William Rabkin - Psych - A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Read

“Good to see your new cologne’s going over as well as the old one, Lassie,” Shawn said.

“I thought he was responding to one of your jokes,” Lassiter said. “It’s how they make me feel.”

Gus stepped up before Shawn could respond. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Not just yet, Gus,” Shawn said. “Detective Lassiter was just going to demonstrate what makes him Santa Barbara’s finest.”

“You really think I won’t go in that shack?” Lassiter said.

“I will if you will,” Shawn said.

“You most certainly will not,” Lassiter said.

“Shawn,” Gus whispered fiercely, “there’s something you need to know. Now.”

“The Santa Barbara Police Department doesn’t need your help on this one,” Lassiter said. “Which you might have been able to figure out by the simple fact that nobody asked for it.”

The other police detective pulled the handkerchief away from her face, revealing the bright eyes and easy smile of Juliet O’Hara. Except that right now her eyes were slightly dimmed by tears, and her smile was anything but easy-the stench was proving stronger even than her own fierce will. And her will rarely lost a test of strength. The youngest detective on the squad, O’Hara was almost always underestimated by men who saw her pretty face and assumed she was soft. It annoyed her, but she’d learned how to use their assumptions against them. “Yes, Carlton, somebody did.” She turned to Shawn. “You could have returned one of my calls.”

“Sorry. I’ve been away from my phones.”

“Then how did you know to come here?” she said.

“Jules, Jules, Jules,” Shawn said, “do you really need to ask?”

Lassiter looked at her as if she’d gotten up before she’d finished her time in the naughty spot. “You called him?”

“I did.”

“You don’t have the authority to authorize an unauthorized consultant. You need to have that cleared by Chief Vick.”

“Her exact words were, ‘Do whatever you want as long as you don’t make me come to that hellhole,’” O’Hara said.

“And what is it you want to do, Juliet?” Shawn said. “I mean, deep down.”

“I want to clear this case so I never have to smell this smell again,” she said.

“You heard the lady, Lassie,” Shawn said. “Let’s solve us a murder. What do we hear from the CSI boys?”

District Attorney Bert Coules stepped out from around the side of the shack. “Mostly retching,” Coules said. “Occasional vomiting. A lot of moans.”

Shawn listened for a moment. “Yes, I see what you mean. But before they lost focus, what were they saying?”

Gus pulled Shawn aside. Or he tried to. He couldn’t quite get up the strength to actually exert a force, but Shawn noticed him brushing at his shirtsleeve.

“There’s something you need to know,” Gus said.

“And I’m about to learn it from the lovely detective.”

“I sure hope not,” Gus said, as Shawn stepped away from him.

“It’s a mess in there,” Coules said.

“You’re not looking so good yourself,” Shawn said. “Got a little spot on your suit there.”

Actually, there were several spots on the DA’s suit. His knee was stained with grease. His jacket was flecked with a goo whose origin Gus hoped he’d never learn.

“Metal building, hot sun, dead body, check,” Coules said. “You investigate a crime scene, you’re going to get dirty. You stay much cleaner if you just make up your facts.”

“And this place was a mess before the guy was dead,” O’Hara said. “Apparently, it hadn’t even been swept in the last decade. Which means every fingerprint that’s ever been left is still there.”

“That’s not going to stop us from finding the killer,” Lassiter said.

“Not when the victim works for the City of Santa Barbara,” Coules said. “That’s why I’m here now, and why I won’t let this case drop until it’s solved and the perpetrator is behind bars. At the district attorney’s office, we believe that anyone who’s willing to harm a member of our local government is targeting democracy itself. And I will not let that stand. Do you understand, Detectives?”

“We’ll take the prints and run every single one of them, even if it’s the entire population of Santa Barbara,” Lassiter said.

Gus felt Coules’ eyes boring into him. He tried to remember how many fingerprints he and Shawn might have left in the shack. Including the ones he must have left on the barrel of the shotgun. Not that he and Shawn had done anything wrong. They were the victims. But would that stop Coules from coming after them?

“And I bet it is,” Gus said. “Every single citizen. We’ll be amazed at the prints that are in there. Probably even people who have never been in the area. Just thought about stopping by.”

“That would include you two, then, wouldn’t it?” Coules said.

“Us?” Gus squeaked.

“You were certainly thinking about stopping by yesterday,” Lassiter said. “Just think, if you’d made the walk, you might have run into the killer. Your laziness might have saved your lives.”

This was the moment. All Gus had to do was say three simple words: “We were here.” Sure, there would be an investigation, but they didn’t kill the man, so what did they have to worry about? Even if Bert Coules was looking for vengeance after his humiliation at the Veronica Mason trial, he’d never actually charge them with the murder. And if charges were filed, what jury would convict them? A miserable year or two, a few hundred thousand dollars in legal fees, and it would all be over. If only Gus could bring himself to say those three simple words.

“It only looks like laziness,” Shawn said. “But it’s really more of a Zen survival thing. Or a Spidey sense. It’s hard to tell the difference between the two sometimes.”

Gus whispered furiously to him, “What are you doing? We should tell them.”

“After we’ve solved the murder,” Shawn said. “This is our case.”

Detective O’Hara cleared her throat. “Other forensic evidence is going to be mostly useless for the same reasons. From what I understand, the place is absolutely disgusting, even without the body. One of the techs tried to describe the bathroom to me, and was seized by another fit of vomiting.”

“Sounds like my kind of place,” Shawn said. “Let’s do this thing.”

“You really think you’re man enough to step through that door?” Lassiter said.

“Shawn’s man enough for anything,” a female voice behind them said. They turned to see Tara coming up to the door, looking stern. “And he doesn’t like it when his masculinity is questioned.”

“Good thing he hired a hooker to defend his honor, then,” Coules said.

“I am not a hooker,” Tara said. “I just dress like one because Shawn likes it.”

“That’s absolutely untrue,” Shawn said.

“No?” O’Hara said, studying Tara’s tiny dress. “Didn’t you try to get me to wear an outfit like that when I went undercover at that convent?”

“First of all, that was a joke,” Shawn said. “And second-what I mean to say was that it’s absolutely untrue that I order Tara to dress a particular way. Not that it’s untrue that I like it.”

Lassiter shook his head in disgust. “I’m glad we cleared that up. Now why don’t you ask your friend to leave? In Santa Barbara, we don’t bring dates to crime scenes.”

“So for Lassie we can add crime scene to the list, along with restaurants, movie theaters, and the beach,” Shawn said. “As for Tara, she’s not my date. She’s my… new assistant.”

“I thought Guster was your assistant.”

“Hey!” Gus said. “I am no one’s assistant. Shawn and I are associates.”