The Mentalist < HIGH-QUALITY >

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.

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. The Mentalist

“Jane, get up,” barked, tossing a file onto his chest. “New case. High-end art heist turned messy in Sacramento.” Lisbon watched as Jane played his usual game

“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 Henderson, was vibrating with anxiety

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.”

“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?”