I Bet on Losing Dogs - Patrick Jane

521 - Red and Itchy

 Kenzie quietly knocked on the door of Patrick's loft.

"Lisbon, I'm busy," Patrick called out.

She slid the door open to see Patrick working at his desk and walked in. He turned around. "Oh. Hey, Kenz."

"Duty calls," said Kenzie with a smile, leaning against the desk. She was honestly glad they were back to normal. She was raised with manners, but for the past few weeks, Patrick didn't say anything when she walked right in. "I've been trying to call you." She looked at the board full of files and papers. "Are you any closer to catching Red John?"

"I don't know. I keep getting interrupted. What I need is radio silence, Kenz, for a week."

"Alright. Don't be cranky. You know, I could help you."

"No." Kenzie groaned. "I want to be a hundred percent sure with the list. Knowing you, you'll just put anyone on the list that you don't like."

Kenzie gasped in astonishment. "That's not true. Whatever. There's a dead body at LaRoche's."

He turned to her. "JJ's?"

"He asked for you specifically on the case."

The two arrived at LaRoche's house, where lots of police officers stood around, gathering information. They walked up to Rigsby.

"Hey," he greeted. "So LaRoche came home early on a red-eye from New York. He saw the flashlights and surprised two robbers breaking into the safe. That's when the shooting started."

Kenzie stared at the dead body on the floor of the living room. "Where's the other one?"

"Escaped out the back. They wore masks. It was dark. LaRoche didn't see much."

"Oh, they hit the hummels," said Patrick, looking at something.

"Is he okay?" Kenzie asked.

"He sustained a minor hit."

"Anything missing from the safe?"

"Nope. He stopped them before they could take anything."

Kenzie turned to see Patrick holding LaRoche's dog. "You know, we can have someone handle the dog."

"Oh, yeah, I know," said Patrick.

She softly chuckled at the dog's whimpering. Patrick looked at the body.

"Th-there's no ID on the body," said Rigsby.

"Well, maybe not a government issue, but there's a lot of information here. Like these black spots on his fingertips. Dead tissue. And his eyes are very inflamed, too. Maybe he was on drugs." Kenzie patted down the victim's pants until she felt something in his pockets and took out a bottle of pills. "Nice one, Kenz."

"Ibuprofen," read Kenzie.

"I'm gonna guess this man was suffering from rheumatoid arthritis."

"Well, if you're gonna get in a gunfight, it's best to get in one with an arthritic shooter."

Patrick hummed. "Where is LaRoche?"

"He's waiting in the ambulance," answered Rigsby. "He won't let the paramedics take him for treatment until he talks to you."

"Oh. Well, excuse me. VIP."

Patrick handed Kenzie the dog before walking outside and up to the ambulance, where LaRoche sat on a gurney with paramedics standing in front of the door.

"JJ. I see you bought a new safe. Apparently, it's not safe enough."

LaRoche looked at the paramedics. "Excuse us, please." They nodded before leaving and closing the door. "I'm gonna cut to the chase, Mr. Jane. I was not forthcoming with Rigsby. They took something. My Tupperware box."