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.
“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
As they drove away, Jane leaned back and closed his eyes. The case was solved, another small victory in a life defined by the one killer he couldn’t outsmart— Red John . For now, the small wins would have to be enough.