Patrick Jane drove down from San Francisco to Palo Alto along El Camino Real as the rain slowed then dried up completely. The events of that morning had left him badly shaken. He'd returned to the UCSF Hangley Shorter hospital to erase all record of his stay there and although he had succeeded he had found it emotionally exhausting. It had taken almost an hour of hiding from the world in a stinking alley before his hands stopped shaking. At some point it had started raining and he had been cold and soaked through before he really noticed what was happening. He had decided against driving on the freeway while he was in this state, it would take longer to get there on the urban road but at least he could stop at any time if he needed. It must be the meds, he thought, this must be what going cold turkey feels like. He didn't like it much.

This should finally be the beginning of his new life. He'd spent the last three days cutting the remaining dangling threads of his old one, now he was completely free to begin his search for Red John. He would start by learning everything he could about the monster. He knew from the investigation into the murder of his little family that Red John featured in several text books, that various experts had written articles about him in medical journals. He needed access to a specialist library to find out everything they had written. Out of caution he'd chosen to go down to Stamford University rather than use the library at the Hangley Shorter. He didn't want to bump into anyone who might recognise him, no one could find out what he was up to. It had seemed like a good idea at the time but now it seemed to him paranoid and unnecessary. He'd used one of his old mentalism tricks to fool Dr. Miller into helping him erase his hospital records and he felt very guilty about doing it.

In the car he shook his head. I have to be prepared to do anything – anything – to catch the monster. It will justify any means if he dies by my hand. For a moment he felt like he really was prepared to do anything to achieve his goal, then it faded, his certainty tinged with doubt. It didn't feel like he was making a fresh start, he felt tired and old and alone. Finding and killing Red John seemed so remote at the moment, more like a pipe dream. The enormity of the task ahead was starting to hit home. Well, he might not be able to do anything right now about tired and old but there was no need to be alone. He'd spotted an old-fashioned diner ahead. Cup of tea, pie. Comfort food. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten but he suspected it was yesterday morning. Was he hungry? He always felt gloomy when he was hungry.

"Cheer up, Honey, it might never happen." He'd settled down at the counter of the diner and this cheerful waitress had spoken to him as she handed over the menu. The place was nearly empty and she was more than he could have hoped for, a thoroughgoing chatterer, a real people person. He obliged by giving her his most charming smile in reply. She didn't blush, he noted. She had enough character not to be swayed by him turning on the charm and he thoroughly approved.

"That's better!" she said encouragingly, as she might to a surly teenager. "You ready to order yet?"

He'd been perusing the menu, but now he looked up and asked, "Which pie would you recommend?"

"I'm supposed to recommend the apricot, we got a lot of that left, but the apple pie's better." She said this last part in a stage whisper, giving him a conspiratorial wink as she said it.

"Apple pie it is then, and tea, English Breakfast if you have it."

"We have it. A la mode?"

"The pie, not the tea," he replied with another smile which caused much hilarity in the waitress. A moment after she bustled off he heard laughter coming from the kitchen – she must have repeated his lame joke to the cook.

He was the only person at the counter so he turned to look around at his fellow customers while he waited for his order, his age-old fascination with taking a snapshot of other people's lives rising unbidden over his fatigue to the forefront of his mind. A mom and her elementary-age son, their trip here had been the bribe that ensured his good behavior at his dentist appointment. Patrick smiled. The banana split he was gulping down would ensure he needed a return visit. Two middle-aged guys, they worked as building contractors but had finished very early that day. Probably there had been a hitch with the supply of some vital materials or equipment for their current job, he guessed their boss would be yelling down the phone at someone around now. The last person was hidden behind a laptop, impossible to see but he'd bet they were a salesperson for a tech firm down in Silicon Valley, they'd visited a customer in the area and were sending some emails before heading over to the freeway. The visit hadn't been a success: he could hear them angrily pounding the keyboard from here.

He did his cold readings almost on autopilot, aware he had no way of knowing he was right without invading the privacy of his fellow-customers but not bothering to stop himself. It was a skill he had honed all his life and it felt good to practise it. There was precious little about himself that felt good these days. Angry Salesperson turned out to be a woman wearing a cheap skirt suit and a scowl, she only left small change as a tip and didn't even look at the other customers as she left. The waitress returned with his order.

"There ya go, Hun. Tea without ice cream, pie a la mode." She chuckled again.

"Thank you," he replied. She glanced at the now-vacated booth, decided it wasn't worth clearing up yet for the sake of fifty cents and hung around behind the counter while he gratefully sipped his tea. It wasn't as good as Susan's tea yesterday but that was a dizzy height which Patrick himself rarely attained. This was a good cup of tea, and he said so.

"Thank you. We try. Don't recall seeing you in here before?"

"I'm just passing through, from the big city down to do some research at Stamford."

"Oh, I just knew you was academic the moment you walked in the door," she grinned, telegraphing her coming joke. "You got that air of learning about you. I nearly went to Stamford, y'know. Only two things stopped me. I never had two cents to rub together, and I never passed a damn test my whole life!" Her excessive delight at her own well-worn witticism was infectious, Patrick couldn't stop himself from grinning back as much in relief as humor. His plan was working, he could feel his gloom lifting.

Patrick spent the next half hour sporadically chatting as the small number of customers at this time of the day came and went. He worked his way through both her repertoire of banter and the excellent pie, mingling with real people, behaving like a normal human being. He left a generous tip.

I need to do this thing alone but without isolating myself, he thought as he exited the diner. He regarded the car, his car, again gently moved by the sight of her. He stroked along her roof before opening her up, setting off again. She was a little awkward to drive as older cars sometimes were, he was still learning her quirks but the ride was as smooth and lovely as the car herself. Being behind this wheel soothed him almost as much as the tea and pie had done. As he tuned the radio to a local station he thought I need to appreciate beautiful things, I need contact with good people every day. I'm still finding out what I am capable of. For the sake of my sanity I need to make sure that a murderer isn't all I am.