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

“Technically, it’s just you turning on me at this point,” Shawn said.

“I’m so sorry. I panicked,” Gus said.

“It happens,” Shawn said. “Just keep reminding yourself that they can’t touch us, because we haven’t done anything. In America, our justice system doesn’t convict innocent people. In fact, in California our justice system doesn’t even convict guilty ones, as long as they’ve had their faces in the paper a couple of times before they pick up the meat cleaver.”

The door swung open, and Bert Coules came in, scowling. “That’s very amusing, Mr. Spencer,” he said. “And I’m afraid all too true. OJ. Robert Blake. And of course your own personal favorite, Veronica Mason.”

“She really was innocent,” Shawn said.

“Right, because you said so.”

“Me and the real killer,” Shawn said. “I do seem to recall something like a dramatic courtroom confession.”

“From a delusional hysteric who fantasized an entire romantic life with the victim,” Coules said, “and who might well have confessed to his murder simply to bring some drama to her pathetic, lonely life.”

“Veronica Mason is every bit as innocent as we are,” Shawn said.

“For once we agree on something, Mr. Spencer,” Coules said. His lips stretched across his teeth in a tight approximation of a smile. “Maybe if we talked, we might find a few other areas of agreement. Let’s start with your friend Tara Larison.”

Coules reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He fanned them out across the table like a winning poker hand. “I have sworn depositions from people who work at three fast-food restaurants, one coffeehouse, a video store, and several other businesses who sold goods or services to Tara Larison. They all say she told them she was doing your bidding.”

Gus grabbed the documents and leafed through them. They all confirmed what Coules was telling them.

“She liked doing errands.”

Coules piled the documents together and slipped them back into his briefcase. “She liked doing errands for you-isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Shawn said. “What’s your point?”

“Why are you asking what his point is?” Gus whispered. “You know what his point it. He’s trying to prove you mentally ordered Tara to kill Dallas Steele.”

“Right, and you hear how stupid that sounds when you say it out loud?” Shawn whispered back. “Let’s make him say it.”

“I’m happy to,” Coules said. “I’m trying to prove that Tara Larison was acting under your orders when she committed murder.”

“That’s not fair,” Shawn said. “We were whispering. Isn’t there some kind of privilege here?”

Coules snapped his briefcase shut and went toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” Gus said. “How is this even possible? Dallas Steele has only been dead for a couple of hours. How could you gather all these depositions in that time?”

“I didn’t collect these depos in relation to the murder of Tara Larison,” Coules said. “I was investigating the murder of John Marichal.”

Gus knew he’d heard that name somewhere before, but he couldn’t place it.

Shawn’s memory was sharper. “The guy from the impound yard?”

“She snapped his neck,” Coules said. “Nearly twisted his head off. And all because he wouldn’t give you back that piece of crap car.”

“Don’t talk about the Echo that way,” Shawn said. “Gus gets very emotional.”

Coules just smiled that tight smile again.

“I don’t think you’re helping,” Gus said to Shawn.

“I believe that, Mr. Spencer,” Coules said. “I believe you both got emotional. So emotional that Tara killed John Marichal.”

“He was a violent escaped convict,” Gus said. “How could a scrawny little thing like Tara break his neck?”

“The same way she put a BurgerZone fry cook in the hospital,” Coules said. “In a way, she did us all two great favors with Marichal-she took a wanted criminal off the streets, and she’s going to send you away for a long time.”

The door swung open, and Chief Vick came in, looking stern. “I’m not convinced about that yet, Mr. Coules.”

Gus felt his heart lightening. Maybe they weren’t completely alone in the world. Maybe they had one friend.

“Which part?”

“We have sufficient evidence to hold Tara Larison on suspicion of murder in the death of Dallas Steele,” she said. “But we have no hard evidence tying her to Marichal’s death yet.”

“Except her prints at the scene.”

“Two of my detectives were with her there long after the murder,” Vick said.

“Because these two were trying to corrupt the crime scene.”

“If we killed John Marichal, why did someone try to kill us when we went back to the impound lot to investigate?” Shawn said.

“This is the first I’ve heard of that,” Chief Vick said.

“We meant to report it, but we got a little busy,” Shawn said.

“What he means is they didn’t have any reason to make it up before,” Coules said.

“If you think we’re making it up, go check it out for yourself,” Gus said. “Look for bullet holes and broken glass in a bunch of cars from the sixties.”

“Right,” Coules said. “Kids never use wrecked cars for target practice. So any evidence we find of gunshots is proof someone was shooting at you.”

They turned to Chief Vick for help. She shrugged apologetically. “I’m afraid he’s right. If you had come to us right after it happened, maybe we could have done something.”

“Next time don’t wait so long to manufacture your alibis,” Coules said.

Chief Vick turned back to the district attorney. “The only thing you have tying Tara to Marichal’s murder is your belief that Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster were angry at him,” she said. “And your belief that she was psychically compelled to do his bidding.”

“ Her belief, not mine,” Coules said. “I refuse to endorse the ridiculous notion that this man is actually psychic.”

“In which case, you need to prove conspiracy,” Vick said. “You’ll need to demonstrate that Mr. Spencer made it known to Miss Larison that he wanted these victims dead.”

“That’s going to be easy with Steele,” Coules said. “He’d called a press conference to expose Spencer as a fraud. When I worked in Florida, I put away an entire drug cartel with less evidence than this.”

“That is troubling,” Vick said. She turned to Shawn and Gus. “I guess there’s no way out of this for you, is there?”

“You say that like you think we should be able to come up with an answer,” Shawn said.

“Only if you’re innocent,” Vick said. “Otherwise I’m going to have to put you under arrest and let Mr. Coules hold you until trial. If only you could find a flaw in his otherwise excellent logic.”

Gus’ mind spun. Chief Vick was trying to throw them a lifeline. But as far as he could see, the rope was still hanging just out of reach.

The realization hit Shawn and Gus at the same time.

“I guess there’s no way out for us,” Shawn said.

“None at all,” Gus agreed.

“You’ve got us,” Shawn said to Coules. “We wanted Steele dead, and Tara acted on that desire, just like she did on all the others.”

“I wonder how she knew so well what you wanted all the time,” Gus said.

“Like she said, she took my psychic orders.”

“But that can’t be,” Gus said. “Coules refuses to endorse the ridiculous notion that you’re actually psychic.”

“Good point,” Shawn said. “Then we must have told her we wanted Steele dead before the press conference started.”

“Of course,” Gus said. “I can’t remember-how did we do that again? Because we were locked in the North Tower all night. She didn’t come up there, did she?”