Keeper [2/14]
Title: Keeper
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Lassiter, Juliet/Shawn, Team Psych, OFC, OMCs
Warnings: Spoilers, non-graphic abduction of a child, violence
Spoilers: 1.01 Pilot, 1.04 9 Lives, 1.13 Game, Set . . . Muuurder
Genres: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Romance, Het, Family, Friendship, Casefile, Future!Fic
Chapters: 14
Completed: Yes
Word count: 2679 this chapter
Disclaimer: See Prologue or Master Post.
Notes: See Prologue or Master Post.
Awards: See Prologue or Master Post.
Summary: Lassiter finally gets the proof he needs to bring Shawn Spencer's psychic charade to a screeching halt. If only it was that simple...
P 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 E
September 2013
Lassiter was going over the photos from the crime scene of his current top case, a murder of a young man in an upscale neighborhood with remarkably low crime statistics, when the phone rang. He picked it up without looking away from the gruesome shot of the victim he was currently scrutinizing.
“Lassiter.”
“Detective, I have an anonymous caller on hold. He says he has information about a crime.”
“Don't we have a hotline for that?”
“He requested to speak to you specifically.”
Lassiter set the picture down and leaned back, rubbing at his eyes. He should probably tell the sergeant to transfer the call to the hotline, but this case was big enough to warrant a press conference, snippets of which had been airing on the news for the last week. He really could use a break and if he scared them off by ignoring them . . .
“Put it through.”
A click, a pause, and a second click later he repeated, “Lassiter.” He picked up one of the pictures, his gaze focused on the gunshot wound in the young man's chest and wondered if the second ballistics report was done yet.
“Detective Lassiter, I have information for you regarding a crime.”
“What crime?” he asked distractedly and looked around for his partner. She wasn't immediately visible so he flagged down a junior officer and waved him over. “Check with ballistics,” he said quietly and pointed to the case folder.
His impromptu assistant nodded and hurried off to do as he'd been told in true eager beaver rookie style.
“Shawn Spencer works for your department as a 'psychic' consultant, doesn't he?” the anonymous voice asked.
Lassiter sighed and wiped a hand over his face. He should have known. Half the calls that came his way were about Shawn. Did he look like he was the other man's press agent or fan club president or something?
He knew what to say now because he'd been counseled on the proper way to respond to such calls-most of which came from the press, though a few were either fans, potential clients for the psychic detective's private agency, or claiming to be psychics themselves.
Unfortunately it was not the way he'd like to respond to them. Whoever they were, though, they got the same answer.
“Any and all inquiries regarding Mr. Spencer should be directed to the department's public affairs office. I can transfer you-”
He was interrupted with an annoyed, “I'm not making an 'inquiry'. I have information about him.”
“Oh. Someone calling with answers instead of questions,”Lassiter said sarcastically, his own temper flaring at being cut off and snapped at. “This is novel. Go right ahead. Wait, let me get a pen so I can write this down.” He picked up his coffee mug and took a drink. “Okay. I'm ready.”
There was a brief pause, for drama or because Lassiter had pissed him off the detective neither knew nor cared.
“Shawn Spencer is not a psychic.”
“Really!” he exclaimed with patently fake exuberance as he rolled his eyes. Like they didn't get one of these every month. “Well let me call the press. Can you hold?”
A deep breath was inhaled and exhaled.
“I am serious.”
“Yeah,” Lassiter said, done having fun. He picked up the witness statement from the sister who'd found the vic and skimmed it. “And I'm busy. Do you have any proof of your claim?” He found a pen and made a note to have Juliet follow up with the girl in a phone call to clarify a few things.
“Finding the evidence is supposed to be your job, isn't it, Detective?”
The quiet background noises of a busy police department filled the line for a few long seconds as Lassiter stopped what he was doing and bit back his first response to that mistake of a tactic.
“The department has investigated Mr. Spencer, but to date there are no conclusive scientific tests to determine whether or not someone has psychic abilities. He has demonstrated the ability to know things that he shouldn't so he's allowed to occasionally assist with an investigation. If you have proof that he's not psychic I will gladly listen and I may even be willing to make arrangements to meet with you. If you don't though, I have other crimes to investigate.”
“Detective, I have done my homework. You don't believe Shawn Spencer is a psychic any more than I do.”
Lassiter sighed and dropped the pen, running his free hand through his hair.
“Look, between you and me I've had my doubts since day one,” he confessed. “But the fact of the matter is Chief Vick believes he's worth keeping around and unless you can provide me with proof that he's not really psychic, there's nothing I can do.”
“I see,” was the cold response. “Thank you for your time, Detective.”
The click and dial tone of a hang up followed and Lassiter replaced the phone on the cradle with a shake of his head, then went back to solving a homicide.
October 2013
It was days like today that Lassiter considered retiring.
Not that he was old. Forty-two wasn't old in his book.
Today, however, he felt like he was seventy-two. It was getting harder to keep up with the younger guys and he was questioning whether or not it was even worth trying anymore.
He walked up the steps of his house and grunted as he crouched to scratch Dinah between the ears when she came running from around the back. The shorthaired tuxedo cat had been a gift from Shawn on his fortieth birthday. Carlton was pretty sure it had been intended as a joke and that Shawn had expected the cat back. So he'd kept her just to thwart the other man's plans.
Oddly, he didn't regret it. He wasn't a cat person by nature, but Dinah-named for his beloved grandmother who had kept cats-was an exceptionally affectionate feline and he'd found over time that he enjoyed the company.
And being greeted every evening with a happy purr was a much better alternative to being yelled at by his ex-wife or the silence of an empty house.
He straightened after a few moments and unlocked the door, letting Dinah slip inside before him as he grabbed the mail from the box next to the entrance.
Most of it was expected and not terribly interesting-bills and junk mail and such-but there was one thing that caught his eye: a DVD in a slim jewel case that had obviously not come through the mail.
Scrawled in black Sharpie over the disc label were the words, 'Is this proof enough, Detective?'
He considered that as he shut the door and set the mail and his briefcase aside.
Before he could decide what exactly to do about it though Dinah began meowing and pawing at his ankles. It was dinnertime and he was dawdling.
He took the DVD into the kitchen and set it on the counter while he emptied a can of food onto Dinah's plate and refilled her water.
He glanced at it again as he began making his own dinner, but left it where it was for the moment. Boiling water for pasta and getting out a saucepan to brown some meat he focused his hands on the preparation of spaghetti and let his mind work on this new mystery.
Actually, it wasn't new though. He was more than a little sure that this was related to that tip from a month ago.
Since the caller had hung up when proof was demanded, Carlton thought that would be the end of it. It usually was.
But the appearance of the DVD tonight changed things. Or it might if it actually had proof. He wasn't holding his breath.
He finished cooking and ate his solitary meal, then cleaned up. While he was drying his hands after doing the dishes his gaze strayed to the jewel case once more.
He really should go over those witness statements again. He had a feeling that there was something in them he was missing.
With an aggrieved sigh and a roll of his eyes he snagged the DVD and went to retrieve his briefcase.
He'd see what was on the disc just to satisfy his morbid curiosity, then get back to real work and review the statements.
o.o
The picture quality wasn't that great. A cheap security camera-the kind available at any online 'spy gadget' store-was most likely what was used. The audio wasn't much better.
But both were good enough that there was no mistaking the subjects or their topic of discussion.
“I don't know, Gus, I channel the victim a lot,” Shawn said as he paced in the open area between the desks of the Psych office. He tossed a ball back and forth between his hands as he walked. “I don't want it to get old.”
“It's the victim, Shawn,” Gus countered. “It's classic and it makes sense. Who else would really want the case solved? A grandmother that's been dead fifteen years?”
“Maybe,” Shawn said, sounding like he was really considering it. “She wants to see her dear grandson again, but can't because he's trapped by his unfinished business.”
“So even though she 'passed on' to the 'other side' she came back to help her grandson?” Gus asked dubiously.
Shawn stopped and spread his hands. “She really loves him. Wouldn't your grandmother do that for you?”
“Granny Raleigh is still alive. And Granny Guster refused to speak to my family after the incident with her pet bird and the garbage disposal. So no.”
“'Her pet bird and the garbage disposal'?” Shawn repeated, distracted from his conundrum.
“A yellow parakeet named Liberace. Don't ask,” he said at the look that garnered, then continued. “In my defense I was only four. How was I supposed to know that he would follow that stupid belled ball of his down there? I wasn't even the one that turned it on. That was my cousin Adrina's fault. But you didn't see her family being kicked out of the house and told never to come back,” he finished with just a dollop of bitterness.
Shawn stared in disbelief, then shook it off. “How have I never heard this story before? No, you know what? I don't want to know. Besides, right now we need to come up with a solid witness for me to channel.”
He resumed tossing the ball and pacing, then said, “And I don't think I like this one either. Especially now that when I think of grandmothers I'm going to think of why pet parakeets should be kept away from you and garbage disposals.” He turned and shot a suspicious look at his best friend when he said this.
“It wasn't my fault!” Gus insisted.
Shawn ignored him and continued his short walk.
“We need something el- The dog!” he exclaimed and spun, pointing a finger at his partner. “He had a dog, right?”
“Shawn, you remember everything. I know you remember that monster of a German shepherd. He tried to eat your sneakers when we broke into their house.”
“He was just sniffing them,” Shawn said dismissively. “Wasn't he a retired police dog?”
“So?”
“So who better to demand justice than a retired cop? I can 'channel' the dog. Like I did with that little boy cat way back when.”
“The one you gave to McNabb?”
“That's the one. But this is better. Since the dog was a police dog he'd notice things that other dogs might not.” He put his fingers to his head like he was having one of his visions and deepened his voice, changing the cadence to sound more like a human cop giving the report. “The intruder was a white male, approximately six feet tall, two hundred and fifty pounds. He had black sneakers and he'd recently been through the park. I could smell the hot dogs and French fry grease from the vendor that operates at the west entrance. He was wearing black jeans and a dark blue, hooded sweatshirt to conceal his face.”
“Shawn, dogs can't see colors. How did he know it was blue?”
“Good point,” Shawn agreed. “Just a dark sweatshirt then.”
Lassiter watched in shock as they continued to plan the vision that Shawn would have the next day.
It was one that Carlton remembered very clearly and not only because it had happened so recently. It had provided the evidence needed to solve the case and added another tally to Shawn Spencer's impressive record.
It was also the case he'd been working on when he'd received that anonymous tip.
And it was all fake.
This was proof-of a sort-that Shawn Spencer wasn't really psychic.
It didn't say how he did it, but it proved that his 'visions' weren't genuine. They weren't even spontaneous.
Leaning back on the sofa the head detective pondered what to do with this.
His first instinct was to grab the DVD and run down to the station and show it to the chief. But something stopped him.
He wasn't following through with his instinct and he wasn't immediately sure why.
Shawn Spencer was a fake. He was a fraud. He was a criminal.
But after seven years of working together . . . he was also something of a friend.
It would take sodium pentathol or a LOT of liquor to make that thought appear in verbal or written form, but it was true nonetheless.
He was also married to Carlton's partner-who was a month from delivering Spencer's second child.
Which also made him a father and a breadwinner and . . .
Carlton rose with a snort and went to the DVD player to eject the disc.
And he'd be doing them all a favor if he ended this now. The longer it went on the worse it would be when the truth finally came out.
Spencer might be out in time to see his youngest graduate if Carlton followed his first instinct.
And yet . . . Spencer wasn't technically hurting anyone.
Okay, he was hurting Lassiter's pride. But he wasn't misleading them on cases. Not in a way that hindered them. And he had been somewhat helpful over the years.
What he was doing was wrong, but the end result . . .
Carlton shook his head and replaced the DVD in the case.
The ends didn't justify the means. That was something that didn't change in Carlton Lassiter's rulebook.
But maybe there was another solution to this. One that wouldn't feel so much like betrayal.
At any rate, he decided as he sat down and opened up his briefcase to retrieve the files he needed, he would have to have something more than this one little bit of evidence. It was audio/visual anyway which meant it had to be authenticated and the source verified and right now he couldn't really do either.
And if a little voice in Carlton's head said that he was waffling because he didn't really want to be the one to ruin Shawn Spencer . . . well that was just ridiculous. It had nothing to do with being soft, he just didn't want to look like an idiot. He needed to build a case first.
The voice silenced for now, he focused on the thefts that were a much higher priority and pushed the whole matter aside.
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