Keeper [9/14]
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: 4415 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
Henry was retired and-though he hated to admit it-getting old, so he didn't show up first thing that morning. In fact, it was almost ten by the time he arrived at the station.
Karen was present and alone in her office so he knocked on the glass. She looked up, faint surprise on her face as she motioned for him to come in.
He shut the door behind himself and she stood and extended a hand as he approached the desk.
“Henry,” she greeted. “This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you by?”
“Oh you know me, I just can't stay away from this place.”
Karen laughed lightly. “I never thought it would be easy for you.”
“Actually, there is a specific reason why I came today.”
“Does it have to do with Shawn?”
Henry rolled his eyes. “When does it not have to do with Shawn?”
Karen chuckled and set aside the forms she'd been signing. “What's going on?”
“Seven years ago I came into this office and we talked about the fact that my son is not a psychic.”
“I remember.”
“You said that you were going to allow it for as long as he was interested.”
“I'll admit I didn't expect it to last this long,” she confessed.
“Neither did I. I asked at the time what you would do if he was revealed as a fraud. You didn't really answer and I didn't push it. But I've been thinking about it recently. Do you have a plan in mind if someone is able to prove he's not psychic?”
“I'll give you the same answer I did then. How would they? Short of Shawn admitting it-”
“Say he did admit it. And someone caught that moment of stupidity on tape. Then what?”
“Video or audio?” she asked cautiously, wondering if this was more than the idle ponderings of a retired cop with too much time on his hands.
He waved it away. “Doesn't matter. Either one. The question is, are you prepared for the possibility?”
“What's really behind this, Henry? Is there a specific incident-”
“I'm just curious,” he interrupted before she could finish her question. If she hadn't asked, then, technically, when he didn't answer it wasn't a lie.
She pursed her lips and considered her response, but before she got it out a commotion in the bullpen distracted her.
Juliet had just come running into the station, clutching her stomach and looking around wildly until she spotted Shawn who was-from the looks of it-arguing over a plate of some sort of dessert with Lassiter.
Upon her arrival though the argument was forgotten and Shawn shoved the plate into Lassiter's hands and wrapped an arm around Juliet's waist to support her, his teasing smile replaced by concern.
Whatever Juliet said next had the blood draining from Shawn's face and Lassiter setting down the plate and focusing completely on his partner.
Karen was on her feet by this point and headed out the door, Henry on her heels when he saw what had stolen her attention. They joined the group just in time to hear Juliet's declaration.
“Jaime's been kidnapped,” she panted as she bent over, wincing at the way her whole lower body protested. Running at eight and a half months of pregnancy was not a good idea. With her sciatic nerve problem it was downright torture. It couldn't be helped at the moment, but that didn't make it any less painful.
“What?” Shawn, Lassiter, and Henry demanded. The third voice caused the first two to glance back in surprise, but Juliet began to explain and it was pushed aside for more important issues.
“Mrs. Grady called me from the daycare and told me she couldn't find him. I thought maybe he was hiding again. You know how he is.”
Shawn nodded and she continued. “So I went over there. We looked everywhere but we couldn't find him. Then I got a call on my cell phone. I don't know who it was, the number was unknown. It was a man, maybe thirties, no accent, very deep voice. He said that-” She put a hand to her mouth to stem a sudden bout of tears as the shock of what had happened began to wear off and the reality of the situation began to sink in.
Lassiter grabbed his chair and pulled it over and Shawn helped her sink into it, then crouched by her side, rubbing her back.
“It's okay,” he soothed. “Take few breaths,” he encouraged. “That's it. When you're ready, tell us what he said.”
When she'd managed to contain herself enough to speak she recounted the words. “He asked if I thought you were psychic. I told him that I knew you were. He said that I didn't have to lie to him. He knew the truth. After all, if you were psychic you'd know where Jaime was. He said that if you did know you could go get him right away. He gave me a deadline, ten minutes, and said that if you got to him in less than that he'd believe you were psychic.
“But if you aren't psychic you won't be able to find him in time. You'll have to call him and admit the truth and he'll tell you where Jaime is. I said that I didn't even know if he really had Jaime. He-” She stopped to gulp down more tears and then continued.
“He described the clothes Jaime was wearing and he told me to look behind the dodgeball wall and I'd find Jaime's left shoe. When you were ready to confess you could call the number on the paper inside-if you needed it.”
She held up a gallon zip-lock bag, the shoe in question inside with a piece of crumpled paper sticking out of it. Shawn looked at it as Lassiter took it and snapped his fingers to call over McNabb who'd been watching with undisguised curiosity from his desk across the aisle, just waiting to be summoned.
“Get this down to the lab, get me fingerprints first, then have it run through every lab test they have. I want to know anything they can tell me about anyone who's touched it.”
McNabb nodded and took the bag, heading off at a quick trot.
“Shawn, he has our baby,” she said, struggling to maintain her police detective composure against a mother's worry and pregnancy hormones. It wasn't an easy fight and the outcome changed with every heartbeat that passed.
“I know, Jules. I'll get him back,” Shawn promised and hugged her. “He'll be safe and sound in your arms before you know it.”
She nodded and accepted the tissues Lassiter got for her. “Thank you,” she said in a thick voice.
“Juliet,” Karen asked, “did you get a look at the number on the note?”
“555-2785,” Shawn answered in a subdued tone. “It's the kidnapper's number, or at least the one he wants us to think is his. I doubt he's actually sitting by the phone but we should run the number anyway. There may be some connection to him.”
Karen nodded and Lassiter turned to grab his desk phone to contact the phone company. Karen bent down and looked Juliet in the eyes.
“We'll find him.” She looked to Shawn and he nodded once, sharply, in agreement, then turned back to Juliet.
“I have to go work on finding out where Jaime is. Will you be okay here?”
She nodded and wiped at her nose, reluctant to let him go, but well aware that he was their best chance for bringing Jaime home safe.
Shawn stood and turned to his father. He didn't know why he was here, but at the moment he was grateful.
“Dad, can you-”
“Go,” Henry interrupted with a soft voice.
“Thanks,” Shawn breathed fervently and stepped a few feet away to call Gus. Karen was issuing more orders to officers to assist in the search while Henry offered Juliet a hand up and invited her to come sit on the much more comfortable couch in Karen's office-he didn't think that she'd mind his usurping her authority in this case. Juliet just nodded her thanks and accepted the hand.
Shawn pulled out his cell phone and dialed Gus's number, but he kept an eye on Juliet while he paced. She was limping a little-and obviously trying to hide it-but Henry was assisting her so she could get to the couch and lay down. He pushed the concern for her health into a box and slammed the lid on tight.
One problem at a time.
He drummed the fingers of one hand on his thigh while the other kept a grip on the phone so tightly that he would have been worried about crushing it if he had any worry left over. He counted the rings and muttered uncomplimentary things about Gus's parentage while he waited. Finally it stopped and there was a click of a pick up.
“I don't really have time to celebrate right now, Shawn,” Gus said before Shawn could speak.
“Well there's not much of a celebration going on here at the moment,” Shawn replied. Gus heard the myriad of emotions in his friend's voice and immediately realized something was wrong.
“Is it Juliet?” he asked.
“She's part of it,” Shawn answered, but the way he said it sent relief through Gus. The tone by itself said she wasn't in the hospital and nothing else had happened to the baby.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Jaime's been kidnapped.”
Silence reigned for a full thirty seconds while Gus stopped what he was doing and tried to process that.
“What?” he finally demanded.
“Jaime's been kidnapped. Look, I need you to come down to the station and sit with Juliet. My dad's here but I'd feel better with you here as well. I have to go find Jaime.”
“I'm on my way,” Gus said without hesitation. “Ten minutes max.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it,” Shawn said sincerely.
He saw Lassiter scribbling something down and started over. “She's in Chief's office. I gotta go.” He didn't wait for Gus to acknowledge the goodbye before snapping his phone shut and taking the last two steps to Lassiter's desk.
“What did you get?”
Lassiter shook his head.
“Nothing yet. They're working on it.”
Shawn glanced at the paper and saw that it was simply a name and extension for someone at the phone company. He resisted the urge to punch something, but it was close. He settled for resuming the pacing and tapping on his thigh.
Lassiter watched this from his desk and felt the unexpected urge to say something. That wasn't really his territory, though. Juliet was the sympathetic cop who consoled the victims and their families. He was the tough cop that scared confessions out of criminals. He'd always been comfortable with that division of responsibilities, but now . . .
“There's something here that I'm missing,” Shawn said as he walked his route from in front of Lassiter's desk to the far wall across the hall and back.
It was almost painful to watch this rare appearance of the concerned and serious Shawn Spencer. This side of him only came out when someone he cared about was in danger-like now. And knowing without a doubt that he wasn't psychic made it that much harder to watch.
Not that Lassiter knew how he did it still, but there was something Shawn had, some connection or inside track that he exploited to get the information he needed to make the brilliant deductions he did.
And now it was failing him. He had nothing.
Or maybe he did and he just didn't know it. The worry was distracting him-not that Lassiter blamed the man for worrying about his abducted three-year-old son, but it wasn't helping.
Maybe all he needed was to be able to refocus. Drain some of that worry away and replace it with something more productive. Past experience had taught him that nothing motivated Shawn Spencer to success more than proving he was right and you were wrong.
A nice heated argument to let some of that pressure out helped, too.
And while Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the Santa Barbara Police Department sucked at offering a shoulder to cry on, he was a recognized expert at being a jerk.
“What's the matter, Spencer? No communications from the spirit world?” he asked dryly.
Shawn stiffened in disbelief, then turned, ready to lash out at the other man for not taking this seriously.
The look in Lassiter's eyes stopped his tirade before it began and his brow furrowed as his anger at the detective dribbled out, replaced by confusion. Something wasn't quite right about the way he'd said it . . . there was . . .
Shawn shook his head. He didn't have time to decipher Lassie's odd behavior right now.
Right now he had to focus on figuring out where Jaime was.
Unfortunately, Lassiter wasn't ready to give it up. He stood and rounded his desk. “You are psychic, aren't you? The kidnapper said that if you were you could go pick Jaime up right now. So why are we still here?”
Shawn bit his tongue to keep from saying something he'd regret-like the fact that if ever he'd wished he really was psychic it was now-but he managed. Seven years of playing psychic came to his rescue.
“It's . . . very hard to focus . . . with all the emotions . . . raging around here.” He hissed and raised two fingers to his temple. “I can't . . .” He shook his head and dropped his hand with a weary sigh. “I can't get anything right now. It might be because I'm so close to the situation. That can interfere, too.”
“Really,” Lassiter said smugly and leaned back against his desk, arms folded over his chest.
Shawn glared again, but once more was thrown off by the what he saw reflected back in the level stare of the head detective. It didn't match the words or the tone. It was almost like . . . like he wanted to believe Shawn was psychic? But why? Why now?
And if that was the case . . . why was he acting like he didn't?
In fact, other than his eyes it almost seemed like he wasn't concerned at all. Like he was only thinking about the fact that this might be his chance to prove Shawn wasn't really psychic.
But that didn't fit.
Carlton Lassiter wasn't a giant, fluffy teddy bear by anyone's standards, but the memory of the visit to the hospital where he'd voluntarily taken Jaime surfaced in Shawn's mind.
It wasn't alone either. Shawn could recount-and show pictures-of other acts of kindness between the detective and his son. And Lassiter and Juliet. Even one or two rare cases of Lassiter being nice to Shawn popped up-though those were generally under extenuating circumstances. But still.
Carlton cared about Jaime. He cared about all of them.
So why was he acting like he didn't?
Shawn never got a chance to find the answer to that question.
Lassiter's phone rang and out of pure reflex he spun and snatched the hand set up.
“Lassiter,” he barked.
He listened for a heartbeat, then leaned over to grab a pen and almost slipped off the edge of his desk as he tried to stand and turn so he could write down whatever he was being told.
“Anything else?” he asked after a second. “Got it,” he affirmed and then straightened and dropped the phone back on the cradle, not bothering to see if it landed in the right place.
“What is it?” Shawn asked, the confusing near argument forgotten.
“Does the name Fieldstone Industries mean anything to you?”
“Sounds familiar but I can't place it at the moment,” Shawn said. “Why?”
“The phone is registered to a business by that name that owns a warehouse downtown.”
“Let's go.”
“Spencer, we can't just go busting in there. He no doubt expected us to find this out.”
“Of course he did. But I'm getting a very strong vibe,” he said, putting two fingers to his temple and closing his eyes out of reflex more than anything else. “He knows I won't call. He's counting on it. He's expecting me to show up in person. But,” he said opening his eyes. “I'm not an idiot so I'm taking backup.” He dropped his hand and pointed at Lassiter. “That's you. Now let's go.”
“So now your powers are back? Do the spirits have anything to say about how it could be a trap?”
“It could be a trap, but it is my son's life. I'm going.”
“We could try calling first anyway," Lassiter said, mimicking Shawn's tone. "Just for kicks and giggles.”
“Not enough time. Let's move!”
Lassiter rolled his eyes, but short of tackling the other man and dragging him back in the station he wasn't likely to stop him so he was left with only one other option: Go with him and make sure he didn't do something stupid.
Grabbing his jacket, he jogged after Shawn.
“Detective Lassiter!” McNabb called.
“Tell me on the way,” Lassiter directed and waved for his temporary partner to join him in chasing down the fake psychic.
McNabb might be a puppy of a partner but he was obedient and he was bigger than Shawn and both of those could come in handy, Lassiter decided. If nothing else the two of them together could physically overpower Spencer and drag him back here if need be.
He hoped.
o.o
From his spot in the backseat McNabb shared what the lab had been able to come up with in a hurry.
“The prints on the shoe belong to three identified individuals and one unidentified.”
“The unidentified will be Mrs. Grady,” Shawn said. “Juliet and I make two of the identified. Who's the-” He stopped cold, then cursed.
“What?” Lassiter demanded.
“Lawrence Fieldstone! Duh!” Shawn said and smacked his forehead.
“How'd you know?” McNabb asked.
“Who?” Lassiter asked.
“I knew I knew that name. Fieldstone Industries. Lawrence Fieldstone. Geeze! Man, my brain is fried right now.”
Lassiter ignored that, though he wholeheartedly agreed-and maybe understood. “The name isn't familiar to me. Who is he? Someone you put away?”
“Not exactly. And you wouldn't know the name. It was a private case. His wife hired me four years ago. She suspected him of cheating on her. I got her the evidence she needed so she could divorce him and get everything, including custody of their son.”
“So this is about revenge. You took his son away from him, so he's taking yours.”
“It's more than that,” Shawn said, thinking of what exactly Fieldstone had told Juliet. “He said I have to confess that I'm not psychic. He wants to ruin me as completely as he thinks I ruined him. Which I obviously didn't. I got his wife the evidence that he was cheating on her, but it was her excellent lawyer and his crappy one that bled him dry.”
“Apparently he doesn't agree with you on your innocence in all this,” Lassiter said.
“Oh you think?” Shawn snapped. He was still kicking himself over how long it had taken him to figure it out.
“Why wait four years?” McNabb asked.
“When I say that the ex-Mrs. Fieldstone got everything,” Shawn explained, “I mean everything. It's probably taken him four years just to raise the money to pull this off.”
“Why were his prints on file?” Lassiter asked.
“He had a DUI when he was nineteen. He didn't agree with the officer about how much blood was in his alcohol system so he decided to argue his point with his fists. Fortunately for him he's a crappy fighter when he's drunk. The judge let him off easy since he didn't actually make contact and it was his first strike-not to mention he had a much better lawyer then. He did ninety days in lock up, two hundred hours community service, and had to go through rehab for his drinking problem. He's been clean since then, but he was an adult when it happened so he's still in the database. And he knew that which is why he didn't bother to wear gloves. He wants me to know who he is.”
“You know, Spencer, you sure have a way of pissing people off.”
Shawn sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “Tell me about it.”
o.o
They arrived at the warehouse and found it to be pretty much what Shawn had been expecting. It wasn't the stereotypical abandoned dump, but it was older and not in the best condition. It was also as empty as a bum's wallet.
It was three stories tall and had very few windows, most of them were small and filthy. On the ground floor a central hallway ran the length of the building and on either side were a series of five rooms, each with two doors that swung back from the middle to allow a double wide entrance when they were both open.
“Are you so sure he's here?” Lassiter asked as he led the way in, sweeping each room with his gun as he entered it. Shawn was unarmed so he stayed in the middle with McNabb bringing up the rear and keeping an eye out for anyone coming up behind them.
“He's here,” Shawn said. “The question is whether or not Jaime is. I'm actually going for not.”
Lassiter glanced back before moving forward into the next room. “What makes you say that?”
“Just a vibe.”
They entered the middle room on the right and finally found a sign that someone had been here since the building was last occupied.
A TV sat on a table on the far side of the room. A remote sat next to it with a piece of paper tucked underneath it. Shawn approached slowly and slid the paper out from under the controller.
“You say you're psychic, but you haven't turned the TV on yet,” he read aloud.
Shawn arched an eyebrow and glanced at the two cops with him.
“Okay then.”
He picked up the remote and pressed the power button as Lassiter yelled, “NO!” and leapt forward reaching for the remote.
“Holy crap, Lassiter, what was that?” Shawn demanded.
“That could have been a BOMB, you idiot!” Lassiter responded in the same tone.
Shawn snorted. “Not likely. Besides the fact that Fieldstone was an advertising executive and therefore doesn't know anything more about making bombs than what he saw on McGuyver, why would he bring me here and blow me up right away? He wouldn't. He's been waiting four years for this and he put a lot of effort into it. If he just wanted me dead he could have used his 'extensive bomb-making skills' to blow up my minivan.” He might have overdone the sarcasm just a bit, but he wasn't about to take it back.
Lassiter couldn't deny that it was a valid point, but neither did he have to admit it aloud.
“So now what does he want?” he asked instead.
“It's very simple,” a voice said from the TV.
They both looked up, then immediately looked back down at the screen. A middle aged man with longish dirty blond hair and a short beard that was dressed in a black polo shirt and khakis was sitting on a table in a room that appeared to be quite similar to the one they were in.
“Fieldstone,” Shawn grimly confirmed. “Where's Jaime?”
“Oh he's fine,” the other man assured them. “Would you like to see him?”
“Well, duh,” Shawn replied with a roll of his eyes.
Fieldstone gave a crooked smile, then pressed a button on the remote he had in his own hand.
The picture changed to a third blank room. Jaime sat in the corner curled up with his arms wrapped around his knees which were pulled up so he could rest his chin on them.
“I have been known, on very rare occasions, to be wrong,” Shawn admitted quietly when he realized that either Jaime was indeed here in the building or Fieldstone had gone to the trouble to make it look like he was. Shawn was betting on the former.
While they watched, Jaime wiped an arm across his face and sniffed, though it seemed he smeared the tears and snot more than wiping them away.
“Jaime?” Shawn said.
“He can't hear you,” Fieldstone said and the picture changed back abruptly. “But he could if you'd just do as I asked and end this. Admit you're not psychic and I'll tell you where Jaime is. You can go home and get back to your life.” He chuckled. “Well, what's left of your life.
“Oh and if you're thinking of just leaving and searching this building for your son, I'd advise you to think twice. McGuyver isn't a very reliable source of information when it comes to building bombs, but the internet is a fabulous resource. You know I never believed all those news reports that said how easy it was to find the directions online but really they're telling the truth. If you leave this room before I'm satisfied with your confession, then I'll set off the bomb and you'll never see your son-or wife-again. How do you think Juliet would feel about that, Shawn?”
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