As the cab pulled away from the hospital curb, Shawn was already beginning to regret leaving.

By the time he arrived at the warehouse, the painkillers that had been pumping through his IV had almost completely worn off. Every breath he drew was suddenly racked with pain.

"You okay?" The driver asked him as he leaned through the window to pay.

"Yeah," Shawn answered with a weak grin. "Why?"

"You're bleeding all over my car."

Shawn looked down.

Sure enough, the huge shirt was starting to stick to his stomach, damp with blood.

"Sorry," he mumbled, handing the money over and walking away.

Before he took four steps, however, he heard his name being shouted across

the parking lot.

"Shawn!"

He turned around slowly.

Henry was getting out of his truck, storming towards him.

"Dad…"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"How'd you know--"

Henry had reached him now.

He put his fingers up to his temple in a mocking impression of the move it had taken Shawn hours of practicing in the mirror to perfect.

"I'm psychic, Shawn." He snapped sarcastically.

"Funny."

Shawn spun on his heel and started to march purposely toward the yellow police tape. He managed to make it look smooth, but it was a much slower motion than it should have been.

Henry overtook him in two quick strides.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He demanded again, folding his arms across his chest as he blocked Shawn's way.

Shawn just pushed past him, undeterred.

"Well…it's a crime scene, Dad. Heck. Since I'm here, maybe I'll help solve a crime."

"By bleeding to death?"

"I'm fine."

"Clearly," Henry snorted, gently tousling the damp patch on Shawn's shirt.

"And where did you get those ridiculous clothes, anyway? You look like hell."

"I borrowed them."

"The word is stole, Shawn."

"I'm going to bring them back."

"Like you brought back my tackle box?"

"Okay…that was fifth grade. You really need to get over it."

Shawn stepped under the police tape, hoping his father didn't notice that he lifted it over his head so he wouldn't have to stoop.

But, of course, Henry Spencer noticed everything.

"Oh, yeah, Kid. You're fine." He muttered under his breath, following his son to the warehouse door.

Shawn turned back around.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Hey. It's a crime scene, Shawn. I guess I'll solve a crime while I wait for you

to bleed out. It's either that or go home and wait for another call from the hospital…"

"You're not a cop. You can't--"

"Neither are you."

"Dad—"

Shawn's head was starting to buzz again, and colorful dots were flickering before his eyes.

Henry just shook his head.

"Shawn, I'm not leaving until you do. You can either stand here and waste the rest of your strength fighting with me about it, which would actually save us both a lot of time, or you can just get a move on and maybe help find Lassiter. Your call."

Their eyes locked, brimming with the same obstinance and fierce determination.

"Fine."

"Fine."

They stepped into the warehouse, which looked completely different in the morning light than it had in the darkness only a few hours ago. There were still some officers milling around. Standing at the entrance to the tunnel on the far side of the warehouse, seemingly in charge for the moment, was Buzz.

When he spotted Shawn from the across the floor, his eyebrows shot up and he blinked in surprise.

"Hey, Buzz." Shawn greeted as casually as possible as he strolled up to the tunnel.

"Uh…" Buzz stammered, clearly in shock. "What…I mean, you…I saw…uh…"

"I'm fine."

"You're…umm…bleeding."

Shawn rolled his eyes.

"So I've been told. Look, can I go down in the tunnel? I was getting some pretty strong psychic vibes last time…you know, before I got stabbed…"

"The tunnel?" Buzz hesitated. "The Chief didn't want anyone to go in…there's nothing down there, anyway, now that the ME got the body out."

"Body?"

"Yeah…the body. The other one. Shot in the head, just like the John Doe up here."

"Guess you missed that psychic vibe." Henry muttered from behind.

Shawn glared.

"I was distracted by the screwdriver in my stomach."

His fingers began to twitch. Suddenly, they were clutching at the sides of his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Buzz…" he whispered dramatically, his voice actually hoarse from the effort of the performance. "I can feel the spirit…it's still in the tunnel…"

"It is?"

Buzz's eyes were wide.

"It's angry, Buzz…it wants revenge…revenge…"

"Revenge?"

"There's only one thing to do…I have to go down there…I have to appease it…"

"Appease it? How?"

Shawn's eyes snapped open again, the trance broken.

"I could tell you, but then the Spirits would have to kill you."

"Oh…"

Buzz stepped aside, his eyes the size of soccer balls.

"Why don't you just…go on down, then…"

Shawn shrugged lightly.

"If you insist…"

He almost blacked out three times in the process, but he finally managed to get through the opening and jump down into the tunnel one more time.

Henry was right behind him.

"Uh—" Buzz stepped between him and tunnel. "You can't--"

Henry glared sharply.

Buzz backed off.

"Never mind."

The tunnel was glowing in the soft light of the electric lanterns the crime scene unit had set up. Shawn made his way between the narrow dirt walls slowly, stepping over the large, vaguely familiar, patch of red-tinted mud.

About fifty yards down the tunnel, they came to another patch of red dirt, though it had long since ceased to be mud.

"This must be where they found the other body." Shawn murmured, his eyes scanning the wall and floor.

"Look," he pointed to some indentations in the dirt a few feet away. Five of them, each less than a half-inch deep. "There was something there…not too heavy…but it must have been there for a little while, at least."

"Yeah. I got that one, too, Shawn…"

Finally, they reached the end of the tunnel.

They emerged out the other side into the sunlight, surrounded on all sides by trees and more of that suddenly all-too-prevalent yellow police tape. More cops were swarming the scene, frantically bagging leaves and rocks. In the midst of it all was Juliet.

"Jules!" Shawn called.

She turned to him.

"Shawn! What the--"

"Don't tell me I'm bleeding. I know I'm bleeding. What's going on here?"

"It's not good." She shook her head. "There was some kind of struggle…it

looks like someone dragged a body to a car or van of some kind…see the tire tracks? They lead back to the highway, but so far no one's been able to find a witness so we don't know which way they went. And we found a bullet. A .38."

Shawn closed his eyes.

"It doesn't mean…" he started, but Juliet waved him off.

"It means we have a lead now. That's all. Anything psychic yet?"

He shook his head.

"Did they I.D. the body in the tunnel?"

"Not yet…it shouldn't take long, though, if they can get a hit on the fingerprints."

"It has something to do with those bank robberies…" Shawn mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"I don't know," Juliet said quietly.

He opened his eyes again quizzically.

"What do you mean?"

"Dylan Prost…he worked at First National Bank, but he couldn't have had anything to do with that robbery."

"Why not?"

"Because I looked at his record. He was in jail that whole night. Rock solid. He got picked up on a drunk and disorderly after he got into a fight at a bar. His third time in two months."

A young officer approached them.

"Detective O'Hara?" He broached quietly. "Call coming over the radio for you."

She left to take it.

"I don't buy it," Shawn mumbled at his father.

"It is a pretty perfect alibi…" Henry agreed. "Too perfect, maybe."

She was back a minute later, her brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"What?" Shawn asked.

"We got an I.D…Keith Jefferson. He worked at Bank of California. He has two priors…guess what the charges were."

"What?"

"Drunk and disorderly…both in the last two months."

"Wasn't Bank of California one of the banks that got robbed?"

Juliet nodded slowly.

"October 21st…the same night Jefferson was picked up for the second time."