Tuesday
Shawn leaned back in his chair and sighed. He was at the Psych office, doing something vital to every case; research. Gus was busy with his pharmaceutical route that morning, trying to sell his company's drugs to local doctors. He didn't understand why Gus still has that job. Psych is so much more fun. But every time he brings it up, Gus starts going on about bills and health benefits and pension plans and he inevitably tunes it out. So here he was, stuck doing all the research himself. Most of what he had found were articles full of unpronounceable scientific terms that he couldn't even begin to understand. Gus really should have been the one doing this. Not only would he understand the articles, he would probably enjoy reading them. The geeky bastard loved to learn new things.
"New rule," Shawn muttered to himself. "Gus does all research on any science related cases." He glanced at his phone sitting on the desk, wishing it would ring. Anything to relieve the boredom. But it stayed stubbornly silent.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He had been staring at a computer screen for the last two hours and it was giving him a headache. He wasn't uncovering anything useful in Sanders' research. Maybe he'd look into his coworkers at the university, see if he had any rivals. In retrospect, that is where he should have started, instead of trying to understand those indecipherable research papers. He groaned as he leaned forward again, calling up the university's website. "Chemistry, chemistry," he muttered to himself, looking for a link to the relevant section of the site. He froze as he heard a faint sound behind him.
"Hello?" he called, turning around. Silence. Having had people break into the Psych office before, he got up and checked the other room. The front door was still closed and nothing seemed out of place. No one was there. Still wondering what the sound could have been, he returned to his desk. He found a link to a list of staff members in the chemistry department and started perusing it. There was only one other professor performing the same research as Sanders, a Dr. Lyle Pratt. Shawn was just pulling up Pratt's page when a voice sounded behind him.
"Watchya doin'?"
Shawn jumped and spun around. Standing behind him was Nikki Peterson. "What are you doing here?" he said, trying to calm his pounding heart. "And do you have to stand right behind me?" He could understand now why Lassiter was so upset when he did the same thing to him yesterday.
She pouted. "I said I'd come back today to see how you were doing on my case," she said, coming around the desk. She was wearing a blue hooded sweatshirt and either the same ratty jeans as yesterday or an identically ratty pair. She stood in front of him, arms crossed, and looked disappointingly at him. "Did you forget?" She glanced down at his desk. "Hey, are those regular nacho cheese or spicy?" she asked, pointing to the bag of chips he had been munching on.
"Regular," he said, taking a minute to gather his thoughts. He took out a yellow legal pad, glancing at Nikki. The truth was Nicole Peterson was a pretty common name. Common enough that a Google search had turned up thousands of worthless results. Even adding that she was from North Carolina hadn't helped. He needed more information from Nikki in order to find her, let alone her father.
"To answer your first question: I'm a psychic. Of course I didn't forget," he said, feeling a bit insulted. He had just spoken to her yesterday, after all. "The spirits just have – "
"How does being psychic have anything to do with remembering something?" she interrupted, a puzzled frown on her face. "That doesn't make any sense."
"You need a good memory in order to remember all the things the spirits tell you," he said, annoyed at being interrupted. He tried again, trying to inject more authority and mysticism into his voice, "Now, as the spirits wanted me to say – "
"I have a pretty good memory," Nikki interrupted again. She raised an eyebrow. "Does that make me psychic?" she asked mockingly.
"A good memory doesn't make you a psychic," he said exasperated. "Talking to spirits does. Can you please just – "
"How does the whole talking to spirits work exactly?" she asked, warming to the subject. Her eyes darted to the Doritos bag and back to him, so quickly he almost missed it. "You say they talk to you," she continued, as if thinking aloud. "They can't be physically talking or everyone would hear them. So they must be talking into your mind." She started pacing in front of the desk, becoming more animated. This was a far cry from the quiet girl from yesterday. "Let's say that is what their doing. But there is more than one spirit, so you must have a way to tell them apart. Maybe they 'sound' different in your head. Is that how you recognize the victims when they contact you?" She turned to Shawn for an answer. Before he could even think of one, she shook her head. "No, that wouldn't work. You haven't met most of your victims, so what would there be to recognize? Maybe you see an image of them in your head when they speak. Or can sense their identity through their auras. But that would have the same problem as their voices. You haven't met them." She stopped pacing and stood directly in front of him. "I just have one question for you," she said, looking very serious.
Shawn was still mentally trying to catch up. Nikki talked fast, with barely a pause between words. He didn't think she took more than two breaths the whole speech. And she had seriously thought this psychic thing through. She had exposed more holes in his act in five minutes than Lassiter had discovered in the seven years he had known him. He hoped her question wasn't if he was psychic. This girl had the smarts to ruin him if she wanted. "What's the question?" he asked with some trepidation.
Still looking serious, Nikki asked, "Can I have some of those?" She pointed to the bag of Doritos on the desk.
Relieved, he nodded. "Sure, go ahead." Before he had finished speaking, she had grabbed the bag and started eating. He just stared at her. She was inhaling the chips so quickly he thought she was going to choke on them. He started mentally reviewing the steps to the Heimlich maneuver in his head.
Noticing his stare, Nikki paused in her eating. She blushed. "Sorry," she said with embarrassment, looking down. "I had to skip breakfast in order to get out of the house before my mom woke up." She tried to hand the bag of chips back.
He waved her away. "Keep them. I've had to do the same thing a time or to growing up with my dad. Besides, I heard it's best to swallow your food whole without all that time wasted on chewing. That's how snakes do it." She glared but started eating again, much more slowly. He nodded approvingly, and continued. "Let me guess; you got caught sneaking around with a boy and your mom grounded you." He waited to see what her answer would be. He had heard a slight waver in her voice when she mentioned her mom. He had heard it yesterday too. She was lying about something to do with her mom, and he was hoping to figure out what it was.
"Something like that," Nikki said. Her voice was steady, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. "Didn't you have something to ask me?" she said hurriedly, changing the subject.
"Not me," he said, letting the matter drop for now. "The spirits had some questions in order to better locate your father."
"Shouldn't the 'spirits' already know everything?" she asked, using air quotes. She was clearly still skeptical. As if her long speech hadn't made that clear already.
"They don't know everything," he elaborated, winging it. "They know where to go to find the answers. Unfortunately, they are a little stumped with you." He grabbed the legal pad and a pen. "They need a little more information in order to find the correct essence trail." He thought that might sound suitably mystical for her.
"Essence trail, right," she said sarcastically. Apparently not he thought. "So what do the 'spirits' need to know?" She pulled a chair in front of his desk and sat down.
He cleared his throat. "Just some basic information," he said. "Date of birth. Also where you were born." At her look he continued. "So the spirits know where to start looking."
"November 23, 1997 in Columbia, North Carolina," she answered promptly.
So that puts her father in Columbia late February or early Marchhe thought. That at least narrows it down. "Did you grow up in Columbia?" he asked.
"No, we moved around a lot," she said, sighing. "My mom had to go wherever there was work." She looked at him sadly. "It was always just the two of us."
"You didn't have any other relatives who could help out? Or friends?" he asked, surprised. He remembered his grandfather hanging around when he was a kid, and of course his Uncle Jack, the treasure hunter. Gus had been like a brother to him. They spent so much time together the Gusters became like a second family.
"Nope. Mom is an only child and her parents died before I was born," she said, picking at a hole in her jeans. "And we moved around too much to make any permanent friends. Since my dad wasn't in the picture, that just left the two of us." She shifted in her seat, avoiding eye contact. "Are there any other questions?" she asked uncomfortably.
"No, that should be all for now," he said. The questioning was obviously making Nikki uneasy and he should have enough now to make some decent headway. He could understand why finding her father was so important to her. She didn't get along well with her mom and had no friends. Her father was her last chance to find someone who might understand her. That is, if Shawn could find him.
His musings were interrupted by his stomach growling. And not a quiet little gurgle growl either. Rather it sounded like a loud, ferocious beast about to pounce on his next victim. He glanced at the clock. He hadn't eaten before starting his research this morning and was surprised to see it was already after 11.
Nikki giggled, turning back to her cheerful self. "I guess I wasn't the only one to skip breakfast this morning," she said, grinning. She tilted the bag of chips towards him. "Hungry?" she asked impishly.
He drew himself up, trying to look imposing. "A psychic learns to ignore the demands of the flesh when communing with the spirits," he said with dignity. "A little hunger is small price to pay for knowledge." She just rolled her eyes and handed him the bag. He managed to maintain his dignified pose until he looked into the bag. "It's empty!" he exclaimed.
"It is not!" she protested indignantly.
He looked at her and turned the bag upside down. A scattering of crumbs and a single chip landed on his desk. He raised an eyebrow.
"OK, now it's empty," she said, grinning back at him.
He shook his head, "You must be fun to live with," he muttered, wiping the crumbs off his desk. He ate the single chip, but he left far from satisfied. "That was the last of the food," he said, whining. Being hungry always made him cranky. "Gus won't buy any new snacks until tomorrow." He pouted at Nikki, blaming her for the food shortage.
She jumped up, "I guess we'll have to go out to eat," she said. She started heading to the door, then realized he wasn't following her. "Are you coming? I don't have any money."
"Why is that my problem?" he asked, annoyed and amused by her behavior at the same time. "I didn't eat all the food."
"But you didn't find my dad, who could have bought me food," she said, trying to sound logical. "The least you can do is buy me breakfast. Or is it lunch now? Brunch? And what about a late breakfast or early lunch?" She saw that he was still standing there. "Come on," she said, grabbing his arm. He had just enough time to grab his phone before she pulled him out the door.
Shawn took her to a small diner near the office. He was glad he had picked somewhere close by because Nikki talked nonstop the entire way there. She didn't stay on any one topic for long; by the time they reached the diner she had determined the difference between a late breakfast and early lunch (same time but different menu), proposed an idea to end world hunger (a dry food for humans similar to kibble), and lamented the second cancellation of her favorite sci-fi cartoon (which he had never even heard of). By the time they finally reached the diner, she had dragged him into a heated argument over the best type of music (she made some good points defending rock 'n' roll but in his mind it was always the 80's.)
Once there, she ordered what looked like half the menu. He didn't complain, because eating all that food forced her to stop talking, giving his ears a rest. Besides, he was using Gus's credit card to pay for breakfast. Afterwards, she was much quieter, so he decided to stop for pineapple smoothies at one of his favorite smoothie places. They were now walking down the boardwalk back to the Psych office.
Nikki took a long sip of her smoothie. "These are really good," she said approvingly. "Not many places can make a good pineapple smoothie."
"There's a place across town that makes the best smoothies of all time," Shawn said, sipping his own. "I'll take you there some time."
"OK," she said. She turned to look at him. "Thank you for breakfast."
"You're welcome," he said. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She had calmed down considerably after the meal and now seemed content to walk in silence. "So," he said, never liking silence himself, "Do you always talk that much when you're hungry? Or was that just to annoy me into buying you breakfast?" He turned his head towards her, waiting for an answer.
Nikki blushed. "Sorry about that," she said with a tinge of embarrassment. "I talk a lot when I'm nervous. Usually its not so bad around strangers. Just people I'm close with." She was quiet for a minute, then turned around and started walking backwards in front of him. "So, how's the police case going?" she asked. She sipped her smoothie, grinning at him cheekily.
"What makes you think I have another case?" he asked, hiding his surprise.
"Please," she said, rolling her eyes. "You got a call yesterday while I was in the office. I distinctly heard Gus refer to the caller as 'chief.' Unless you're part of a clan or something, he was likely talking to the chief of police. You left immediately after I did, so the chief probably called you in. Since you were playing video games when I first met you, she called about a new case, not an existing one. This morning you were looking at the UC Santa Barbara website. Unless you decided to go to college late in life," and here she looked doubtfully at him," you were researching the professor who died a few days ago in one of the labs. I read about it in the newspaper." She looked at him smugly. The effect was ruined when he had to grab her arm to keep her from tripping over a couple walking their dog.
"Thanks," she said, turning around to walk normally. When he didn't respond, she looked over at him. "So, was I right?" she asked eagerly, grinning at him.
Shawn was amazed. He picked out clues from his surroundings and deduced the truth from them on a daily basis. It was what led to him pretending to be a psychic in the first place. But he had never met anyone else who could do the same thing besides his father. It was kind of freaky, being on this side of it. Pondering this, he realized Nikki was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. Considering his options, he decided to go with the truth. Sort of. "I may or may not have been given a case, which could possibly involve a local university, that involves the untimely ending of an individual who might have been working in a field taught at said school, under suspicious like circumstances," he said, trying to make what he was saying sound as convoluted as possible. He couldn't just admit outright she was correct, after all.
She looked blankly at him for a minute, then frowned in concentration. She muttered under her breath, trying to figure out what Shawn said. After a minute her expression cleared, and she looked up at him. "Have you looked at persons who may have been present at the event that possibly transpired at the previously mentioned location?" she asked, in an attempt to be as convoluted as him.
Seeing that this way of talking would make the conversation take twice as long and cause headaches, he dropped the act. "I'm meeting up with Gus soon to investigate the crime scene and talk to witnesses," he said.
"Cool!" she said eagerly. "Can I come?" She pulled him to a stop and gave him a pleading look.
He sighed. "Shouldn't you be in school?" he asked irritably.
She shook her head. "Nope. Some kind of teacher's conference thing. I have the whole day free. How about it?" She resumed the pleading look, adding a puppy dog whine.
"Come on," he said condescendingly. "I perfected that look. There's no way it's going to work on me." This time he added silently in his head. He crossed his arms and stared back at her. After a minute she threw up her hands in surrender.
"Fine, I can't come," she said crossly. She turned serious and looked him right in the eye. "But promise me you'll work on my case too, OK?" she said, poking him in the chest.
"I promise," he said, crossing his heart.
"Good," she said, all smiles again. "Then I will see you tomorrow." She skipped off down the boardwalk.
Shawn continued on to the Psych office alone, thinking about the events of that morning. Nikki Peterson was a unique and strange individual. And unless he wanted her to keep hanging around and eating all his food, he should find her dad as soon as possible. With renewed determination, he entered the Psych office.
Gus was sitting inside at his desk. "I was just about to call you," he said, putting down his cell phone. "The police are down at the university, re-investigating the crime scene and looking for witnesses. We should go." He looked at the smoothie in Shawn's hand and frowned. "What have you been doing all morning?"
"That is not important right now," he said, slurping up the last of his smoothie. What Gus didn't know wouldn't hurt him, or Shawn when Gus found out he stole his credit card again. He threw out the empty smoothie container and clapped his hands. "Let's ride!"
"Ah, the hallowed halls of UC Santa Barbara," Shawn said, as he and Gus entered the chemistry wing of the university. "It sure brings me back to my days on campus." He smiled fondly, remembering those crazy times.
"What days on campus?" Gus asked, confused. "You never went to college." He gave Shawn a look, daring Shawn to disproof him.
"Then why do I have a master's degree in phsysics hanging on my wall?" Shawn asked. He smiled at a couple of girls in the hall, turning to give the girls a little wave as he walked past. They giggled as Gus grabbed his arm and turned him back around, glaring at him. He just smiled back innocently. He flirted with almost every girl they passed, as long as Juliet wasn't around. It was almost a reflex at this point.
"You made that degree in photoshop when we were working the case at the Meitner school," Gus said, letting go of his arm.
He thought back to that case. He had gone undercover as a guest lecturer in order to catch a murderer. "OK, you have a point," he conceded, rubbing his arm. "Man, you have a grip like a rabid spider monkey. Look I'm already starting to bruise." He held his arm up to Gus's face for him to see. Gus just slapped him away. "But I did spend time on campus visiting you when you were in college," he said, bringing them back to the original discussion.
"You only visited me once, right after I was dumped by my girlfriend," Gus said. He turned to Shawn, narrowing his eyes. "You said you wanted to cheer me up. Do you remember what happened that weekend?" Gus stared at him, waiting for his response.
"I took you to a frat party to hook you up with a new girl," he said warily. He could guess where Gus was going with this and it wasn't one of his prouder moments.
"And what happened at that party?" Gus asked tersely.
"Dude, it was like 15 years ago," he complained.
"You ditched me to make out with a math major," Gus said, coming to a stop. He stood there glaring at Shawn.
"In my defensive she wasn't just any math major," he said, trying to get Gus to understand his position. "She was a hot math major. A hot blond math major. I mean, how many of those do you think even exist?" He waited for Gus to respond. When he just continued to glare, he continued. "I had to hook up with her. What else was I supposed to do?" He looked at Gus pleadingly.
"You were supposed to be my friend and support me in my time of need," Gus said reproachfully.
"Aren't you being a little over dramatic?" he asked teasingly.
"I got drunk and threw up on my bio lab partner, Shawn," Gus said angrily. "She wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the semester."
He winced. Trust Gus to know just what to say to make him feel guilty. It was a skill only Gus and Henry seemed to possess, although he supposed Juliet would develop it soon enough. He hated feeling guilty. "Gus, man, if I didn't say it then, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. He held up his hand as if taking an oath, "I promise from this point on I will never ditch you for a girl again," he said solemnly.
Gus snorted. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Shawn," he said. But he seemed to be somewhat mollified by Shawn's apology.
"We good?" he asked, holding out his fist.
Gus looked at him for a minute, then sighed. "We're good," he said, bumping Shawn's fist with his own.
"Great!" he said, immediately reverting back to his cheerful self. They started walking down the hallway again. "Let's talk motive. I'm betting on an angry girlfriend. She's dating a smart guy, seems dependable. Then he starts spending long nights at the lab, missing dates, forgetting important anniversaries. Maybe she's tired of being ignored. Maybe she found out he got chummy with one of the lab techs. Either way she eventually has enough. She sneaks in, messes with his experiment so the death looks accidental, then acts broken-hearted when the police tell her of his death." He looked at Gus, pleased with himself.
"It's a good theory," Gus said as they reached an intersection with another hallway, "Too bad he didn't have a girlfriend." He started heading to the right.
He grabbed Gus's arm. "Dude, it's this way," he said, dragging him to the left.
"But the sign says chemistry labs to the right," Gus said, pulling him to a stop. He pointed to the sign on the wall in front of them.
"Except Sanders was in one of two chemistry labs located next to the physics wing," he said. He let go of Gus's arm and started down the left hand hallway. After a moment Gus caught up with him.
"How do you know that?" Gus asked him curiously.
"I divined it psychically when meditating on the subject," he said seriously. Gus just looked at him, waiting for a real answer. He sighed and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. "I may also have printed out a map," he said, handing it to Gus.
Gus opened the map and looked at it. "Says here the head of the other lab is a Dr. Lyle Pratt," he said, pointing to the map. "We should probably ask him about Sanders."
They turned the corner and stopped. Ahead of them the hallway was cordoned off with police tape. Curious students and a couple of members of the press were pressed up against the tape, watching the proceedings. Equipment littered the hallway. An officer was questioning a couple of guys in lab coats. Shawn could hear more activity from the open doorway to their right. He assumed it was Sanders' lab. Someone from forensics exited the room, carrying his workcase.
"Looks like forensics is finishing up," Shawn said quietly to Gus. "Now is our time to investigate." He ducked under the police tape. He gestured for Gus to follow him. Gus shook his head, pointing to the tape. Shawn gestured for him to duck under it. This lead to a furious if whispered argument between the two which ended with Gus staying firmly planted on the far side of the tape. Shawn shook his head and headed over to the lab. He peaked around the doorway. Lassiter was talking to a couple guys from forensics, back towards him. He was about to enter when he heard someone calling his name.
"Shawn!" Coming up to him was the 6' 5" form of Officer Buzz McNab. "I'm sorry," he said, stopping Shawn from going any further. "But I can't let you into the crime scene." He did look genuinely sorry.
Shawn clapped him on the shoulder. Well, more like his upper arm, as his shoulder was out of reach. "Buzz, buddy," he said. "It's OK. The chief put us on the case." He went to move around McNab.
McNab stopped him again. "Detective Lassiter gave me strict orders to not let you go unescorted into the crime scene. He doesn't want you to mess things up as usual," He looked apologetically at Shawn. "His words, not mine."
"Where's Jules? Can't she escort me?" Shawn asked, looking around for the blond detective.
"She's at a robbery scene downtown," McNab explained. "We're short handed right now so the chief asked her to cover it while Lassiter checked out the school." He frowned in thought. "I could see if one of the other officers would escort you."
"That's OK. I have a backup escort," Shawn said, pointing to Gus behind the police tape.
McNab hesitated. "I don't think that's what Lassiter had in mind. I could go ask him if that would be all right." He started to enter the lab, presumably to look for Lassiter.
"That's OK," Shawn said hurriedly, stopping him. "I wouldn't want to bother Lassiter right now. I know he's upset that Marlowe's parole has been delayed again."
"Only a week," McNab said, then paused. "How did you know that?" he asked, amazed. "I only found out by accident and Detective O'Hara said he wants it kept quiet."
"I am a psychic," Shawn reminded McNab. He put his hand to his head. "And I'm sensing the chief told Lassiter to wrap this case up quickly before the press gets wind it was murder." He dropped his hand and leaned in conspiratorially. "Lassie's under a lot of stress. You know he could use some help," he said, appealing to McNab's good nature.
"All right," McNab said reluctantly, caving. "But don't tell Lassiter I was the one to let you in. I just got off of traffic duty."
"Sure thing Buzz," Shawn assured him. He watched McNab walk away before turning towards Gus. "Come on, we're in."
Gus came over as he peaked around the doorway again. "How did you know about Marlowe's parole?" Gus asked.
Lassiter still had his back to him. He pointed to a doorway on the far side of the room then started walking towards it. Keeping an eye on Lassiter, Shawn whispered to Gus. "I saw a letter from the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitations on his desk yesterday. Jules said Marlowe was due to be paroled soon. Judging by his extra grumpiness lately, it seemed like a logical guess." Lassiter entered the far room, taking the forensics guys with him. "Now's our chance." He entered the room, Gus right behind him.
The lab looked like it had in the crime scene pictures, minus the dead body of course. What he hadn't noticed from the pictures was how clean the place was. Nothing was out of place. The counters looked freshly wiped down. Everything was put neatly away. Even the floor looked clean enough to eat off of. The only mess in the otherwise pristine lab was the table containing the late doctor's ill-fated experiment. This was going to make finding any clues difficult, even for him.
"We don't have a lot of time," Gus said, eyeing the doorway Lassiter had walked through. "Let's hurry."
"Agreed," he said.
The two split up to examine as much of the lab as possible. Gus looked over the cabinets containing lab supplies. "This guy sure was a neat freak," he said. He pulled out a box of pencils, which had a label saying 'pencils' on it. "You could learn something from him."
Shawn meanwhile was examining the victim's last experiment. All the containers with any kind of chemical in it had been removed and tested. The rest of the equipment had been left as is on the table. He was looking for anything forensics may have missed. At Gus's comment he looked up. "The guy is dead Gus," he said. "And I think he had an unnatural attachment to his label maker." He went back to examining the table.
"I just think you could use a little more organization in your life," Gus said, going over to Sanders' desk. He started looking through the drawers. "I don't even want to think about what I saw the last time I looked in your desk." He pulled some papers out of one of the drawers. "I think I found something," he said, studying one of the sheets. When Shawn didn't respond, he looked up. "Shawn?"
Shawn was too absorbed with a beaker to respond to Gus. More importantly, what was under the beaker. A single strand of gray hair stuck to the bottom of the beaker when Shawn picked it up. He looked up to tell Gus what he had found when he heard loud voices coming from the next room, getting closer. He quickly put the beaker back down and saw Gus shove something into his pocket.
Moments later Lassiter entered the lab followed by a man in a lab coat. He was tall, with graying hair, and seemed to be approximately the same age as the victim. He was berating Lassiter as he entered the room. "This is completely unacceptable," he was saying. "I need to conduct my work."
Shawn could see Lassiter was close to losing it as he responded. "This is a police investigation," he said through clenched teeth. "That means this area remains off limits until our investigation is done. Including the supply room. You can conduct your little experiments later." Turning, he noticed Shawn and Gus in the lab. "Spencer, what the hell are you doing here?"
"Little experiments?" the man said, enraged. "I am conducting important work. Work that will have more impact than any mere civil servant such as yourself could hope to achieve."
Shawn could literally see the blood pounding through the veins on Lassiter's neck. Knowing Lassiter was about to let the guy have it, he jumped in. "I don't believe we've met," he said, getting between the man and Lassiter. He held out his hand. "I am Shawn Spencer, head psychic at the SBPD."
"Dr. Lyle Pratt," he said, ignoring Shawn's hand. "And an educated man such as myself does not believe in psychics," He turned to Lassiter. "I'm surprised the SBPD is gullible enough to buy into this farce." He looked at Lassiter scathingly.
"He happens to be a valuable resource for the department who has helped solve dozens of cases," Lassiter said, surprising Shawn. He didn't think Lassiter saw him as anything other than a nuisance. Then again, maybe he just found this man more annoying than Shawn. "Now, if you don't return to your lab I will have you arrested for hindering our investigation." He glared at Pratt.
"I've wasted enough time here. See that your men clean out as soon as possible." He turned and walked back into the far room.
Lassiter stood completely still in the center of the lab. Shawn wasn't even sure if he was breathing. "Hey Lassie?" he asked cautiously, edging closer to the detective. "Are you OK?" He looked over at Gus worriedly.
"Spencer," Lassiter said through clenched teeth, "You have five seconds to leave this lab."
Gus immediately started for the door but Shawn moved closer to Lassiter. "I can't do that," he said. Gus grabbed his arm and tried to get him to leave. Shawn shook him off and continued. "You see, I had a vision – "
"I am ready to pull out my gun and shoot the next person that bothers me," Lassiter said. Shawn had never heard him so serious. He glared at Shawn. "Leave. Now."
Not liking the look on Lassiter's face, Shawn let Gus drag him from the room. They stood in the hallway for a moment, glancing surreptitiously at the lab.
"Dude, I think he really would have shot you," Gus said finally. He glanced fearfully at the lab. "I've never seen him that angry."
"I think you're right," Shawn said, a little nervously. He pulled Gus further away from the door. "I found a gray hair under a beaker. I was going to do the whole 'psychic vision' thing but I don't think Lassie is in a receptive mood right now." He looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to them. "What did you find?" he asked, turning back to Gus.
"I think its a list of students working in the lab," Gus said, pulling out the paper. "One column says lab techs, the other post docs."
"Post doc? Like a doctor for mail?" Shawn asked, confused.
"Post doctorate," Gus explained. "After getting their doctorate many students spend time under an adviser to learn more about working in their field. Sanders must have been the advisor to these students," he said, pointing to the list.
"Let's see if any of them are here," Shawn said. He glanced around the hallway. He noticed the two guys who had been questioned by the police earlier. He pointed them out to Gus and headed over.
"Hi," Shawn said, stopping in front of the guys. "I'm Shawn Spencer, head psychic for the SBPD. And this is my associate Winsome Losome." He pointed to Gus. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."
"I don't believe in psychics," the guy on the right said. He was tall and gangly, with short cropped brown hair. His pasty complexion showed he spent nearly all of his time indoors. His outfit was immaculate, unusual for a student. Shawn noticed cat scratches on the back of his left hand.
"Be polite," the other guy said, nudging him. He was shorter and heavier, with sandy blond hair. Unlike his friend, he sported a healthy tan complexion. "I'm Sam Cooper," he said He gestured to his companion. "I'm sorry about Newton," he said to Shawn. "He doesn't have well developed social skills."
Newton looked at Shawn in disdain. "I don't believe in wasting my time. If you gentlemen will excuse me." Without waiting for a response he walked away.
"Nice guy," Shawn said. "Between him and Pratt it must be a barrel of laughs working here."
"Oh, he's nowhere near as bad as Dr. Pratt," Cooper said. "Newton doesn't intentionally insult you. He just thinks logically and without any emotion." He shrugged. "You get used to it after awhile."
"I'm sensing Dr. Pratt is not so well liked," Shawn said. Judging by what they had already seen of the man, it was hard to imagine anyone liking him.
"Oh yeah, he's a grade A jerk," Cooper said. "Especially with the budget cuts." He glanced around quickly and lowered his voice. "Rumor is they need to close one of the labs down. Since Sanders and Pratt are performing similar research, it will likely be one of them."
"Really?" Shawn said, looking at Gus. That sounded like motive to him. "Do tell us more."
"Well I work as a tech for both labs," Cooper said. "So I would see them arguing all time. The rivalry between them has been going on for years. It's only gotten worse since the rumors started." He nervously tugged on the collar of his shirt. "You didn't hear it from me, but I think Pratt was sabotaging some of Sanders' experiments." He tugged on his collar again, exposing a tattoo of a Chinese symbol.
"Nice ink," Shawn said, momentarily distracted. "Though not many people get the word for soup tattooed on their neck. What?" he asked, as Gus shoved him.
"It doesn't say soup," Cooper said irritably. He pulled on his shirt to cover the tattoo again. "It says courage."
"Trust me," Shawn said. "It says soup." Gus shoved him again. "Dude, stop it."
"You don't know what your talking about," Gus whispered to Shawn. "Stop bothering the guy."
"I worked in a restaurant in Chinatown for two weeks, Gus," Shawn whispered back. "I think I know the symbol for soup."
"And I think a smart guy getting a Chinese symbol tattooed on himself would have looked up its meaning," Gus whispered angrily. "So drop it."
"You drop it," Shawn hissed back.
Cooper watched their argument with confusion. "If you don't need me anymore," he said, interrupting them, "I'm just going to go back to work." Looking confused and a little unnerved, he left them and entered Pratt's lab.
"Great," Gus said, annoyed. "You scared him off." He glared at Shawn.
"I scared him off?" Shawn asked incredulously. "You're the one who started it."
"I did not," Gus stated emphatically.
"Did too," Shawn shot back.
Gus made as if to respond, then paused. "I'm not doing this," he said, drawing himself up. "One of us has to be the bigger man."
"Fine, I win then," Shawn said with satisfaction. He walked off, back towards Sanders lab.
Gus pulled him to a stop. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Lassiter told us to stay out of there."
"Please, Gus," Shawn said. "When have I ever done what Lassiter has asked?" He started walking to the lab again. "Besides, I know who the killer is."
"Who?" Gus asked. But Shawn was already inside the lab. "Shawn!" he called, following after his friend.
Lassiter was still inside, watching forensics do one final sweep of the lab. He seemed to have cooled down some but was not pleased to see Shawn. "I thought I told you to get out," he said tersely.
Shawn held out his right hand. He started waving it around the room, as if trying to sense something. "Something drew me in here," he said. He moved his hand over the cabinets and Sanders desk. He passed it briefly over Lassiter's face. Lassiter made a grab at his hand but he moved it away too quickly.
"Spencer, what is the point of this?" Lassiter asked, exasperated.
Shawn moved to Sanders' experiment. He made his hand tremble as he passed it over the table. "Oh, I feel it." he said. "It's here. But it's trapped." He started imitating The Fly. "Help me, Help me." he said in a high pitched voice.
"Spencer," Lassiter said, moving toward him.
Shawn dodged out of reach. "I'm sensing something small." He started giggling and squirming. "And ticklish." He dodged Lassiter again. "I'm getting bands, combs, maybe a comb-over," he said with a smirk.
"Those are all things to do with hair," Gus said, playing along.
"I'm also getting a color," Shawn said. Lassiter was almost over to him so he rushed through the last bit, backing away quickly. "Old, but distinguished. A man just past his prime." Lassiter caught up to him and grabbed his arm. He started dragging Shawn out of the lab.
"Gray," Gus said.
At this Lassiter stopped. "A gray hair?" he asked, looking at Shawn.
"Yes!" Shawn said excitedly. "That is what I'm sensing. A gray hair, but trapped somehow."
Lassiter gestured to one of the forensics guys. "Check that table again," he ordered. "Look under everything to see if you find a gray hair."
There was a couple of tense moments while they waited for the forensics guy to search the table. Then –
"I found something," he said. He held up a beaker. A gray hair was stuck to the bottom. He pulled it off carefully with tweezers and stuck it in an evidence bag. Then he handed the bag to Lassiter.
Lassiter dropped Shawn's arm and took the bag. "Perfect," he muttered quietly. "Now if only I had a motive to tie him to the murder."
"If you mean Dr. Pratt," Shawn asked, getting Lassiter's attention. "I'm sensing a rivalry between himself and Dr. Sanders."
"Really?" Lassiter said, interested. "Do you sense anything that could be a motive?" He looked at Shawn intently.
Unnerved by Lassiter actually paying attention to his visions, Shawn stumbled over his next words. "I heard – I mean I sensed, when he was here." Shawn stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm sensing the university was considering closing one of these two labs down," he finished, only slightly lacking his usual confidence.
Lassiter smiled. Shawn had never seen anything so creepy. "That sounds like motive to me. Excuse me gentlemen." He headed to the storage room and presumably to Pratt's lab.
Shawn looked over at Gus. "Dude, was that creepy or what?" he asked Gus shivering.
"Definitely creepy," Gus agreed.
They heard loud voices coming through the doorway. Then a handcuffed Pratt came through being guided by a grinning Lassiter. "You can't do this to me," Pratt was yelling. "I am a prominent scientist. Unhand me!"He struggled against his handcuffs.
"You're murdering scum," Lassiter said, giving him a shake. He pushed Pratt passed Shawn towards the door. "Good work, Spencer," he told Shawn as he passed.
Shawn looked at Gus, stunned. "Did he just say what I thought I heard him just say?" he asked in disbelief.
"If you mean did I hear him praise you, then yeah, I heard it too," Gus said, shaking his head.
Shawn took a moment to try to wrap his head around it. "Nope, can't do it," Shawn said. He pointed at Gus. "Carlton Lassiter has been replaced by a pod person." He shivered. "We should go before one of us is next." He headed out the door into the hallway.
Forensics was packing up the last of their gear. Lassiter and Pratt were already out of sight and the crowd of students was starting to disperse. Shawn saw a flash of a blue and brown hair for a second, but it was gone before he could get a better look.
"Where now?" Gus asked, diverting his attention.
"Jerk chicken?" Shawn asked with a grin.
"You know that's right," Gus said.
The two headed back down the hallway to Gus's car, their only thoughts of food.
