He was still staring at the trash can, his eyes wide and unblinking.
"Well, what the hell do you have?" I demanded, trying not to shout. "God, Spencer! You can be such a--"
O'Hara shot me a warning glare, and I immediately shut up without finishing the thought.
Spencer just grinned, not the least bit ruffled. He raised a single eyebrow, something behind his eyes suddenly lighting up with an almost fierce intensity.
I could see it even before he spoke again.
Something was suddenly different than it had been a moment ago.
Something had clicked in his mind.
He lifted a finger to his temple and closed his eyes, and I could feel my own eyes starting to roll out of pure instinct.
Why the hell couldn't he ever just say what he was thinking?
"There's something missing…" he murmured, falling back into the same psychic routine I had seen a thousand times before. "Something shiny…and silvery…and space-agey."
"Space agey?" I snorted disbelievingly. "You lost your space suit?"
O'Hara looked like she was on the verge of punching me in the nose, but Spencer just laughed.
"No, Lassie," he shook his head, his voice rising as the words poured out of his mouth faster than I could comprehend them. "Not a space suit. Gus' sample case. It's missing. He should have had it with him."
He walked over to the trash can, pointing down at the banana peel inside. His extended index finger was still trembling slightly as he gestured. "He was working on getting caught up on his route that night. That's why he brown bagged his dinner. It was quieter here than at his office. He said he could get more done, especially if I stayed the hell away from him and just let him work."
O'Hara had produced a small spiral notebook out of her pocket and was jotting down every word Spencer said. "That's why he was here?" she asked.
"Yeah," Spencer nodded, his eyes flashing at her. "I remember. He called me earlier that afternoon to tell me to stay away from the office for the rest of the day."
"Was he supposed to meet anyone?" she pressed on hurriedly, not wanting to waste a single moment of lucidity.
"No," Spencer murmured, for the first time since Guster was killed not blinking at the question. "But he definitely would have had his sample case with him."
O'Hara glanced over at me, flipping though a few other pages of notes. "It wasn't here, Carlton. We went over the place with a fine-tooth comb. We went through his apartment, too, and it wasn't there, either."
"Was it at his office?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I don't think so. We went through his desk for his datebook to see if he was supposed to be meeting anyone, but we didn't inventory his entire office. It wasn't the crime scene."
I turned on my heel, marching for the door. "Well, let's make damn sure it's missing." I ordered sternly. "Because if it is, we have a lead."
I paused in the doorway, glancing back at Spencer, who was still standing by the trash can, beaming with pride. "Nice work, Spencer." I nodded.
"Yeah, Shawn." O'Hara agreed, following me to the door. "We were concentrating on the Psych cases before, since he was killed here. But maybe we were looking for the wrong connection!"
Spencer's grin grew wider as O'Hara sped out of the room ahead of us. I started to turn back to the door, but paused as he raised his fist into the air just past his waist and held it still for a moment, almost like he expected something to happen.
After two seconds of holding it up, his grin vanished, melting away like butter in a hot pan. He slowly turned his head, staring blankly at his hand, which had suddenly loosened from a tight fist into five solitary, seemingly disconnected fingers.
He dropped his arm by his side again as if it was made of lead, his shoulders sagging under some invisible weight only he could feel.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking up at me, his eyes glazed over again. "That's not supposed to happen, Lassie." He mumbled. "There's supposed to be another fist. There's always been another fist."
