Detective McClellan of the SBPD Internal Affairs division ran his hand over the piece of paper he'd witnessed Henry Spencer throw into the trash, smoothing it flat. Climbing from his bronze Impala he looked at the weed-choked field in front of him, down at the paper, then back to the field. This was the property, all right. It had to be connected to the Samantha Perez murder. He just needed to figure out how.

McClellan climbed back into his Impala and called a friend at the planning commission. A short time late he headed in the direction of Laguna Street to speak with a Mr. Steven Burnett.

Shawn leaned against the bars of his cell and toyed with the cord of the pay phone as he waited for his call to connect. Gus was right. He needed to get proactive or he'd be celebrating his next birthday with a cake baked in a toilet.

"KXFM plays all the classic rock hits!" Woodrow Strode's happy voice declared.

"Woody!" Shawn tried to sound upbeat. "How's my favourite coroner?"

"Shawn, good to hear from you!" The coroner's voice became serious. "Gossip around the water cooler has it you've been arrested."

"I cannot tell a lie, Woody. I am temporarily a guest of our fair state. But like Michael Jackson, I am an innocent man."

"I knew it!" Woody's voice was jubilant. "Thanks, Shawn. Now I can enjoy The Girl Is Mine without guilt."

"No Problemo. Listen, remember that bludgeoning case Lassie was working on?"

"I sure do. Tire iron to the back of the head. Intercranial bleeding. Death within minutes. All in all, not a bad way to go. Although given my druthers I'd prefer shotgun in the mouth. My second preference would be heart attack during lovemaking."

"Sounds great," Shawn said, wondering why Woody ranked shotgun death first. "So, stomach contents. Talk to me."

"At the moment it's a bean salad, but tonight I'm having sushi."

"I meant on the vic. The bludgeoning."

"Oh. We're looking at garlic mashed potatoes, a side of green beans and a very tasty porterhouse."

"Tasty?"

"Tender. Did I say tasty? I meant tender. Obviously." Woody chuckled nervously.

"Thanks, Woody. That, uh, that confirms a premonition I had earlier. Listen, I'm down in holding. If anything else comes up on the bludgeoning case will you let me know?"

"Absolutely. I'll send you a copy of the report as soon as it's ready. And maybe some Louis L'Amour novels." Woody's voice became concerned. "Be careful in there, Shawn. I've heard stories about what happens in holding. One minute you're playing solitaire and the next you're playing Maria in a jailhouse production of West Side Story."

"Lassiter!" Gus' angry voice rang through the Psych office as he stormed in through the open door. "How come you didn't tell me that—" Gus paused mid-rant as he saw Lassiter seated at Shawn's desk, eating hamburgers with Henry Spencer.

"Didn't tell you what?" Henry asked, looking up from his food.

"Uh, that…that," Gus looked to Lassiter for a save. He could feel the sweat from his palm wetting his bag of takeout.

Damn, Lassiter thought. Shawn had spilled his guts. It was just a matter of time before the whole station knew. Maybe they knew already.

"Guster wants to know why I didn't tell him about McClellan from Internal Affairs being on the case," Lassiter supplied.

Gus nodded warily. "Yeah. That."

"Relax," Henry said. "We took care of him. McClellan's gonna look into Burnett for us. Which reminds me." Henry looked at his watch. "McClellan should be on his way to Burnett's about now." He pulled out a cell and dialled a number Lassiter had given him. "They're onto that property deal," Henry said, his voice a low whisper. "You know what to do." He hung up, looking satisfied. "That should put the wind up Burnett's skirt."

"And if anyone traces that call to you?" Gus asked. "Then what?'

Henry shrugged. "It's a burner. I'll drop a few leads then ditch it."

Lassiter looked at Henry with a mix of admiration and suspicion. "You carry a burner phone?"

Henry's smile broke widely across his tanned face. "You'd be surprised how often a retired cop needs to make an anonymous call."

Gus nodded approvingly. "Nice work." He ate one of his fries. "I just stopped in to visit Shawn and bring him some food."

The smile dropped from Henry's face. "How's he holding up?"

"He's exercising his right to remain silent," Gus said, meeting Lassiter's eyes. "Juliet didn't get anything out of him."

"If Shawn keeps quiet it'll be a first," Henry declared.

"You can call her and check if you don't believe me," Gus said.

Lassiter pushed his food away from him. He had lost his appetite. "I believe you, Guster."

"I'm sure Shawn would like to see you both," Gus said glaring hard at the thin detective. "At your earliest opportunity."

"Right." Lassiter nodded, his eye on Henry to see if the elder Spencer suspected anything. "Earliest opportunity."

Juliet O'Hara picked up her mug, took a sip of coffee, and grimaced as she swallowed. It had gone cold. How long had she been staring at this ballistics report? Carrying the offending coffee she walked into the break room and poured herself a top up.

Buzz McNab was microwaving a burrito.

"This ballistics report is bothering me," She said, half to herself and half to Buzz.

"How so?" Buzz asked, watching the digital countdown on the microwave, his mouth watering and his stomach growling. He hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"There's only one print." She moved to the fridge and pulled out the cream, sniffing at it warily. "I mean, if you leave the gun behind you're gonna wipe it down, right?"

"Sure." Buzz nodded sagely, despite never having been in a situation that required wiping his prints off a gun.

"And if you didn't wipe it down then there'll be partials, smudges…something." She added the questionable cream to her coffee and watched to see if it would curdle. "But there's just one print. And it's Shawn's."

"And Shawn has an alibi," Buzz pointed out.

O'Hara sighed. "So he says." She tilted her head up at her big colleague. "Buzz, if you were charged with murder, what would keep you from giving an alibi?"

Buzz blushed. "Maybe if it was super duper embarrassing? Or a secret I was sworn to keep?"

Her forehead furrowed. "Embarrassing…yeah. I could see that. Something secret."

"Still," Buzz leaned forward as if sharing a confidence. "It would have to be a pretty good secret to risk going to jail."

She nodded. "Yeah. It would, wouldn't it?" She began to run through possible scenarios in her mind. What, of all things, could embarrass Shawn Spencer? The man was shameless.

"Maybe Shawn didn't fire the gun," Buzz suggested. "Maybe he just…touched it." He demonstrated, reaching his thumb toward an apple on the counter and lightly touching its green skin.

"It makes no sense," she complained. "I mean, a single print?" She mimed holding a gun. "And on the barrel? Who holds a gun with their thumb on the barrel?"

"So you're saying..."

"…maybe the print is a fake!" they chorused. Behind them, the microwave beeped.

O'Hara, energized now, pointed at Buzz with her spoon. "Get me everything you can on the neighbour, Burnett. Where was he the day of the shooting? Did he ever own a gun? Could he get access to one?"

"You betcha!" Buzz pulled his notebook from a pocket and wrote the instructions down. "Do we think he's a suspect?"

O'Hara scratched the back of her head. "Honestly Buzz, I don't know what to think."

"I'll get right on it." With two bounds, Buzz was out of the kitchen.

Her thoughts intent on Shawn, and his mystery alibi, O'Hara took her coffee back to her desk.

Moments later Buzz furtively re-entered the kitchen, retrieved his burrito from the microwave, and hurried away.

The head detective picked up his ringing cellphone, but didn't recognize the number calling.

"Lassiter."

"Hey Lassie. It's me." Shawn's voice sounded tired. "I was hoping you'd come by tonight. Why the no-show? Was Gus's message too subtle?"

"I've been busy, Shawn." He sighed as he sifted through his case notes. "It doesn't look good. The gun? The print? The hair? If I didn't know better—"

"You'd what?" Shawn cut in, half-laughing. "Assume I murdered an innocent woman?"

Lassiter swallowed. He was pretty sure Shawn wasn't a killer, but he'd spent his whole life trusting the evidence. And in this case, it was all pointing to Shawn. If it was a frame, it was a very good one.

He growled low in his throat. "All I'm saying is that the evidence is damn compelling."

Shawn huffed. "Not to people who actually know and trust me. Gus believes me."

"Well, Henry believes you too, but he and Guster are family. We need to convince the DA. And if that fails, a jury."

"Buzz believes me."

"McNab believes in the Easter Bunny."

"Jules believes me."

"Really?" Lassiter's mouth hardened. "I see no evidence of that, given that you're sleeping in holding tonight." Instead of at my place, Lassiter could have added, but didn't.

"Trust me, Lassie," Shawn's voice softened. "I'm on this thing 100%. Pretty soon I'll be out and then you and I can celebrate by—"

"Are you calling me from holding?" Lassiter interrupted, his voice tight.

"No. I'm calling from the bar at LAX. I'm about to board a flight to Venezuela. Of course I'm in holding. Duh!"

Lassiter gritted his teeth. "Did you know that all calls made from holding are monitored, Spencer?"

"Uh, no," Shawn admitted. "I was not aware of that."

"If you attended more trials you'd have heard those recordings used in court." It occurred to him that he might not have been Shawn's first call of the day. "Is there a chance we might hear something like that on this case?"

"I sincerely hope not," Shawn said, sounding uneasy.

"Good night, Mr. Spencer," Lassiter said, hoping he wouldn't have opportunity to hear this conversation again in front of a judge.

For a few minutes Lassiter sat, staring at the case board he'd assembled in his kitchen. All psychic bullshit aside, Shawn was a great detective. But he might be too close to this case to see it clearly. Given enough time, he, Henry, and Guster might make some progress. Maybe even clear Shawn completely. But that was time he didn't have. The DA would be pushing for charges. Unless…. He grabbed his cell and punched in the District Attorney's home number. It was time to call in a few favours.

When Lassiter entered the holding area the next morning he could hear Burton Guster.

"...may take longer than we expected," Gus was saying. "The DA is dragging his feet about laying a charge. On the up side, if they don't charge you within 48 hours then they have to release you."

"Relax," Shawn said. He didn't bother to remind Gus that if they wanted to extend his stay they could charge him with a lesser crime—say, evading arrest. "You'd be surprised how much I can get done from in here. I'm like a crime lord, busted for tax evasion, running my empire from prison."

"Nobody's going to prison." Lassiter cut in. He and Gus exchanged a nod of greeting, then turned their attention to Shawn, who was sitting on his bunk amidst a handful of western novels.

"Lassie's right," Shawn said. "We'll beat this."

"We will," Gus agreed. But Lassiter saw the man's lip wobble.

"Don't go all marshmallow on me, Guster" Lassiter warned. "Shawn's going to be fine."

"I know it," Shawn said.

"You know it?" Gus asked, a hitch in his voice.

Shawn smiled. "As sure as I know that every show set in high school takes a nosedive when the main character goes off to college."

Gus' brow wrinkled. "That's not true."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Boy Meets World, Dawson's Creek, Gilmore Girls, Buffy The Vampire Slayer. I rest my case."

Gus shook his head. "I'll give you Dawson's Creek and Gilmore Girls. And to be fair, I stopped watching Boy Meets World after they recast Morgan. But no way Buffy got worse. Season four had Willow meeting Tara, Spike with a chip in his head, and the Hush episode!"

Shawn crossed his arms and looked determined. "Saved By The Bell, Sabrina The Teenage Witch, and Veronica Mars."

Gus countered. "Different World. Felicity. Undeclared."

"No way, Dude!" Shawn threw his arms wide. "Those shows started off in college."

Gus leaned back and observed his friend from beneath lowered lids. Maybe arguing about shows neither of them watched anymore made Shawn feel less like his life and liberty were on the line.

"Fine. I concede."

"So," Shawn turned to Lassiter, his voice chipper, "what's on the agenda for today?"

Lassiter shrugged. "If they charge you, you'll be taken for arraignment, plead not guilty, and be released on bail or…."

"Or?" Gus looked panicked.

"Or he'll be held in county until trial." Lassiter looked at the floor.

"I always knew one of us would end up in jail," Gus said. "I just hoped it wouldn't be so soon."

Shawn moved forward to sooth Gus, who was now sniffing at regular intervals.

"You," Lassiter snapped, pointing a finger at Gus, "Stop crying. And you," he turned to Shawn and lowered his voice. "If it comes to that, pick a fight your first day inside. Let them know you're not an easy mark."

Gus, chastised by Lassiter's stern words, pulled his emotions under control, and removed a tissue from his pocket.

Shawn straightened his spine and grabbed hold of the bars of his cell. "Lassie, I'm a seventh level Shaq Fu Master. Don't you know that karate men bruise on the inside?"

Behind his bluster, Lassiter could see fear in Shawn's eyes. He reached a hand out to him, paused, glanced at Gus who was busily wiping his eyes, and then wrapped his fingers around Shawn's. "I can show you some moves. Never underestimate the value of a swift punch to the neck."

"Jail will be hard enough without antagonizing people," Gus objected, putting the tissue away. "Make some friends who'll have your back."

"There are no friends in jail," Lassiter objected. "Keep your mouth shut and don't get involved."

"Oooh, do I detect a note of jealousy?" Shawn asked playfully.

Lassiter glanced at Gus again and then turned, his gaze boring into Shawn's. "I'm dead serious. Shawn. Become someone's boyfriend and you'll get passed around like a pack of gum."

Gus emitted a high-pitched wail and stumbled, sobbing, down the hall.

"Look," Lassiter leaned his head against the bars, inches from Shawn's face. "We'll solve this. And if we don't, well," his face hardened, "then we lay our cards on the table."

"Hmmm. Cards." Shawn's mind went back to the stolen business cards at Beefeater's.

Lassiter closed his eyes and focused on the feel of Shawn's skin beneath his fingers. For a brief moment he pretended that none of this—the charges, the evidence, the cell—was really happening, and that they were back at his apartment, nestled on the couch, watching The First 48 and eating greasy take-out.

Lassiter pulled himself from the reverie. "Try not to worry. We're on this."

"I know that, Lassie." Shawn lowered his voice to a whisper. And as soon as I'm free again I'll show my appreciation by kissing you Alien style."

Lassiter recoiled. "Like ET?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Not that alien. The alien. You know." Shawn opened his mouth and used his hand to imitate the alien's protruding inner jaw. "With tongue."

Lassiter glanced back at Gus who was now hiccupping into a tissue at the end of the hall. "In the meantime, stay strong."

Shawn scoffed. "I refuse to let a Laguna street accountant like Burnett take me down. And I refuse to let our lo-" Shawn cleared his throat, "life!…our life…turn into a Richard Marx song."

"Uh, thanks." Lassiter said, confused.

"Whatever it takes," Shawn forced a smile. "Or how my heart breaks, I will be right here, waiting for you."

The heavy clump of footsteps echoed down the hall and Lassiter pulled his hand away and shoved it into his pocket, trying to look casual. Adam Hornstock rounded the corner, his arms full of papers. Buzz McNab loped amiably behind him, sorting through a set of keys.

"Looks like it's time for the John Grisham portion of the day," Shawn quipped, all hint of seriousness gone from his face now.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," Hornstock said. "I need to speak with my client."

Shawn faced his lawyer across the table in a tiny room deep in the basement of the SBPD.

"Okay, Hornstick," He said, smiling. "Give with the good news."

"Hornstock." Adam corrected.

"Right." Shawn slapped his hands on the table. "When am I getting out of here?"

"About thaaaaat," Hornstock began, stretching the word out as if reluctant to complete the rest of the sentence. "It looks like you're considered a flight risk."

Shawn cocked his head. "How's that?"

Hornstock grimaced. "Something about having held over fifty short-term jobs in multiple cities, a history of sudden moves, and a lack of family in the area?"

"I have family. I have Gus."

"Not actually a relative," Hornstock pointed out.

"I have…uh," Shawn paused. He couldn't mention Lassiter, attorney-client privilege or no. "I have Henry."

Hornstock looked through his papers. "It says here you've described your relationship with your father as 'estranged.'"

"That's a typo. I meant strange. It's very strange what Henry and I have."

Hornstock winced. "It sounds strange when you call him by his first name like that."

"Dad. Daddy. Father. Poppa bear. Is that better?"

"Maybe you should practice. Anyone else? You grew up here, right? You must have some family ties."

"Family ties…Family Ties…Sure I do," Shawn lied. "There's uh, Alex, and Mallory, and Jennifer. And sweet little Andrew."

"Are they willing to testify?" Hornstock asked.

"Probably not." Shawn slumped in his chair. "Since when does having a few daddy issues make me a killer?"

Hornstock ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "Actually, I'm not sure the DA thinks you are a killer."

"Really?" Shawn frowned. Wasn't it basically the DA's job to assume everyone was guilty?

"It's nothing I can put my finger on," Hornstock mimed putting his finger on something, possibly an elevator call button. "He's going through the motions, but I didn't think he expects to go to court. He's in no hurry, that's for sure." He smiled. "That's good, right? More time to prepare our case."

Shawn nodded. "That's awesome. My investigation is going well. I figure we should have the real culprit behind bars in a day or so." He pulled the change from his pocket and counted it. "Listen, I'll need to make some calls. Can you spare a few bucks in change?"

"No problemo." Hornstock reached into his briefcase and slammed a roll of quarters onto the table. "It's laundry day."

"Sweet. Thanks Hornstock."

"Don't mention it. In the meantime, I've sketched out a few possible lines of defence." He studied his notes and then looked enquiringly at Shawn. "Is it possible you have an evil doppelganger?"