Jane didn’t move. He just smiled, that annoying, knowing grin. “He didn't steal the painting for the money, Lisbon. He stole it because he’s in love with the woman in the frame.”
Lisbon watched as Jane played his usual game of mental misdirection . Within ten minutes, Henderson was sobbing, admitting he’d let a "mystery woman" spend the night in the gallery. The Mentalist
The air in the California Bureau of Investigation (CBI) office was thick with the scent of stale coffee and unwashed paperwork. , draped over his usual leather couch, stared at the ceiling as if the cracked plaster held the secrets to the universe. Jane didn’t move