I Bet on Losing Dogs - Patrick Jane

310 - Jolly Red Elf

 Kenzie has never been a big fan of Christmas. The amount of money people spent on decorations and gifts that most of the receivers wouldn't even use. The thing that annoyed her the most was families gathered around the nice big Christmas tree.

So, when she'd got a call from Teresa about a case, she was somewhat thrilled. For once, she didn't have to pretend that Christmas was one of the most exciting holidays of all time. It hurt to leave Lilly behind, but they were going to do their usual: unwrap presents with her mother and sister and then watch a Christmas movie of Lilly's choice for the rest of the night.

She and Teresa walked down the street in downtown Sacramento next to an officer.

"Don't know if he jumped or if somebody pushed him," the officer said.

They stopped in front of a damaged car with someone in a Santa suit. Kenzie looked up. "He had to fall from the apartments above," she noted. "Any witnesses?"

"No. Nobody saw him hit, but a crowd sure gathered fast once he did. Including the attorney general's niece."

Kenzie closed her eyes. Of course she did. She turned to Rigsby. "Let's process the scene quickly, get the body out of here. You get an ID yet?"

"No, but I'll tell you what, this is one fine Santa suit," Rigsby replied. "Plush pile, real leather uppers. I wish mine were that nice." Kenzie rolled her eyes. "The beard appears to be real."

"Patrick. Could I trouble you for a professional opinion?"

Patrick cleared his throat and leaned over with a sniff. "No."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"This isn't the actual Santa Claus."

"Wow. Didn't know you were five."

"Some say he doesn't exist, period... that he's a 19th-century marketing gimmick. I venture no opinion on that, but this definitely isn't him; this is an impostor."

"How can you tell?"

"Santa would smell like cheap whiskey." He tapped one of the officers' shoulders. "Uh, excuse me, could you, uh, reach inside that outside pocket there? Yeah, just there near the candy canes."

The officer pulled a plastic bag out of the pocket of the victim's jacket. "What is it?"

"A Christmas card."

Kenzie looked over Patrick's shoulder. "'My life is a lie. Forgive me," she read.

"It's not a traditional Christmas greeting, but it has punch and concision. Very thoughtful of him to put it in a plastic baggie for us."

"Well, it's a straight-up suicide. Takes us off the case."

"Possibly."

"Of course, you don't think so."

"Here is a man who spends his time making kids happy. Putting a little magic in their life, giving them hope."

"Okay?"

"Would a man like that end his life... making such a bloody spectacle of himself... in character, in a public place where children are bound to see him. Murder."

"Happy holidays," Kenzie grumbled.

She and Patrick walked into the apartment complex and were guided to the victim's apartment by the apartment manager.

"Benjamin Ripple has been a tenant here for years," the manager explained. "He'd never kill himself. He enjoyed his life too much. And his art."

Kenzie's brows furrowed. "His art?"