“Lovely tie, Mr. Henderson,” Jane remarked, leaning in close. “Silk? Or a desperate attempt to feel sophisticated while you’re drowning in debt?” Henderson paled. “I—pardon me?”
“Jane, get up,” barked, tossing a file onto his chest. “New case. High-end art heist turned messy in Sacramento.”
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.” The Mentalist
At the gallery, the owner, a nervous man named Mr. Henderson, was vibrating with anxiety. Jane didn’t look at the empty wall where the masterpiece once hung. Instead, he watched Henderson’s hands.
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. “Lovely tie, Mr
Lisbon sighed, already regretting the interaction. “We don’t even have a suspect yet.”
“Oh, we do,” Jane said, finally sitting up and smoothing his vest. “He’s the one who’s currently trying too hard to look busy at the gallery. Let's go. I'm bored, and I think I can trick him into confessing before lunch.” The Gallery Gambit Or a desperate attempt to feel sophisticated while
“She’s at the park,” Jane whispered to Lisbon as they walked back to the car. “Wearing a blue scarf. She’s waiting for him, but she doesn't realize he’s already broken.”
