Psych: Cause and Effect (Part 2)
Title: Cause and Effect (Part 2/4)
Author: rockinhamburger aka Nikki
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Detective Carlton Lassiter is named primary investigator on a particularly close-to-home case in which Shawn's not available for a consult -- because he's the victim. As Lassiter searches for Shawn's attacker, and Shawn lies in a comatose state, he begins to do some inner soul-searching. Struggling to remain objective in light of his new, alarming feelings for Shawn Spencer, can he overcome his insecurities and prove exactly why he's the youngest Head Detective to ever be named to the force?
Word Count: 18,850!
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Psych, as it belongs to the wonderful Steve Franks, and the lovely USA Network. I just like spending stupid amounts of time on these characters!
Notes: Firstly, I need to give my eternal love and thanks to brevityis, my beta-reader, who (perhaps unwisely) offered her brilliant editing services to me shortly after I started writing this monster. She is entirely responsible for its coherency, and she deserves much more than this measly shout-out. Thank you so much, hon! Additional thanks to deadlybride and luna_moonsilver for the extra encouragement.
There are a few legal details later in this story that I needed to go off-book with. If you are familiar with criminal law, you may find this aspect somewhat grating, and I apologize ahead of time for it. I assure you it is for the good of the story, and that it isn't anything too serious!
Lassiter slept soundly until his alarm woke him at 9 in the morning. Sunday, like Saturday, meant he didn’t have to go into work, but he was definitely going into work today.
He pulled out his phone to call O’Hara after he’d locked his front door and begun to make his way toward his car. O’Hara answered after the second ring, sounding tired, and he felt a twinge of guilt for having woken her, but squashed it because he knew it was worth it.
“O’Hara, I need you to meet me at the Station. There’s been a break in the case.”
O’Hara gasped. “Oh Carlton, that’s wonderful! I’ll be there as soon as I can!”
“Good.” With that, Lassiter hung up and climbed into the Crown Vic, started it a few moments later and drove the ten minutes it took him to get to the Station, heart fluttering with nerves. He was sure he was right, but somehow he was still nervous.
He parked his car in a spot close to the entrance of the Department and hurried up the steps. He burst through the doors, resisting the urge to run to his desk. Without even taking off his suit jacket, he opened the files pertaining to Spencer’s case, located the number he was searching for, and punched it in. He picked up the receiver and cradled it to his ear. After four rings, the phone was picked up mid-peal with a breathless sounding, “hello?”
“Hello, may I speak with James Meyer?”
The man cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, you’re speaking with him.”
“I see. This is Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the Santa Barbara Police. I’m investigating the case of the man you found a few nights ago. I just have a few questions for you, and I would appreciate it if you could come in to the station to answer them.”
Meyer was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat again. “I - of course. When would you like me to come?”
“Immediately, if it’s at all possible.”
“Well, I - that is, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can. What’s the address?”
Lassiter listed it for him and then hung up, feeling excitement coursing through his veins. Then he dialled the number of SOHO Restaurant, grabbing the receiver off the hook straight away.
“SOHO Restaurant and Music, would you like to make a reservation?” came the pleasant voice of young-sounding woman.
“No, thank you, I’m Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the Santa Barbara Police and I’d like to speak with Jeff Connor, please.”
There was a pause as the woman clearly adjusted to the unusual request. “I’m afraid he isn’t in today, but I could give you his home number if that would help?”
Lassiter thought quickly. “No, that’s all right. My partner and I will be stopping by shortly; if you could please set aside the credit card receipts from this past Thursday and Friday evening, we’ll be along for them.”
“Yes, of course,” the woman said.
As they each hung up, Lassiter leaned back in his chair for a moment. He sat there quietly, lost in his thoughts, before standing up. Vick would want to know the latest. He headed over to her office door, knocked, and waited for her to let him in.
***
“I still don’t see why you won’t tell me the details, Carlton,” O’Hara said from the passenger seat of the Crown Vic as they drove toward SOHO.
“Because, O’Hara, I want you to see it.”
They pulled up in front of SOHO, got out of the car, and went in. It was incredibly crowded inside, but the hostess came over immediately.
Lassiter spoke before she could, “I spoke to someone on the phone about retrieving some credit card receipts…”
The woman nodded, smiling politely. “Yes, that was me. Right this way. I made a quick call to Jeff, and he said you’re welcome to them.”
“Excellent,” Lassiter said, following her toward the cash register. She bent down behind the desk with the cash register on it, and went to work locating them. About a minute later, she stood up with a stack of papers in her hand.
“Here you are,” she said, handing them to Lassiter. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Thank you. We’ll return these as soon as we can.”
The hostess nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”
O’Hara and Lassiter turned and left, and when they got outside, Lassiter said, “you’re driving, O’Hara.”
“I’m what!?” O’Hara demanded in shock.
“Driving.”
O’Hara stared at him in surprise for several long moments before reaching hesitantly for the keys Lassiter was holding out to her. She walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat as Lassiter climbed into the passenger seat and started rifling through the credit card receipts.
The moment he found the one he was looking for, he nearly cheered. As it was, was he kept silent for the rest of the ride, adrenaline pumping through his veins. As far as Lassiter was concerned, there was nothing more satisfying than blowing a case wide open.
***
Lassiter opened the door to the interrogation room, sauntered casually over to the table, and sat down across from James Meyer. He placed the relevant documents between them and regarded the man with an expression of deep ease.
“James Meyer, is it?” he began, leaning forward and placing his folded arms on the table. Meyer nodded and, unconsciously it seemed, began tapping the floor with his foot.
“Detective… Lassiter? How’s he doing? The man I found?”
Lassiter shook his head gravely. “He’s currently in a comatose state, but the doctors think he’ll come out of it. Until then, we don’t have much to go on. That’s why I called you down here. Can I call you James?” he asked politely, and after Meyer nodded, continued, “Why don’t you talk me through what you saw on Thursday evening?”
Meyer’s eyes flicked to the door behind Lassiter, to the one-sided mirror, and back to Lassiter before he cleared his throat. “Um, sure. It was about 2:30 in the morning, and I was walking by the parking lot on Victoria, the one just behind SOHO. I saw a figure on the ground, and for the some reason I just knew it was a body.”
Once again, Meyer glanced toward the door before looking down at his hands.
“I - uh - I decided to go over and investigate. That’s when I saw the man lying there unconscious. I checked his pulse and called 9-1-1, and then I waited around until the police arrived a few minutes later. The ambulance arrived shortly after that and the - the paramedics took the man away while I was giving my report to the police. Then I left.”
Lassiter nodded as Meyer finished speaking. “Thank you for coming in. I’m sorry I had to drag you down here like this, but I just wanted to double check everything. You see, the man you discovered in that parking lot - Shawn Spencer - is a consultant for this department.”
His tone was casual, but he spoke slowly and clearly so that Meyer couldn’t miss a word. With each one that passed through Lassiter’s lips, Meyer seemed to become more and more tense. And since Lassiter was pretty good at reading guilt, he knew rather well when he was looking right at it.
“Mr Spencer has worked with us on several cases, so this investigation is particularly important to the Department. I just wanted to be sure we had every detail correct.”
Meyer nodded stiffly. “Of course. It’s no problem.” He moved to stand up, but Lassiter leaned back and cleared his throat for attention.
“Just a few last things I need to check up on, if you don’t mind,” he added, and Meyer froze halfway to his feet and then slowly sat back down, looking quite anxious.
“You see, the street lamp above SOHO’s parking lot was smashed on the night of the crime, perhaps by his attacker. We recently acquired two eyewitness accounts from customers of SOHO who claimed the light was on and very much intact a few hours before the attack. And upon closer inspection, it seems it would have been quite difficult for you to have seen Mr Spencer from the road, as you’ve reported.”
A look of panic flitted across Meyer’s face before he reined it in and tried to look nonchalant. He didn’t say anything, though, and Lassiter continued.
“Furthermore, I put in a call to Dr Feinstein, who is currently treating Mr Spencer, just before I talked with you, and he reported that Mr Spencer’s injuries include a large laceration on his back that suggests he was dragged to the location where you claim to have discovered him. Since he was found some distance from his motorcycle and then smashed the headlamp above, it seems safe to assume his attacker did not want him to be found alive.”
He let these words sink in, watching Meyer carefully for a reaction. He could see the wheels turning, knew instinctively that Meyer was hiding something and doing some quick thinking.
“James, let’s be honest with each other. I spoke with the manager of SOHO Restaurant on the phone shortly after you arrived here.” Meyer’s head snapped up and his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Lassiter’s face. “According to his testimony, you were there on the night of Mr Spencer’s attack. I also have a credit card receipt that says you were undoubtedly there. What’s more, you weren’t alone; reservations for you and another under your name. Now, judging by the transaction that went through a few moments after yours, his name would be Kyle Peters. Since we’re going with honesty, why don’t you tell me the truth: you and Kyle were there, weren’t you?”
Meyer was staring at Lassiter, all traces of anxiety gone, leaving a deep intensity that only served to encourage Lassiter further.
“You and Kyle were there, and you saw Mr Spencer entertaining guests at the bar with his psychic abilities. He was dead on with everyone, and it freaked you out, didn’t it?"
Meyer shook his head, “no.”
“No, that’s right. It was Kyle who was freaked out, wasn’t it? Kyle’s the one who started the whole thing, who threw the first punch. Sure, you thought it was funny at first. ‘Take that, Psychic! Bet you didn’t see that coming, eh Psychic?’ You just wanted to scare the guy, bring his ego down a couple notches. But then Kyle took it too far. You tried to stop him, but he was too strong. By the time you got him off Mr Spencer, it was pretty clear you’d both be in serious trouble if anyone found out what had happened. So Kyle made you help move him into the corner of the parking lot, and then he smashed the streetlamp above the lot. Isn’t that right, James?”
He pulled a crime scene photo out of the folder and pushed it across the table toward Meyer. It was a photo of the broken streetlamp. He pushed another forward, this one showing the place where Shawn has been found. Meyer stared down at the photos, expression unreadable.
“What do you make of all this, James?”
Meyer pushed the photos away, looking sick to his stomach. “I don’t - it’s not -“
“I thought we were going to be honest, James. We both know Kyle got a little carried away and realized he had to hide the body. He was banking on Mr Spencer being found dead, but you couldn’t let that happen. It was just supposed to be a little fun; no one was supposed to die. So you went back and put in a call to the police. Then you waited to file a report. You figured no one would suspect the guy who put in the call. Right, James?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Meyer burst out, breathing hard. His expression and tone conveyed anger and panic and most definitely guilt. “It doesn’t matter anyway, you have no proof!”
Lassiter leaned forward. “I have enough circumstantial evidence to have you tried as an accessory to attempted murder, not to mention obstruction of justice for hiding the body and lying in the police report.”
Meyer pushed his chair back and it tumbled over as he stood up. “I want a lawyer!”
Lassiter smiled without humour. “I’m sure you do, James. The guilty so often do.”
Meyer narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of Lassiter’s cell phone beeping. Lassiter pulled it out of its case, which was secured to his belt, and flipped it open. A few moments later, Lassiter looked up from the text message O’Hara had just sent his way, and a slow grin formed on his face as he fixed his gaze on Meyer, looking smug.
“You’d better get that lawyer, Meyer. Mr Spencer has just come out of his coma, and there’s a very good reason he’s Psychic Consultant for the Santa Barbara Police Department. You’re going to need all the help you can get, legal or otherwise.”
With that, Lassiter stood up and gathered the files and photos in front of him into a pile. Turning to go, he looked back for a second before saying, “you picked the wrong guy to mess with, Meyer. See you in court.”
O’Hara and Vick were waiting just outside the interrogation room, identical smiles of relief and joy on their faces.
“Carlton!” O’Hara breathed. But that was all she could manage.
“Good work, Detective,” Vick chimed in, and with such sincerity that Lassiter could actually feel his heart swelling with pride.
“Just doing my job, Chief,” he declared, allowing himself a small smile.
But he knew it was more - much, much more - than that.
***
Forty-five minutes later, they found themselves in Shawn’s room, clustered, along with Guster and Henry, around Shawn’s bed. Shawn himself took in their silence and grinned. He looked around at each face, and his grin continued to grow every moment. Finally Shawn spoke, and the words coupled with the warm, trusting tone inflected in them, shot straight to Lassiter’s heart, and Lassiter knew in that precise moment that he was a goner.
“Did you get ‘em, Lassie?”
Everyone in the room turned their gazes on him as he nodded slowly, “yeah.”
Shawn’s smile was so wide now that it was practically blinding. Lassiter’s heart beat almost painfully inside his chest. “Knew you would.”
Lassiter could feel the muscles in his face shifting until he was smiling at Shawn Spencer. Not a smirk, or a sneer, or any other word beginning with ‘s’; an actual, genuine smile. It felt good.
The spell was broken when O’Hara cleared her throat, and Carlton wrenched his gaze from Shawn’s face, heart pounding. “Carlton figured out it was two men, James Meyer and Kyle Peters, who were at SOHO the same time you were. Peters wasn’t a fan of your psychic abilities, so he thought it’d be fun to rough you up. Carlton realized there was no way Meyer, who came back, could have seen you from the road in that darkness. He realized Meyer must’ve decided to call the police and file a report to cover his tracks.”
Shawn nodded throughout this explanation and in that moment, Carlton realized he already knew all of it. Somehow, he’d already figured it out. Normally this would have been infuriating to Carlton, but it was actually just an indicator that Shawn was going to be fine. That was alarmingly reassuring to him.
“Shawn, do you remember anything that could help us get a conviction?” OHara asked, coming forward slightly. “Peters has been brought in for questioning, but he’s not talking, and Meyer hasn’t confessed to anything either. We could really use your help.”
Everyone in the room paid even more rapt attention as Shawn nodded. “You put me in a room with the guys who did this, and I’ll be able to identify them as the same guys that were in the restaurant.”
Vick stepped forward. “Are you sure, Mr Spencer? We don’t want the Defense to have a chance to establish reasonable doubt.”
“Don’t worry, Chief. You get me in that room, and there won’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind.”
That was a challenge if Carlton had ever heard one.
--
"The manner in which one endures is more important than the thing that must be endured."
-Dean Acheson, quoted by Merle Miller in 'Plain Speaking'
Next
Author: rockinhamburger aka Nikki
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Detective Carlton Lassiter is named primary investigator on a particularly close-to-home case in which Shawn's not available for a consult -- because he's the victim. As Lassiter searches for Shawn's attacker, and Shawn lies in a comatose state, he begins to do some inner soul-searching. Struggling to remain objective in light of his new, alarming feelings for Shawn Spencer, can he overcome his insecurities and prove exactly why he's the youngest Head Detective to ever be named to the force?
Word Count: 18,850!
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Psych, as it belongs to the wonderful Steve Franks, and the lovely USA Network. I just like spending stupid amounts of time on these characters!
Notes: Firstly, I need to give my eternal love and thanks to brevityis, my beta-reader, who (perhaps unwisely) offered her brilliant editing services to me shortly after I started writing this monster. She is entirely responsible for its coherency, and she deserves much more than this measly shout-out. Thank you so much, hon! Additional thanks to deadlybride and luna_moonsilver for the extra encouragement.
There are a few legal details later in this story that I needed to go off-book with. If you are familiar with criminal law, you may find this aspect somewhat grating, and I apologize ahead of time for it. I assure you it is for the good of the story, and that it isn't anything too serious!
Lassiter slept soundly until his alarm woke him at 9 in the morning. Sunday, like Saturday, meant he didn’t have to go into work, but he was definitely going into work today.
He pulled out his phone to call O’Hara after he’d locked his front door and begun to make his way toward his car. O’Hara answered after the second ring, sounding tired, and he felt a twinge of guilt for having woken her, but squashed it because he knew it was worth it.
“O’Hara, I need you to meet me at the Station. There’s been a break in the case.”
O’Hara gasped. “Oh Carlton, that’s wonderful! I’ll be there as soon as I can!”
“Good.” With that, Lassiter hung up and climbed into the Crown Vic, started it a few moments later and drove the ten minutes it took him to get to the Station, heart fluttering with nerves. He was sure he was right, but somehow he was still nervous.
He parked his car in a spot close to the entrance of the Department and hurried up the steps. He burst through the doors, resisting the urge to run to his desk. Without even taking off his suit jacket, he opened the files pertaining to Spencer’s case, located the number he was searching for, and punched it in. He picked up the receiver and cradled it to his ear. After four rings, the phone was picked up mid-peal with a breathless sounding, “hello?”
“Hello, may I speak with James Meyer?”
The man cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, you’re speaking with him.”
“I see. This is Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the Santa Barbara Police. I’m investigating the case of the man you found a few nights ago. I just have a few questions for you, and I would appreciate it if you could come in to the station to answer them.”
Meyer was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat again. “I - of course. When would you like me to come?”
“Immediately, if it’s at all possible.”
“Well, I - that is, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can. What’s the address?”
Lassiter listed it for him and then hung up, feeling excitement coursing through his veins. Then he dialled the number of SOHO Restaurant, grabbing the receiver off the hook straight away.
“SOHO Restaurant and Music, would you like to make a reservation?” came the pleasant voice of young-sounding woman.
“No, thank you, I’m Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the Santa Barbara Police and I’d like to speak with Jeff Connor, please.”
There was a pause as the woman clearly adjusted to the unusual request. “I’m afraid he isn’t in today, but I could give you his home number if that would help?”
Lassiter thought quickly. “No, that’s all right. My partner and I will be stopping by shortly; if you could please set aside the credit card receipts from this past Thursday and Friday evening, we’ll be along for them.”
“Yes, of course,” the woman said.
As they each hung up, Lassiter leaned back in his chair for a moment. He sat there quietly, lost in his thoughts, before standing up. Vick would want to know the latest. He headed over to her office door, knocked, and waited for her to let him in.
***
“I still don’t see why you won’t tell me the details, Carlton,” O’Hara said from the passenger seat of the Crown Vic as they drove toward SOHO.
“Because, O’Hara, I want you to see it.”
They pulled up in front of SOHO, got out of the car, and went in. It was incredibly crowded inside, but the hostess came over immediately.
Lassiter spoke before she could, “I spoke to someone on the phone about retrieving some credit card receipts…”
The woman nodded, smiling politely. “Yes, that was me. Right this way. I made a quick call to Jeff, and he said you’re welcome to them.”
“Excellent,” Lassiter said, following her toward the cash register. She bent down behind the desk with the cash register on it, and went to work locating them. About a minute later, she stood up with a stack of papers in her hand.
“Here you are,” she said, handing them to Lassiter. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Thank you. We’ll return these as soon as we can.”
The hostess nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”
O’Hara and Lassiter turned and left, and when they got outside, Lassiter said, “you’re driving, O’Hara.”
“I’m what!?” O’Hara demanded in shock.
“Driving.”
O’Hara stared at him in surprise for several long moments before reaching hesitantly for the keys Lassiter was holding out to her. She walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat as Lassiter climbed into the passenger seat and started rifling through the credit card receipts.
The moment he found the one he was looking for, he nearly cheered. As it was, was he kept silent for the rest of the ride, adrenaline pumping through his veins. As far as Lassiter was concerned, there was nothing more satisfying than blowing a case wide open.
***
Lassiter opened the door to the interrogation room, sauntered casually over to the table, and sat down across from James Meyer. He placed the relevant documents between them and regarded the man with an expression of deep ease.
“James Meyer, is it?” he began, leaning forward and placing his folded arms on the table. Meyer nodded and, unconsciously it seemed, began tapping the floor with his foot.
“Detective… Lassiter? How’s he doing? The man I found?”
Lassiter shook his head gravely. “He’s currently in a comatose state, but the doctors think he’ll come out of it. Until then, we don’t have much to go on. That’s why I called you down here. Can I call you James?” he asked politely, and after Meyer nodded, continued, “Why don’t you talk me through what you saw on Thursday evening?”
Meyer’s eyes flicked to the door behind Lassiter, to the one-sided mirror, and back to Lassiter before he cleared his throat. “Um, sure. It was about 2:30 in the morning, and I was walking by the parking lot on Victoria, the one just behind SOHO. I saw a figure on the ground, and for the some reason I just knew it was a body.”
Once again, Meyer glanced toward the door before looking down at his hands.
“I - uh - I decided to go over and investigate. That’s when I saw the man lying there unconscious. I checked his pulse and called 9-1-1, and then I waited around until the police arrived a few minutes later. The ambulance arrived shortly after that and the - the paramedics took the man away while I was giving my report to the police. Then I left.”
Lassiter nodded as Meyer finished speaking. “Thank you for coming in. I’m sorry I had to drag you down here like this, but I just wanted to double check everything. You see, the man you discovered in that parking lot - Shawn Spencer - is a consultant for this department.”
His tone was casual, but he spoke slowly and clearly so that Meyer couldn’t miss a word. With each one that passed through Lassiter’s lips, Meyer seemed to become more and more tense. And since Lassiter was pretty good at reading guilt, he knew rather well when he was looking right at it.
“Mr Spencer has worked with us on several cases, so this investigation is particularly important to the Department. I just wanted to be sure we had every detail correct.”
Meyer nodded stiffly. “Of course. It’s no problem.” He moved to stand up, but Lassiter leaned back and cleared his throat for attention.
“Just a few last things I need to check up on, if you don’t mind,” he added, and Meyer froze halfway to his feet and then slowly sat back down, looking quite anxious.
“You see, the street lamp above SOHO’s parking lot was smashed on the night of the crime, perhaps by his attacker. We recently acquired two eyewitness accounts from customers of SOHO who claimed the light was on and very much intact a few hours before the attack. And upon closer inspection, it seems it would have been quite difficult for you to have seen Mr Spencer from the road, as you’ve reported.”
A look of panic flitted across Meyer’s face before he reined it in and tried to look nonchalant. He didn’t say anything, though, and Lassiter continued.
“Furthermore, I put in a call to Dr Feinstein, who is currently treating Mr Spencer, just before I talked with you, and he reported that Mr Spencer’s injuries include a large laceration on his back that suggests he was dragged to the location where you claim to have discovered him. Since he was found some distance from his motorcycle and then smashed the headlamp above, it seems safe to assume his attacker did not want him to be found alive.”
He let these words sink in, watching Meyer carefully for a reaction. He could see the wheels turning, knew instinctively that Meyer was hiding something and doing some quick thinking.
“James, let’s be honest with each other. I spoke with the manager of SOHO Restaurant on the phone shortly after you arrived here.” Meyer’s head snapped up and his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Lassiter’s face. “According to his testimony, you were there on the night of Mr Spencer’s attack. I also have a credit card receipt that says you were undoubtedly there. What’s more, you weren’t alone; reservations for you and another under your name. Now, judging by the transaction that went through a few moments after yours, his name would be Kyle Peters. Since we’re going with honesty, why don’t you tell me the truth: you and Kyle were there, weren’t you?”
Meyer was staring at Lassiter, all traces of anxiety gone, leaving a deep intensity that only served to encourage Lassiter further.
“You and Kyle were there, and you saw Mr Spencer entertaining guests at the bar with his psychic abilities. He was dead on with everyone, and it freaked you out, didn’t it?"
Meyer shook his head, “no.”
“No, that’s right. It was Kyle who was freaked out, wasn’t it? Kyle’s the one who started the whole thing, who threw the first punch. Sure, you thought it was funny at first. ‘Take that, Psychic! Bet you didn’t see that coming, eh Psychic?’ You just wanted to scare the guy, bring his ego down a couple notches. But then Kyle took it too far. You tried to stop him, but he was too strong. By the time you got him off Mr Spencer, it was pretty clear you’d both be in serious trouble if anyone found out what had happened. So Kyle made you help move him into the corner of the parking lot, and then he smashed the streetlamp above the lot. Isn’t that right, James?”
He pulled a crime scene photo out of the folder and pushed it across the table toward Meyer. It was a photo of the broken streetlamp. He pushed another forward, this one showing the place where Shawn has been found. Meyer stared down at the photos, expression unreadable.
“What do you make of all this, James?”
Meyer pushed the photos away, looking sick to his stomach. “I don’t - it’s not -“
“I thought we were going to be honest, James. We both know Kyle got a little carried away and realized he had to hide the body. He was banking on Mr Spencer being found dead, but you couldn’t let that happen. It was just supposed to be a little fun; no one was supposed to die. So you went back and put in a call to the police. Then you waited to file a report. You figured no one would suspect the guy who put in the call. Right, James?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Meyer burst out, breathing hard. His expression and tone conveyed anger and panic and most definitely guilt. “It doesn’t matter anyway, you have no proof!”
Lassiter leaned forward. “I have enough circumstantial evidence to have you tried as an accessory to attempted murder, not to mention obstruction of justice for hiding the body and lying in the police report.”
Meyer pushed his chair back and it tumbled over as he stood up. “I want a lawyer!”
Lassiter smiled without humour. “I’m sure you do, James. The guilty so often do.”
Meyer narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of Lassiter’s cell phone beeping. Lassiter pulled it out of its case, which was secured to his belt, and flipped it open. A few moments later, Lassiter looked up from the text message O’Hara had just sent his way, and a slow grin formed on his face as he fixed his gaze on Meyer, looking smug.
“You’d better get that lawyer, Meyer. Mr Spencer has just come out of his coma, and there’s a very good reason he’s Psychic Consultant for the Santa Barbara Police Department. You’re going to need all the help you can get, legal or otherwise.”
With that, Lassiter stood up and gathered the files and photos in front of him into a pile. Turning to go, he looked back for a second before saying, “you picked the wrong guy to mess with, Meyer. See you in court.”
O’Hara and Vick were waiting just outside the interrogation room, identical smiles of relief and joy on their faces.
“Carlton!” O’Hara breathed. But that was all she could manage.
“Good work, Detective,” Vick chimed in, and with such sincerity that Lassiter could actually feel his heart swelling with pride.
“Just doing my job, Chief,” he declared, allowing himself a small smile.
But he knew it was more - much, much more - than that.
***
Forty-five minutes later, they found themselves in Shawn’s room, clustered, along with Guster and Henry, around Shawn’s bed. Shawn himself took in their silence and grinned. He looked around at each face, and his grin continued to grow every moment. Finally Shawn spoke, and the words coupled with the warm, trusting tone inflected in them, shot straight to Lassiter’s heart, and Lassiter knew in that precise moment that he was a goner.
“Did you get ‘em, Lassie?”
Everyone in the room turned their gazes on him as he nodded slowly, “yeah.”
Shawn’s smile was so wide now that it was practically blinding. Lassiter’s heart beat almost painfully inside his chest. “Knew you would.”
Lassiter could feel the muscles in his face shifting until he was smiling at Shawn Spencer. Not a smirk, or a sneer, or any other word beginning with ‘s’; an actual, genuine smile. It felt good.
The spell was broken when O’Hara cleared her throat, and Carlton wrenched his gaze from Shawn’s face, heart pounding. “Carlton figured out it was two men, James Meyer and Kyle Peters, who were at SOHO the same time you were. Peters wasn’t a fan of your psychic abilities, so he thought it’d be fun to rough you up. Carlton realized there was no way Meyer, who came back, could have seen you from the road in that darkness. He realized Meyer must’ve decided to call the police and file a report to cover his tracks.”
Shawn nodded throughout this explanation and in that moment, Carlton realized he already knew all of it. Somehow, he’d already figured it out. Normally this would have been infuriating to Carlton, but it was actually just an indicator that Shawn was going to be fine. That was alarmingly reassuring to him.
“Shawn, do you remember anything that could help us get a conviction?” OHara asked, coming forward slightly. “Peters has been brought in for questioning, but he’s not talking, and Meyer hasn’t confessed to anything either. We could really use your help.”
Everyone in the room paid even more rapt attention as Shawn nodded. “You put me in a room with the guys who did this, and I’ll be able to identify them as the same guys that were in the restaurant.”
Vick stepped forward. “Are you sure, Mr Spencer? We don’t want the Defense to have a chance to establish reasonable doubt.”
“Don’t worry, Chief. You get me in that room, and there won’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind.”
That was a challenge if Carlton had ever heard one.
--
"The manner in which one endures is more important than the thing that must be endured."
-Dean Acheson, quoted by Merle Miller in 'Plain Speaking'
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