOR RESPONSE** ]
[ **TESTING YOUR REACTION** ]
"Don't push. Just be present."
"I'm sorry," I said. "That's a hard day to carry alone."
"I'm getting used to it." She glanced at me. "Five years in October. You'd think it gets easier."
"Does it?"
"No." A small smile, sad but honest. "But you get better at pretending it does."
I didn't offer platitudes about time healing wounds or her sister being in a better place. Those words were empty, performative. Instead, I just nodded.
"Thank you," she said after a moment.
"For what?"
"Not trying to fix it. Most people want to fix it." She leaned against my shoulder. "You just... let it be what it is."
We stayed like that until the sunset faded to purple, then dark blue. When we finally left, her hand found mine naturally.
The drive back to her apartment was quiet, comfortable. At her door, she kissed me—longer this time, more certain. When she pulled away, her smile was genuine.
"Same time Friday?"
"Absolutely."
October 10, 2008 - Morning - CBI Headquarters
Jane ambushed me at the coffee machine.
"You're seeing someone," he announced. "Someone important."
I poured my coffee slowly, buying time. "How do you figure?"
"You check your phone differently now. Small smile when texts arrive. And you've been distracted in a very specific way—the kind that comes from thinking about a person rather than worrying about a case." He grinned. "Also, you smell like women's perfume. Subtle, but present."
[ **RED HERRING PROJECTOR: ACTIVE** ]
[ **WARNING: JANE ANALYZING BEHAVIORAL PATTERNS** ]
[ **ENERGY: 69/100** ]
"He can't read my emotions, but he's reading my behavior. Smart."
"And here I thought my Red Herring would stop that," I said.
"It stops me from reading your emotions. Can't stop me from reading your behavior." Jane leaned against the counter, openly curious. "So who is she? How long have you been seeing her?"
"None of your business."
"That's a very interesting deflection. Which means she's not just anyone." His eyes narrowed. "Someone you're protective of. Someone you don't want the team knowing about yet. Why?"
"Because you're nosy and I value privacy."
Rigsby appeared, rescuing me from Jane's interrogation. "We've got a call. Robbery turned murder in Folsom. Lisbon wants everyone ready in five."
Jane studied me for another moment, then smiled. "This conversation isn't over."
"It absolutely is."
He walked away whistling, clearly pleased with himself. I finished my coffee, mind racing. Jane was adapting to my unreadability. Instead of trying to read my emotional state directly—which the Red Herring scrambled—he was analyzing behavioral patterns and contextual clues.
"I need to be more careful. He's too observant."
The case in Folsom consumed the next eight hours. Jewelry store robbery, owner killed during the theft, three suspects with overlapping alibis. I used the Lie Probability Gauge on each suspect, narrowing it down to the actual murderer by afternoon.
By the time we returned to headquarters, I was exhausted. The System's energy had drained steadily throughout the day.
[ **ENERGY: 58/100** ]
[ **WARNING: MODERATE FATIGUE DETECTED** ]
[ **RECOMMENDATION: LIMIT SYSTEM USE FOR REMAINDER OF DAY** ]
My phone buzzed at seven PM, just as I was packing up.
Lorelei: Can we talk? About my sister. I think I'm ready.
The text sat on my screen like a loaded gun. This was the moment I'd been positioning for—the opportunity to become her investigative partner, her support system, the person she turned to for help with Miranda's case.
Before Red John could ever offer false hope.
My response was immediate: Absolutely. When and where?
Your place? Tomorrow evening? This feels like a private conversation.
I'll order dinner. 7 PM work?
Perfect. Thank you.
I stared at the phone for a long moment. Tomorrow night, Lorelei would trust me with her deepest pain. I'd have to handle it perfectly—show her I'd researched Miranda's case without revealing I'd done it specifically for her, present my serial killer theory without mentioning Red John by name, and position myself as someone who could actually help.
The stakes were enormous.
Across the bullpen, Jane watched me from his couch. Even at this distance, I could feel his curiosity. He knew something was happening, even if he couldn't read exactly what.
"One thing at a time. First Lorelei. Then figure out how to keep Jane from unraveling everything."
October 12, 2008 - Evening
The rest of the week passed in a blur of casework and anticipation.
Rigsby and I pranked Jane by rearranging every item on his couch exactly one centimeter clockwise. He noticed within thirty seconds and spent ten minutes measuring with a ruler to prove it. Lisbon threatened to confiscate the couch entirely.
Van Pelt asked about my "mystery woman" twice more. Cho remained mercifully silent but occasionally gave me looks that suggested he knew more than he let on.
And Jane kept watching. Not obviously, not intrusively, but with that constant low-level curiosity that made the back of my neck itch.
Friday evening, I cleaned my apartment and ordered Thai food from the best restaurant in Sacramento. Not as impressive as Marcello's, but homier. More appropriate for the conversation we were about to have.
The System provided unhelpful commentary while I worked.
[ **ANXIETY LEVELS: ELEVATED** ]
[ **ENERGY: 64/100** ]
[ **UPCOMING CONVERSATION: HIGH EMOTIONAL STAKES** ]
[ **RECOMMENDATION: MAINTAIN AUTHENTICITY, AVOID MANIPULATION** ]
"Thanks for the obvious advice."
Lorelei arrived at seven exactly, carrying a bottle of wine and wearing jeans and a sweater. Casual, comfortable, but her expression was serious. Guarded in a way she hadn't been on our last date.
"Come in," I said, taking the wine. "Food should be here in ten minutes."
She settled on my couch, looking around the apartment. Modest furnishings, nothing fancy, decorated with the bare minimum because the original Tedd had never cared about interior design.
"Nice place," she said. "Smaller than I expected."
"I'm not home much. Didn't see the point in anything bigger."
The wine was good—she had better taste than I did. We made small talk until the food arrived, eating pad thai and green curry while discussing nothing important. Building up to the real conversation.
Finally, after we'd finished eating and were nursing our second glasses of wine, she set her glass down and looked at me directly.
"I want to tell you about Miranda," she said. "Really tell you. Not just the surface version."
[ **ANALYZING: LORELEI MARTINS** ]
[ **VULNERABILITY: MAXIMUM** ]
[ **TRUST LEVEL: 51%** ]
[ **PREPARING FOR EMOTIONAL DISCLOSURE** ]
[ **ENERGY: 62/100** ]
"I'm listening," I said quietly.
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