Snapshots littered the desk. Layers of grainy photographs wallpapered the surface. The blessings of modern technology provided in cell phone cameras ensured that life's most precious moments (or SBPD whiteboards) could be preserved for future generations. Sure he had a photographic memory in his own right. But digital zoom and Photoshop enhancement meant that he could keep his eyes diverted to more…pleasant...sights while simultaneously snapping away.

At this moment, though, Shawn was napping away. Layers of grainy photographs doubled as a rather poor pillow as he slowly discovered. He didn't mean to fall asleep. Intentions, his dad would say, are useless – show me results, kid. Shawn groaned as Henry-in-his-head wouldn't shut up. Another groan for good measure as Shawn cursed the newfound crick in his neck. Slowly, he raised his head. One of the snapshots remained attached to his face. Who knew laser jet ink and drool combined to form super-paste? He winced as he pulled away the paper and with it more than one precious hair follicle.

With a start, he looked at his watch before breathing a sigh of relief. He had plenty of time to do some more legwork on the case - aka the Stratford case, not the lame one – before wrapping things up. Well, he had plenty of time without any more impromptu naps. He could avoid that fairly easily. As long as he stayed moving, he would be fine.

Kicking back in his chair, he rolled about four feet away from the desk. More than one desk chair face off against Gus had taught him that keeping one's legs parallel to the floor gave the best aerodynamics. Shawn bounced out of the chair and gave it a shove, sending it back to its proper place. He then turned his attention back to the window pane. He popped the cap off a dry erase marker and began to draw a crude schematic of the whiteboard. Sure it was double working since he already had reprinted photos of the real whiteboard as well as all of the info committed to memory. The task helped him focus, and he needed to focus. Instinct screamed that there was a connection here. He knew it; he just couldn't see it.

Everything he needed to make the connections was right here…somewhere. Whatever he couldn't snag from the whiteboard, he managed to find through his own research. The reproductions weren't bad, but they were doable. He was pretty proud of himself, actually. What he wanted was the little spy camera made especially for snatching quick photos of secret documents. It always fascinated him. How he longed for a little camera where you push the ends together and the picture snaps. Maybe Gus would buy him one for Christmas? Maybe Gus would have to buy him one without realizing it.

Shiny-thing indulgence over, Shawn again focused on the information mocking him. All the paperwork was legit. The yacht was insured for full replacement value. The police report filed on the robbery prompted an APB by the Coast Guard. They still haven't found the boat, but did locate the body of an unfortunate marina worker who Lassiter insisted 'surprised' the thieves. One week later, Mr. and Mrs. Stratford magically cut through the last ribbon of red tape and took the keys of their new yacht.

All the pieces were in order. Everything was done by the books. Thank you, and good night. Other than the fact that it smells funny that the rich and powerful Mr. Stratford (funny, cause he was the one who married money) must have his own personal insurance adjustor – does that make him a suspect? Shawn looked over his shoulder for an answer, forgetting that Gus ditched him to work his other job. Big whoop. And no, to answer his own question, working every loophole in his favor may make Stratford a jerk, but not necessarily a crook. At least, not without proof.

Which is here…somewhere.

This would be so much easier if he could see the scene of the crime. Impossible as the yacht was still missing and the body of the marina worker was dumped into the ocean. Still, Shawn wanted to case the marina looking for clues. He was starting to regret that the Gusters were bringing their boat to his dad's place. It was almost fate the way this case came about. If he had more time to work the system, he could have finagled a change in location where he could scope out the marina in the guise of a legitimate dinner party. But, if this went well he was sure he could achieve the same result by inviting himself back over later in the week.

He finally resolved that the answer was eluding him on purpose. Like any self respecting fake-psychic, Shawn decided to consult with the 'spirits' further. Unless, of course, his dad was out – then he would just stick with a beer.

Hey, speaking of his dad…

Glancing at his watch, he made some new calculations. He had five minutes to spare before he would have to leave. Then he would run to the store, fight with the bazillion other people also picking up some last minute items, and buy some necessities to take to his dad's house. Under no circumstances could he be late for dinner preparations. Henry was a tough negotiator. As a concession for the dinner party with the Gusters, his dad's list included tree pruning, gutter cleaning and an afternoon sanding an old desk. Shawn feared any additional conditions that would be demanded if he were late. The current list was dangerous enough as it was – he couldn't afford to push his luck if he wanted help with any cases for the rest of the year.

Then again as snippy as Gus had been today, his dad might be the lesser and safer of two evils. No worries. Eventually, Gus would come back to his side – especially when he told him about his own personal new case. Not the Stratford case, that puppy was his. No, he was sure Gus would be thrilled to hear how Chief Vick trusted him so much that he deserved a case of his very own.

Gus' parents will be so proud of their son. He was a good influence after all!