One million dollars, and the gavel slammed down. And they had led him away.
"How is he going to raise another million dollar bond without pissing off another gangster?" Rigsby asked.
Lisbon shook her head, "I don't know."
"Can we raise that kind of money?"
"The department can but I doubt they'll want to. He's been pissing them off a lot lately as well."
"You'd think people would be used to it by now," Cho agreed.
"How long do you think he'll stay in?" Van Pelt asked, "We need him on this case, how will we get him out?"
Lisbon shook her head again, "I don't know. I'll sleep on it. Go on home, get some rest, everybody. We'll need to be fresh in the morning."
In the morning, there was something on her couch. The leather couch she kept in her office for guests, the leather couch that Patrick Jane had adopted as his bed. That leather couch.
"Who put this here?"
"No idea, ma'am. We're asking around but nobody seems to have seen anything."
"I want the security footage..."
"Already on that, ma'am."
"And get a bomb squad up here."
"Already on that too."
Because you couldn't be too careful, not with Patrick Jane. But the sniffers turned up nothing. No bomb.
But the cadaver dog had started to growl.
Very, very carefully, she unlatched the briefcase. The smell of iron and rot made her recoil and the dog started barking but she pushed the lid open to reveal the money.
One million dollars. Cash.
And every single bill smiled with eyes that wept blood.