Chapter Thirteen
By the time Friday rolled around, Juliet was content – and exhausted – enough to enjoy a quiet evening in her kitchen, sipping a glass of white wine with a light meal she'd picked up on the way home. She eyed the bottle, already two glasses deep. It was that kind of week.
The case was stalled: she and Lassiter had followed up on their lead with the electrician, only to find that no one named Steve Pollack worked there. When presented with Lassiter's physical description, the manager reported that the man in question had quit abruptly, leaving no forwarding information. The home address on file offered no evidence of Pollack ever having lived there.
In a matter of hours, the promise of a break in the case dissipated, and in the wake of it, Anita Torres was discharged from the hospital into the care of her sister and boyfriend. She refused protective custody, declined even increased patrolling in her neighborhood, and seemed if anything resigned to whatever fate her ex had planned.
Lassiter had shrugged and moved on to the next case. She knew he wasn't that callous, really, that he had merely accepted the reality of it: they had no further resources to invest in solving the crime, especially with a recalcitrant victim. It sucked, but such was life.
Juliet might have fought him more on this point, but for the lingering unease between them following their nightmare car chase and his subsequent confession. It was a lot to take in: she felt that she'd learned more about her partner than he'd ever been willing to share, with anyone. Unfortunately, that also meant that he'd spent the days since then keeping his distance. She wouldn't complain about that, either, because she, too, needed a little breathing room.
First, she was disappointed in his actions because she wanted to believe he was capable of being – behaving? – so much better.
Juliet had always been Team Blame Victoria, even when Lassiter himself seemed to idealize her. She'd seen enough of the aftermath of their split to believe Victoria to be instigator of their conflict, the architect behind the wreckage of their relationship. Now she understood the part he had played in the dissolution of their marriage, the way his anger broke down into irrationality. That wasn't really who he was at work. Flawed though he could be, Lassiter was ultimately a man of reason, except in this particular instance.
That was unsettling enough for Juliet to work through, but adding to her discomfort was the thought of Lucinda Barry.
Though she'd long resolved that something must have happened with his previous partner, given how squirrelly he was about her, for him to admit it, even expressed in a vague euphemism like relationship, suggested a significant change in him. Worse, it seemed like a confession born of desperation rather than out of a willingness to finally open up to her. What surprised her most – even couched in his guarded retelling – was the depth of his feelings toward his former partner. Juliet would have expected whatever they had to be brief, meaningless sex. After all, he'd obsessed over his wife for years now, and never spoke a word about Lucinda.
That was what Juliet had trouble believing now, that the angry, closed-off man she met when she arrived in Santa Barbara was someone capable not just of a hormone-fueled fling, but of romance. Then again, maybe that was why he was so angry, because of what had been ripped away from him.
She recalled her uneasiness at hearing the rumors, and then spending so much time alone with the man at the center of those rumors, not knowing whether he was one of those scumbags she'd been warned about, even seen herself throughout training – the type all women in male-dominated careers encountered at some point. Yet, he was remote, professional, and properly offended when she dared work up the courage to address it with him directly.
Over time, she got to know him better. He was often frustrating: downplaying her opinions about cases or acting something akin to a brick wall when she tried to engage him in conversation about other interests – movies or sports (she was trying to develop an appreciation for local teams, though she'd always retain primary allegiance to her beloved Miami Dolphins). For all that he offered in return, he seemed not to have outside interests, until one day when he suddenly came alive in a debate about penal codes, and there it was – her window.
Casually, she might bring up a new Kevlar vest design she'd read about and look up to catch the way his eyes alighted. In those moments, he seemed to briefly forget himself, forget the barrier he'd erected between them, and would slide next to her to read over her shoulder. The sensation of him standing behind her, his height almost encompassing her, brought her comfort then rather than disquiet.
She'd never known anyone, even at the Academy, who nerded out over regulations the way Lassiter did, the way she did. Sometimes she concocted a scenario just for the excuse of starting a friendly argument with him, to see his face flush with victory at a scored debate point, his grudging smile at a conceded one. Juliet had found her way to draw him in, and she, too, was never happier than when they bickered over hypothetical crimes.
Honestly, it felt a lot like flirting. The rush of adrenaline she felt during their discussions, how she'd get so caught up in it that she'd lose track of everything around them, so focused was she on Lassiter.
Obviously it wasn't that way for him. Sure, he might get that boyish grin, highlighting his cheekbones, that playful glint in his rich blue eyes. But the fact that he seemed so at ease sold it to her: if he had picked up on any undercurrent to their conversations, he'd never feel so free, so open.
Unless he himself didn't recognize it for what it was. Or chose not to. He'd been burned once before, with his previous partner, and Juliet couldn't be party to him getting professionally wounded in that way again. Besides, he was still enthralled with his not-quite-ex-wife, so he wasn't thinking of her that way at all.
Juliet tried to avoid analyzing it too much. He was obviously unavailable and, in any case, had made it clear that he was not interested in pursuing anything with her – a fact made all the clearer by his admission of guilt concerning his last partner. No matter that he never acted as comfortable with anyone as he did with her.
Nevertheless, she found, once she got past his prickly exterior, that she couldn't ask for a better partner. She'd learned so much under his guidance, even if he wasn't always the most patient teacher. Together, they solved so many cases together, it had attracted the notice of state officials. Even Vick praised their partnership as one of her own crowning achievements since taking the reins as chief.
In time, too, she saw the evidence of Lassiter's loyalty to her, his protective instinct, and began to feel as if she had her own guardian. Maybe he was a bit of a lone wolf, cagey and remote, but he was still hers.
And she was his.
Now if only she could get him to trust her. He did, a little, but maybe just wasn't the type to trust fully, ever. Maybe she just had to accept whatever she could get from him.
Her phone chirruped, interrupting Juliet from her musing. She drained the remaining wine in her glass before looking at the display. Shawn Spencer. She wasn't feeling up to his antics at the moment, but sighed and flipped open the phone.
"Jules!" His voice was muffled somewhat by background traffic noise, and Juliet immediately placed him somewhere outside, maybe downtown, considering the time of evening.
"Shawn, it's Friday night. Don't you have something better to do than hit me up?" Was he checking up on her to see if she was on a date or something? She tried to shake the immediate irritation that hit her.
She heard Gus' voice and realized that she was on speakerphone. "Tell her it's important!"
"I'm telling her! What do you think I'm doing right now?" For a moment, Juliet feared that Shawn would cut himself off entirely in favor of an argument with Gus.
"Shawn, I'm kind of busy right now, so if there's nothing else…" she said, leaving the threat implicit. That bottle of wine wasn't going to drink itself.
"We found your guy!" Shawn was nearly shouting in his enthusiasm. "We need you to meet us here right away!" He gave her an address almost outside of her jurisdiction.
"Are you sure?" she asked, already looking around for her keys. A glass of water and she'd be fine to drive, she reasoned.
"Steve Haddock – how could you forget a name like that?"
Gus butted in. "It's Pollack, Shawn. Haddock is a different type of fish."
"Pollack is not a fish. Pollock is an artist." Juliet could hear the disdain in his voice.
"Pollock is both an artist and a fish."
"What the hake are you talking about? You can't be both a fish and an artist. What, does he paint with his fins or something?"
"Jackson Pollock was a man. Pollack is a type of fish native to the north Atlantic."
"Oh my cod, Gus, you're driving me insane."
Juliet had heard enough. "Guys, I'm going to let you finish your argument without me. I'll catch up with you later." She pulled the phone away from her ear, ready to hang up until a combined shriek from both of them brought her to a halt.
A hint of desperation – or maybe it was excitement – creeped into Shawn's tone. "The spirits tell me you can catch the guy who attacked your waitress tonight. But you have to hurry!"
"Steve Pollack is the guy we tracked down," Gus added helpfully. "He's neither an artist nor a fish."
"Come on, you don't know that for sure."
Juliet sighed again. "All right, well, it's going to be at least twenty minutes." Every once in a while, she recognized why her partner felt so exasperated whenever Shawn appeared. "Am I going to show up there and find out I need a warrant?"
"Warrant? No, nobody ever needs a warrant." He paused. "Although I could go for some cherry pie right about now."
"You know that's right," Gus added.
Whatever the boys were up to, they seemed to be unconcerned about being overheard, Juliet thought. She agreed to meet them on the nearest street corner and hung up.
Lacing up her running shoes, she debated whether to call Lassiter and just as quickly dismissed the notion. As low as her own tolerance was for Psych's hijinks at the moment, she suspected Lassiter's would be at rock bottom. And a homicide – maybe even a double homicide – would definitely put a damper on her evening. Besides, it probably wouldn't amount to much: she'd check out whatever lead they found and call it in to a patrol unit if needed.
Her drive to the waterfront was uneventful, leading her to a more industrial part of the shore – historically, these docks were used for large-scale shipping. Despite it being the weekend, parking proved to be relatively easy. Juliet thought there were a couple of trendy bars in converted warehouses around, the type that served fancy cocktails in unusual glassware or with liquid nitrogen. Other than that, there was no reason for anyone to be in this part of town.
Juliet left her car far enough from the street corner she'd agreed to meet Shawn at so as to avoid attracting unnecessary attention; they must have done the same. She kept an eye out for anyone on the street and avoided reaching for her service weapon, tucked in the holster at the small of her back. No one seemed to be around, though more than a few streetlights nearby were suspiciously dark.
"Psst." Juliet jumped. Off to one side, Shawn and Gus stood in the recessed doorway of a building, posed in stances of affected nonchalance. She hurried over to join them.
"So, what are we looking for?"
Shawn brought his hands together in front of his face. "I have been summoned here by forces I do not yet understand. If you would follow me into this convenient alleyway…" He beckoned for her and Gus, holding his other arm up over his eyes, and in this way stumbled his way around the corner. Gus hastened to his side to guide him, while Juliet surveyed their rear. This might be an elaborate ruse, or they might be treading in dangerous waters.
Shawn brought them to a halt by a white van parked in the alley. As Juliet came up alongside it, she noticed the commercial lettering on the side. "Wait a second," she said, glancing at Shawn. "This is the company we think Steve Pollack worked for."
Shawn puffed his chest out proudly.
She shook her head. "But if he did, he doesn't work there anymore. There's no reason for him to have access to a company vehicle."
Now Shawn looked less certain. "The spirits led us here. It has to be him. Maybe he snuck back and stole the keys."
"It's a pretty weird coincidence, wouldn't you agree?" Gus said, obviously trying to make their case.
Juliet looked around the alley: nearby, the giant closed doors of a loading dock stood closed, and beside that, a darkened doorway leading into what appeared to be an ill-used warehouse. "They're probably doing work in one of these buildings." Even to her own ears, she didn't sound very sure of herself.
"Come on, Jules. Does it look like anyone around here is trying to keep a factory functioning?"
He was right; it looked pretty abandoned. "But if that's the case, what would he be doing here?"
Shawn scoffed. "Hiding? From the police?"
Juliet pulled out her phone. "There's an easy way to resolve this." She copied the number from the van into her handset and pressed Dial. Voicemail picked up, with a message indicating their business hours, which unfortunately did not run into Friday night. She sighed.
"Now do you believe me?" Shawn bounced on the balls of his feet. "There's some bad juju in this alley, I know it. This whole case is just bad juju and alleys."
"And pie," Gus added.
"All right, let's take a closer look," Juliet said, gesturing toward the loading dock.
As they approached the door beside the loading dock, it became clear that the door was propped slightly ajar. A faint light glowed from somewhere within.
Juliet pulled her gun from the holster, pausing to assess the situation. A brick kept the door from swinging closed on its own, but left a gap not quite wide enough to see anything of the layout inside.
"You're going in alone?" Gus whispered.
She spared them a quick look over her shoulder. "Not if you come with me."
"And get eaten by rats? No thanks."
"Gus, if anything, the rats are going to be outside – here, where we are now."
"What?!" Gus whirled around, as if expecting to find a rat standing right behind him.
Shawn ignored his partner, though he too cast a worried look around. "Why didn't you bring Lassie, anyway?"
Juliet felt a twinge of annoyance. "We're not joined at the hip. Lassiter is busy." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gus and Shawn exchange a glance, and it appeared they were mouthing Lassiter to each other. It had been a while since she'd referred to him by his last name.
"Okay, you could have just told us you guys were fighting."
Her jaw clenched, and it took all her self-control to keep her voice steady. "We're not fighting. We're just spending our downtime living our lives separately, like normal people do."
Shawn shrugged at Gus. "They're totally fighting."
She leaned against the door, pushing it inward, though it met with resistance only a few inches in. Something heavy stood as a barrier on the opposite side. "You're the ones who think this is so important," she whispered. "I'm going in, so if you want to come, you'd better follow now."
Juliet slipped inside, pausing just inside the door to allow her eyes to grow accustomed to the relative darkness. Behind her, she could hear Shawn and Gus in some kind of grunted, wordless debate, until finally one of them resolved it by shoving into the door.
In a flash, someone's sneakered foot kicked the brick, which scraped against the ground, followed immediately by a cry of pain and the door, weighted by hydraulics, slamming shut.
Juliet froze. She could hear the clicking of the door straining against its lock as Shawn and Gus tried to open it from the outside. Quietly, she reached for the handle on her own side and pulled. It didn't move. If there was a door release, she couldn't see it in the dark.
Somewhere deeper inside, a gun cocked, followed by a low growl. "Who's there?"