Chapter 3
"I can't believe we're shredding evidence," Lassiter muttered as they approached the shredder in the computer room of the main branch of the Santa Barbara public library at 3:28.
"It's not evidence," Gus reminded him. "It's just a few temple bulletins, a copy of our bill, and recipes for all the smoothies we bought form the Temple's organic juice bar."
"Even if the case was as banal as you claim it was, they're being handed over for ransom now, which means they're evidence in a kidnapping case."
"Then you can pull them out of the trash and enter them into evidence after we find Shawn and Juliet."
Lassiter smoldered, but didn't stop Gus from shredding the pieces of evidence, one at a time.
"So, now what?" Lassiter asked after the last receipt was confetti.
"I don't know," Gus said nervously scanning the room full of normal-looking people. He'd seen plenty of normal-looking people who turned out to be thieves, or kidnappers, or worse. He knew it could be any of them.
"Um, excuse me," a young man standing in the doorway said. He was wearing a bike helmet and a messenger bag, which both carried the logo Eco-Deliveries. He was scanning the room too, but his eyes didn't rest on anyone. Gus got the feeling that he didn't know who he was looking for.
"Is there a mister," The delivery boy looked down at a card in his hand. "Mister Lucian T'Sky, here?"
"Dude, this is a library," a man working on a computer near the door said. "Shut up."
"I've got a message for Lucian T'Sky."
"That's me!" Gus said suddenly. "I'm Lucian T'Sky."
"What?" Lassiter asked. "No you're not."
"Yes, I am," Gus said as he started walking quickly across the room towards the messenger. "That's how Shawn introduced me to the people at the temple."
"Why does he do that?" Lassiter asked rhetorically, as he followed Gus.
"What's the message?" Gus demanded once he reached the bike messenger. "Where do I sign?"
"Um," the messenger said. "You don't need to sign. I'm just supposed to tell you," he looked down at his card "Blue Van, Airport Parking, Level 4."
"Blue Van, Airport Parking, Level 4?" Lassiter asked, furious. "Who are you? What do you know about Detective O'Hara!"
"Be quiet," The man at the computer said. "We're trying to concentrate."
"And I'm trying to save an officer's life," Lassiter snapped back. "So why don't you be quiet?"
The man huffed and pushed himself out of the chair. "I'm getting the librarian," he said as he pushed past them towards the door.
"I have half a mind to arrest that guy for interfering with an investigation," Lassiter muttered.
"Detective," Gus said sharply, pulling Lassiter's attention back to the case at hand.
"Right," Lassiter said, turning back to the bike messenger, who'd grown pail and was looking around nervously, as if he expected the Rules for Computer Use on the wall to let him know what to do. "Listen buddy, you may think you're being clever, but I'm on to you. Now if you don't spill every thing you know about Detective O'Hara's whereabouts right now, I'm going drag you down town and . . . "
"Look, it's not my fault," the messenger stammered before Lassiter could finish the threat. "It's just a message. I deliver them. It's all I do."
"The kidnappers told us when to be here," Gus said, thinking quickly. "He must have sent the messenger to give us the location of Shawn and Juliet."
"Kidnapper?" the messenger said. "I don't know what's going on."
"We got to get to the airport," Gus said. "They could be there right now."
"Or it could be a trap," Lassiter said. "And this guy could be in on it."
"Well, we have to check it out," Gus insisted. "If you're not coming, I'll go on my own."
"Of course I'm coming," Lassiter snapped. "Let's hand this 'messenger' off to McNabb and hit the road. With any luck, will beat the Feds."
* * *
Shawn tried to think, but it was hard to focus. Still, there were facts, and facts were things he could work with. First, Juliet was young, and she was beautiful, and she was intimidating. Second, the kidnapper was buff, but cowardly—so the buffness was apparently a new trait, something developed recently. He'd probably been small as a kid, and, like Shawn, he'd learned how to manipulate situations—twist them so he could get what he wanted. After all, that's all the kidnapper had done, twisted a drive home into a nightmare. Third, the kidnapper had had a plan for Juliet, but he hadn't had a plan for Shawn. Why else would he just leave him, to die of dehydration, or blood lose, or to be rescued—the kidnapper didn't seem to care. That begged the question, why bother to kidnap Shawn in the first place? Why not just leave him in Juliet's car. There were many possible answers, but not any probable ones. He needed more facts.
His deep mediations were interrupted by voices. Soft, distant voices—but certainly the sound of people. And if he could hear them, that meant they must be able to hear him.
"Hey!" he yelled as loudly as he could, so loudly that it hurt his parched throat. "Hey! Help! I'm trapped in here! Help!"
The voices got louder and became distinguishable. He couldn't make out words, but he could understand tones. Lassiter was outside, and he sounded pissed off.
"In here Lassie!" Shawn screamed, trying not to laugh from relief.
"Shawn," another familiar voice yelled. "Are you all right?"
"Dad!" Shawn yelled, he suddenly felt less relived.
"We're gonna get you out of there, Shawn," Gus's voice added.
"I wasn't really worried about that," Shawn said softly—after all, there was only a door and a pair of handcuffs between him and freedom.
A moment later, the door slid open and bright California sunlight burst in.
Shawn winced and looked away from the blinding light, but had enough presence of mind to yell out. "He's got Juliet. I'm fine. You've got to find her. You have to find Detective O'Hara."
The two FBI officers and one paramedic that streamed into the van didn't seem to care.
* * *
"Gus!" Shawn was yelling from inside an ambulance. "Gus!"
"He's calling for me," Gus explained to the officer holding him at bay. They were in the far corner of the airport's shaded and stuffy parking garage. It was so far from any desirable parking spots that no one was around to gawk at the ambulance, SWAT van, and swarm of police cars. In fact, the only person restrained by the yellow police line around the perimeter was Gus.
"I don't care," the officer said.
"We're partners," Gus said.
"Where is Gus?" Shawn yelled again.
"He needs me," Gus insisted.
"He needs to go to the hospital," the officer responded.
"Guuuuuus!" Shawn yelled.
"Look, he's going to keep doing that until you let me go," Gus explained.
"He's got his dad and the paramedics," the officer replied dryly. "I'm sure he's fine."
"Then why is he screaming my name?" Gus asked.
As if to answer that question, a young paramedic ran up. "Are you Gus?" she asked.
"Yes, I am," Gus said proudly.
"Let him in," the paramedic told the officer. "The patient is freaking out. He won't agree to any treatment unless Gus comes and talks to him."
"I told you," Gus said smugly as the officer lifted the yellow tape and let him through. He was less smug as he walked past the crime scene. Chills flew down his back as they passed the unassuming blue van. It had no windows in the back, but he could look in through the open doors to the stark black interior where a small team of forensics experts were carefully dusting for prints and searching for fibers. The only distinguishing characteristic Gus could see was a set of handcuffs: one cuff was attached to an anchor on the floor, the other had been sliced open to free Shawn.
The evidence showed that Shawn had been in the van for almost 20 hours. Gus couldn't imagine 20 hours of pain and terror in the pitch-black. Shawn may have been throwing a hissy-fit after the experience, but Gus doubted he'd have been able to compose a complete sentence.
"Gus! Gus! Gus! Gus!" Shawn was yelling as his old friend approached.
"Shawn!" Gus yelled back, jogging the rest of the way to the ambulance. "I'm right here buddy."
"Great!" Shawn said excitedly. "I need you to get Lassie for me."
Gus froze as soon as he reached his friend, not because Shawn's request was ridiculous—he'd learned to expect that from Shawn—but because his friend looked worse then Gus had ever seen him. He was wearing a dirty, wrinkled dress shirt, while the right leg of his suit pants had been cut off at mid thigh. There must have been a particularly nasty cut on it, because it was wrapped in thick bandages from above his knee to mid calf. He was pale, with dry white lips and dark purple bags under his eyes, and he was holding an ice pack to a spot just over his left temple. Despite all this, Shawn looked eager, almost excited. He was sitting on a stretcher, leaning forward as if he was waiting for a chance to jump off. Henry was standing next to him, somehow managing to look worried and disapproving at the same time.
"Dude, you look terrible," Gus said.
"That's not important right now," Shawn insisted. "I need you to go get Lassie."
"What for?" Gus asked. "Do you need a police escort to the hospital?"
"I'm not going to the hospital."
"What are talking about?" Gus demanded. "You're dehydrated, sleep deprived, concussed, and I'm betting you can't walk."
"Which is why I have to get out there," Shawn insisted. "The kidnapper will never see me coming."
"Ignore him," Henry said gruffly, glaring at his son. "He's going to go to the hospital and rest, like any sane person would do."
"No I'm not," Shawn insisted, glaring back at his father. "I'm going to rescue Juliet, like any sane person would do."
Gus had known the Spencers long enough to know that it was dangerous to get in the middle of their fights. "I'll see if I can find Lassiter," he said, stepping away.
"And a burrito," Shawn called after him. "Lassie and a burrito."
It wasn't hard to find Lassiter, he was at the edge of a group of FBI agents, looking left-out and angry. It was even easier to convince him to go talk to Shawn, but when he reached the ambulance, the police officer growled, "What the hell do you want?"
"A burrito," Shawn said earnestly. "I really, really want a burrito."
"You pulled me away from an FBI briefing for this?"
"No," Shawn said. "But since you asked, I thought I'd give you an honest answer. What's going on over there?"
"The van you were kept in is listed as belonging to a Mr. Justin Keets, who happens to be diseased. They're in the process of tracing how it got here. They're also tracing all the cars that were in the lot," Lassiter said. "There were thirty-four that left in the window between the van's arrival and our arrival. "
"They can't tell from the security cameras which car the kidnapper took?" Gus asked.
"On the top levels they only have cameras near the stairs," Lassiter said. "The van is parked in one of the many blind spots."
"How did the kidnapper know to do that?" Gus asked. "Could he work for airport security?"
"The kidnapper isn't blind," Henry said. "Look around. It's obvious there are no cameras anywhere around here."
"Mr. Spencer," the pretty young paramedic who'd gone to fetch Gus interrupted. "We need to put in your IV."
"No," Shawn said, pulling his arm away from the young woman. "I don't have time for an IV."
"You need hydration, nutrients, and a pain medication," she said, holding up a clear plastic IV bag full of clear liquid which, presumably, contained all three.
"Then get me a Gatorade, burrito, and some Advil. I'm not getting an IV."
"Sir," the paramedic said, turning to Henry. "Can you please convince your son to accept treatment."
"Not likely," Henry grumbled. "He hasn't listed to me since he was seventeen."
"Correction," Shawn said. "I always listen to you, I just don't follow your advice."
"Spencer, I was in the middle of an FBI briefing," Lassiter said. "If you don't have anything important to tell me, stop wasting my time,"
"I don't waste time," Shawn insisted.
"That's all you do," Lassiter spat back.
"Juliet's in danger!" Shawn insisted furiously. "The FBI wastes time, with their stupid briefings and their evidence collection and their pointless questions about that freaky church with the great juice bar. What the hell was that all about?"
"The kidnapper wanted us to destroy those case files," Gus explained. "That was your ransom."
"Really?" Shawn asked. "That's the dumbest ransom ever. We don't even keep files. What did you do, burn the receipts for all those smoothies?"
"Shredded," Gus supplied.
"Look, the point is, I told them who has her and they just ignored me."
"You know who has her?" Lassiter asked, amazed.
"Well, know it was someone who wasn't at the wedding."
"Great," Lassiter said. There are approximately 92,000 people in the Santa Barbara metropolitan area. There were what, 300 people at the wedding . . ."
"More like 220," Shawn corrected.
"That leaves more then 91,780 suspects," Gus said.
"I don't suspect any of you," Shawn said. "So, really, only 91,777 suspects."
"Spencer!" Lassiter snapped.
"It's someone who knew about the wedding, knew she'd be a bridesmaid, knew she'd be there."
"But the ransom note was about you," Lassiter said.
"And it was a lame ransom," Shawn pointed out. "A totally worthless ransom. Don't you see? It's all about Juliet, and anything having to do with me was a diversion. This guy planed it out perfectly—and he thought on his feet. No one knew I was going to be there, but he used it as an opportunity to buy himself more time."
"I knew you would be there," Gus said.
"Ok, Gus, what psychopath did you tell?" Shawn asked.
"What about that girl you're seeing?" Henry asked. "Abigail."
"I didn't tell her," Shawn said.
"You didn't tell her you were going on a date with another woman?" Gus asked with a note of disapproval in his voice.
"It wasn't a date, it was a favor," Shawn explained defensively. "She asked me last week. She didn't have any time to get anyone else."
"I'm just saying, it's messed up, that's all," Gus said.
"Gentlemen," Lassiter interjected, enunciating very precisely. "Detective O'Hara is missing."
"The point is," Shawn said. "The kidnapper wasn't at the wedding but he knew about it. We need to know who knew about the wedding."
"Lots of people knew," Lassiter pointed out. "She talked about it all week."
"Ok, smartly pants, where was the reception?" Shawn asked. "What time did it start? When did it end? Where did the newlyweds go on their honeymoon? What was the house cocktail? Which hotels had discounted rooms for guests?"
"I don't know," Lassiter said peevishly.
"But the kidnapper did," Shawn pointed out. "Well, maybe not the cocktails. But he must have known everything else. He knew when she would be there, when she'd drive back and what route she would take. He knew everything."
"He probably knows the family," Gus said. "Or it could be one of the vendors."
"Vendors doesn't fly," Shawn said. "Juliet was targeted. He didn't just want a pretty bridesmaid or a woman with long blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. If that was all, he could have picked a much easier target—he wanted her."
"Have the FBI interviewed the O'Hara family?" Gus asked.
"No," Lassiter said. "They're busy with the . . . crystal . . . enlightened . . . temple . . ."
"The Crystalline Temple of Spiritual Enlightenment," Gus provided.
"That place has over 400 members and the head of the task force wants to interview all of them," Lassiter explained.
"Great," Shawn said. "Then they won't get in our way."
"Shawn," Henry said. "You are in no state to investigate a crime where you were the victim. I absolutely forbid it."
"You forbid it?" Shawn asked, turning to his father. "Has that ever worked?"
"I just got you back, Shawn," his father answered, in lower, if not softer, tone. "I'm not going to let you risk your life . . ."
"My life is not in danger!" Shawn insisted, not bothering to consider his father's concerns. "Juliet is the one in danger. And you know I can find her twice as fast as Lassie here, and about a million times faster then the feds! If we leave it to them, we're putting Jules at risk—and I can't handle that. We have to find her."
"As much as I hate to say this, he's right," Lassiter admitted grudgingly. "I think we need him."
"Really, Lassie?" Shawn asked. He appeared to be sobered and amazed by the detective's endorsement. "That . . . that means a lot to me."
"Get over it," Lassiter spat back. "I just want to find my partner."
"Right," Shawn nodded in agreement. "So, here's the plan. Dad, take me to my place. I can't interview suspects looking like this."
"You're going to take time to clean up," Lassiter asked, annoyed.
"Good point, I'm sure Juliet's worried mother will be able to think clearly about potential suspects when she sees how dirty and beat-up I am. That'll put her mind right at ease." Not missing a beat, he turned to Gus, "Do you still have those crutches from high school?"
"Of course," Gus said. "Waste not, want not."
"Great, I'll need them. And Lassie, can you please get me a burrito?"
"No, I will not." Lassiter said. "I'm not your delivery guy."
"And I haven't eaten all day!" Shawn snapped back. "I can't concentrate when I'm hungry, just ask Gus."
"It's true," Gus affirmed.
"Fine," Lassiter huffed. "I'll get you a burrito."
"Perfect, great," Shawn said, nodding and rubbing his hands together. Gus knew that he was building the courage to go through with their plan. Shawn was good at coming up with plans, but they always made him a little nervous. Plans could fail, and Shawn hated failure. And, if it did fail, it was possible that none of them would ever see Juliet again.
To be continued . . . .
