"Brad Forrest," Shawn said.
He was standing behind Gus in the Psych office, peering over his shoulder as he brushed the shards of broken glass from the chair and switched the computer on.
"Who?" Gus asked with a quizzical glace back.
"Brad Forrest. He was the kid in the picture at Forrest's house. I knew I knew him…I just couldn't figure out who he was at first."
"What picture?"
Gus' eyes were locked intently on the screen now, his fingers flying dexterously over the keys as he searched the web.
"The only picture in the entire house. Didn't you see it?"
"No."
"Well, it was there…I knew I remembered him. Brad was a few years older than me. When we were kids, he used to hang around the station all the time when his dad was working. I think he might have even worked there over the summer sometimes when he got older, doing filing or something."
"'Was' a few years older?" Gus repeated with raised eyebrows, still not taking his eyes off the computer as he scrolled through and rejected hundreds of webpages.
"Yeah. He died a while back. Wrapped his car around a tree, I think. Dad told me when it happened…"
"Yeah," Gus nodded, finally finding what he was looking for. "Here it is."
He pulled up an old newspaper article and scanned it quickly.
"Sounds like he was rip-roaring drunk, out cruising…missed a curve…"
"But look at the date, Gus," Shawn said, tapping the monitor. "Less than a month after Kitchel disappeared. And Forrest said he retired a month after Kitchel…"
Shawn turned away from the screen, closing his eyes and trying to clear his head.
"I knew he was lying about something," he mumbled. "He didn't retire because of Dad…he retired because his son died."
"Why would he lie about that?"
Shawn opened his eyes again thoughtfully.
"I don't think he was lying. Not really. I think it's denial."
"There can't be a connection between the two, can there?" Gus wondered, standing up and crossing the room. "Between Kitchel and the accident, I mean."
"I don't know," Shawn shook his head slowly.
Gus could see the wheels turning, the plan slowly forming, in Shawn's mind.
He knew the exact moment it had taken shape, because Shawn's eyes flashed and the edges of his mouth flickered up. Gus had seen that look enough times to know what was coming next.
"I think I feel a psychic vision coming on…"
Twenty minutes later, they strolled into the SBPD. They were immediately spotted by Chief Vick, who glared angrily at them.
"My office. Now." She snapped.
They followed her contritely, taking a seat as she shut the door behind them.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Spencer?" She demanded.
Shawn just shrugged, appearing completely unshaken.
"Oh, you know…I thought I'd just stop by…check on your Chi…maybe cleanse an aura or two while I was here…"
"I told you that you were off all cases."
"You think we're here for a case?" Shawn laughed, attempting to sound natural, but missing by a wide margin. "Isn't that funny, Gus? She thinks we're here for a case…"
Gus didn't respond.
Shawn kicked him sharply in the ankle.
"Ow! Yeah…funny…ha." Gus laughed bitterly, rubbing his ankle and shooting death rays at Shawn with his eyes.
"We're not here for a case," Shawn continued, ignoring both sets of angry eyes that were fixed on him. "Like I said…we're here for your Chi."
Suddenly, he gasped and gripped the arms of his chair tightly, as if he'd been overtaken by a great pain.
"I'm getting something…" he groaned, his hand pressing his temple. "Green…some kind of black ham…Redwood…Sherwood…Forrest! Forrest! Someone named…Brad Forrest…"
He opened his eyes a crack, just enough to see the Chief without her knowing he was looking at her.
She was leaning across her desk, watching him with rapt attention.
"Brad Forrest?" She repeated. "Tyson Forrest's son? The one who was killed in a car wreck? I remember when that happened…"
"I'm getting…alcohol…drugs…in the car…" He pressed on. She was nodding, still looking nonplussed.
"He was drunk and high on everything under the sun. But it was ten years ago. Pretty cut-and-dry."
"Something's wrong! Something's…wrong….there's more to it than that…."
Shawn was on his knees on the floor now, pretending to be writhing in pain, milking every last moment. Gus just rolled his eyes at the histrionics.
"You have to re-open the case, Chief…there's something else there…"
"What is it, Mr. Spencer?"
"I…don't know…something…"
"I can't reopen a ten year old drunk driving crash because of 'something'. I need something concrete."
Shawn stood up, breaking his trance.
"How about this, then? I think he killed Frank Kitchel."
