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

Shawn sank back in his seat and folded his hands across his desk like a third-grade teacher trying one last time to explain fractions to a particularly slow student. “No, Gus, it’s the final piece of the mystery,” he said patiently. “I know who killed Dallas Steele.”

Lassiter’s voice squawked out of the speaker. “So do we, Spencer. That’s why the entire force is out hunting for your former mind slave before she kills again.”

“They’re wasting their time,” Shawn said.

“Good point,” Lassiter said. “The way she’s going, she’ll run out of civilians to murder, and she’ll have to come to the police station just to find another victim.”

“I’ll make you a deal, Lassie,” Shawn said. “You do what I ask, and I’ll deliver the real killer to you within an hour. And if I can’t, I’ll confess to every single one of the murders myself.”

There was a long silence on the line. Gus was beginning to think the connection had been cut when Lassiter’s voice came back. “Fax me what you need.”

Four hours later, Shawn and Gus were standing outside the magnificent front door of Eagle’s View. A stream of squad cars delivered all the people whose presence Shawn had requested, then headed back to the city.

The first to arrive were Chief Vick and Detective O’Hara. They glared at Shawn as they came up the walkway.

“You have exactly one hour, Mr. Spencer,” Chief Vick said. “Where do you want us?”

“And I’d think very carefully before I answered if I were you,” Juliet O’Hara added.

“Where I really want you-”

“Shawn!” Gus whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“-is at the top of a hierarchy that for far too long has been exclusively male-dominated. But for now, the grand ballroom will do. Mr. Shepler will show you.”

Shawn snapped his fingers, and Shepler appeared from the entry hall. He stood frozen before them as his mind processed the new information; then he gave a short bow. “Please follow me.”

As O’Hara and the chief followed Shepler down the hall, Henry Spencer came up to Shawn and Gus. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he said.

“Like I always do,” Shawn said.

“That’s what I was afraid of.” He went inside as a middle-aged woman in a black dress stepped up. A uniformed officer followed, dragging a huge black plastic case. Shawn waved them both in.

“Who was that?” Gus asked. “And what’s in the box?”

“The most important element of all.”

“That can’t be,” Gus said. “Because we went over this plan together, and you never mentioned whatever that thing is. So how is it that we agreed exactly what we were going to do, and I still don’t know about the most important element of all?”

“Because you’re not paying attention?”

Gus was about to respond when he noticed another squad car disgorging its passenger. Tall and blond, blue eyes sparkling almost as brightly as her white teeth, bronzed skin only slightly covered by her crop top, short shorts, and tiny green apron.

“Wait a minute,” Gus said. “You brought-”

“The girl from that coffee place,” Shawn said.

“Why?”

“We’re here to solve a series of mysteries,” Shawn said. “So we might as well answer the greatest one of all-who does she like, you or me?”

The girl stepped up to Shawn and Gus, gazing in astonishment at the house towering above them. “Cool,” she said. “You guys live here?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Shawn said.

She looked puzzled. “What manner?”

“The one that means no,” Gus said.

She thought that one through, then let it go. “Hey, I know you guys,” she said.

“You certainly do,” Shawn said.

“You’re that creepy guy who hangs out at the Coffee Barn for hours yapping about everything and never tips,” she said to Shawn.

“I’m sure you’re confusing me with someone else,” Shawn said, but she just shrugged.

“The creepy guy, eh?” Gus said. “I guess that’s one mystery solved.”

She turned to Gus. “And you’re the guy who talks so quietly I can never hear your order, but you take whatever I give you, anyway.”

Gus felt his face flushing. All those times she’d given him a special drink-a triple caramel chocolate maltolatte instead of the plain cappuccino he’d ordered-he had assumed she was demonstrating her affection. Now it turned out she simply didn’t care enough to ask him to speak up.

If Shawn was embarrassed, he didn’t show it. He leaned in close enough to see his reflection in her gleaming teeth. “So you’ve got a loud pushy guy and a timid stalker-which one do you like best?”

Gus found himself leaning in for the answer, too. But while she was still looking blankly at them, Shepler appeared and guided her down the hall.

“You going to do that good a job of solving the rest of the mysteries?” Gus muttered. “Because if you are, I’ve got dibs on the top bunk in our cell.”

The rest of the guests filed past Shawn and Gus without comment, casting them only puzzled stares or hostile glares-first Bert Coules, the prosecutor, and then, led in handcuffs by Detective Lassiter, Arno Galen, who was still awaiting trial on pet-napping charges. When everyone was inside, Shawn pulled Gus through the massive front doors. Shepler locked them with an ornate antique key, then brought them down the hall to the grand ballroom.

Under any other circumstance Gus would have paused in the doorway to study the ballroom’s ornate design, which put even the theater to shame. The floor was polished granite, inlayed with another mural celebrating some aspect of Adler’s domination over human history; the walls were hand-carved boiserie taken from a French chateau. But Gus’ attention was immediately riveted on the cluster of people in the center of the room, none of whom seemed to notice them when Shawn threw the doors open.

The detectives were prowling on opposite sides of the room so they could keep an eye on all the suspects at once. Chief Vick had positioned herself between Veronica Mason and Bert Coules, apparently trying to referee an argument. Arno Galen stood next to Veronica, his eyes shifting between the cops guarding him and the low-cut dress his hostess was wearing. Henry Spencer was lost in conversation with the coffee girl, who stared up at him rapturously. Gus couldn’t see the unidentified mystery woman, but her black case was in the back of the room, and it was possible she was hidden behind it.

Shawn cleared his throat loudly. Still no one seemed to notice him. He coughed theatrically. Veronica glanced up from her argument and noticed them standing in the doorway. Her face lit up as she stepped away from Coules.

“Finally here’s the man who can tell us who actually killed my husband, instead of casting vague, unsupported allegations,” she said. “Come in, Shawn, and let us share in your genius.”

Coules scowled at her. “That’s one way to keep him from pointing the finger at you.”

Shawn and Gus stepped into the room. All the other conversations stopped as the guests turned to look at them.

“Thank you all for coming,” Shawn said.

“As if we had a choice.” Arno Galen rattled his cuffed hands. “Only way you could get an audience, you cheap phony.”

“Detective, silence that man,” Shawn barked to Juliet O’Hara, who stood beside Galen.

“Silence him yourself,” O’Hara said.

“Just get on with it,” Lassiter said from across the room.

Shawn cast O’Hara a reproachful look, then turned back to the crowd. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve brought you all together.”

“No, we’re not,” Coules said. “We’ve all suffered through your shtick before.”