A male voice groaned again in pain. Kenzie grabbed the man's jaw and forced him to look again.
"I'm gonna ask you one more time. What happened to your partner?" asked Kenzie.
One of the files Red John gave her had a lot of redacted information. The moment she saw it, she wanted to kill him. But she calmed down and realized that all she needed to do was start from the bottom up. She started with one of his partners, Tim Burrow, thinking that would stay in touch.
"Please, I don't know," said Tim. "Just let me go."
"Then, tell me the name!"
"I don't know. Please!"
Kenzie punched him again. Her phone rang.
"Oh. Hold on." She picked up her phone and answered. "Hello?"
"Hey. We got a case."
"Okay. I'll be right there."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. I was just on a run. I'll be there. See you later."
She sighed as she ended the call. She put her phone down and stormed toward Tim. Tim whimpered in fear.
"Please! Please!"
"Just tell me where he is, Tim. I got somewhere to be."
When he didn't say anything, Kenzie raised a knife and lightly pressed it against his cheek.
"Okay. Okay. I don't know where he is now. But I heard that he was living somewhere in Anaheim."
Kenzie smiled at him. "See, that wasn't so hard. It would've saved you the trouble." She started to pack her things. "If anyone says anything, um, you were in a fight and decided not to press charges. Thank you."
🙂
Kenzie walked up to the crime scene in the alleyway. She smiled at Patrick.
"Hey."
"Hey," greeted Patrick. "How was the run?"
"Great."
"You know, I thought you would've been at the gym, boxing."
Kenzie shrugged. "Wanted to try something new."
They stopped walking and looked at the body.
"Your basic blunt force trauma," said the coroner. "Baseball bat type of deal."
"Mugging gone wrong?"
"Don't think so. His wallet's gone, but he did have this on him." She lifted an evidence bag with a ring inside of it. "It was wrapped in a napkin with a note written on it."
"Eh, the mysterious case of the jilted jockey," said Patrick.
"No. No. Please don't start."
"You think he's a jockey?" asked Rigsby.
"Oh, I know he is."
"Why, because he's small?" asked Cho.
"Small, bowlegged... Hungry-thin in a thousand-dollar jacket, deep tan from working outdoors, raccoon eyes from wearing goggles. And that is a horseshoe on that napkin, probably from a-a bar in town that has 'horseshoe' in the name."
"Well, he could be a racecar driver," said Rigsby.
"Racecar drivers have soft hands."
"Why a jilted jockey?" asked Teresa.
"Because it alliterates it, and that is always a little fun. And who else but a forsaken lover would ask for forgiveness on a cocktail napkin? With a ring, no less."
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I Bet on Losing Dogs - Patrick Jane
Fanfiction"I bet on losing dogs, I know they're losing, and I'll pay for my place by the ring, Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down, ...
