Lisbon sighed, already regretting the interaction. “We don’t even have a suspect yet.”
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. The Mentalist
“Jane, get up,” barked, tossing a file onto his chest. “New case. High-end art heist turned messy in Sacramento.” Lisbon sighed, already regretting the interaction
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. draped over his usual leather couch