A/N: Chapter three is here! I don't know if I already warned you, but there is some light Shules in this chapter. I hope you enjoy and please review!

Chapter Three: The Whole Story

Shawn strolled into the police department as if he owned the place, Gus following just behind him. The two headed straight for the interrogation rooms, where they knew that Reginald Washington was waiting.

Lassiter was staring at the suspect through the two way mirror when Shawn and Gus arrived. "Well, there's the suspect. I can't imagine what else you need him to say, but he's in there waiting for you. He won't say anything else, though. Doesn't want to say another word until his lawyer arrives," Lassiter said, somehow managing to sound annoyed and smug at the same time.

Shawn took a step back, as if offended. "Lassie, you wound me! I don't need him to say a word," Shawn raised his hand to his head in his usual manner, "Remember? I'm psychic."

Lassiter stepped aside and swept his arms in a welcoming gesture toward the door that would lead Shawn and Gus to the room. "Then by all means," Lassiter said.

Shawn gave Lassie a wide grin. "Such a fine gentleman," he said as he moved toward the interrogation room. "Come on, Gus."

Gus sighed and began following behind Shawn. Only after they were nearly inside did it hit Gus that he was stepping into the room with a murderer. That in itself was alarming enough, but Gus was more or less used to that. But this particular murderer was also a racist, and Gus's only protection was Shawn.

Gus stopped dead in his tracks. "You must be out of your damn mind."

Shawn stopped and turned. "What is it?"

"That's a killer in there, Shawn. And why do you have to talk to him anyways? Can't you just watch him from the other side of that mirror? Lassiter said he wasn't saying anything else."

"Are you serious? Come on, Gus!" Shawn bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet.

Gus didn't respond; instead, he glanced sideways and pretended to be completely deaf.

Shawn did not have any patience for this, so instead of talking Gus into joining him, he grabbed Gus and bodily flung him into the room before following.

Gus shrieked when Shawn flung him into the room and tried to escape, but Shawn wasn't having any of it. He grabbed him and turned him to face the man Gus was sure was going to kill him.

In order to save face, Gus quickly put on his bravest expression and folded his arms, trying to appear casual and nonchalant. Shawn placed an arm around Gus's shoulders before allowing himself to finally examine his suspect and he saw; Saw the mud caking the suspect's shoes, the disgruntled expression on his face, the tattoo on his rather meaty shoulder and then he saw something else in his suspect's eyes, something almost smug.

"Alright, let's go, Gus," Shawn said, steering Gus back towards the door.

"What? That's it?" Surprise registered in the suspect's voice as Shawn began to leave.

Shawn stopped and turned to Reginald. He put on a pensive expression, shrugged and said, "Pretty much, yeah."

"No probing questions? No threats on my life or liberty?" Reginald stared at Shawn completely dumbfounded.

"I have everything I need," Shawn pointed to his head, "right here."

"How do you figure that?" Reginald scoffed.

"Well, Reggie, I'm a psychic and this, this is my best friend, Burton Guster. And the spirits are pretty adamant about something," Shawn said, turning a glare on Reginald.

It wasn't lost on Gus that Shawn had used his real name and Gus was going to tell him just what he thought about that later on. But presently, Gus was too busy being surprised at the expression on Shawn's face. It was an expression he had seldom, possibly never, seen on his best friend's face when looking at another human person: disgust and loathing.

Gus was brought back to himself at the sound of Reginald's voice. "Oh yeah? What are the 'spirits' saying?"

"That you're as guilty as you say you are." Shawn paused, allowing his words to sink in and that smug look to return to the man's face. "But they are also saying that you weren't working on your own."

The expression on Reginald's face froze. Even without Shawn's incredible observational skills, Gus knew that expression—it was the look of someone that had been caught red-handed.

"You can't prove it," Reginald said in a thin voice.

"No, but I will. Come on, Gus." Shawn turned and finally left the interrogation room, Gus following closely behind.

"Lassie, you might want to run some samples of the mud on the suspect's shoes," Shawn told the lanky detective when they met up again outside of the interrogation room.

"And why would I do that, Spencer?"

"Because it'll tell you about where he has been meeting his partners," Shawn replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"He didn't have any partners. You don't think we already asked him about that? He didn't even react," Lassiter replied.

"Which is exactly why he does have partners. If you'd been accused of a crime, wouldn't you jump at a chance to point the finger at some other players? Unless, of course, you actually had partners that you were covering for or afraid of. In which case you'd pretend that you were completely nonplussed by the mention of partners. Look, if you check the mud and say it was because I told you to do it, then I'd be the only one who would be humiliated. You don't have anything to lose," Shawn tried.

Lassiter considered this for a moment. "Fine. But if you're wrong, I'm going to make sure that every person you know hears about it," Lassiter said, then turned and went into the interrogation room. Shawn smirked slightly and then turned to leave the station.

Gus waited until they were nearly out of the station before he spoke. "Shawn, what the hell were you thinking?"

"What's that, buddy?" Shawn said, sounding distracted.

"You used my real name," Gus said, trying to sound as accusatory as possible.

"I did? Huh…I guess I did. Sorry."

"That's all you have to say? Sorry? Shawn, if you're right and Reginald has partners, then what if he tells those partners my name and they attack me?"

"That's not going to happen, Gus. Stop being a girl," Shawn said. The two of them were outside now, the Santa Barbara sun just beginning to set. "Let's head back to the office. We need to do a lot of research. And by we, I mean mostly you."

Gus rolled his eyes and climbed into his Echo. Next destination: the Psych office.

~*****~

The next day saw Shawn and Gus sitting in the office, having made very little headway in the case as far as they were concerned.

"Thanks, Jules," Shawn stated into his iPhone before hanging it up and setting it down on the desk next to some half-eaten slices of pineapple.

"What did you find out?" Gus asked, glancing up from where he was doing some research on his laptop.

"Not much. Most of this stuff, my dad told me about. All I know is that Reginald Washington has done a lot of time, mostly for hate crimes. Most recently, he did ten years and paid a hefty fine for an aggravated assault. He beat a gay guy into a coma right in front of six eye witnesses. He was working at the fire department as a form of community service."

"That's messed up," Gus replied, feeling an involuntary chill race up his spine; he couldn't understand why someone would act so violently towards another human being. It just didn't make sense.

"What about you? Anything interesting about the Nazi sign I saw tattooed on our bad guy besides the obvious Hitler reference?"

"Not really; It just says that 'Neo-Nazism consists of post-World War II social or political movements seeking to revive Nazism or some variant thereof.' I even went on this website that tracks societies and couldn't find any evidence of one of those Neo-Nazi groups in Santa Barbara."

"Alright. Gus, why don't you do a search for all crimes that have even the slightest possibility of being hate crimes within the last two years and check in with Lassie about those lab tests I told him to run. I'm going to take care of something," Shawn stated, standing up and popping his back.

"Where are you going, Shawn? Why do I have to do all the research?" Gus complained.

"Relax, okay? I'm doing some research too. I'm going to talk to my dad."

Gus thought about complaining some more, but he knew that Shawn didn't like going to his father for things like this, even if the two of them were getting along much better lately. The fact that he was willing to go to his father's house and ask his advice usually meant that Shawn was getting frustrated with his inability to solve a case, and normally, Henry afforded Shawn some kind of useful insight, even when it frustrated the hell out of Shawn. Gus decided that he was going to let Shawn off of the hook and went back to his search; maybe he could help shed some light on the situation.

~*****~

Shawn parked his bike in the driveway of his father's house and climbed off of it, un-strapping his helmet and draping it over the handlebars. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his messy hair. There were a lot of things Shawn hated, but of all those things, he hated this the most: having to ask his father for help. And it didn't help that he seemed to have to do that more often than not lately.

"Shawn! What are you doing here?" Henry asked, stepping out of the garage and cleaning his hands on a grease rag. He had clearly been working on his truck prior to Shawn's visit.

"What? A son can't come and visit his cranky, aging father without some kind of ulterior motive?" Shawn replied.

"Not when it's you," Henry returned, tossing his rag onto a tall, red toolbox that stood just to the side of the garage door. He leaned against the toolbox and crossed his arms, casting a suspicious glance on his son.

Shawn rolled his eyes and gave up. "Alright, I need more of your help on this case."

"Ah. So the truth comes out. What do I get in return? The way I see it, I'm getting nothing out of this little exchange."

"Oh, come on! What do you want from me?"

"I want you to come to dinner this Friday and meet someone," Henry replied simply.

"Meet some—" Shawn's face quickly took on a look of discomfort. "No. No way, I'm not meeting your latest flame, dad. I don't want anything to do with your dating habits."

"Suit yourself, son. Let's see how well you solve this case without my help. Oh, and don't count on getting hired by the SBPD for the next three weeks." Henry moved towards the door of the house.

"Oh my god! You're the reason Chief Vick hasn't given me a case for the last month! I knew that you taking this job would ruin my life!"

Henry turned around, exasperation written in every line of his face. "I figured that you would need some time off after…after everything that happened," Henry stated.

"And it didn't ever occur to you that a case was exactly what I needed to get my mind off of things? Are you even my father? You'd think that you would now my personality enough to tell whether I needed 'time off' or a 'distraction.'"

"Shawn, I'm not going to get into this with you right now," Henry said, throwing up his arms in defeat. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Just forget it. I knew this was a mistake," Shawn said, turning back towards his motorcycle. 'I'll just go bug Lassie and Jules at the station."

"Wait--you can't just ask for my help and then leave--"

Shawn ignored his father and pulled his helmet back on, throwing a leg over the bike.

"Don't ignore me, Shawn. You know I hate that," Henry warned.

Shawn gunned the engine on his bike, not even bothering to look at his father as he said, "Sorry, I can't hear you over the roar of my bike."

"Alright, you win," Henry said, holding a hand to his head; a sudden headache had begun pulsing in his head as his frustration with his obnoxious son grew. It was times like this that Henry wished he'd had a girl.

"What was that?"

"You win!" Shawn turned the engine off just as Henry said this, so his voice rang through the neighborhood, and random beachgoers turned to stare at him, looks of puzzlement or, in some cases, amusement on their faces.

Shawn allowed a smirk onto his face as he climbed off of his bike. Henry just glared darkly at him.

"Get your ass inside. I'll pick up your slack for free this time." Henry turned and walked into the house without another word. Shawn bounced inside after him.

Once in the kitchen, Henry grabbed himself a cold beer out of the refrigerator. He didn't get Shawn one as he normally would, a sure sign that he was annoyed with him; instead, he opted to take a long sip from the can. He swallowed, made a sound of satisfaction, and said, "Alright. What the hell do you want?"

"Okay, hear me out. We got Lassie to arrest Reginald Washington and he pretty much confessed on the spot. Why would he do that?"

Henry shrugged, leaning against the kitchen island. "Maybe he knew he wasn't going to get away with it and decided to not even bother trying in the hopes of cutting a deal."

"Then why would he run in the first place?" Shawn returned. "And he never mentioned anything about a deal after he was busted. And there was hardly any chance that he'd get a deal at all. He had already done similar things, so it was almost a done sentence. What kind of a man would cut a deal with scum like that? Reggie had to know that."

"Sometimes criminals do things that don't make sense, Shawn. Maybe he had an epiphany and decided that he wanted to come clean and become a better man." Henry took another sip of beer then set the can on the counter.

"Then why did he look so smug and pleased with himself? If you were likely to be put to death sooner rather than later, wouldn't you look at least a little upset, or at the very least pissed at being caught? I mean, nobody is smug about getting killed," Shawn said.

"Well, what are your theories, Shawn? If I know you, I know that you always have some kind of theory. Let's have it, then. Why do you think he did this?" Henry asked, folding his arms.

"To cover for a partner. Or multiple partners. Perhaps an organized crime group."

Henry slowly unfolded his arms and looked his son over for hints that he was joking, but there was none of that usual mischievous look on his face. In fact, he looked sure of himself. "Are you saying that there might be a KKK group in Santa Barbara?" Henry asked cautiously, hoping that his deductive reasoning had finally failed him and his assumption was completely incorrect.

"Don't be ridiculous," Shawn replied. Henry let out a breath of relief, but sucked it back in as Shawn continued, "I think there is a Neo-Nazi movement in Santa Barbara. There is a very distinct difference between the two."

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "And why the hell do you think that?" Henry asked with more patience than he thought he possessed.

"Think about it, dad. It makes perfect sense. Gus is running a search on how many hate crimes have happened lately, and I suspect the number is much higher than people would think. Also, Reggie has this tattoo of a swastika on his arm. Not to mention, he has been in prison before. Wikipedia says—"

"Wait, wait, wait! You're basing this theory on a Wikipedia article? Shawn, I thought I taught you better than that."

Shawn made a frustrated sound. "That's beside the point. What matters is that the injuries on Corey Jasper were pretty extensive. I find it hard to believe that a single person could inflict such injuries by himself, no matter how mad or justified he thinks he is in doing it."

"I think you need more evidence than a quick confession, a bad tattoo and an unprofessional evaluation of a burned skeleton to prove that there is a Neo-Nazi movement in Santa Barbara. Call me when you have more evidence. Until then, I wouldn't broadcast that theory all over the place; it's liable to get you killed." Henry moved around the Island and began bustling Shawn towards the door not-so-gently.

Shawn shrugged his father off and made another sound of frustration. "Completely useless," he muttered, stepping outside. The door closed resolutely behind him. Thoroughly annoyed, Shawn pulled out his phone to see what Gus had to say about the research project Shawn had left him with. Maybe he could get somewhere, since Shawn obviously had not.

~*****~

Gus had told Shawn to meet him at the police station; apparently, Lassie had gotten the lab results back even sooner than any of them had planned, and the results were pretty good. The mud proved to be from an area of town that was all but completely abandoned, due to the toxic nature of the materials that had once been deposited there. It made a perfect place for secret meetings in the night, and Shawn was fairly confident that they'd find their Neo-Nazis there. The problem was trying to get the police to believe them. Not wanting to wait, Shawn had told Gus to quickly case the place out and see if they could narrow down the location a little bit more. Gus had responded that he would do so on the way to the station. That had been nearly two hours ago.

Shawn paced up and down Chief Vick's office, impatient for Gus to return. A terrible foreboding had begun to settle in his chest; there was just no way that Gus would be delayed two hours when all he had been meant to do was drive around the place and give a decent description of it for the cops and Shawn in the hopes of getting enough evidence for a warrant.

"He should be here by now," Shawn said for what was probably the millionth time, stopping and staring down the other three in the room.

"Mr. Spencer, take a seat," the chief ordered authoritatively, "Mr. Guster is probably just running late."

"By two hours? I'm sorry, chief, but that's just not how Gus is. If he were delayed somehow, then he would have called by now. No, I don't think so," Shawn returned irritably.

"Shawn—" Juliet began, but was cut off almost immediately.

"No, Jules. What if he was taken?" Shawn said, glaring at all of them in turn. "What if he got too close to the base and the Neo-Nazis saw him? They could be doing god-knows-what to him—"

"Look, we still don't have any evidence to suggest that there is a Neo-Nazi group in Santa Barbara in the first place. We can't even get a search warrant on the place. If, as you say, this group exists and Gus is taken, we will do everything in our power to get him back. But until we have more evidence, then we can't do anything," Chief Vick said, trying to sound reasonable.

"My best friend is missing and you tell me that there isn't evidence to go looking for him?" Shawn argued.

"Technically, Spencer, Guster isn't missing. He's only been gone for a couple of hours," Lassiter said. He tried to make his voice as comforting as possible, which, in Lassiter's case, was not very comforting at all. Shawn opened his mouth, probably to say something unfortunate, but Juliet stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. Instantly, Shawn closed his mouth and settled for sulking silently.

"Come outside with me," she stated, nodding her head towards the door. Before he could respond, Juliet turned and left. Shawn only thought about it for a second before following after her.

"What, Jules?" he asked, sounding very peeved and impatient.

Juliet didn't respond; instead, she searched the halls to make sure that nobody was within earshot and that they were out of sight from the main office, and then pulled him into a kiss. Shawn responded reflexively, forgetting about his worry for one blessed second and just enjoying the feel of her lips against his.

Once they broke the kiss, Shawn swallowed. "That…" he began. For a second, he considered finishing that statement with the words 'was amazing,' but shook his head and stated, "…was very inappropriate."

Jules gathered herself and nodded. "I know. But I felt like you needed a distraction."

"Finally! Someone knows me well enough to know that distractions work better than doing nothing!" he said, trying to be his usual, goofy self but failing. His heart just wasn't in it, and Juliet could see the heartbreak and worry in his eyes.

"Look, I realize that you're freaking out about Gus. He's your best friend. But you have to realize that our hands are tied. We have hoops of protocol and bureaucracy to get through. Carlton and the chief are trying everything in their power to get a warrant, but you aren't helping anybody by pacing around and glaring at us."

Shawn tried to argue, but he knew she was right. The police couldn't do anything until they got more evidence.

"Tell me—if not one, but two people went missing in the same general area, would you then have cause to search the place?"

"That's what we call probable cause, so yeah. Why?" Juliet said, a puzzled look forming on her face. The look disappeared, however, when she saw the old mischievous glare in Shawn's eyes. "Just what are you implying, Shawn?" Fear began building in the very pit of her stomach.

Shawn kissed her again, silencing her for a few more seconds. "If I'm not back by tonight, you and Lassie need to come looking for me. My psychic senses are screaming that I need to find Gus as soon as possible. By my best estimate, we only have about a day before these guys move somewhere else, and by then it'll be too late for Gus." Shawn took in her look of doubt, and continued sincerely, "I need to do this, Jules. Please. Imagine what would have happened if a lack of a search warrant prevented us from finding you when Mr. Yin took you. Would you wish something like that on Gus?"

Tears tried to pool in Juliet's eyes, but she wouldn't let them come; she was tough. After all, she hadn't become a detective because of her good looks. Besides, she was still hoping Shawn was wrong. Granted, that wasn't very often but there really was very little evidence. "Be careful, Shawn," she said, giving in despite the way her heart flopped unhappily in her chest.

Shawn's face lit up like the fourth of July. "Thanks, Jules," he said, then he turned and bounced down the hallway, waving at Buzz as he went.

Juliet only hoped that this wasn't going to be the last time that she would see him alive, which seemed very likely if Shawn's crazy theory turned out to be right.

~*****~

A/N: Soooo…what did you think? Review please!