Shawn and the Friendly Neighborhood Stalker

by Nixa Jane

It's another case that no one else believes is a case, and Shawn would be figuring it all out a lot quicker if didn't have to deal with a break-in and a stalker, that may or may not be related.

6. The Magic 8 Ball Says Concentrate

Conclusion: The Magic 8 Ball Says Concentrate and Ask Again

Gus was standing by the door, looking at the ceiling when Shawn came up the stairs, trying for casual. Shawn had to give him points. He was actually managing it pretty well, considering he'd just run screaming up here like a little girl.

"There wasn't even a body, this time," Shawn said. "I thought you were going to man-up."

"Man-up?" Gus said. "Someone was killed down there. That's a murder scene. I'm not hanging around at a murder scene. It doesn't matter if there's a body or not. "

"That's kind of what I've been saying since this case started," Shawn said. "Which, by the way, I totally figured out."

Gus narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"Yep," Shawn said. "Arlin's the boyfriend. He killed her."

"How did you figure that out?" Gus asked.

"It just came to me," Shawn said. "Sometimes I worry maybe I really am psychic, I'm so good it's scary."

"It just came to you?" Gus asked. "But what evidence do you have that he was having an affair with Amber?"

"He just was," Shawn said.

"That's not evidence, Shawn," Gus said.

"It's the only thing that makes any sense," Shawn said. "It's the only thing that explains everything that's happened, and we have to get on this fast, because he's getting rid of all the evidence."

"He didn't do so well cleaning up in the basement," Gus said, with a shiver.

"He didn't have time," Shawn said. "Seriously, this all makes sense now."

"Not to me," Gus said. "Anyway, he said he drives a Lexus. You don't even have the car to tie to him."

"Fair point," Shawn admitted. "Okay. We need to go back to the Psych office, so I can convene with the spirits."

"By which you mean you want your laptop so you can Google him," Gus said wryly.

"Correct," Shawn said.

"What about Lassiter?"

"I'm pretty sure Lassiter can handle himself on this one," Shawn said. "Anyway, we just need a few hard bits of evidence, then all we have to do is get everyone together, I have a psychic episode, and wah-lah. Case solved."

"You're not really psychic, Shawn," Gus said.

"Shh, shh!" Shawn hissed, making wild hand motions for Gus to be silent as Lassiter pounded on the door. He was dragging a cuffed and despondent Ingles behind him.

Shawn reached over and reluctantly opened the door. "Hi, Lassie! You know, not many men can go running down the road chasing after a scooter and still manage to look cool," he said.

"Well, ah, thanks, Spencer--" Lassiter said, nearly preening.

"So you shouldn't feel too bad that you didn't manage it, either," Shawn continued.

Lassiter's eyes narrowed. "I thought I told you to wait in the car," he snapped.

"Actually, you didn't," Shawn said. "Gus and I already discussed this at length, and I'm quite certain the word you used was 'here,' which really, could mean almost anything."

Ingles bounced on the heels of his feet. "Hi, Shawn!" he said happily, and then suddenly and without warning burst into tears. "He knocked me off my scooter."

"Lassie!" Shawn scolded.

"He didn't stop," Lassiter said. "He should be glad I didn't shoot him."

Ingles was wearing a helmet that had once read Genesis Groupie. Ingles had since crossed it all out with sparkly red puff paint, and replaced it with Psychic Detective Groupie.

"Dude, your helmet rocks," Shawn told him.

"Thanks," Ingles said, and sniffed. "I made it special because of you."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Actually, I--" Shawn paused, straining like he was listening to something far off. "Do you hear that?"

Gus and Lassiter glanced around. "I don't hear anything," Lassiter said.

"Wait, wait," Shawn said, leaning against the building wall until his ear was pressed against it. "What's that, Alice?"

"Spencer--"

"Shh," Shawn said. "The building's trying to tell me something. Something terrible has happened here?" Shawn gasped. "That's awful! I'm very sorry you had to see that."

Ingles stared at Shawn raptly. "It's such an honor to be able to see you work."

"Spencer," Lassiter snapped. "Just spit it out."

"There's blood, yes, I see it, and bleach!" Shawn said. He pressed his eyes shut tight, and put his uninjured hand to his head. "Amber didn't go anywhere, at least not on her own."

"What?" Lassiter said.

"Oh, come on! I'm practically spelling this out for you." Lassiter just continued to glare, and Shawn sighed. "Okay, whatever, I'll give you the cliff notes version. There's evidence in the basement that Amber may not have left here alive." Shawn looked disappointed about having his extra cool psychic moment ruined. "Anyway, you should probably get a forensic team down there."

"I think I just got chills," Ingles said.

Lassiter gave him a disgusted look, and Shawn smiled at him delightedly. "Don't worry, that's a common side-effect of my presence," he said. Shawn and Gus moved past Lassiter and back out onto the sidewalk.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lassiter demanded, spinning in place and dragging Ingles with him.

"We've got a case to solve," Shawn said. "We were kind of thinking about going to, you know, solve it."

"Spencer, we're going to the station. I already called for a patrol to come pick us up," Lassiter snapped. "Have you forgotten that you're in protective custody?"

"You caught my frighteningly dangerous stalker," Shawn said. "I no longer need protection."

"Hey," Ingles protested, but everyone ignored him.

"You're the one that said he wasn't behind this," Lassiter said, exasperated.

"Yeah, but you didn't believe me," Shawn protested. "Now all of the sudden you do? How does that work, exactly?"

"I want you to come to the station," Lassiter said, trying to sound reasonable.

"I hate to go over your head and everything," Shawn told him, as he started back towards Gus's car, "but Vick was very clear. She said I only had to stay in protective custody until Ingles was caught. I've got places to be, murderers to catch! See ya soon."

"Shawn!" Ingles shouted. "What about me?"

"Don't worry, Ingles, I'm working on it! You'll be home in no time," he said.

"Spencer!" Lassiter shouted, in one last attempt. Shawn put on his sunglasses and pretended not to hear him.

Gus had already got into the driver's seat, and as Shawn was about to shut his door, he could hear Lassiter's incredulous voice. "Is that a Coalition to Stop Gun Violence button?"

Shawn laughed and Gus pulled them out into the street.

xxxxxxx

"Anything yet?" Shawn asked.

"Shawn, I just turned on the computer," Gus snapped. "Give me some space." Gus cracked his knuckles, and worked a kink out of his neck. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready to Google."

"Work your magic, buddy," Shawn said, and dropped down into his chair. He started working at his own laptop.

Gus was frowning. "There's not much on Arlin," he said after a minute. "He doesn't publish much, if at all. There is, however, quite bit on his wife."

Shawn sat up straighter. "Do tell," he said.

"Apparently her maiden name is Ellie Whitehall, of the Whitehall Inc. Whitehalls," Gus said.

"Wait, is that the company that makes those little pastry cakes?" Shawn asked excitedly.

Gus raised an eyebrow. "No, Shawn," he said. "They're a computer software company. Really successful, and she's a shareholder. My guess is that Mrs. Whitehall has quite a bit of money."

"Hmm, I'm not feeling as good about this as I would if they were pastry makers," Shawn said. "Except it does answer one question."

"What?" Gus asked.

Shawn held up a finger, and picked up his phone. "Hello, Mrs. Arlin. How are you today? That's wonderful news. I'm very glad to hear it. My name is Dill Von Brugal. I'm actually calling from Santa Barbara BMW. We just wanted to check in and make sure that everything was going well with your car."

"Oh, it's fine, I think," she told him. "But really, it's my husband that drives it."

Shawn grinned over at Gus. "Well, that's good to hear, Mrs. Arlin. Thank you for your time."

He hung up the phone. "Arlin may not own a BMW, but his wife does," he said.

Gus was frowning at him. "How did you get her number?" he asked.

"The White Pages on line," Shawn said. "I do know how to work Google, too, you know."

Gus bristled. "Well, it's still circumstantial," he said.

"Dude, I was right about everything and you know it," Shawn said. "Admit it. I was right, and you were wrong, and you're totally a repeat offender against the Code of Friendship."

"There's no such thing as a Code of Friendship, Shawn," Gus snapped.

"Oh, contraire," Shawn said. He opened his file cabinet, and pulled out the only piece of paper that it held. It was a single sheet of notebook paper, and had been written on with blue crayon. He flattened it against the desk. "The Code of Friendship, by Shawn and Gus, 1987."

"You have to be kidding me," Gus said.

"Rule Number One, I shalt not sell out my best friend to his parents (addendum: selling Shawn out to his father is especially not allowed, because he has a gun)," Shawn read. "Rule Number Two, I shall always believe in my best friend, even when everyone else says he is wrong. Rule Number Three, I shall attempt to limit the use of contractions. That one was yours."

"I get the point, Shawn," Gus snapped.

"So admit you were wrong, and I was right," Shawn said triumphantly.

"You were right," Gus said. "But I'd still do the same thing again, Code of Friendship or not."

"You just used a contraction," Shawn said. "Will your rule-breaking ways never end?"

Gus glared at him. "I am sorry I did not believe you, Shawn."

Shawn was considering whether or not to let him off the hook that easily, when his phone started ringing. He answered it as he shut down his laptop. "Von Brugal speaking," he said.

"Shawn?" The voice was uncertain, but Shawn recognized it instantly.

"Ingles!" he said happily. "Did you get sprung?"

"No, I'm still in the slammer," he said. "You're my one phone call."

"Wow," Shawn said. "I don't think I've ever been anyone's one phone call before. I mean, I've had one phone calls, but it's new being on this end of it."

"I wanted to tell you that smelled really nice earlier," Ingles said. "Like pineapples and sunshine."

"That was very thoughtful," Shawn said. "Still, you probably would have been better off calling a lawyer, in the long run."

"I don't have a lawyer," Ingles said. "But they said they would give me one. I'm worried, though, Shawn. I don't have any cigarettes. I don't even smoke. I don't think I'm going to do well in prison."

"Well, it's a good thing that you decided to stalk me," Shawn said. "It just so happens that this kind of thing is my specialty. I don't mean prison, of course, but avoiding going there in the first place. Don't worry, Ingles. I'm going to get you out."

"Please hurry," Ingles said, whispered into the phone. "The tall one scares me. Oh god, he's coming back."

Then the line went dead. Shawn frowned at the phone for a moment before jumping to his feet, and grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Where are you going?" Gus asked.

"I need to go see Ingles," Shawn told him.

"We've got a murderer to investigate," Gus protested.

"Dude, get your priorities straight," Shawn said. "First, we have to go rescue my stalker."

"From what?" Gus demanded, as he followed Shawn out of the office and back to the car.

"From Lassiter, apparently," Shawn said.

xxxxxxx

Buzz rushed to meet them when they entered the station. "Shawn, I'm so glad you're here," he said. "The Chief has been trying to reach you. She wants to see you."

"Of course," Shawn said. "We'll get right on that. Hey, Buzz, where's Ingles Dupree?"

"He's in integration room two, with Lassiter," Buzz said.

"Okay, thanks," Shawn said, and he moved with Gus to head to the interrogation room, taking the indirect route that was outside of the view of Chief Vick's office.

"Shawn," Buzz said. "But the Chief--"

"I'm going right to see her, right now," Shawn told him.

"You're going the wrong way," Buzz protested.

"I like the scenic route," Shawn told him, before giving Gus a push and disappearing down the hall. "Come on," he said. He slipped inside the opposite room with Gus, so they would be able to see the interrogation through the one-way glass.

Ingles was sitting politely at the table, with his hands folded on the surface. He was still wearing his helmet.

Lassiter was on his feet, glaring down at him, with his arms crossed across his chest. Shawn didn't really find Lassiter scary at all, but he had to admit, he wouldn't want to be on his bad side.

Well, his really bad side. Shawn was kind of constantly on his bad side. Or possibly that actually was Lassiter's good side, and that was a scary thought.

"Where were you the night of the fifteenth?" Lassiter demanded.

"I can't remember!" Ingles said helplessly. "You should ask Shawn. His memory is much better than mine."

"So you admit you were with him?" Lassiter asked. "You ran him off the road, didn't you? Just couldn't help yourself."

"What? No! I can never keep up with him when he's on his motorcycle," Ingles said. "My scooter doesn't go fast enough. I would have helped him if I'd been there!"

"Like you helped him last night, when you broke into his father's house and tried to kill him?" Lassiter asked.

"Well, that's not at all leading," Shawn commented.

"What?" Ingles asked. "I would never do that! Shawn is like the beacon for all humanity. That there are people like him gives me hope."

Gus turned to look at Shawn. "Okay, I'm starting to understand why you like having this guy around."

"It's just nice to finally meet someone that understands me so well," Shawn told him.

Lassiter scrunched up his face. "I'm sure," he said. "Where were you, then?"

"I was in the bushes," Ingles admitted. "In the backyard. I swear, all I saw was a BMW as it drove off."

"The BMW," Lassiter said. "And I suppose you didn't see the plates?"

"No," Ingles said. "It was dark and I didn't have my night-vision goggles because the police were still at my apartment."

"See?" Shawn said. "Even Ingles has night-vision goggles."

"We're not writing them off as a business expense," Gus snapped. "If you want them you're just going to have to buy them yourself."

Lassiter leaned on the table, and glared at Ingles. "What about the break-in at Psych," he said. "I suppose you didn't have anything to do with that, either?"

"Of course not," Ingles said. "I just like to observe. I'm like an anthropologist. I don't disturb the natural habitat."

Shawn hit the intercom. "Ask him about his psychiatrist," he said.

Lassiter straightened up. "Spencer! Where are you?"

"I am talking to you from the spirit plane," Shawn intoned, deepening his voice.

Lassiter's eyes narrowed at the mirror, staring almost straight at him. "Get out of there, Spencer."

"Shawn!" Ingles shouted. "Shawn, help me!"

Shawn was about to hit the intercom again when the door swung open, and the Chief glared in at them. "My office," she said. "Now."

Shawn waited until she closed the door and then hit the intercom. "I will be back," he said, in his best Arnold impersonation. Ingles grinned in relief and Lassiter continued to glare.

"The Chief didn't look happy with you," Gus said, as they headed towards the Chief's office.

"How do you know she's not unhappy with you?" Shawn asked.

"Please, Shawn," Gus said. "It's always you."

Shawn sighed, mostly because it was true. "We've got to get Ingles free," he said. "He's right. He's not going to do well in prison."

"Why don't you just tell the police it was Arlin?" Gus asked.

"Because you were right," Shawn said. "We don't have any real evidence yet. Even if I have a psychic vision, it's not exactly something that will hold up in court. We need that one missing link, Gus. We've got the car, but it's not enough. We need to prove he knew her."

"How are you going to do that?" Gus asked.

"It'll come to me," Shawn said.

Shawn and Gus walked into the Chief's office, where she stood waiting. "Get the door," she said.

Gus turned to close it, and Shawn grabbed him by the sleeve, just in case he thought to run away again. Reluctantly, Gus closed the door while he was still inside the room.

"I just need to take your statement," she said. "We need to file charges. So far, we have stalking, and two murder attempts. Am I missing anything?"

"Pretty much everything, actually," Shawn said.

"Mr. Spencer," Vick snapped.

"Okay, I'll give you that he's a stalker," Shawn said. "He didn't try to kill me."

"You were run off the road--"

"He drives a scooter," Shawn said. "Lassiter will testify to that. I think I would have noticed if I was run off the road by a scooter."

"Mr. Spencer," Vick said, with feigned patience. "Will you press charges or not? As it is I can only hold him forty-eight hours. I want to start the paperwork for a restraining order now so it will be in effect in case he is released."

"No," Shawn said certainly. "In fact, I refuse to press any charges against him."

"Noted," Vick said coldly. "Mr. Dupree still isn't going anywhere."

"You can do that? I just said--"

"Someone tried to kill you, twice, Mr. Spencer," Vick said. "And then there's Amber Delaney."

"What about her?" Shawn asked.

"Mr. Guster told us the first time he saw Mr. Dupree was outside of Alice Clothing," she said.

"You're trying to pin a murder on him now too?" Shawn asked disbelievingly. "Look, Ingles was following me for weeks before that. I'm the only reason he was there."

Vick's eyes widened. "Weeks? Mr. Spencer--" Vick broke off, stopping herself from giving another futile lecture. "Be that as it may, this is our best lead. I'm holding him for forty-eight hours at least. If forensics finds anything on the scene that can be tied to him, possibly longer than that."

"But he didn't even know her," Shawn protested. "There's no motive."

"I'm surprised at you, Mr. Spencer," Vick said. "I thought you, of all people, would already know."

"Know what?" he asked.

"Mr. Dupree and Amber Delaney were seeing the same psychiatrist," she told him, before heading back into the bullpen.

Shawn turned to Gus and grinned. "I told you it would come to me," he said. He held out his fist, and Gus slyly tapped it with his own.

"You know you got lucky," he said.

"It's time for my favorite part," Shawn said. "Brace yourself for the wrap up to end all wrap ups. I'm talking top twelve, at least."

"Consider me braced," Gus said.

"I just have to get Arlin down here first." Shawn pulled out his cell phone, and dialed Juliet. "Jules, I need a favor," he said.

"Shawn," Juliet greeted. "When were you a Chippendales dancer?"

"I'm guessing you're still at Ingles's place," Shawn said wryly.

"There are pictures of you everywhere," she said. "I feel like I'm being watched."

"That's because you are," Shawn said. "You know how they say pictures capture a piece of the soul? Well, that's true, and as a psychic, I remain connected. I can see you right now. You look very nice."

"Not helping," Juliet said. "But seriously? Chippendales?"

"It was actually just one night," he explained. "I was the bartender there, and one of the dancers didn't show up. Seriously, you guys should hire this guy. His research is amazingly in-depth. I don't know how he got pictures of that, and the Jalisco Verde!! posters were limited edition."

Gus reached over and hit Shawn on the arm, motioning for him to get to the point.

"Oh, and by the way I solved the case," Shawn told her. "Can you pick up Dr. Arlin and bring him to the station?"

"What?" Juliet asked. "Why do you want me to do that?"

"Please, Jules? Just tell him you need him to make another statement," Shawn said. "How you get him here doesn't really matter."

"Okay," Juliet said. "Just so you know, I'm making copies of the Chippendales pictures. I want to have blackmail material just in case."

"You can make as many copies as you want," Shawn said. "I know I looked good. I'm not ashamed."

Juliet laughed, and Shawn snapped his phone shut.

"What was that about?" Gus asked suspiciously.

"Jules was just teasing me about my stint as a Chippendales dancer," he told him.

Gus snorted. "If you don't want to tell me, then just say so. You don't need to make up some ridiculous lie."

"I'll keep that in mind," Shawn said.

xxxxxxxx

Shawn was just considering starting the big reveal without the guest of honor when Juliet and Dr. Arlin finally arrived. Dr. Arlin did not look happy to be there. In fact, he looked decidedly unhappy to be there. Juliet didn't look in the best of moods either, and Shawn wondered briefly what she had to tell him to get him here.

"Okay, Shawn," she said. "What is it?"

"Mr. Von Brugal?" Arlin said.

Juliet looked at him strangely before turning a narrow-eyed look on Shawn. "Shawn, what did you--"

"Sorry, Jules, can't talk now," he said. "I have to go solve a murder."

Shawn climbed up onto Lassiter's desk, nearly knocking over his mug before coming to rest with his sneakers half on the pile of paper sitting in the in-box. "If I can have everyone's attention, please," he said, and clapped his hands. "I have a message from the spirit of Alice Clothing--"

"Alice Clothing," Vick said, coming to stand in front of him, glaring up suspiciously. "Mr. Spencer."

"The walls there have eyes, I cannot even attempt to explain it, but there are spirits there, and they have informed me that there has, in fact, been a murder."

Lassiter came walking into the room, pulling Ingles along behind him. He frowned when he saw Shawn. "Spencer, why are you standing on my desk?"

"Lassie! Ingles! Good. You should be here for this." Shawn said. Shawn closed his eyes for a moment, spreading his arms out at his sides. "This was never about me--" he paused. "Well, no, actually it was entirely about me, but not in the way our murderer wanted us to think, oh no. He wanted me off all the current cases and he wanted the department distracted. He may have been researching me, following me, but he's not crazy and he's not obsessed, this was all calculated from the start."

Shawn looked to where Lassiter was holding onto Ingles. "I was right when I said that Ingles was harmless. He didn't write that letter and he didn't try to kill me. He didn't even break into the agency. Admittedly, the creepy shrine was his, which reminds me, Ingles, I think I'm going to have to cancel our lunch on Friday because things have gotten weird."

"Spencer!" Lassiter snapped.

Shawn seamlessly returned to his speech. "But Ingles, strange as he is, would never hurt a soul. He's been working through his issues, he wants to get better. And he trusted Dr. Arlin so much, he confided in him. He told him everything." Shawn spun in place until his eyes met with Dr. Arlin's.

"Oh, Edward, that's why you told us that Ingles was dangerous. You wrote that letter yourself. It's textbook escalation, and you knew exactly what to say to get a reaction."

Dr. Arlin laughed kind of awkwardly. "What possible reason would I have to do that?"

"Because you were there that day watching me," Shawn closed his eyes again, hand held to his forehead. "Oh you were there, because you wanted to make sure that we left thinking it was simple vandalism. But you knew it was suspicious, having one of the employees mysteriously leaving right before it happened. You knew that eventually the police would want to talk to her."

"Spencer," Lassiter said warningly. Shawn continued to ignore him.

"And once you saw that I was working the case, you panicked. You knew who I was. You couldn't not. Ingles did nothing but talk and talk about how wonderful and infallible I was, that my solve rate was a stunning 100, and you just couldn't risk that I'd figure it out."

"This is ridiculous!" Dr. Arlin protested. Juliet came to block his way when he started to turn towards the door.

"Amber didn't go anywhere, she was right there in that building all the time, until you broke in, and took her out."

"Shawn," Juliet said. "What are you--"

"Check the list of BMW owners again, Jules," Shawn said. "It's probably under his wife's name. She's the one with the money, but he's never really loved her. That's how it started with Amber, right? You were both so unhappy."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arlin snapped.

"It was a moment of passion," Shawn said. "And it was so easy, wasn't it? No one liked her. She had no family aside from her husband, and he was out of the country. The problem was, he was coming back, and she wanted to break it off with you. She wanted to try and work things out with him. So you killed her. And you knew no one would question it too much when she just disappeared."

Shawn jumped back down off the desk and stood in front of Arlin. "You dragged her body down to the basement and went to get your car, but by the time you got back Kelly was already there. You didn't know she would be coming in early that day and she interrupted you. You couldn't get back in until the next day, and this time no one could let you in because no one could know you'd ever been there. So you broke in, and you planned it to look like a run of the mill gang break in. The pink spray paint, now that was a nice touch."

Arlin had gone entirely pale. "She thought she could leave me," he said, softly. "She was just going to leave me. I didn't mean to do it."

"Of course you didn't," Shawn said. "You should know, considering your line of work, that most people never do."

"Edward Arlin," Juliet said. "I'm placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"

Arlin nodded vaguely as Juliet led him away. Shawn turned back to Lassiter and Ingles. "Now, Lassie," he said, "if you don't mind? I think Ingles is free to go."

Lassiter looked depressed. "He's still a crazy stalker, and he was so hard to find--"

"Oh, just let him go, detective," Vick said wearily. Then she narrowed her eyes at Ingles. "But you might want to get out of town. I hear anything, and I mean anything, about you following my psychic around again, and I'll lock you away and throw away the key."

Lassiter grinned widely at the prospect, and Ingles made a hasty escape, turning back only as he reached the door. "I'll call you, Shawn!" he shouted, and then ran when Lassiter moved to grab him again.

Gus walked over to join him. "Pretty good," he said. "But I think it's more like top fifteen."

"Oh, come on," Shawn protested. "The part about the break-in all being staged just so he could get her body out? I'd go so far as to say this makes the top seven."

"Yeah, but you said the building told you," Gus said. "That's pretty lame."

"There weren't a lot of props around at the time, Gus, cut me some slack," Shawn said.

"Spencer, can I talk with you?" Lassiter asked.

He looked serious. Which, really, didn't tell Shawn much of anything. Lassiter always looked serious. "Is this about your desk? Because I think the footprints actually add character."

"Excuse us," Lassiter said to Gus, and then grabbed Shawn and pulled him down the hall. He only stopped when they reached a somewhat secluded corner. Shawn watched Lassiter carefully, wondering what this was about.

"You did good today," he said finally, and it looked like it was physically painful for him to force the words out. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

Shawn wanted to rub it in, make a joke, break the serious mood. Somehow, he couldn't get himself to do it, not when Lassiter was standing there telling him that he'd done good when it so obviously hurt him to do it. "Thanks," Shawn said eventually.

Lassiter nodded and turned to leave, but this time Shawn was the one to grab him, and hold him back. "But you still think I'm a fraud," Shawn said.

Lassiter looked at the floor. "I don't think fraud was quite the right word."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Shawn said, almost genuinely touched.

Lassiter almost smiled. "I know this much," he said. "You're still no psychic."

"If you don't think I'm psychic, and you don't think I'm a fraud--then just what do you think I am?" Shawn asked.

Lassiter shook his head and started to walk away. This time Shawn let him.

"I wish I knew," Lassiter said.

xxxxxxx

Shawn was shaking his recently returned Magic 8 Ball when Gus entered the office. "How's it going?" Gus asked.

"The Magic 8 Ball says concentrate and ask again," Shawn said.

Gus dropped his jacket on his desk. "Have you had any news on the case? Did they find out what happened to Amber?"

"Reply hazy, try again," he said.

Gus reached out and pulled the Magic 8 Ball from his hands. "Shawn," he snapped. "I will hurt you."

Shawn glanced up at him, and then looked away. It bothered Gus that he didn't ask for the ball back.

"He confessed, and told the police where he buried her," Shawn told him. "He put her in a vacant lot, where his wife was going to build them a house. They were going to pour the foundation next week."

"That's awful," Gus said.

"The thing is, it nearly worked," Shawn said quietly. "He forged a letter to Amber's husband too, saying that she was leaving him for another man. He probably suspected the affair, so he didn't question it, and anyway, he was probably too bitter to really care."

"You cared," Gus said.

Shawn tilted his head back. "Yeah," he said. "There was something about the way her name was just crossed out on that board. Like she was already forgotten, like no one was asking why."

"Shawn--"

"I was right though, it really was a series of unfortunate events. What are the chances of the murderer being my stalker's psychiatrist?" he asked. "That's pretty unfortunate."

Gus sat down across from him, but didn't try to say anything else. He let Shawn talk. Shawn always felt better when he was talking.

"The funniest thing is," Shawn said, "if he hadn't tried so hard to distract me, I don't think I ever would have known that something was wrong. He would have gotten away with it."

"You would have figured it out," Gus said with certainty. "You knew from the moment you walked in there that the break-in was staged. I do have faith in you, you know."

"I know," Shawn said. "And I try to limit my contractions, for you."

Gus laughed, relief finally setting in. No one was trying to kill his best friend anymore. He wouldn't have to get that sick feeling every single time the phone rang. At least, not until the next case.

He leaned back in the chair, just starting to relax, when he noticed the camera in the corner ceiling of the room. "Why is there a camera in the office?" Gus asked. "Did we finally get a security system?"

"No, that's the Ingles cam," Shawn said, and turned to wave at the camera. "He said he couldn't go cold turkey on the whole not stalking me thing, so we decided to go digital to wean him off."

"You are seriously disturbed," Gus said. "We're getting rid of the camera, Shawn."

"Do you want him to revert back to following me around?" Shawn asked.

"I want him to be put in a padded cell where he belongs," Gus snapped.

"Shh!" Shawn said. "Gus, he can hear you."

Gus looked nervously at the camera, and then he grabbed his jacket and quickly backed out of the office. "I'm getting out of here, Shawn, and that camera better be gone when I come back!"

After he left, Henry came to lean in the doorway from the back room. "Why didn't you just tell him I was installing a security system?" he asked, swinging the screwdriver he'd used to install it.

"Because that wouldn't have been nearly as fun," Shawn said simply.

Henry just grinned and shook his head. "Do me a favor, huh? Tell me the next time you get a stalker."

"I was right though, Ingles was harmless," Shawn said.

"You could have been wrong," Henry said.

"But I wasn't," Shawn argued.

"Someday you might be," Henry said. "Just be careful."

Shawn eyed his father speculatively. "I don't know how you ever thought you would handle me being a cop," he said. "You're really quite a closet-worrier."

"If you were a cop, you'd be trained, and you'd have a gun," Henry said.

"We both know I'm better trained than most cops," Shawn said.

"Be that as it may, you lack discipline, Shawn. You always have."

"I have you," Shawn said. "I honestly don't think I've ever been without it."

"Self-discipline, Shawn," Henry said, grabbing his toolbox.

"Oh, that," Shawn said.

Henry started to leave, but he paused before reaching the door. "What did happen to your friendly neighborhood stalker?" he asked.

"He decided to return to his true calling," Shawn said. "He's going to move to Switzerland to continue to stalk Phil Collins. He actually gave me the it's not you it's me speech."

"Sorry, kid," Henry said, trying not to grin. "I know how much having a stalker meant to you."

"I know, it's weird, right? But it was kind of nice," Shawn said. "And I think I miss him."

"Where did I go wrong with you?" Henry asked, almost fondly.

Shawn laughed, and crossed his legs on his desk. "You got all night?" he asked.

The End