William Rabkin - Mind-Altering Murder

“Wouldn’t that be a tragedy?” Chanterelle said.

“It does seem like the kind of thing we’d like to avoid,” Shawn said. “So I asked my friends to stop by your room on their way here.”

At the back of the room, the doors flew open and six uniformed police officers marched in. Detective Juliet O’Hara followed, holding up a plastic bag that held a piece of hotel stationery.

“Did you find it, Jules?” Shawn said.

“On her desk,” O’Hara said. “A suicide note written by Burton Guster.” She held up another Baggie, this containing a large plastic bottle. “And enough Benson-brand painkillers to make sure his suicide was successful.”

“You were going to kill me?” Gus said.

“It would be more oxygen for the rest of the planet,” Chanterelle said.

O’Hara motioned to one of the officers, who went over to Chanterelle and cuffed her hands behind her back.

Jerry looked at her mournfully. “This can’t be true,” he said. “You can’t have done this.”

“It was the only way.” She was near tears. “You knew it when you killed those three boys to stop the greater evil.”

“I’ve been tortured by that all my life,” he said gently. “I don’t want the same for you.”

“It was your moment of greatness,” she said, the tears now flowing freely down her cheek. “When you had the chance to make a real difference in the world and you took it.”

“I killed my friends,” Jerry said.

“Yes, you did-you yourself,” Chanterelle said. “You didn’t wait around hoping that someone else was going to act in your place. You saw the need and you did what had to be done.”

“At too great a cost,” Jerry said.

“At the right cost,” Chanterelle said. “You were born to make a difference in this world. You always said so. But you trusted in other people to ensure your legacy. I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Really?” Shawn said. “All this time you wanted your father to act, so you did what you thought he’d do if he cared enough? I think I see a flaw in that logic.”

Jerry took his daughter by the shoulders. “I stayed in this job because it’s all I wanted from my life,” he said. “I loved my coworkers, even the ones who were weaker than they wanted to be. Did you really kill poor Mandy?”

“She said she was a player, but she was really just a cheerleader,” Chanterelle said. “So once she was properly suggestible I had her put on that old uniform to tell the world.”

“Just a cheerleader?” O’Hara said. “You mean, like the one who’s arresting you for murder?”

She signaled the officer, who led Chanterelle out of the room.

Jerry Fellowes collapsed in his chair and sank his head in his hands. Gus wanted to go to him, but within seconds the old mailman was surrounded by his colleagues, who gathered around to offer him support.

Shawn clapped Gus on the back. “See?” he said. “That’s much more fun than a board meeting.”

“Except for the part where we destroyed poor Jerry’s life,” Gus said.

“Because he would be so much happier if his daughter kept on killing people,” Shawn said. “Really?”

Gus felt a weight lifting off his shoulders. “I guess it really isn’t all about us, is it?” he said.

“Only the good parts,” Shawn said.

They were walking toward the exit when a thought hit Gus. “You knew Chanterelle was the killer all along?”

“I don’t know that I’d say all along…”

“But you knew when you offered to join me as an executive,” Gus said. “You knew she was going to murder me.”

“It was kind of predictable,” Shawn said.

“And if I hadn’t chosen to expose the killer here, what were you going to do about it?”

“Take your office,” Shawn said. “Now let’s go order room service before D-Bob closes our account here.”

“Why do we have to wear these ridiculous getups?”

Lassiter said, shrugging into the long, black leather duster. “Blue is the only uniform I’ve ever wanted.”

Shawn and Gus stood with Lassiter and O’Hara outside the mall, each putting on one of the dusters Shawn had borrowed from a local leather-goods shop in exchange for help catching a frequent shoplifter.

“I’ve always thought you’d look better in orange, Lassie,” Shawn said. “But if you want to come along, this is tonight’s dress code.”

“I don’t want to come along,” Lassiter said. “How many times do I have to say this whole thing is stupid?”

Gus didn’t have an answer for him, although he guessed Lassie had mentioned this at least a dozen times already.

The first had been at the police station, where Shawn and Gus were debriefing the detectives on the undercover operation they’d just completed at Benson Pharmaceuticals.

“I have to say, I’m really impressed,” O’Hara said. “I saw Gus in San Francisco a couple of times and I was completely convinced he was for real.”

“Not me,” Lassiter growled.

“The trick is to convince yourself first,” Gus said. “There were actually times when I forgot I wasn’t really starting a new life as a corporate chieftain.”

“And you were onto Chanterelle all along?” O’Hara said.

Shawn and Gus exchanged a look. “There was a pool of suspects at first,” Gus said. “It was Shawn who finally put it all together.”

“Only after Gus laid out the entire case,” Shawn said. “Although with a slightly different solution.”

“It was a joint effort,” Gus said.

“Because that’s the way we roll,” Shawn said.

“So who was your client?” Lassiter said, finishing up his report.

Gus froze. He’d almost convinced himself that he really had been undercover all the time he was at Benson, but the mention of a client reminded him how this had all really started.

“It was Jules, of course,” Shawn said. “She asked for help with Mandy Jansen’s murder.”

“I just meant a consultation,” O’Hara said. “I never dreamed you’d go that far.”

“No one ever does,” Shawn said. “And now there’s a little matter of the favor you were going to do in return.”

Which was how the four of them ended up on State Street in the middle of the night, wearing dusters.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” Lassiter said.

Shawn slapped a rifle into his hands. “You’ve got to try,” he said. “Suspension of disbelief is what it’s all about. We ready?”

Gus looked around. Each of them was armed with a rifle. “Let’s go,” he said.

“Yeah, why not?” O’Hara said.

They moved together as one, stalking down the deserted street.

“That one’s mine,” Shawn said, pointing into a doorway at a sleeping homeless man. He raised his gun and fired. The man’s chest erupted in red.

“I got one!” Gus said, leveling his rifle at a skinny man in a camo jacket, running across the street. He pulled the trigger and the man fell, a red blotch across his chest.

“It’s going to get harder now,” Shawn said, pointing at the homeless people scurrying away from them. “They’re on the run.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lassiter said, getting off a shot at a bearded man asleep on a bus bench and watching him twitch as his chest was covered in red.

“Up to you, Jules,” Shawn said.

“Got it.” She stepped up to a doorway and with her foot nudged the form sleeping there. “It’s over.”

The form rolled over and saw the rifle barrel pointing down at him. “Officer?” Frank said in horror. “I thought we were friends.”

“Friends don’t let friends sleep on the street,” O’Hara said. “Rather see you dead. So would Morton.”